#normal owns like 1 and a half pairs of sneakers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuckoo-on-a-string · 5 months

Text

Sometime Dreamers (crossover fic)

Summary: Doctor Who/Sandman crossover, 2nd person femme/female reader (though it's very vague through most of the story)

A/N: Launching this monstrosity as part of the Winter Solstice Writing Event even though I spent the morning puking and wrestling with a piece of toast. The Sandman elements will integrate in upcoming installments, I swear. *Eyebrow waggles* Interactions help me shout down my depression and get bits out faster! Love you all, and thank you for your support!

The extraordinary finds you on an ordinary walk.

The sky’s all grey clouds and rainy breezes, even when the forecasters insist it’s blue. Half of the year’s leaves crunch underfoot. Half still give you a reason to look up and marvel.

Really, everything’s fine, even if you’re tired, too tired, worryingly tired, and you’re too wrapped up with thoughts of the House to pay attention to your feet, and you should get back to your latest assignment, or maybe –

“Ooof.”

Brown fabric in your face, your sneakers tangling with his – a full-on collision in front of god and everyone. The man’s so skinny you could’ve dodged fifty ways around him. Instead, you’re wrapped around each other in a bid against gravity.

You look up into brown eyes full of questions. Pretty. And sad. And distracting. You’re still touching, and it’s time you did something about that.

“I am so sorry.” You sort out your feet first, reclaiming your balance before abashedly releasing the fistful of trench coat you’d snared. Then you catch yourself trying to smooth away the wrinkles. Shit. Well. Too late to keep your hands to yourself, but you fold them behind your back anyway, smiling to convince the stranger you’re entirely harmless and definitely weren’t coming on to him, and damn you’re spiraling again. Time for more caffeine. Past time. The walk’s left you tired. You’d hoped it would finally energize you past the malaise hanging over the House. No such luck.

“Oh, no. My fault entirely.” He smiles with his teeth, and it’s definitely a lie, but at least he’s being nice about it. “I never watch where I’m going. But if you wouldn’t happen to – Are you feeling alright?” His whole face wrinkles around the thought, sharpening to pierce your thoughts. He looks in one of your eyes, then swings to the next, mumbling as he reaches in his coat.

“I’m fine. No harm done. You?”

He pulls out a whining device and shines its blue light in your face. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. You look awful.”

After months of obsessive dreams and a lethargy you can’t shake, yeah, of course you look awful. You have a mirror. You had a first-row seat to watch the shadows grow under your eyes. It isn’t even something your roommates dare bring up, because they have their own bruises and drooping smiles. Trust the pretty stranger to be an asshole, though.

Using the side of your hand to guide the buzzing light away, you clear your throat and ask, “I wouldn’t happen to what?”

“What?” He returns the light to his pocket, fishes out a pair of glasses, and squints at you again.

“You were going to ask me something.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Well. I guess you would happen to. You sort of already have, or do, not sure yet. Nice to meet you, by the way.” He thrusts out his hand and grins again, trying to wipe the slate clean and yank the wool over your eyes, like this was a perfectly normal introduction. “I’m the Doctor.”

You accept the handshake but only offer your first name. He repeats it, beaming and glancing around like your name might appear in print on the side of a building.

“Live around here, then?”

Ah, nah. Too far, too fast. He’s not pretty enough to die for. Even though you don’t live alone, common sense screams against telling a strange man where you live.

“I’m just out for a walk.”

Nodding, slipping his hands into his pockets, he accepts the refusal. “Nice place for a walk.”

Thank all fuck. He has tact if not manners. “Very. And it was nice bumping into you, but I’d better continue on mine.” You pass, spin on our heel, and take a few steps backwards. Maybe he was going to ask you for directions, and you don’t want to leave on a sour note, because the poor man might just be awkward. “There’s a lake if you keep going that way. And if you cut through the empty lot there’s a little woods. Or just follow the road and you’ll find some pubs and shops and things. If you’re lost or thirsty, I mean.”

“Oh,” he smiles, “I love a little woods.”

Strange, definitely strange, but fun. So long as he doesn’t follow you home and murder your in your sleep, you’ll work a story around those deep, sad eyes. You’ll dream up fabulous, new worlds for those well-worn Converse to wander. “Good to meet you. Sorry I was a bit of a road hazard.”

“Mutual. The hazard was mutual. Enjoy your walk.”

You face away and continue in the opposite direction. When you reach a good corner you peek over your shoulder, but he’s gone. It’s a relief, if a little sad. The end of an odd little tale, and the end of the story is always the worst part, even when it’s happy.

It’s another two miles back to the House. Your feet carried you far away, but your mind is still in your room, turning over fragments of inescapable scenes.

Mind and body meet on the doorstep. You come back to yourself, vaguely aware of how shaky your legs feel as you put your key in the lock and push through into the entry way.

Art crawls over the walls, growing across the ceiling. Decades of creatives moving through have left their mark in every imaginable way, and the lot you live with are busy adding their own. Jeremy’s painted a starling over the hallway mirror, and Blithe Sharpied her band’s logo at the foot of the stairs months ago.

Despite the chaos of the House’s interior design, it’s dead quiet. Where is everyone? In bed, probably. Asleep or wishing they were. They’re all under the weather, too, and if they have the energy to get up and be productive, they can only work quietly.

Blithe’s guitar hasn’t serenaded anyone in the wee hours of the morning for weeks, and you’re sure she’s missing rehearsals. Trevor hasn’t been to an audition in just as long. And Jeremy, well, he was always a bit quiet. He liked to keep his headphones on while he painted, and the biggest racket he ever made was when he knocked over the tray with his palette and brushes.

But none of them had ever been so lifeless. Jeremy made the old house’s creaking boards sing in the odd hours as he went from the attic to the kitchen for tea or biscuits. Trevor should be laughing on the phone with someone. Blithe should be composing new music to transcribe on the walls. No one seems like themselves, and all the doctors could do was mumble about stress and lifestyle choices.

But at least you’re home.

You’re tired.

You’ll just have a little nap before you put the coffee on.

You make it as far as the couch.

Then the fatigue swallows you, and thought unstitches from reality as you fall into the ratty floral print. Loose threads of memory follow you down, the rhythm of your walk echoing in your feet, and you find green grass sprouting from your imagination. The dream smells like summer, and droning rattles in your ears.

It’s another story. The same one you keep slipping into when you sleep. Growth, and death, and the thing that sits between lurking underground.

A hill.

A door where there is no door.

Old magic pulling bits of you inside, tattering the edges of your fingers as they steady you against an oak. Skin, fingernails, and tendon shred away like burnt paper, pulled towards the point of entry that doesn’t exist.

Under your palm, the wood groans and flexes, breathing, or pulsing, alive in ways you’ve always suspected trees are but can’t articulate. It’s all impressions here, and it’s pulling you in. The tree has more life than you do. You’re feeding the green, green grass and the hill beneath without growing into it, and that must mean you’re –

Awake.

Consciousness physically jerks you out of the dream, and a muscle seizes in your neck.

“Fuck.”

What’s happening? Did you jump scare yourself? As you try to rub the angry spot over your shoulder, the sound that roused you comes again.

A knock at the door.

Rolling your head to pop the bastard muscle back into compliance, you get your feet on the floor.

But the dream. You need to write it all down.

There must be a scrap of paper around here somewhere. A stubby pencil on the end table and an out-of-date band flyer come to hand. They’ll do. But as you scratch down words to shape the sensory madness of your wandering dream, the knock comes again, and you swear, stumbling to your feet.

“Damn it.”

You abandon your work and make your way to the door, pulling it open without checking who’s waiting on the other side. It creaks open as you glance down to make sure your feet are clear, and you look up to find the storied brown eyes from your walk.

“Hello again!”

He shoots the same, big grin, like this is not at all strange and really you should all remain calm while he stops in for a cup of tea.

#winter solstice writing event #sandman x reader #crossover #fanfiction #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor / reader #morpheus x reader #fic: sometime dreamers

73 notes · View notes

yellowkitkieran · 10 months

Text

To Have and to Heal (Part 11)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

TW: Descriptions of death, car crash and loss

Chicken parmesan is a staple in Martin's diet. With his homemade tomato sauce and a bit of fresh mozzarella, it's healthy enough to be a regular weeknight meal for him without having to classify it as a cheat meal. He's memorized his favorite recipe and always keeps the ingredients stocked in his fridge, which he's grateful for now. It’s easy to make as well, meaning he can operate more or less on autopilot without needing to focus too much on what he was doing.

Kieran picked up Atla from school, for which Martin was eternally grateful. From the moment Arteta dismissed them from training, Martin had exactly two hours until you would arrive at his doorstep, and he wanted to have everything plated and ready to go when you got there. He should've had more time, but Mikel insisted on rerunning one particular drill multiple times until it was perfect. Martin had thought it flawless the first three times but apparently not; it had cost him an extra half hour to appease the gaffer.

Now Martin flies around his kitchen, breading the butterflied chicken breast with practiced skill while his tomatoes sit uncut on the counter. He tackles those once the meat is in the oven, slicing and chopping until he's happy with the size. Into a simmering pot they go, combined with tomato paste and a blend of spices that he eyeballs rather than properly measures. In his mind, food turns out better when it's seasoned from the heart and not with a measuring spoon.

Once Martin has a moment to breathe, he sets about tackling the scattered art supplies and clean laundry piled around the house. Between his recent shoddy mood and the overtime he's put in at training lately, he has had little time to keep up with Atla's clutter. Normally Martin wouldn't touch it. He likes his house to feel lived in, preferring a manageable amount of disarray to a clinically clean home. Tonight is a different story. He wants to impress you; everything needs to be perfect.

Martin is still fixing his stray hairs in the hallway mirror when the doorbell rings. He spots a smudge in the glass as he swears under his breath- not perfect, but as perfect as it’s going to get.

"Hi."

"Hello." Martin can't take his eyes off you. He loves it when you dress comfortably like this, in well-loved sneakers, a pair of jeans and a red top that matches the bottle of wine in your hand. Martin gestures to it, "you didn't need to bring anything. I've not had that brand before, where's it from?"

"Oh um," you fidget on your feet, tucking the bottle in the crook of your arm and tugging the sleeves of your top over your hands. "It's from Norway? It's from some place that has a huge greenhouse, the person at the store was really excited about it. I'll be honest, I heard 'Norway' and was already sold on buying it."

God, you're adorable. Martin could kiss you, if it weren't for the fact that you're probably still cross with him. And that you deserve more than a rushed peck right now. And also, the fact that you're standing outside his house waiting to be invited in.

"Oh, please come in. Sorry, I forgot my manners there." Martin steps aside to allow you in. He politely ignores the way your eyes widen as you take in his house, allowing you to judge him as you please. He's never had an eye for decorating and he fears that much is apparent. Suddenly Martin is all too aware that the curtains in the dining room clash horribly with the pattern on the seats at the table. He sighs internally at the dried paint pallet he forgot to grab off the coffee table by the sofa and the pair of tiny pink socks peeking out from under it.

"Don't mind the mess," Martin says off hand as he takes the wine and pours two glasses. "I didn't have time to properly clean up. We got held late at training and of course I picked a dish that takes way too long to prepare, so I didn't have time for too much else."

Your slender fingers brush Martin's when you accept the glass he holds out. The sparks that sing up his arm nearly knock him off his feet. In that moment, Martin will do anything to have you forgive him. If you grant him the opportunity of a second chance, he won't squander it; he'll do everything in his power to treat you with the respect you deserve. Because that smile on your lips right now? Martin's craved like an addict, and now that he's seen it again he never wants to see any other expression from you.

"Thank you, Mar. I don't mind the mess, really. I'm too busy trying to figure out what smells so delicious to look anywhere but your spotless kitchen- is it italian?"

Martin is so grateful that you've fallen into a normal conversation that he nearly forgets to reply. "Oh- it's just chicken parmesan, one of my favorites. I hope that's alright? I can make something else if not, or I could maybe order takeout quick… I'm sorry, I didn't even think to ask if you'd like it-" Martin cuts himself off, cheeks flaring. He's acutely aware of how his fingers itch to fidget with something. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, playing with a stray coin that somehow made it through the wash without falling out.

"It's alright," you laugh and Martin's anxiety ebbs with the sound. "Chicken parm sounds great, it smells amazing too." You reach out and touch the side of Martin's forearm, the contact as soft as butterfly feet on his skin but it's enough to have him sighing. "Thank you for cooking. I really appreciate it."

"It's not a problem, I needed to do something to show you how sorry I am. I was out of line-" Martin stops when you shake your head, that blissfully forgiving smile on your face.

"Let's just have dinner first, okay? Then after, we can talk. Does that sound alright to you?"

Martin swears you're perfect. He's done denying it; he's enjoying this too much to pretend he doesn't feel pulled to you like waves to a shoreline. Martin would like to take you there actually- the beach. He'd love to see you building sandcastles with Atla, then splashing in the water when the blazing sun gets too warm. Maybe he could suggest it as a date this summer-

When you wave a hand in front of Martin's face, he realizes you've been speaking without him hearing a single word. At this point, you're causing enough distraction that Martin should be terrified… except he's not.

"I'm sorry I'm out of it- come sit and I'll get everything served up." Hearing his mum's content praise in his head, Martin pulls out a chair for you and pushes it in once you've sat down. Then he plates up a healthy portion of buttery green beans onto a plate for you, alongside a piece of chicken that, honestly, makes his mouth water. He hopes it's as good as it usually is.

"Here you are," Martin murmurs, one hand braced on the back of your chair as he sets the meal in front of you. He takes a seat across from you, settling in and placing his napkin over his lap. He feels like somewhat of an imposter, pretending to be fancy when he feels anything but, though the shine in your eyes as you wait for him to speak makes his breath hitch.

"Um, bon appétit? I hope you like it." Martin waits until your attention is on your food to carefully cut into his own meal. Yes, his hands are shaking; no he's never been this nervous over a dinner. Not even when he met with the big wigs at Arsenal to discuss a move from Madrid.

Martin nearly chokes when you moan after the first bite. "God this is amazing Martin, I didn't expect you to be such a great cook!" Martin finally takes a bite himself, delighted when the perfectly melted cheese and crispy breading hits his tongue. Normally he isn’t one to brag, but this may be some of his best work to date.

With his nerves eased, Martin falls into comfortable conversation for the remainder of the meal. You ask for seconds, so he delivers. You're happily surprised when he brings out a cheesecake for dessert- and he's rewarded with your beautiful laugh when he tells you how he had to fend off little fingers from snagging a bite this morning.

Once your fork is down, however, Martin knows it's time for the serious bits. He's dreaded this all day, creating a script in his head of exactly what he wants to say. He's not ready, but he's as prepared as he'll ever be.

"So," Martin starts, "first off I have to thank you for giving me a second chance. And for trusting me to make up to you for my actions last week."

Martin hates himself for the way your eyes fall to the ivy patterns on the tablecloth. He hates that he can see the fear that brims in you now at the reminder of how angry he'd been. All he wants to do is set it right.

"I trust you because I know it was a one time thing, right?"

"Yes- yes absolutely," Martin murmurs quickly. "And I promised you that I'd explain- can I show you something actually?"

"Oh- yes, sure, you can." Martin stretches a hand out, heart pounding as you hold him on edge. It takes a few seconds for you to decide but eventually your soft palm slides against his, your fingers curling to wrap around his own. It's right. It's home. It's perfect. Martin can't hold back his smile, so he lets it unfurl as he leads you upstairs, going slow so you can take your time looking at the photos scattered on the wall.

"All of these are just you and Atla," you note absently, turning to Martin like you expected more. You probably did, considering his closeness with the rest of the team. Martin's nod sends a lock of hair tumbling free to fall across his forehead and he doesn't bother fixing it.

"That's a recent change," he explains in a voice full of gravel. "So is this room here. It was Maria's studio." Martin points to the white door at the end of the hall, the one he spent far too long avoiding.

"Your wife," you murmur softly, squeezing Martin's hand when he nods, throat too tight to speak. "You've never told me her name before."

"I uh, I don't talk about her too much. It still hurts, you know?" Martin's smile feels forced, but he's grateful for the steady support your hand provides him. "Come on, come with me."

You don't speak as you let Martin lead you to the only closed door in his house. The brass knob is cold, but he was expecting that. He pushes it open, a million memories rushing in with the first step he takes. The wooden planks creak softly beneath his feet as he leads you to the center of the room, getting lost for a minute.

Over the past week, Martin has channeled his extra energy into transforming this room from one filled with ghosts to a place where his daughter's creativity can run wild. Where towering stacks of cardboard boxes used to sit near the window, now sits a wooden toddler-sized easel. The half painted canvases that were haphazardly piled where he's standing now are neatly stacked on an art rack, waiting for Atla to complete them someday. And on the wall that the room shares with his own bedroom is the collection of paintings he loves most: Norwegian fields, family portraits, and the last painting his late wife ever created.

"Oh, Martin, these are beautiful." You keep a respectful distance, admiring the artwork from afar. "Did Maria paint all these? They're wonderful… I see where Atla's talent stems from."

"This one is my favorite," Martin murmurs, pointing to the portrait of a smiling baby girl perched in his lap. "It's the last one Maria ever finished. It's the only one I have of Atla and I together."

Martin draws a deep breath, chest rattling with the effort of holding back tears. "I've not talked about this with anyone except the grief counselor- so please just bear with me."

The fingers of your free hand curl around Martin's bicep to provide five pinpricks of safety. Your touch, the pressure of your fingers on his tense muscles, grounding him, keeping him present, as if saying I'm here, I'm listening and I'll let you speak. A silent promise to stay by his side. I'm not going anywhere. Your closeness, the smell of your rosy shampoo mixed with generic laundry detergent, the quiet unsteady breaths, heavy with anticipation, the floor creaking under your weight as you shift from one leg to the other, most likely a byproduct of nerves.

You, your proximity, feels like a single match in the otherwise pitch black darkness, the same darkness that always clouds the man's mind, serving as a guiding light, always promising to bring him back home. Home to Arsenal. Home to you. Home to safety, home to Atla.

And somehow, in this otherwise dreadful moment- Martin has never been more grateful for you.

"The reason I hate storms is because that's what killed her. Not directly, but it was the storm of the century that night, or at least that's what I was told afterward. She was coming home from her art lessons at the senior home across town… I told her to cancel, but Maria was always the woman who would never cancel a commitment once she made it. I loved that about her."

Martin has never spoken about loving Maria in past tense until tonight.

"The uh… the stoplight down the street got knocked down with the winds. There was a ton of construction a little ways away, I guess they were just finishing up for the night. A- faen what is it… the big things with all the wheels- a truck? A truck- filled with sand or dirt or whatever it was had just left, headed towards the main road to get out and get home."

Martin pauses. The night replays in his brain the same way it has thousands of times. It's haunted him, trying to imagine exactly what happened that night, his mind drawing a dozen different scenarios each more gruesome than the last.

Martin knows he couldn't have saved her, but he wishes he could've eased her pain. Been a loving face for her to see in her final moments.

"The truck driver didn't see her. And since there was no signal, he didn't think to look… He- he blew right through it. He slammed right into her car as she was going through. Not his fault- how would he have known? He was just trying to get home to his own family."

"Mar…"

Martin is aware of your arms wrapped around his middle, though he doesn't remember it happening. He can't take his eyes off that painting of him smiling down at Atla, happy as can be. His vision tilts and shifts as tears well in his eyes. Martin is dimly aware of the paths they streak on his cheeks.

"There was pieces everywhere. Shattered glass like that stuff at parades- confetti? And broken plastic… blood, so much blood. The driver was crying- all I remember was this… numbness? I was cold, and wet- Kieran was there I think, or he was at the house with Atla… its all blurry."

"The doctors said it was almost instant, that she didn't feel much at all. I just hope that's true, I hope she didn't realize what was happening. That painting, the one I love so much? It was untouched in the crash- the car was mangled but that painting was perfect, not even a drop of rain on it when I pulled it out. Maria made it that night, from a photo reference she'd brought with her."

Your sniffle is what tears Martin out of his head. He wraps his arms firmly around your shoulders, holding you to him while you muffle your sobs in his chest. "That's why I hate storms, and that's why I freaked out. I know it's not an excuse for how I acted, but maybe it'll help you understand why I reacted how I did. And I'm working through it, I promise- I made an appointment with a woman who specializes in helping people overcome their fears, I'm seeing her later this month. I'm gonna work on it, because I want you to know I'm serious about this."

The only noise is Martin's breathing and your soft crying. He's not sure how long he stands there cradling you, but he'll do it for however long you need. Like he wishes someone had done for him years ago.

"Serious about what," you ask minutes later, pulling back just enough to wipe your eyes. Martin wants nothing more in that moment than to kiss away the tears on your cheeks, to erase the heartache you feel on his behalf.

"About you, us, this relationship." Martin cradles your jaw in his hands, holding you with the softness one would use with a delicate flower. “No one has seen this room yet, not even Atla. I wanted it to be a surprise for her. But before I did that, I just… I needed to show you. So you would understand. I’m still healing- but I’m trying to heal quicker so I can be someone you can lean on.”

“Martin… Hey, look at me.” When Martin does as you ask, everything crashes over him at once. The crushing, soul splitting despair he felt on the night of the accident, the spark of affection that ignited a flame in his chest the first time he heard you laugh, the relief of finally sharing his story with someone.

But finally, in the deepest part of him, he lets go. Martin allows the love he held for Maria to loosen it’s deathgrip on his heart and allows you to creep in. It’s worrisome, how easily you sneak in and nestle yourself into him, but he doesn’t care. He meant what he said; Martin is willing to try for you. He wants this to work.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” Your thumbs rubbing along Martin’s jaw ground him. “I don’t want you to rush through recovery for my benefit. I hate seeing you struggle, of course I do, but I’ll wait as long as it takes, alright? Don’t feel like you need to put yourself on a timeline for me. I’ll wait, Mar, okay? Just keep trusting me.”

And Martin believes every word. He trusts you to be patient. You'll be at his side on the good days and the bad ones, when the residuals of his grief threaten to pull him under. It won't be an easy road, or a short one. Recovery will be barred by landslides and long stretches of obstacles.

You are the light at the end of his tunnel. You are the goal he will work towards- you and Atla. Being a better man for the women in his life, both past and present.

#tw #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fanfic #martin Ødegaard #martin odegaard imagine #martin ødegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard fanfiction #martin odegaard fantasy #arsenal fc #jac writes #alt timeline lover

90 notes · View notes

lesless · 1 year

Text

After a lot of trial & error over many years, I've tried cheap vs expensive stuff & found that some stuff just isn't worth it...but some stuff is. This list is more to do with QUALITY for the price vs enjoyment so, grain of salt.

Expensive shampoo - yes. I like Moroccan Oil shampoo but I water it down by about half & my hair likes that better + lasts longer

Expensive chapstick - absolutely not. I got a trial of this Summer Friday's (& others) that smells great but it makes my lips peel vs Walgreens lip balm with a little tint is great!

Expensive makeup - mostly no. The 1 expensive makeup product I like is a tinted sunscreen (Ilia), everything else is whatever. Most of the expensive stuff I tried were gifts bc my friend had an ipsy thing.

Expensive lotion - also no. I live in a cold, high-altitude place after years in humid sea-level conditions so my skin does not do well & Neutrogena Hydro Boost Body Moisturizing Gel Cream with Hyaluronic Acid ($10-14) is the best thing ever. I like a good-smelling hand lotion too, so The Naked Bee Orange Blossom is a wonderful, effective, good-smelling alternative at $8 for a bag-sized tube.

Expensive skincare - mostly no. I like IT Cosmetics Glycolic Acid Peel which is normally like $50 but you can find it elsewhere for half the price. I put some of the Neutrogina face lotion ($18, the Walgreens or grocer knock-off's work just as well for around $10) on on top & my skin is super happy in the morning.

Expensive soap - No. I like to buy hand-made bar soaps from local shops or the Farmer's Market & they are cheap & delightful.

Expensive perfume - no. Just no. I was gifted some & splurged on some a few times & the smell fades just as fast as normal perfume imo, my favorite perfume is from Old Navy & under $20. I mean unless you're getting some ambergris shit I guess? I read that is salvaged without hurting the whale but idk man. Never tried, but someone much more bougie than I am said it's legit lmao.

Expensive deodorant - also no. I know this sounds strange but I was looking for a natural deodorant for a while bc I don't want aluminum on my lymph nodes but Old Spice is more effective & aluminum-free

Expensive shoes - most of the time, worth it. I have a really sturdy pair of hiking shoes that I got on sale for $50 but retailed at $140-ish & they are important. I also have a thrifted pair of leather booties ($20 vs $130), a pair of leather work shoes ($80 I think) that still look great after loads of walking & keep my feet warm. My favorite sneakers are expensive ($80?) but I wait until I get a coupon or they are on sale, I just bought a backup pair of Cole Haan's on sale because they have lasted beautifully & comfortably after 60K steps. However, I'd NEVER spend big $ on heels unless you wear them regularly for work, my $20 Target heels with an ankle strap have served me well for weddings & date nights & still look new!

Expensive bags - not typically. I'm not a purse girly so spending more than $30 on plastic seems ridiculous to me. However, I did invest in a nice hiking backpack, & a little leather backpack I found on sale for day trips. The vast majority of the time however I just use a $5 linen tote. I found my luggage at a discount store for $25.

Expensive sunglasses - no. I really don't get this one, my friend likes nice sunglasses but I never brought myself to try. My favorite pair of hiking sunglasses were $30 & that was the most expensive pair I owned, but they are Humps & are nigh industructable. After a year of heavy use when they started to show ware, I still didn't feel like it was worth it to re-invest.

Expensive clothes - this one is really, really variable. A good, all-purpose coat is worth the $$. I have a Carhartt that is my go-to but I live in a cold climate & I don't tolerate the cold well. Alpaca, wool, canvas, denim, are worth the cash. Leather mittens are a good buy, but I don't have a pair yet (just borrowed). T-shirts--not so much, you can find $5 100% cotton tees at various stores, & some of my favorite shirts were $3-10 at the discount store. I also invest in nice denim pants, because I have such few pairs (4) & I wear them TONS, shorts not so much. I mean, they don't need to be durable. Linen tops are a great buy if you live in a hot climate, I found mine for $23. Expensive workout clothes are a joke tbh, the nicest pair I have I bought second-hand for the cost of a cheap pair & they are only marginally nicer to wear if you have a texture thing, & no more durable. My cheap swimwear looks good & lasts forever, but I have learned that more pricey sweaters are worth it if you live in a good climate--but again, the material really matters. I don't think expensive undies are worth it either, again 100% cotton underthings are easy to come by cheap & since you should replace those every few years I don't get the allure of spending the money, though I do have a mid-range bra for good support & comfort! If you get a good leather belt in black & brown you'll never need another. Socks are socks & you can buy these cheap (my friend likes expensive socks??? why??) even if you are getting wool.

Expensive bedding - yes. Okay but I will caveat this with I am a texture person, & I don't like sleeping in blends, & blends pill, so we split the purchase of a good set of cotton sheets that I've already repaired via hand-sewing; these are perfect during hot summers with no AC. A nice quilt is warm & a work of art. A hide blanket is extra warm in winter. A soft duvet & sturdy insert are nice in winter, too. A good pillow is important. All of these will last forever with care & maintenance. Learn how to sew at least minor repairs!

Expensive cars - I don't get this one, & I've never invested in a nice car but my dad was a car guy & it seems a waste of money to me. My car was second-hand, runs great, looks nice, who cares? GOOD TIRES are a yes though.

Expensive gear - depends on what you do & how much you do it. A good hiking backpack was a life-saver for me, but I do a lot of hiking. Our tents were on the low end & both are functional. My sleeping bag/mats are high-quality & a blend of new & second-hand. A good laptop is something you shouldn't have to buy more than every 8 years imo but that depends on what you do with it, too. Our kayaks, second-hand and self-repaired, float just as well as our friend's $800 kayak. Our 2-for-$20 paddles move water just as well, too. My secondhand snow shoes walk fine.

Expensive journals/sketchbooks/pens/etc. - no. I like my Moleskin & I have a cute quill pen with refillable ink, $20 for a journal seems like a lot but they last through years of carry & use. My pens were $8 & 20 refills are $20 but these also last forever. I don't get the market for other stuff though. My sketchbooks are great & from the discount store, my cheap paints & brushes work just as well as nice ones I was gifted, but I'm not a pro painter or anything. I might change my tune if that were the case?

Expensive cookware - in moderation. We split the purchase of stainless steel pots/pans set, I think it was $60 which isn't bad for something that will also last forever. Cast irons are plentiful, cheap, durable, repairable. I don't get the appliance game though, I think appliances are a silly thing to spend a bunch of money on, then again I'm renting sooooo I might just be ignorant.

Expensive furniture - no. We have a great couch from Ikea, tables/chairs are all second-hand. Bookshelves were on sale, as was our bed frame. I think our house looks nice, & my friends $3,000 couch isn't special at all to me, just anxiety-inducing.

#me #this list is based on durability & function for the price #Obvs if you have A Thing that you love to use or use a lot it's worth the investment!

1 note · View note

k-evans-reads · 2 years

Text

On Deck

Chapter 1

Summary: Although they grew up in the same small town, Chris and Sam had both gone their separate ways a long time ago. Chris moved up to become a MLB star, one of the best in the business, while Sam stayed stuck in the same small town. But when multiple injuries ended the Red Sox prodigy’s career, he winds up back in the same small town he swore he’d never be back to. The past may not stay in the past any longer, as old wounds begin to creep back up.

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans X OFC Samantha "Sam" Merrick

Word Count: 5,059

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None

Main Masterlist | On Deck Masterlist

The little bell that hung above the door rang out through the bustling diner, getting lost in the sea of voices on the crowded Saturday morning. Despite not being known for their food, they were known for being one of the only half-decent places in town to meet up with friends over coffee and burnt eggs. While crossing the black and white vinyl checkerboard floor, Sam’s black sneakers sticking to the years of spilled drinks that left a sticky residue, she didn’t hear the bell ring but smiled widely when she saw one of her favorite regulars and brought them over to a clear booth, quickly wiping it off with one hand while juggling the stack of plates in the other.

“Hey Sam, I could use a top off on my coffee,” Harvey, the town’s favorite mailman called out, holding up his chipped cream colored cup in one hand while he kept reading the newspaper in his other.

“Be right there,” Sam smiled at him while hurrying to the kitchen, putting the dishes in the sink to be dealt with later and hurried back out to grab the coffee pot and pour Harvey another cup.

It was the first time she had a chance to stop for a moment that entire morning, using the chance to brush her unruly hair out of her face as Harvey noted, “It’s pretty busy in here today.”

“I know, we don’t normally get busy until a little bit later,” Sam noted the time on the clock, her body already exhausted and she wasn’t even halfway through her shift yet. “I guess it is a Saturday though. Speaking of, where’s Larry? You two always have breakfast together on the weekends.”

“His wife is probably nagging him to finally fix the dishwasher,” he noted with a good natured chuckle, nodding at her in thanks as she finished pouring his coffee.

“Well maybe once he’s done with theirs, he can come fix ours,” Sam joked, turning around to put the coffee pot back before wiping her hands on the nearby rag.

She turned around just in time to see Harvey tilt his head, wondering out loud, “That old thing still isn’t fixed?”

“Oh you know Ken,” Sam referenced the owner of the diner with a roll of her eyes, “That would entail him spending money.”

The two shared a short laugh before Sam heard her name being called and she hurried off to the table, making her rounds, scurrying across the floor that she swore she had worn treads in after working here for the past ten years. Part of her couldn’t believe she had been here this long, or maybe it was more like she didn’t want to believe it. At twenty-seven years old when most people were having the time of her life, she was stuck here in this same run down diner day in and day out, each one just like the one before. Although she hated being here, it was a necessary evil in her life and something she couldn’t escape and didn’t really envision herself ever being able to get away from, having put her life on hold, resulting in her being chained to this diner. But the residents of the small town were happy she was still there, the friendly jovial waitress that they all loved and had watched grow up being the biggest draw of going to the diner right in the middle of Main Street.

“Hey Larry, we were wondering when you were going to show up,” Sam called out as she whizzed by with two hot plates of breakfast to drop off at a table.

“I’m sure Harvey here was talking some shit in the meantime!” The gray haired man laughed while patting his friend on the back as he took a seat in the chair across from him.

“Oh not really,” Sam shrugged while leaning her hip against the table, “He just promised that you’d come fix the dishwasher for me.”

Larry rolled his eyes while Harvey just laughed before sipping his coffee, but told her, “Well you know I’d do anything for you Sam.”

“Oh stop, you’re just trying to get out of giving me a tip,” she teased him with a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“That could be,” he quipped right back, “I actually was late because I was over at the hardware store and heard the news.”

Sam couldn’t help but overhear the conversation as she walked the short distance to the window from the kitchen, grabbing the plates as she heard Harvey ask what news, but when she heard the answer, Sam immediately rolled her eyes.

“Chris Evans is coming back to town,” Larry stated, “Now that he’s officially retired from the Red Sox, he’s coming back, or at least that’s what I heard.”

“I remember when he was just a little guy playing out in the yard with their dog, I still can’t believe that he turned out to be such a big baseball star,” Harvey shook his head with disbelief.

But Sam could believe it.

She remembered when he was a kid too. The two of them had gone to the same school growing up which wasn’t surprising considering there only was one in the small town. Although he was a grade ahead, Sam could remember when he was a sweet kid, having been one of the most popular kids in school with his gregarious personality. She recalled going over to their house multiple times to play with his sister who was closer in age to her and how Chris had always made her laugh, but by the time they were in high school, it all had changed.

Chris had started getting good at baseball… really good. And everyone took notice. He was the biggest deal in town and he knew it, every bit going to his head and suddenly the nice kid she used to play with now pretended she didn’t exist when they had classes together. The second he graduated, he had a baseball scholarship for college and Sam thought that would be the last she would have to deal with egotistical Evans, but she had no such luck.

Chris quickly moved into the major league the following year, soon becoming the second baseman for the Red Sox and thus the biggest news the tiny Connecticut town ever had. She had to hear about him constantly and although she knew he was talented, she couldn’t help but think about that stuck up teenager and wondering just how conceited he was these days. But the constant stream of news about him didn’t end, Chris becoming one of the best players in the league and making him the star of the town that he didn’t even care about, the one that Sam couldn’t seem to ever escape. Maybe that was part of it, maybe she was resentful that he got out and made something of himself and she couldn’t, but then again she didn’t have even one ounce of the advantages he had which left Sam waiting tables and Chris one of the biggest stars in the MLB, winning a few World Series titles during his career.

As much as she tried to avoid hearing about him, the untimely career-ending injury he sustained at the end of the last season was all anyone could talk about. It seemed like every single customer who walked through the door asked Sam if she’d heard while she poured their coffee. It was enough to drive her mad. The only silver lining is with Chris being forced to retire, she thought that maybe it would mean she wouldn’t have to hear the name Chris Evans anymore. But apparently he was coming back to town.

Now that was just her luck.

And it didn’t help that his mother was walking through the door at that very moment, smiling as she sat down at the counter. But Sam did wonder how in the world such a stuck up and egotistical man could come from such a lovely woman. He must have gotten it from his dad, because Sam sure as hell knew he didn’t get it from Lisa. She was always a bright spot in Sam’s week, coming into the diner fairly often with that kind smile of hers. Lisa wasn’t just a kind customer though, she also was Sam’s little brother’s student advisor at the high school, helping guide him in a good path for his life, which Sam couldn’t have been more thankful for. Her little brother Riley was the only reason she still was here, bringing plate after plate of food out to the table each day so that she could help Riley have a better life than she had. Sam may have given up all of her dreams, but she wasn’t going to let Riley and she was determined to do everything she could to help him especially since their mother spent all her nights working at the local grocery store and the rest of her time either sleeping or drinking.

“Hi Sam,” Lisa greeted her while Sam hurried to clean up a spill.

“Hey Lisa, you can sit at the counter, I’ll clear a spot in just a second,” Sam called out over her shoulder while getting down on her knees to scrub up the spill with a towel before hurrying back to the counter where Lisa had already neatly stacked the dirty plates for her.

“Have I ever told you that I adore you?” Sam told her with a straight face when she saw all the plates stacked up, making one less job for her to do on the busy morning.

Lisa just laughed while tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ear, “If your level of adoration is someone stacking plates, I think your bar is a little too low.”

“Trust me, with how today has been, this is basically a miracle for me,” Sam was honest, wrangling her dark curly hair back up into a bun since it had started to work it’s way out.

“Samantha Merrick, you work too hard,” Lisa scolded her in a loving motherly tone before the curly haired woman hoisted the heavy stack of plates off to the kitchen before coming right back to lean against the counter, looking at Lisa from across it.

“Do you want your usual?” She wondered if she should put in the order for an omelet.

“No, I just want some coffee and a blueberry muffin,” Lisa surprised her, but then offered an answer to her change in plans, “Today Chris is coming home and I’m going to make a really big lunch so I just want something to hold me over until then.”

Sam nodded, turning around to grab a muffin out of the case while saying over her shoulder, “I kind of heard he was coming back to town. I didn’t think it was true though.”

Although Sam couldn’t stand the man, the way that Lisa’s eyes lit up when she talked about him was something she found beautiful, and almost a little jealous of. She hated that Chris, someone who had become an asshole to her and some of their friends, was deserving of this love from a parent and not Riley. The pure love in her eyes was present as she explained, “I couldn’t be happier that he’s coming back! I hate that he isn’t able to play anymore but I’m glad I’ll get to spend time with him.”

“So is he moving back here for good?” Sam was stunned that he wouldn’t view the tiny town he came from as beneath him, but knew there had to be more to the story and sure enough, there was.

Lisa shook her head while grabbing a napkin from the nearby dispenser, explaining, “He has a job as an broadcaster already but it doesn’t start until next season so I talked him into doing his physical therapy and recovery here so that I could see him. He tried to convince me to just come out to Boston to stay with him for a while there but I told him that I didn’t want to leave my job.”

It took everything inside her not to roll her eyes. Of course the asshole wanted Lisa to just drop what she was doing to go to Boston. Although Sam hadn’t seen him for almost ten years, that one little statement put the nail in the coffin to her that Chris was still as self centered as ever. Sam decided to keep her mouth shut as she heard the bell ding from the kitchen, alerting her to a new order being ready.

Sam promised Lisa that she’d be right back to get her coffee, quickly getting the hot food to take it to the waiting table but by the time she returned and slid an empty mug in front of Lisa, she was just slipping her phone into her pocket and digging out some cash, telling Sam, “I’ll take a raincheck on that coffee. Chris just called and he’s on his way, so I want to go get everything ready.”

He clenched his jaw as he passed through an intersection, muscles tensing as a flare of pain shot through his legs. It was something he’d never get used to and never thought he’d still be dealing with, the constant pain and now five surgeries to try to correct the issues. Chris had torn his achilles during a base run nearly two years ago, which was such a fluke injury for him. But the fix, which should have been a simple procedure, wasn’t enough. He had two more surgeries after that, both of which didn’t do much besides cause more pain and frustration, before he tried to return to play the previous summer. All was well for a few weeks until early fall, when he tore his ACL by favoring his opposite leg to take some pressure off of his ankle. By then, Chris was done. He'd had to get two surgeries on it, feeling like his luck had finally run out. He was unable to walk without significant pain in both legs, had regressed in his skill set, and didn’t see a future beyond crutches for himself, and definitely couldn’t return to play in any fashion with how his body was responding.

So, at the young age of twenty-nine, he quietly announced his retirement through his agent before deleting his social media accounts and, begrudgingly, moving back home to get away from the pressures, eyes, and the floundering feeling he’d begun to have in Boston. But the only problem was that the small hometown of his didn’t even have a physical therapy center, nevertheless one that was up to the caliber he was used to thanks to his years in the major leagues. So, three times a week, he would be driving forty-five minutes each way to a rehabilitation hospital in the next town over to relearn basic tasks and physical tests with what was left of his Achilles tendon and ACL.

He paused at the stop sign, watching as a beat-up truck went through the intersection before Chris turned his Audi onto his mother’s street, pulling into the small driveway and shutting off the car with a sigh, staring down at the various scars covering his kneecap with disgust, each one of them holding a different disappointment for him. Part of him still couldn’t believe that he was back here. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be back in the tiny town that he came from but now that there wasn’t a need for him to be in Boston, his extremely persuasive mother had somehow convinced him to do all his rehab back here.

Chris sighed as he climbed out of the car, hobbling up to the door as he walked inside, calling out, “Hey Ma, it’s me.”

“Honey! I’m so glad you’re home!”

But this hadn’t been Chris’ home, not for over ten years and although he adored his mother and was glad to be with her, he didn’t consider this ever being home for him again. It was just the place he grew up.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, watching as his mother’s smiling face quickly fell to match his own frown. “You don’t look very happy to be here.”

“It’s just my leg, physical therapy was murder,” Chris shook his head, pulling one of the chairs out from the table, sitting down ungracefully. “I swear this fuckin’ knee is never going to stop hurting.”

“Is it still not feeling any better?”

“No, it still hurts like a bitch.”

Lisa tutted, heading over to the french door refrigerator and pulling out the freezer drawer, reaching for a large ice pack. She grabbed a kitchen towel on her way to Chris, shaking her head a little as she tried to reassure him. “Well you’re still in the early stages of recovery and just got your brace off, so I’m sure it’ll get better.”

“I’m not counting on it,” he replied quickly, brows rising a little as he reached for the towel-wrapped ice pack in her hand, placing it quickly on his knee, which was resting on a chair next to him, and sat back in the seat, taking a deep breath.

Lisa’s brows raised in response, giving him a long, quiet look, before she murmured, “Wow, someone sure is in a lovely mood on their first day here.”

“I’m sorry Ma, I’m just… frustrated,” he ran a hand through the damp hair on top of his head and sighed. His body ached almost down to the bone, he had his career yanked out from under him because his body couldn’t fucking work right, and now he was back where he started, with nothing to fill his time or stop the constant negativity in his brain until the following year.

His mother sat down gently in the chair across from him, reaching a hand out to touch his own lightly as she met his eyes, a resolute look in her own. “I know it’s hard, honey. But maybe you’ll be able to recover and go back to playing one day.”

He felt a sad grin make its way onto his face, knowing that was beyond the realm of possibilities for him. With every step, every motion, he was at risk of re-rupturing achilles or re-tearing his ACL, and it didn’t make sense to put himself in the accelerated risk position by coming out of retirement at any point. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up but that’s not going to happen. Not with how fucked up everything is now.”

“Well you never know,” she sighed, pushing herself back up as the oven beeped. “But for the time being, I’m sure glad you’re here.”

A small grin crossed his face, the first genuine one he’d worn all day. “You know I’m always happy to see you too, Ma.”

Lisa came over to press a kiss to his cheek before she dished up the grandiose lunch she made in honor of her eldest son’s arrival. As much as Chris wished he wasn’t in this situation, he always liked having his mother around and there was something about being with her in his childhood home that did feel a little comforting. With the way Chris’ schedule had been for nearly a decade, he rarely ever came home. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here. Although it was only a couple hours away from Boston, it seemed so much easier to have her come up and visit him or fly her out to his games rather than coming back to the tiny town full of a whole lot of nothing. His parents had gotten divorced when he left for college, his dad moving to rural Massachusetts, but siblings then all followed suit in moving away, one in New York, another out in California and his youngest sibling married and living in Maine, so his mother was the only tie he still had here.

He liked being able to just sit with her and have a nice home cooked lunch, forgetting about all his problems and the cloud of depression that hung over him until his mother brought up a question that had been haunting him for a while now and asked, “So what do you think you’re going to do while you’re recovering? You have a while between now and when you start broadcasting next season.”

“I really don’t know,” he confessed, scared to admit how terrifying he found that concept, of being truly lost for the first time in his life.

She hesitated, taking a suspiciously-long sip of water before she placed her glass back on the table, quietly saying with a shrug, “Well, you know that the school still needs a baseball coach.”

He sighed and refrained from rolling his eyes, frustrated as the topic was once again brought up. “Ma, we’ve been over this a thousand times! If I said no the ten other times you asked, what makes you think I’ll say yes this time?”

“C’mon honey, we’re really in a bind. The teacher who always used to coach is retired now-”

He nodded, finally rolling his eyes. “I know and no other teacher knows how to play, no parent can do it and wouldn’t the kids all love to have a professional baseball player as their coach. Remember Ma, you’ve made this pitch before.”

“It’s not like you’ll have anything else to do. I think it’d be good for you too so that you could fill your time instead of moping around that fancy apartment you’re moving into,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow at her second-eldest.

“It’s not fancy,” he muttered. “But no Ma, I don’t want to coach a bunch of teenagers.”

Her face fell, shaking her head as she practically begged him, “Please Chris, do it for me. I have so many boys who really need that athletic outlet.”

Chris watched her carefully, feeling himself give in, if only to hear her stop asking him daily. Sighing, he nodded and quietly said, “Okay fine, but I’m only doing it for you.”

As they ate the rest of their lunch, he almost told her multiple times how he was feeling, how much he was struggling with this new reality. He went from winning three World Series championships and living out his dream to fighting his body to perform basic necessary tasks and being jobless, back in his shitty hometown, scared of his own thoughts. It felt like his whole world, his whole identity, was stripped away from him and there wasn’t one thing he could do about it. But laying out all his feelings felt a little too daunting, at least right now. He couldn’t even seem to process his own feelings, let alone verbalize them to someone else. So he kept quiet and for just a split second, he thought that maybe his mom was right. Maybe coaching would help take his mind off of everything for a while… or maybe it would just rub salt into the wound that he’d never get to live his dream again. He figured he’d find out.

4 days later

The bell above the door to the diner rang loudly as a teenager flew through it, backpack in hand as he rushed inside, head spinning on an axis. “Sam! Saaaaaaaammmmmm!” He called loudly, the few customers inside chuckling quietly at him. “Sam! Where are you?”

Sam came around the corner from the kitchen, shaking her head as she looked at her brother. “Shh Riley, calm down. Ken is here,” she whispered, nodding her head towards the closed door of Ken’s office.

Riley met her at the counter while she cleaned something off, waving his hand as he listened to her. “Oh sorry, but I need to talk to you.”

“Hey, where were you? You’re almost an hour late and I’ve been so worried about you!”

He nodded, widening his eyes excitedly. “That’s what I need to tell you!”

Sam rolled her eyes, more than used to this type of behavior from her baby brother. “Okay, I need to go clean off a few tables and cash out that last table first. Go sit in the corner booth and I’ll be over soon,” she said, jerking her chin towards the empty booth and watching as Riley’s shoulders fell.

“Ugh fine,” he groaned, picking his backpack up from where he’d dropped it on a barstool.

Sam saw her little brother go over and plop into the booth, tossing his backpack next to him while she met the couple at the counter to cash them out before hurrying around to clean up the last few tables. She thought that Riley better have a good excuse for why he was so late without telling her, but she found out that he did once she finally finished all her work and had a lull in the late afternoon crowd, allowing her to sit across Riley in the booth.

She plopped on the worn-leather bench, looking at him scrutinizingly. “Alright, so what made you so late that I was worried sick over you?”

“I was at a meeting after school about a baseball team!” He began to tell her excitedly, dipping some leftover fries that the cook had given him in ketchup, eyes shining as he looked at her.

Sam’s brows furrowed as she looked at him, remembering that Riley had come home disappointed a few weeks ago since the school had yet to find a coach, meaning they wouldn’t have a team this year. Baseball was one of the only hobbies they could afford, and that was just barely. He couldn’t play on travel or Little League teams, the fees too much for what little Sam and her mom made. “Are they actually going to have a team?”

“Yeah they found a coach and guess who it is?” He asked, not even giving her a chance to answer before his smile grew impossibly wider, “It’s Chris Evans!”

She felt her heart drop, knowing that her instant reaction of wishing there was no coach rather than Chris was such a horrible thing to think, especially because it affected Riley, but she felt like this because it affected Riley. Chris had become such an asshole to their once-shared friend group that she couldn’t imagine him being around kids in a positive way, especially if the rumors were true and he was still bitter about the way his retirement went down. But before she could think too long, she noticed Riley’s innocent, excited eyes on her, waiting for her reaction. “Chris Evans? That guy is seriously going to be your coach?” She asked, schooling her expression.

“Isn’t it cool? A real life Red Sox second baseman!” He smiled, before he scowled, looking at her with so much teenaged-annoyance that she almost laughed out loud. “But I also found out that you held out on me.”

Sam’s brows pinched, looking at him confusedly as she took a sip from her water bottle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well Coach Chris had us all write our names and stuff on a sign up sheet and he saw me write my name and asked if I was related to you,” he said while chewing on a fry, Sam biting back a comment about his manners. “I can’t believe you never told me that you know Chris freaking Evans!”

“Knowing him might be a bit of a stretch. I only knew him when we were kids, but by the time high school rolled around he was a big shot and pretended that I didn’t exist because he was too cool for everyone else,” she replied with an eyeroll, glancing towards the door to make sure no customers were coming inside.

“But you still knew him and you never told me!”

“Well I can’t say that I’m his biggest fan…”

Riley frowned, looking at her. “He seemed so cool though,” he replied, before excitement filled him again. “Sam, he’s a real life pro baseball player and he’s going to be our coach!”

“I’m excited for you, Riley,” Sam smiled softly, “But don’t let that bigshot push you guys around.”

“Wait, does that mean I can play? I mean… is it going to be too expensive?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll make it work.”

He smiled before he pushed himself up, grabbing his backpack as he looked at her with another smile. “Thanks Sam! I’m so excited! The guys are all hanging out at the skatepark, I’m going to go over and tell them I’m going to get to be on the team!” He said loudly, putting his plate in the dish bin on the counter before he turned to run out.

“Hey come back by seven so we can go home!” Sam called back, shaking her head fondly as she watched him.

“Okay, love you Sam!”

Sam sat herself up with a sigh, cleaning up the corner booth before Ken could notice Riley and Sam had been sitting there while she was technically working. The rest of the early evening passed quickly until Riley came back, red in the face from running around the skatepark with his friends and rushing back, and they headed home. Sam fell into bed a few hours later, listening to a muffled argument from the people above them while the smell of weed wafted through the drafty old door from the people across the hall. She pulled the blankets tighter against her to fight the cold that seemed to seep in every crack of the tired old apartment as she laid in bed. Sam couldn’t help but feel completely defeated, hating that every single day ended the same, her body completely exhausted, feet aching and shoulders flushed with pain as she fell into her rickety bed just so she could wake up and do the same thing tomorrow.

Across town, Chris took a deep breath as he laid down, slowly moving his still-aching legs into a comfortable position as he glanced around the empty, dark, expensive apartment. It was still his first week here but he’d never hated any place more, but knew he wouldn’t be happy anywhere at this point and he didn’t envision that changing anytime soon.

A/N: SHE'S HERE! Sam's story was first started almost a year and a half ago by @k-evans-writes and it's been so much fun to get to write it finally! We can't wait to share more of her with you on Sundays! As always- send anything you want us to hear to @k-evans-writes or @k-evans-reads. And those headers were made by @k-evans-writes, isn't she talented?! -🌯

Also you guys, something different about this story is that we aren’t writing ahead! Normally we have at least a few chapters written ahead of what we post but this time we wanted to write in real time so that things you guys want to read or suggest we can add in! - ✨

#chris evans writing #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x oc #chris evans story #chris evans x original female character #chris evans au #cevans #mlb!au #on deck

323 notes · View notes

nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

Text

Miss American Pie

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

Warning: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader relationship.

Summary: After freeing the widows from chemical subjugation and destroying the red room, you and Yelena finally settle down.

Part 1 & Part 2

The widows welcome you, the ones you trained with and the ones you didn’t. After Dreykov was gone and you had nothing but time. Melina and Alexei go to work on replicating the antidote. Creating enough to free all chemically subjugated agents.

It’ll take time. But the more you free the more are willing to help. Some of the widows just leave once they are given freedom. Ready to wash their hands of all of this and start living. You understand that more than anything. Eventually the operation is running on such a large scale they hardly need you at all.

Natasha hasn’t reached out since you separated after the red room. Probably off with the Avengers trying to save the world again. No one blames her, for her inability to be still. Not even Yelena.

“So,” you plop down on the couch beside Yelena. “What’s the plan now?”

“I don’t know.” She admits, staring up at the ceiling. “To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to make it this far.”

“Yeah.” You tug at a loose strand of her dirty blonde hair. “That makes two of us.”

“We could pretend to be normal.” Yelena offers. “What would a normal person do?”

“Don’t know,” you shrug. “I’ve never been one.”

“Maybe...settle down.” Yelena’s eyes are far away.

“Would you have wanted to-“ You break off, trying to sort out the words. “I mean if you could…would you have a baby?”

She raises her brows, “I never thought about it.” A long pause. “I wouldn’t know how to be a mother.”

Neither would you. You’ll never be right. Whatever that is, was, or might have been. Always a little too guarded and rough around the edges. “You never waste time thinking about things you can’t have.” You sink farther into the cushions, her pinky skates over your own. Taking the invitation you twine your fingers together.

“I thought about you.” She lowers her eyes to the coffee table. “Everyday. Until I couldn’t anymore.”

“I-“

“The red room took that from me too.”

You shake your head at her. “They can never take anything from you or anyone else ever again,” you whisper. “And to be clear you can have me.”

A laugh rumbles out of her chest at the news. “I can?”

“I mean if you still want me.” You tease, “I know that the chase is half the fun for you. So I can keep on running. I’m one foot out the door-“

“I am tired of running.” Yelena murmurs, curling up against your side.

“Me too.” Your chin rests atop her head.

“Then stop doing it!” She scolds, slapping your arm playfully in retaliation.

“I will if you will.” You know why she runs. The same reason you do. Because you’re afraid. That maybe some parts of you are too broken to love.

She mulls it over for a moment. “Truce. I don’t run. You don’t run.”

“Deal.” You give her fingers a squeeze.

“Except into the face of danger.” She clarifies, only half kidding. “Then we run, straight ahead.” Yelena motions with her free hand. “But together.”

“Together.” You agree, with a soft smile.

“We could get a dog.” The tone of her voice tells you that she is invested in the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind a dog.” You prop your feet up on the coffee table.

Yelena hates anything but a straight answer. Still feeling the need to convince you, she presents the facts. “Dogs are really cool! They have special powers.”

You chuckle, “dogs do not have powers.”

“Yes!” Yelena argues, “they can predict natural disasters and judge character.”

“That’s a special power?” You quip, “I can do that too.”

She grumbles under her breath.

“I want one.” You sigh. Feeling all the tension leave her body.

“I knew you did.” She smiles, contently.

———————————————————————

Dogs might have powers, but the only thing your puppy currently seems to posses is the ability to chew up anything in her path.

“Yelena have you seen my-“ you pause, taking in the scene before you, “shoes.”

“Don’t be angry,” Yelena holds up a hand.

The tiny puppy beside her squeaks, not quite a bark yet. Your demolished sneaker tumbling to the ground.

“What happened?” You run both hands over your face.

She sweeps the dog into her arms. “I told Fanny we could go for a walk once you got out of the shower. She was excited, Y/N! She was trying to bring your shoes to you. But she got distracted, only a little.”

“A little?” You can’t help but smile.

“Look at this face,” Yelena waves Fanny’s paw at you. “You can’t be mad at this face. Tell her girl. Say, you can’t be mad at me Mom, I’m trying my best.” She brings the dog closer.

You raise a hand to pet Fanny lightly. Yelena’s right of course, there is no being mad at that face. “Let me find a pair of shoes that isn’t mangled. Then we’ll go for a walk.”

“I’ll wait with Fanny.”

“Of course you will.” You retreat to your bedroom. Rummaging through the closet in search of some sort of footwear. You’d settle for slippers at this point. Fanny joins you after a moment. Nuzzling at your ankle as she whines.

It’s not everyday that she follows you, she is Yelena’s dog and never lets you forget it. “You’re really excited aren’t you?” More whining. You scoop Fanny up. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

You huff, finally locating a pair of sandals. Slipping them on quickly so you can return to Yelena and gloat about being Fanny’s favorite. “Hey baby, I don’t know what you did, but look.” You smile, gazing up as you present the dog…to an empty room. That’s odd. Maybe she’s waiting outside.

You grab the leash Yelena abandoned on the countertop, securing it to Fanny’s collar. “Come on girl. Let’s go find Mama. Where’s Mama?”

Fanny follows you out the door, onto the walkway.

“Yelena?”

Nothing.

You scan the area, no sign of her. “Ok…” Back into the house, you check the bathroom next.

“Yelena!” You shout, knowing you’ll feel stupid once she replies. But she doesn’t.

A buzzing from the cell phone in your back pocket draws your attention. You set Fanny down gently, accepting the call and moving the device up to your ear. “Alexei?”

“Y/N! Oh thank god!” His voice booms through the speaker.

“Are you ok?” You ask immediately. Leaning down to grab the television remote, turning to channel thirteen, still broadcasting it’s usual gameshow.

“I am alone.” He cries through the speaker. “Melina left me with her pigs.”

“What do you mean she left you?” Something is very wrong.

“She disappeared.” He says somberly, “didn’t even say goodbye. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.” The dramatic monologue continues. “I give her back rub every night and then-“

“No,” you cut him off. “Absolutely not.” Under no circumstance is he going to tell you what happens next.

“I have made mistakes, but this! This is cruel.” Alexei, clearly distraught begins cursing in Russian.

“Alexei, I know you’re upset but I need you to listen.”

“What?” He asks. “What is it?”

“Yelena is gone too.” You inform him. Your eyes flicker over the words at the bottom of your tv screen. “People disappeared all over the world.”

You fall back onto the couch, feeling all the air leave your lungs.

More hysteria on the other end of the line. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m gonna find Natasha. Maybe she knows something.” Assuming that Natasha is still here.

“What about me?”

“Come to Ohio. You can dog sit.” You offer, familiar numbness seeps into your limbs.

“I have nine pigs!” Alexei shouts back.

“We have a backyard, don’t worry.” You hang up before he has a chance to argue.

You return to the call screen. Scrolling to find a different contact. Pressing the dial button beside her name.

It rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello.”

“Natasha,” you let out the breath you’ve been holding. “What the hell happened?”

——————————————————————

The Avengers fortress isn’t exactly how you imagined. Not very homey.

You park your car in the lot. Removing your keys from the ignition and stowing them in your back pocket. The clear rectangular keychain with a picture of you and Yelena inside sticks out. Clinking when you round the vehicle to retrieve Fanny from the passenger seat. “Come on, Fanny.”

She wags her tail, waiting expectantly to be carried.

“You’re spoiled, you know.” You sigh, taking the puppy into your arms and closing the door behind you.

The front gate is open but Natasha takes a moment to locate. She cut her hair up to her shoulders, dyed it blonde. “Hello stranger.”

“You got a dog.” She says, in greeting.

“Yeah.” You reply, not in the mood for small talk. “It was Yelena’s idea.”

“I knew she’d sucker you into that.”

“It’s not like she could make me do anything I didn’t want to.” Your finger slides along the edge of the metal table Natasha’s seated behind.

She barks a laugh, “that’s a lie.”

Maybe so. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Still cool. I like the hair too,” you motion toward her blonde locks.

“That’s not really mine either, is it?” She remarks.

“Is anything ever really ours?”

“No.” She frowns. “I guess not.”

“What happened?” You ask again.

“It’s a long story,” Nat crosses both arms over her chest. “You might want to take a seat.”

You clear your throat, pulling out the chair beside her. Fanny curls up in your lap, curious eyes darting about every now and then. You tell yourself it’s because she’s in a new place, but part of you knows, she’s looking for Yelena.

Natasha stares down at her hands. “Have you ever heard of infinity stones?”

You shake your head. “Must be an avenger thing.”

“There were six of them, scattered all over the galaxy. If a person has all six they can use them in anyway they choose. Thanos, used them to eliminate half of all living creatures.”

“Are you the only one left?” You lean in.

“No.” She sniffs, blinking away tears. “There’s others.”

“So where are they?” The place looks abandoned. “Why aren’t you charging into battle?”

“Because we lost. Probably the worst we’ve ever lost.” Natasha clenches her jaw. “By the time we found Thanos again he already destroyed the stones.”

“We’ll try again.” You decide immediately. This isn’t over.

“Will we?” Natasha shakes her head with a smirk.

“If she was gone for good I would know it.” You tell her truthfully. “I would feel it, in my heart and I don’t.”

“You didn’t see it happen. I saw him snap his fingers and-“

You lay your hand over hers, squeezing tight.

“Did you see her go?” She asks, voice just above a whisper. “Yelena. Did you see her?”

“No.” You confess, “I didn’t see.”

Natasha closes her eyes. “That’s why you still have hope.”

“Look maybe you’re right.” You shrug, “even so, now seems like a really stupid time to give up.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “What’s the dog’s name?”

“Fanny.” You inform her.

“Come on.” She rolls her blue eyes. “You’re kidding right? Tell me you didn’t actually name a dog after one of those stupid aliases Rick made me.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“I guess a dog’s better than a pig.” Natasha reasons. “Are they still here?”

“Not Melina.” You break the news quickly. Like tearing off a bandage. “But Alexei and all nine of her pigs are on their way to our house in Ohio.”

“Sounds crowded.”

“Always room for one more.”

——————————————————————

You stay like that for a long time. Hopeful. Sure that this was all some nightmare that you could wake up from; fight your way out of.

And then five years passed.

Now you come to see Natasha twice a month, just to check in. Alexei and his pigs have taken up permanent residency in the home you bought with Yelena. As for you, you bounce around. Never staying in one place too long.

“Any news?” You wonder, leaning against the doorframe of Natasha’s meeting room.

“No.” She bites out. Kicking her foot up on the desk. “You should move on.”

“Is that what you call this?” You flick your wrist in her direction. “Crying into a peanut butter sandwich.”

“It’s therapeutic.” She waves the bread at you. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You should try it sometime.”

“Nah.” You take a seat, reaching across to make a sandwich of your own. “It’s not the sandwich’s fault.”

“Am I interrupting the pity party?” Steve says, announcing his presence. Captain America is as self righteous as ever.

“Didn’t you grieve for a century over a girl you kissed one time?” You arch a brow at him, licking wayward peanut butter from the pad of your thumb. “Five years is just a drop in the bucket.”

Steve purses his lips, you have a point. “It wasn’t a century.”

“Close enough.” You mumble around a mouthful of your dinner.

“Want a bite?” Natasha offers half of her sandwich to him.

“No thanks.” He takes a step closer. “I’d offer to make you a real dinner, but already look pretty miserable. Where’s your dog?”

“Visiting her granddad.” Everyone and their mother loves that damn dog.

“Oh yeah, my great adversary.” How could he ever forget. “Is he still wearing that stupid suit?”

“I’m pretty sure the suits are stowed away. But it’s been a while since I’ve been there.” Your mind wanders to the vest. The one Natasha returned to you after Yelena was gone. The one you retired because it doesn’t smell like her anymore. Nothing does.

Most things remain untouched in the Ohio house. Your pictures. Your memories. Your plans. You can’t get rid of them. Can’t stomach being around them either.

Someone, a man, alerts the security cameras, pounding on the front door. “Hello? Is anyone home? Hello! Can you hear me?”

“How old is this video?” Steve asks, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s the front gate.” Natasha breathes, enlarging the image.

“Do we know him?” You squint at the man in question.

“It’s me, Scott Lang, Antman. I met you guys at the airport in Germany a few years ago. I had a mask on, you probably wouldn’t recognize me.” He rambles on.

Natasha presses the access panel, opening the gate.

You straighten yourselves out, before he makes it down the long hallway into the common room.

Scott paces, a lot. Nervously rubbing his hands together.

“Scott.” Steve finally cut in. “Are you ok?”

“Have any of you ever studied quantum physics?”

“Only to make conversation.” Nat says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ok. Alright so, five years ago. Right before Thanos. I was in the quantum realm. The quantum realm is like it’s own little microscopic universe. To get in there you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she’s my uh-“ he trails off. “She was my…she was- she was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened and I got stuck in there.”

“I’m sorry that must have been a long five years.” Natasha apologies.

“That’s the thing, for me it wasn’t.” Scott replies. “It was five hours.”

“What a trip.” You snort, absently toying with your belt loop.

“The rules of time are different there. See everything is unpredictable.” He explains, getting distracted by the food in your hand. “Are you gonna finish that?”

“I guess not.” You hold it out to him.

He accepts, gratefully stuffing the bread into his mouth.

“Scott! What are you talking about?” Steve demands.

“So what I’m saying is time works differently in the quantum realm. The only problem is we don’t have a way to navigate it. But if we did, if we could somehow control the chaos; to enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time and exit at another point in time…like,” Scott locks eyes with you then. “Like before Thanos.”

You nod.

“Are you talking about a time machine?” Steve sighs, running a hand over his tense forehead.

“No. No of course not. Not like a time machine but like a…yeah.” There’s no other word for it. “Like a time machine. I know it’s crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about it! There gotta be some way.”

“Scott,” Natasha calls his attention. “I get emails from a raccoon. So nothing sounds crazy to me anymore.”

“So who do we talk to about this?” His eyes flicker between the three of you.

“Don’t look at me.” You hold both hands up. “That’s way above my pay grade.”

Part 4

Series Taglist: @3and30aresoultwins

#yelena belova x reader #marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #black widow #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #yelena belova imagine

248 notes · View notes

eternalsimp · 3 years

Text

Cursed Fears (pt 3)

Genre: Hurt/comfort, smut

Word Count: 5117

Warnings: NSFW 18+, aged up Megumi, swearing, use of female pronouns and anatomy, very jealous Megumi, rough sex, praise kink, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, some degradation, spanking if you squint, oral sex (m. receiving), marking. Minors DNI.

Author Note: This is the final (?) part of a JJK mini-series I did but it can be read as a stand-alone. Parts 1 & 2 are up on my blog (IDK how to make links)

You were pulled from sleep with the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table next to you. You crack your eyes open to take in your surroundings for a minute and try to ignore the insistent buzzing of your phone. Mid Morning sunlight is streaming through the open window, casting a blanket of warmth in the otherwise cold room. Megumi's divine dog has moved off the bed and is laying under the window where it can’t be disturbed by the light. Megumi has his face buried in your neck, arms still wrapped tightly around your torso, and you can feel his warm breath fan out against your skin.

Your phone starts to ring again and you carefully move to grab it, trying not to disturb your sleeping boyfriend. You turn it to see Nobara’s name and picture displayed across your screen and debate sending her to voicemail. You decide against it, knowing she would just call you again.

“Hello?” You stifle a yawn and hear Megumi grumble incoherently behind you.

“Y/n! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning! Are you avoiding us?” You pull the phone away from your ear to try and escape her scolding. You turn your attention to the clock on the bedside table showing that it was a little after 10 am.

“I was sleeping, I’m not avoiding you, psycho. And who is us?”

“Oh yeah, Itadori and I are hanging out. We are actually pretty close to where you and Fushiguro live which is why I was calling. Wait, didn’t you have class this morning?”

“I’m kinda playing hooky, Megumi, and I didn’t go to bed until pretty late and I wanted to sleep in.” Out of annoyance, Megumi grabs your phone out of your hand and rolls onto his back before pressing it to his own ear.

“What do you want Kugisaki?” His voice is still heavy with sleep, and you would normally swoon from how deep it was, but you were too distracted by him interrupting your conversation. You roll over to lay your head on his chest and nudge the phone away from his face to click the ‘speaker’ button so you can hear what Nobara is saying.

“... and you’ve been hogging all of my best friends' time lately so what I’m thinking is you and Itadori can hang out so her and I can have a girls day.” You can hear Yuji in the background correcting that you were both of their friends and he wants to hang out too.

“Well seeing as how we are both still in bed, it’s probably gonna be a while,” Megumi says flatly, probably hoping she’ll drop it and be content with just Yuji’s company.

“Ooohh, am I interrupting something fun?” You can hear her words dripping in sarcasm, wanting to fluster you and Megumi. Your boyfriend however decides he has other plans.

He cocks an eyebrow down at you, “yeah actually you are,” and pinches your thigh to elicit a sharp gasp from you. You bolt into a sitting position and feel your face heat up with embarrassment. Nobara is sputtering on the other side of the line and you swat his hand away from you as he sits up too and tries to pull you back against him.

“Megumi Fushiguro! Give me that!” You snatch your phone back and shove him off the bed, his body landing with a hard thud on the floor. “Sorry, he woke up in a bratty mood apparently.”

“Fushiguro? Being playful? I never thought I’d see the day!” Nobara snickered over the phone. You leaned over the side of the bed to see Megumi pouting at you and you stick your tongue out at him childishly.

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Anyways, give me like an hour and we can all meet up for lunch or something.”

“Yay! Let me know when you leave and we can find somewhere to meet in the middle!”

You hang up the phone and Megumi lunges off the floor and tackles you onto the bed. He rolls the two of you so he is laying on top of you and you are effectively pinned under his body weight. He lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around your waist as you struggle to push him off of you. “I just wanna spend like ten more minutes in bed with my beautiful girlfriend.” He turns his face up to give you a pleading look and you sigh in defeat.

He grins triumphantly and rests his head back on your chest. You run your fingers through his dark hair to smooth it out as much as you can where it had been ruffled from sleep. After you feel satisfied with the strands you can reach you start tracing over the contours of his face, appreciating how angelic the light from the window makes him look.

Feeling your movements still, he cracks an eye open to see you staring at him. He narrows his eyes accusingly at you, “why are you staring? Weirdo.”

“Cause you’re pretty,” you hum contently and kiss his forehead. He buries his face into your shoulder and groans.

“You make me sound like such a girl.”

“Boys can be pretty,” you pull his face between your hands and kiss his face. “You’ve got pretty eyes, and pretty lashes, and a pretty mouth, even if there's a lot of sass coming out of it.” He rolls his eyes, moves to lay higher up on your body, and stuffs his face into the pillow next to your head. You laugh at the way the tips of his ears turn pink with embarrassment and decide to let up on your teasing.

After a lot of pouting and complaining from your boyfriend, you finally pull him out of bed and convince him to get dressed to go to lunch. You tuck a loose burgundy sweater into a pair of black high-waisted leggings, smirking at the way you catch Megumi staring at how the pants hug your curves. He layers a dark blue windbreaker over a grey hoodie and a pair of jeans. Both of you opted for sneakers since you figured you’d probably be walking around a lot.

He pulls you into a hug and makes his last attempt at talking you into staying home and watching a movie instead. You notice he gags slightly at the smell of your perfume before quickly trying to cover it with a cough. You make a mental note to buy a new one while out with Nobara before denying his request to ditch your friends. He rolls his eyes, gives you a firm peck on the lips, and leads you out the door of your home.

The ramen house Nobara and Yuji decided they wanted to try is in a large shopping district walking distance from your apartment, so you and Megumi decided to enjoy the nice weather after the storm. You barely register the sound of Yuji's voice before you are being spun around by your overexcited friend. “Be careful before you break her!” You can't help but laugh at how Nobara scolds him before he plants you firmly back on the ground but still holds you in a bruising hug.

“Yuji, I just talked to you last night!”

“Okay, but I still haven’t seen you in what feels like forever cause you’re always at school.” Yuji pushes his lip out in a pout before finally releasing you so you can hug Nobara too.

“Well, I’m sorry I have to go to stupid, normal person university cause I’m not cool enough to be a cursed energy user.” You reach out and pinch Yuji's arm causing him to flinch back away from you and pout harder.

“Trust me, I’d kill to be at a normal school.” Nobara pipes in and lightly pushes your arm jokingly. You laugh her off and turn to notice Megumi is tense and lost in thought. You tug at his sleeve to regain his attention and motion to continue your walk. He laces your fingers together and pulls you closer to him.

On your way to the ramen house, you and Nobara stop in a few shops to look around and you pick up a few things here and there. The boys mostly stayed outside in the sun and talked amongst themselves. After ducking inside one of the stores you quietly warn Nobara not to tease the boys too much today. “Nightmares again?”

“Yeah, it’s the first one in a few months but it was a bad one, just keep that between us though.”

“Of course, it’s good that he’s getting better.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to help as much as I can, but I don’t know if it's actually effective. I know they’ll never fully go away but it just hurts to see him in pain like that, you know?” Nobara nods and links your arms together as you move through the little shop.

“It’ll keep getting better, don’t let the bad nights get you down.” You smile at your friend before paying for your items and heading back outside.

When you and Nobara rejoin the boys outside, you find them complaining about being hungry and decide to actually go get your lunch. You’re all seated at a booth, you and Nobara are sitting next to each other and since Yuji insisted that he wanted to sit next to the window, he is across from you, leaving Megumi to sit across from Nobara. You smile at him apologetically but he shrugs it off and texts you from under the table to say that it doesn’t bother him.

It felt good to laugh and catch up with your friends until an old classmate of theirs showed up halfway through your meal. Megumi's eyes widen at the figure that slides into the booth next to Nobara. “Zenin? What are you doing here?” You eye her suspiciously but say nothing and continue eating your food.

“I told you, call me Mai. You make me sound the same as Maki,” she pouted at your boyfriend. You roll your eyes and Nobara huffs next to you. Mai turns to glare and notices Yuji trying to engage you in a conversation again. “Well, this is cute. Did the half-cursed monster and the normie finally get together?” You whip your head to her to ask what she's talking about, but she's speaking again before you can open your mouth.

“I mean it would make sense, you did like her first. Why did you never say anything?”

The table goes deadly quiet. Megumi is staring at Mai in horror, Yuji is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Mai smirks at the tension she created and you can’t help but look back and forth between the two boys.

“Did you feel bad and let poor little Fushiguro have her?” She shifts her attention back to the man in front of her and continues. “Must be scary knowing he could probably take her back with a snap of his fingers, not that she’d last very long. I’d give it a week until Sukuna kills her.” Megumi lowers his eyes to the table but stays silent.

“Food for thought kids, I gotta go.” She winks at you and Nobara before making her exit. You try to reach for Megumi's hand across the table but he pulls away from you quickly.

“Megumi, she’s wrong,” you tell him gently.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He’s shaking his head and trying to brush you off. “I’m okay, it’s nothing.”

The air around the table is awkward for the rest of lunch, but you try to continue your small talk. Things take a turn for the worse when the waitress brings two separate checks. One for Nobara and Megumi, one for you and Yuji. Nobara flags her down to tell her that a mistake has been made with the check and can you split it differently. She apologizes and says she mistook your group for two couples. You all pay for your food, Megumi quickly snatching your individual check and paying for your lunch, before you start sliding out of the table.

When you get to the edge of the booth, Megumi is yanking you to your feet by your elbow. “I don’t feel good, I wanna go home.” He says shortly before turning to walk out of the restaurant. Yuji is avoiding eye contact and hanging his head in either shame or embarrassment. You can’t quite tell. You mumble a quick apology to Yuji and Nobara before following your boyfriend outside. He grabs your wrist tightly to lead you back to your apartment.

You’d seen him get mildly jealous, but never quite this bad. The walk was fast-paced, you were having a hard time keeping up with his tall frame. You were certain that the grip he had on your wrist was going to leave bruises. You tried to catch his attention a few times and pull your hand out of his. “‘Gumi please, you're hurting me.”

That sentence finally catches his attention, but only a little. He lets go of your arm and mutters a quiet “sorry” before shoving his hands into his pockets. The rest of your walk is doused in an uncomfortable silence before you finally get back to your apartment. Megumi pulls the keys to your front door out of his pocket before stepping aside to let you in first, you can almost feel his anger rolling off of him in waves. You slip off your shoes and place your purse and shopping bag on a countertop before you are roughly grabbed and pinned against the door.

Megumi squeezes your jaw firmly, his mouth crashing against yours brutally. You tug at his wrist with one hand, he loosens his grip, but never removes his hand from your face. His other hand is fixed on your waist as he continues using his body weight to keep you pressed against the door. Your brain feels fuzzy from his sudden attack and you struggle to get your head to catch up with your body. Out of pure instinct you tilt your face up towards his to deepen the kiss and just as you think you’ve gained some ground he’s pulling away.

A weak sound of protest comes from your throat and you open your eyes to see his own morphed into a dark midnight blue. You feel him tighten his grip on your face as he leans in just enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. Your focus is pulled away by his other hand slowly snaking its way from your waist into the waistband of your leggings. You feel your breath catch at the feeling of his fingertips making their way further down to your core. You hear him chuckle darkly.

“Look at you, I hadn’t even touched you and you’re already soaking. Could Yuji make you this wet from just kissing you?” You could barely hold yourself up, let alone form a word, all you could do was shake your head. Normally he would find that endearing, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood for silence tonight. He nipped your bottom lip almost painfully. “I need words pretty girl.”

“No, just you.” You were tugging at the front of his shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself.

He smirks dangerously and bit down on your bottom lip again, earning a sharp gasp from you. “I didn’t think so.”

You try to close the gap between your lips but he pulls back and shoves your face to the side so he has access to your throat. He latches on to the weak spot behind your ear and sucks like his life depends on it. He proceeds to cover your neck with dark bruising marks before pushing your sweater down your shoulder so he can continue to mark his territory.

“‘Gumi,” you try to reach him but he’s in his own headspace. You barely have time to brace yourself as he suddenly breaks himself away from you body and yanks you up over his shoulder. You land roughly, clinging to the back of his shirt to keep from falling, and it feels like the air has been knocked from your lungs.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath before he’s striding into your bedroom and throwing you down onto the bed. Your body bounces at the impact and he’s climbing over you before your body can settle. He grabs your hands and pins them above your head and stares you straight in the eyes.

All that can be heard in the apartment was the whipping wind outside the window and the deep breaths emitting from both of your parted lips. You take advantage of the moment to fully take in his face. Your normally gentle and loving boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In his place was a man riddled with jealousy and intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The moment is broken when he drops one of his hands from your wrists to pull up at your sweater. You do your best in this position to arch your back up so he can pull it off. He momentarily lets go of your hands so he can fling your sweater onto the floor before his hands resume their post.

You close your eyes at the feeling of his lips kissing their way down your chest. He takes one of your nipples between his teeth and bites down lightly. Your body rises from the bed in an attempt to bring him closer to you. One of his hands comes down to shove your waist back down into the mattress and once he’s done assaulting one of your nipples he moves to the other. He leaves bruising marks everywhere his lips go and you feel as they make their way further down your waist. Everything feels heightened with your eyes squeezed closed.

“Megumi please,” you breathe out. He leans back up so his face is level with yours.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You feel the hand on your waist move down to your thigh. You can barely make an audible sound as he rubs his thumb roughly into the skin of your inner thigh. All you can manage is a weak whine and he scoffs at your feeble attempt at speaking. “Are you suddenly mute, use your fucking words.”

He smacks your thigh sharply trying to get you to focus on him and get out of your head. You let out a small whimper and he rubs his hand soothingly over your warm skin. “You can do it love, tell me what you want.”

How quickly he can switch between how sweet and how mean his words are has your head spinning. You blink a few times before your head clears. “I want to taste you.”

“That's my girl.” He practically purrs.

He releases the hand that was holding yours in place and moves backward to let you climb off the bed. The second you stand up he is tangling his fingers into your hair and shoving you to your knees in front of him. You don’t hesitate to reach up and quickly pull his jeans and boxers down to his knees. You run your hands up his thighs to grab his half-hard dick, giving it a few lazy strokes before taking the tip in your mouth. His hand tightens in your hair and he groans out in pleasure.

You slowly move your head and start taking him deeper into your mouth. Earning a string of small moans from him. “Fuck baby, you’re being such a good girl for me.”

The tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat causing you to gag and push at his thighs. He pulls you off of him to let you take a breath, admiring all the pretty bruises he left across your skin. It takes all his self-control to not cum right then as he works himself back into your mouth. “Just relax baby, I know you can take it.”

The sweet praise that was so familiar to your bedroom activities sends a rush of arousal through you and has you squeezing your thighs together to create the tiniest bit of friction. He continues pushing into your mouth until your nose is flush with his pelvis. Your whine of protest is muffled by him as he holds you against him, not letting you move your head back. Your eyes water at the sensation as you struggle to swallow around him.

“Awe, does my baby keep forgetting to breathe through her nose?” He pouts mockingly at you. You look up at him with tears rimming your eyes and he smirks again. “You just look so pretty like this princess.”

He moves the hand that was gripping your hair to run his thumb against your temple gently before drawing his hips back. You force yourself to relax as much as you can as he starts thrusting into your mouth. You ball your fists tightly, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the achy feeling in your jaw. You flush in embarrassment and the obscene amount of spit collecting at the corner of your lips as he keeps fucking into you like his own personal toy.

Tears are streaming down your face and he cums with a loud groan. You swallow and stick your tongue out to show him. He hummed contently and you leaned back against the bed. You lay your head back and try to catch your breath. Megumi strips the rest of his clothes off and tugs you to stand up.

“Did you think we were done, princess?” He crashes his mouth against yours again and nudges you back onto the bed. “I’m not done until my name is the only thing you can say for weeks.”

Megumi reaches down to thrust two fingers into you, causing you to cry out. His mouth latches onto your skin and starts leaving dark marks everywhere he can reach again. His hand is pumping into you at a brutal pace and you’re trying your best to bite back your moans. He looks up at your face and scoffs.

“No holding back those beautiful sounds baby.” He reaches his free hand up to squeeze the sides of your throat. “I want you to use that pretty mouth to tell me just how good I’m fucking you,” he growls. You nod frantically and he nips at your jaw. Your moans and whines grow increasingly louder and Megumi starts rutting his cock against your thigh for friction.

“Gumi, I’m close,”

“Hold it,” he growls. You look up at him in panic and he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. “I want to see if you can be good and follow a simple order. If you don’t behave, I will leave you here with nothing.”

You press your face into his shoulder and let out a small whimper. Just when you thought his challenge was hard enough, he slips a third finger into you and purposely crooks them to hit your sweet spot over and over.

“Please baby, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please just let me cum.” Tears threaten to spill again and he laughs darkly, but says nothing else as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you. He turned his face so his breath could tickle your ear.

“I think my princess just needed a reminder of who she fucking belongs to, isn’t that right?” You nodded frantically against his shoulder. “If you really wanted to get fucked like a whore this bad then you could have just asked me nicely princess.”

Both of your hands were gripping his biceps so hard you thought that you might leave bruises on him. Your climax was so close you could almost taste it, but Megumi's threat loomed in the back of your mind. Not wanting to anger him more you keep behaving and pushing back your orgasm to the point where it’s almost painful. Seeing you struggle to follow his orders underneath him ignited something feral inside your boyfriend, as if he wasn’t dancing on the edge of it already.

“Okay princess, you can cum now.” Your climax ripped through you violently, and you couldn’t help the broken cries it pulled from your mouth.

Before you could ride out your high he is flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your hips up. You scramble to push yourself up onto your hands before he is shoving your face into the blankets.

“No baby, I want you bent over nice and pretty for me. This way I can fuck you exactly how I like.” He pushes himself all the way into you with one fluid motion and sets a hard and fast pace. You are gasping out for him and reaching back to squeeze his wrist. Overstimulation is wracking through your body and you can see black dotting your vision.

You whimper as you feel your next orgasm approaching quickly, and Megumi can sense it too. “Are you gonna be a good girl and cum again?” You nodded your head, and he slapped your thigh, eliciting a cry from you. “I asked you a question, and I want you to use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m close, please let me come again baby.” He smiles and angles his hips to start hitting your sweet spot till you’re seeing stars. Your second climax is less intense than the first, but it still has you feeling completely exhausted. Your head is hazy and you can feel your legs beginning to tremble underneath you. If not for Megumi's firm grip on your hips, you’re sure they would have given out by now.

He reaches around and pulls you up so one hand is wrapped around your throat and the other is wrapped around your waist. His hips never falter their rough pace and your back is pressed to his chest. You can hear and feel him panting in your ear with every one of his movements. Your head is too hazy to focus on anything except him and you let your head loll back onto his shoulder. He turns his head to look at you and smirks. “Look at that, my poor baby got fucked out too hard. I know you have one more in you princess.”

You whine at the promise of another orgasm while he once again latches his mouth on to your neck and shoulders. He lets the fingers on your waist trail down to where you are connected and circles your clit several times. You jolt at the stimulation and weakly try to push his hand away. He smirks and decides to take his taunting a step further. “I wonder what sweet Yuji would think if he saw you like this? Fucked dumb on my cock.”

You barely process his words, but you don’t have the energy to respond. He nips at your jaw as he pushes you closer to the edge. You can tell he’s close with how his pace begins to stutter. With a particularly hard thrust and a pinch of your clit you are coming undone for the final time that night. He cums right after you and gently lays you back down on the bed.

You’re sniffling from overstimulation and pushing his hips away from yours until he pulls out of you completely. You’re finally able to find your words as you curl further into the blankets. “Please baby no more, it hurts.”

You can’t see the guilt that washes over his face as he leans forward to kiss your temple lovingly. “It’s okay pretty girl, you did so well for me.”

He leaves you in bed to move to the bathroom and you think you can vaguely hear water running. After a few minutes he comes back and scoops you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He slowly eases you into the warm water of the bathtub before he's running back out.

You lean your head against the wall and let tears continue to stream down your face. A small portion of it is from the dull throb coming from your lower body, but mostly it’s from sadness clawing at your heart. You hate pushing him on his emotions and prying at things he doesn’t want to talk about, however something seemed to really push him over the edge tonight.

He quietly comes back into the bathroom and sets the book you're currently reading on the bench next to the tub, along with a hot tea in one of your favorite mugs. He had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and was turning to leave again. You reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I know that I’ve asked you to share so much in the last 24 hours, but can we please talk about what happened tonight?”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you sink further into the water. “I just want us to be okay, and I can’t shake the feeling that you’re mad at me.” Your voice begins to falter and he curses at himself. He pulls his sweatpants off and slides into the water behind you and rubs your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you baby, Mai just hit a deep seated insecurity, and the thing with the waitress just kinda pushed me past my limit. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that, I’m sorry.”

You turn to lean your head on his shoulder and let your fingertips trace the water droplets that gathered on his chest. “Why would you listen to anything Mai says? She loves to piss you and Maki off.”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and hugs your shoulders. “Because she wasn’t wrong about Yuji. He liked you first, I always felt like a charity case. And every time you guys hang out, it nags at me at how much better of a boyfriend he would be for you.”

You roll your eyes and flick his nose. “I knew that he liked me, he isn’t exactly the king of subtlety. But you need to remember, Yuji is your best friend, he’d never hurt you like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shift to cup his face in your hands. “If I liked Yuji, I wouldn’t have dated you. You’re the one I wanted to be with, not him. I love you.”

He leans his face into your hand and lets you pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too princess.”

#fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x reader #jjk smut #megumi fic #megumi smut #megumi x y/n #anime #jujutsu kaisen smut #fanfic

355 notes · View notes

mustardyellowsunshine · 3 years

Text

When the End Comes

Chapter 1: Cold is the Night

Kagome Higurashi was in deep shit.

“You didn’t really think you could get away, did you?” his voice slithered through the phone. His tone was almost chiding, laced with mock concern as though for a misbehaving child. She could almost see his raised eyebrows, the sneer curling his lips.

Kagome’s entire body went rigid. Despite herself, her pulse quickened, heart pounding a painful stuttering rhythm in her chest. She inhaled a hissing breath through clenched teeth. “Funny,” she spat into the receiver, “I think I already have.”

She was moving even as she spoke, leaping off the motel bed and shoving her arms into the sleeves of her green hoodie. She grabbed the sandy yellow duffel bag she always kept within reach and slung it over her back, the strap a thick diagonal across her chest.

“Tsk, tsk, Kagome,” he crooned, still with that goddamn paternal censure. “You won’t get far. You never do.” He paused, and his voice deepened, as though he relished every word. “I’m only telling you this for your own good. You know that when you’re caught you’ll have to be punished.”

Her heart gave a particularly painful thump as she threw open the door of her motel room, her car keys gripped tight in her fist. The neon-lit night air punched into her lungs. She could feel her breath growing shallow as her chest constricted. Her temples were beginning to throb in tandem with the rapid beat of her pulse.

But she wouldn’t give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing she was scared.

“If you just come back,” he was saying, voice smooth and dark as an oil slick, “it’ll be easier on you in the end. You won’t—”

“Shut up,” she said, ragged and guttural, the words ripped from her very core. “The only way I’m ever going back there is in a body bag.”

She snapped the flip-phone closed and tossed it into the bushes lining the motel’s exterior—it was a burner cell phone, she’d have to get another now—but she didn’t do it quickly enough to miss his whispered promise.

“That can be arranged.”

_________________________________________________________

As she peeled out of the motel parking lot—the engine of her decade-old Honda Fit chugging to keep up with the sudden acceleration—she tried to figure out how he’d gotten the number of her burner cell. She wasn’t stupid, she knew burner cells didn’t guarantee anonymity. But it was a new burner. She’d only had it for a week, and hadn’t used it for much of anything yet. Not for fake credit card applications, not for hotel reservations or car rental paperwork. This number she’d kept to herself. She didn’t even have the phone turned on most of the time. And he’d still found it.

Her breathing was still too rapid and shallow, her heart still beating an abnormal jerky rhythm. She needed to calm down. She needed to plan her next steps. If she didn’t, she risked making a stupid mistake that might get her caught.

As she turned a sharp left onto the Shuto Expressway—going much too fast if the squeal of her tires was any indication—Kagome forced herself to take deep breaths and relax her shoulders. She tried to focus her mind on the measures she’d taken in the last month to avoid his detection.

She’d learned from painful experience that if she wanted to disappear, it wasn’t enough to just cover her trail. She had to keep her hunters busy, too. Keep them preoccupied with looking for her in the wrong places.

Disinformation was a powerful tool. Kagome had learned that if she left enough bogus trails behind her, she could give herself the precious advantage of time. A head start. All it took was the right paperwork trail: an application to rent an apartment, resulting in a credit check from the landlord, creating an inquiry on her credit report. Any tracker running a credit report on her would see the inquiry and follow it back to the apartment’s location. And by the time they’d traced her there, she’d have already developed a whole mess of fake information to keep them tangled in dead-ends for awhile: applications for utilities and phone service at the apartment she would mysteriously never move into; a fake employment address at a large local company that would require investigation to verify; small bank accounts opened in her name all over the area.

It was all about wasting their time, so she could give herself more time to get further away.

And it had been working. For the last month she’d kept two steps ahead of him.

So she just had to do it again, that was all. She had to start another fake trail. Maybe this time it would be another bank account, another credit card application.

It didn’t matter that he’d somehow gotten her burner number. She’d just get another. And another. Maybe a burner SIM card this time, so she could actually use smartphones again.

Exhaling long and slow, Kagome finally felt her heartbeat return to normal. The throbbing in her temples eased, and she could think more clearly.

She just had to keep doing what she’d been doing. Fake trails, constant moving, never staying in one place—or even one region—for too long. She’d been doing fine, and she could keep doing fine if she just played it smart.

She’d never allow Naraku to catch her again.

_________________________________________________________

Kagome Higurashi only allowed herself enough possessions to fit into her yellow duffel bag. Three pairs of jeans, four shirts (two white t-shirts, one knit sweater, and one nice floral blouse for the right occasions), one hoodie, one pair of sneakers, one pair of thick rubber-soled boots, five pairs of underwear and three bras. She kept a thick winter coat in her car, in addition to a pack of water bottles and emergency food supplies in the trunk.

She didn’t carry a purse. She had one leather trifold wallet—with RFID blocking, of course—in which she kept no more than ¥30,000 in cash; three state-issued ID cards, one real, two fake; six credit cards, four under fake names, two under her real name for the sake of bogus trails.

She had a passport. She had basic hygiene supplies—toothpaste, face cleanser, shampoo, tampons. She had two screwdrivers and one wrench. She had exactly one picture of her family, tucked away into an inner pocket of her duffel. She had one novel, dog-eared and spine-creased. She had a 9mm pistol and four boxes of ammunition.

Whenever she stayed in a hotel, she kept her duffel within easy reach. Always ready for a quick exit. She never unpacked it. Never. If she was feeling especially anxious, she would use it as a pillow, or sleep with her legs draped over it.

The duffel was one of the last things she'd grabbed before she was taken. Somehow having it with her felt like having a tiny piece of home.

__________________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she made her way steadily north, towards the Miyagi Prefecture. She’d taken a detour and left some fake trails to the south around Yokohama. Now she wanted to head in an entirely different direction. She didn’t know how long it would take Naraku’s hunters to find the Yokohama trail, but she wanted to be far, far away when they did. Hopefully they would think she’d kept heading south.

She’d found a car junkyard on the outskirts of Tokyo, where she’d snuck in after hours and lifted the license plates off a few junkers. As a precaution, she’d swapped her car’s license plates that night, and she planned to do it again after her next stint on the expressway.

The next day she stopped in a little suburb an hour outside Fukushima. She hoped to get her hands on a burner SIM card—surely this place had a decent electronics store?—but first she had another problem to fix. She was starving.

She walked around until she found a decent-looking ramen shop. It was small and cramped—a stretch of bar long enough to accommodate eight stools, behind it a kitchen partially hidden by curtains—and it smelled heavenly. She sat at the bar and ordered a bowl of chuka soba.

Sōta’s favorite.

But, delicious though the ramen turned out to be, Kagome began to feel more and more uneasy the longer she sat there. She glanced around her. The shop was nearly empty. Two old men sat on the farther side of the bar, noisily slurping their noodles. The man in the kitchen, half obscured by the curtains, had his back turned to her as he stirred something in a huge stock pot on the stove. And anyway, nobody had hardly looked at her the entire time she’d been here.

She turned her head enough to look behind her, through the sliding glass doors of the shop. The street beyond was quiet. A handful of pedestrians passed by on the sidewalk as she watched. An occasional car swept by.

But the unease turned to a persistent hum of anxiety, prickling along her skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

She tried to ignore it—it wasn’t as though paranoia was new to her—but it kept getting worse. Soon the ramen started to taste like cardboard in her mouth; a cold leaden weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

Scrubbing her hands down her face, Kagome sighed. She stubbornly willed away the prickle of tears she felt collecting in the corners of her eyes.

Crying was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

Pulling her wallet out of her back pocket, she dropped the Yen she owed onto the counter of the bar and left the shop.

Kagome retraced her steps to where she’d parked her car. Out on the street, she watched the people milling around her without looking like she was watching them. Her ears were hyper-sensitive to the street sounds: every pedestrian’s footstep sounded like it was right on her tail, every voice felt raised and aggressive, every vehicle on the road seemed to break right when it passed her. Her shoulders were hunched up to her neck. She tried to relax them.

She rounded the corner of the street where she’d parked. Her eyes sought the familiar shape of her little Honda—and suddenly she came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk

A man was leaning against the passenger door of her car. And he was looking right at her.

He was tall, maybe six feet. Lean athletic build. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle as he casually lounged against her car. Shoulder-length silver hair. Yōkai ears—dog? cat?—sat atop his head, angled towards her. Claws tipped the fingers that rested against his arms. And his eyes—still staring directly at her—were gold.

Kagome sucked in a breath. She felt the muscles in her shoulders bunch up again.

Her thoughts started whirring as panic squeezed her lungs. She shouldn’t have stopped. Shouldn’t have acknowledged his stare. She should’ve kept walking as though she hadn’t seen him, as though that wasn’t her car at all. She might have blended in with the crowd if she hadn’t just made herself so obvious. She hardly could’ve given herself away any faster, except maybe if she’d shouted “Hey, look at me!” How could she salvage this now?

He’d already noticed her, and unless he was a complete idiot, he knew she was suspicious—probably knew she was afraid. She couldn’t take that back by trying to blend in.

Her only hope here was speed, and maybe the relative safety of being in public.

Kagome abruptly whipped around and ran.

She’d barely made it ten feet before she felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder. It spun her around with a strength that nearly sent her toppling over on the sidewalk.

On impulse she opened her mouth to scream—but his other hand smothered her lips, stifling her cry.

Golden eyes narrowed down at her. “You Kagome Higurashi?”

She jerked fiercely against the hand on her shoulder. It didn’t budge.

A small smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

“You’re coming with me.”

#Inuyasha #Inuyasha fanfiction #Inuyasha AU #InuKag #my writing #When the End Comes

87 notes · View notes

scriptaed · 3 years

Text

bygones of the sun. 09 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 5.5k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Moonlight bellows in the background of the warm, golden-lit room—crashing and seceding, crashing and seceding, repeatedly colliding against the jagged rocks by the cliff like tidal waves out at sea in the deep sway of the black night. Under the hypnosis of the jet-black skies absent of the charming twinkling of the stars, you had somehow stumbled through the retreat to your room. You aren’t exactly sure what you had seen—and perhaps, out of consideration for your well-being, you simply don’t want to nor need to comprehend your sightings—but the glutinous image of the broken boy sticks to your chest akin to a dark secret weighing heavy on a sinner’s heart.

And somehow, amidst the long night looming ahead of you, the spur of emotions sweeps you before the door of his room.

Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat and whisper hesitantly next to the wooden frame, “...Hoseok?”

In the red-carpeted hall where dozens of fellow camp attendees rest until the next sunrise, you stand there wondering if Jimin had mistyped the captain’s room number on the emergency flyers. The overwhelming guilt of having pushed Hoseok to his breaking point, albeit unknowingly, had forced the heavy footsteps of yours to this very spot, but now that you’re faced with silence as an answer, you figure perhaps it isn’t in your fate to confront him tonight; it would be the easier way out, at least, for irrationality had bewitched you and plans on what to even say were the last things on your mind… until now.

Subconsciously, your knuckles meet the cold wax finish of his door once again.

One knock, two knocks, and alas, a sigh.

Your hands drop to your sides in defeat, despite regretting your rash decision which had brought you here in the first place. You glimpse around to ensure that the coast was clear, and when the last sigh escapes your lips and the balls of your feet pivot to your left, only then does the door swing wide open.

“What do you want?”

Whirling around, you find Hoseok standing aside where one arm leans against the door frame and the other hides behind the door, clutching the gold handle. As you gaze at him in silence, too taken aback to make your next move, Hoseok stands there, heavy-lidded and jaws clenched, disgruntled by your late night appearance.

The uninviting glare of his elicits the uncomfortable shift in place of your footsteps. It’s a rare moment for goosebumps to rise and chest to constrict when in the presence of someone as playful and flirtatious as Hoseok, but the sudden cold mien of his persona now conveys to you that you’re not welcome here tonight.

“I… I was just…” your eyes dart to the floor as your mind crashes into auto-pilot, searching for any form of excuse other than the truth too unready to be exposed, “I couldn’t fall asleep. So—”

“—you could’ve texted me,” he refutes, brows furrowing, but all your eyes are fixated on are what appears to be beads of sweat dripping from his damp bangs. And when he notices the softening of your wandering eyes, his voice nearly drowns in the waves of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the buzz of the vending machine which shrills in your eardrums to this very second.

From the tee which drapes his upper body and his sweatpants which masks the witnessed scene weighing heavy in your heart, everything about him now would serve as the perfect facade of a normal captain disturbed from his sleep. But at least he's still up, at least he's still trying, at least he answered your call.

You want to believe he’s okay again, that everything you had seen was just a misunderstanding, but something tells you the sun won't be rising again after tonight, and that very thought plagues you of your sleep.

A few seconds pass as you scan him over in a confusing mixture of both disbelief and relief, when Hoseok half scoffs and half chuckles, frowning at your expression, “is something bothering you? You look like you're almost glad to see me for once.”

“...why are you sweating?” you blurt, his words completely missing you as your eyes fixates on the beads of liquid plastered across his temples and trapped in his brows.

“Sweat…?” Hoseok arches a concerned brow before pressing his lips into a thin line. “This isn't sweat… I just got out of the shower. What makes you think that, though?”

Your lips part, but silence ensues when you realize neither you nor him seemed prepared enough to tackle the true reason as to why you're here.

“Nothing… really. It was just the first thing which came to mind.”

Hoseok nods, eyelids weighing heavier and heavier as the conversation comes to an abrupt end. “So…” he drawls, “what do you need?”

“I didn't need anything, per se,” you emphasize, eyes averting to the side and away from his watchful gaze, “I just… wanted to talk. I didn't get to talk to you much today.”

Usually, at a point like this, Hoseok would tease you; “someone's a bit needy today, and I know you're pure and untainted and all, but shouldn't you at least know not to come begging for attention to a guy's room at midnight”—is what he would've said, but tonight, the tidal waves under the wavering moon dictates otherwise.

“Look, Y/N,” he runs a hand through his hair and leans his entire weight against the doorframe, “I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. I want to be alone.”

But does he? Because the gleam in his softened eyes, the windows to his soul, are begging you to accompany him through the long night.

“Are you… okay, Hoseok?” you ask, brows cinching in concern.

He flinches, but his brows immediately lift to mask the initial response. “...yeah,” he finally says after a long pause, taking a deep breath and sighing, eyes never budging from yours, “...I'm fine. Now go sleep if you're done badgering me.”

“Okay… you should sleep, too.”

“Yeah,” he utters under his breath, eyes glued to the ground as he mumbles, “I'll try.”

“Try…?”

“I have a lot of things on my mind and decisions to make tonight,” he explains with a final sigh, the void in his eyes lifting to meet yours once again, and you don't notice until now the purple-blue dark circles which only emphasizes the absence of his usual vigor. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

And ever so quietly, as if none of the conversation had taken place under the mist of the night perched high up on the mountains, the door closes on you, and the walls between you and Hoseok become thicker than ever.

You can't tell what's on his mind. You can't even tell what's on your own mind. All you can convey is the sheer dejection, the unusual lethargy radiating from Hoseok akin to a captain too prideful to allow his pupils to witness his own cracks and falls.

You're partially responsible for this—no, somehow your mind had convinced you that you're the one completely responsible for this. If you hadn't pushed him to return, maybe things wouldn't have gotten this far. You had reopened a wound like ripping stitches off a gash still in the process of rehabilitation.

And sometimes, wounds of seconds can inflict more pain than its first and leave deeper scars than the past itself.

You're guilty as charged, and you want to fix things now, but the unwelcoming tone of tonight's conversation tells you it might just be too late. If you've acknowledged your mistakes but the other is unwilling to receive your sympathy, what else are you supposed to do?

You had hated the new Hoseok for laying the death of the old, but now that you stand here before his guarded walls and closed door, maybe things would've been better the way they were before.

But that thought finds you as ridiculous, and the very fact that a part of you still wants to aid him in rediscovering your first love at the expense of the person he is now, finds you even more horrendous.

For now, a shower is the only concoction for such a plague.

Water beads drip from the ends of your hair to the cottons of the white towel hanging from your neck. A rush of goosebump inducing air envelops you the second your right foot meets the carpet beyond the bathroom tiles. Besides the remaining drip drops of the water draining in the bathtub behind you, all that is left in the sanctuary of your room is what should have been silence.

Because you can still hear the buzz of the vending machine, the familiar squeaks of sneakers, and worst of all, his wincing breaths endowed with despair still echo in the back of your mind—gradually quickening and crescendoing into a chaos of a symphony without its conductor until everything collapses, the squeaks and the huffs replaced by the ominous buzz of the machine.

As you run through your hair and turn your back on the door to further bury yourself in the depths of your sanctuary, a sudden rise of events interrupts the temporary serenity with the strike of fear into your racing heart.

A series of slurred knocks—two loud, quick knocks followed by one hesitant bump of the knuckles—elicits a ring in your ear as you cautiously turn on the balls of your feet to face the door head on.

The numbers 1:15 A.M. blink in red digital font from the desk beside your bed.

Who could possibly be visiting you at this time of the night?

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice strained with lethargy finally announces after a sigh, and as if reciting words to a spell of witch craft, your heart stills and your body freezes… because did you really just hear Hoseok? Outside your room? The one who had just turned you away without a blink of the eye?

Even with the mess of your mental state after finally digging up the answer you had been searching for all along, the only and greatest fear which plagues you now is the thought of whether the victim, Jung Hoseok, had somehow caught onto you preying upon his darkest of secrets.

After half a minute of silence, Hoseok sighs once again with a groan, “I’m not here to mess around with you if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m on duty for patrolling tonight, and I noticed your light was on. Now open up, would you?”

The walk to your door seems to take you centuries, because the second your hand pushes the handle even an inch down, the door swings wide open to reveal the rather irritated, profusely impatient boy standing on the other side.

“Could you be any slower?” he remarks, eyes peering down at you, unamused. “You’re even slower than me and I worked out more than…”

His white tee shifts underneath his crossed arms as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. The intensity of his eyes with bags and dark circles drooping below elicits a shift in your own body of discomfort. Your own eyes retreat to the ground when his brows cinch and you can tell he’s scanning you over, just seconds away from catching you red-handed.

“...w-what? Can you stop staring at me like that?”

“What? I’m not checking you out or anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” Hoseok scoffs for a fleeting second before silence befalls his lips—and suddenly, the warmth of his hands radiate from your cheeks. A lock of your hair lies in the palms of his long, delicate fingers just barely grazing your cheeks, and it doesn’t take you very long to hastily cover your reddening ears and cheeks with your dampened towel. He frowns, not at your sheepish behavior, but for the wet strands of hair which are all that he fixates on, “did you just work out or something?”

Shouldn't you be the one asking him that? It's as if the irony of his actions is his own method of begging to be exposed without having to come out and ask for it himself.

“No,” you retort, scrunching your face at the absurdity of his suggestion.

Just as you’re about to pull away from his touch, Hoseok retracts his hands from the proximity of your cheeks before what would usually be another one of his mischievous acts; and as much as his sneaky pecks and meaningless affection had once infuriated you, it’s hard to admit how empty you now feel in the absence of its wake. His retreat made of his own will is a first for you.

“Then why are you showering at 1 A.M. in the morning?” he cocks his head with a raised brow.

“Says you—”

“—but at least I have an excuse. I was busy cleaning up after practice,” he retorts and shifts his weight to his other leg, musing, “you, on the other hand…”

“B-Because…” you cross your arms and shoot him the most annoyed glare you could muster; while meeting and comforting him were all that shrouded your mind just a few minutes ago, seeing him in a completely fine state like this is enough to put you to peace and shoo him away for now. “...I slept through the entire day and forgot to shower.”

“...okay,” his lips pressed into a frown gradually bursts into a large grin plastered with second hand embarrassment. “While you kept nagging at me to ‘attend dance camp’ and pick up dancing again, which I so dutifully obliged to tonight, you hide yourself in the corner of your room and sleep the day away?”

“Oh, shut up. It's not like I'm an actual dancer like you—” you roll your eyes before stopping mid-sentence; was that too insensitive of you to say considering the struggles Hoseok seemed to be going through? Clearing your throat, you lift your head high and sigh, “so what’re you doing here? I thought you were busy thinking the night away.”

“Like I said, I'm on patrol tonight. Are you even listening to me or are you to busy fantasizing about all the things we could've been doing in my room right now?” he teases and gently knocks his knuckles on your head.

His entire demeanor had reverted to his usual self, and as concerning as it is to wonder whether this is all an act too painful to witness yourself, you're glad to see him joking around again, even if it's forced.

“No, that's the last thing on my mind, but I guess it's not the same case for someone here,” you roll your eyes.

In retaliation to your indifferent attitude, Hoseok leans against the doorframe with a scoff, pulling you back in as you pushed him out. “Like I said, Ms. I Like To Break Rules Because I’m Dating the Captain, you’re supposed to be asleep by now.”

“I’ll turn off my lights after I blow dry my hair, Mr. Ex Dance Captain—” you bite your tongue when you notice the twitch in his darkened eyes and hardened jaw “—I mean, I'm not dating you.”

At this point, you’re not even sure how to address his relationship with dance, if you should even do so at all.

“So, if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, giving him one last pressed smile and stepping back to close the door; but before you could do so, Hoseok swiftly juts a foot out to interevene, and a simple question ensues.

“What? You don’t want me here?”

All efforts to protest dissipate when he turns his head to face you and lets out a scoff in disbelief, eyes completely empty, and you nearly have to lean in to catch his next words.

“You’re always so cold to me,” he lets out a soft laugh and cracks the most reluctant of grins. “Why do I even bother being disappointed at this point?”

A few seconds of tense silence goes by before it occurs to you what he had just said.

For once, he actually cares about what you say? He’s taking your meaningless banters to heart?

“I’m turning off my lights now,” you frown at him, but his attention remains elsewhere, “isn’t that what you came here to do?”

“You really...” he scoffs and lifts his head, eyes piercing yours and opening the window to his souls; shaky, colorless, lost and infuriated by the calamity of the world before him, in the world you present him. “...do you really think I came here just for that? I could care less what time you sleep.”

“O-Okay…” you stutter; you know there isn’t anything to be hurt over, because what he’s saying has made you believe is of the utmost truth, but the unusually blunt implications of his disingenuity comes on all too harsh.

His constant switch in demeanor is all too confusing to keep up with tonight, and quite frankly, you don't know how to read him anymore, as if you ever could.

His lips part, words of apology ready to be uttered, and his eyes soften in worry for a swift second, but when the clock ticks twice, his jaw hardens the invisible wall built between the two of you.

And for the first time in a while, he’s actually acting like the infamous reputation he had been endowed; because he doesn’t apologize, and now your guts begin to twist and turn, wondering whether you had done something wrong.

Was he in a bad mood because of what you had seen just half an hour before? Should you confront him about it? Should you comfort him? Would words of encouragement even help? Is that what he’s asking for?

Is that the true reason as to why he’s here? Is he… asking for help?

“I’m here to check up on your ankle.”

His mumbling interrupts the internal war fared between two hidden motivations; defeat is all that reigns in the realm of tonight—you, unable to decipher his code, and him, unable to send you such codes.

The mention of your momentarily forgotten injury brings a crease between your brows, “my ankles are fine.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is for me, your highness,” he refutes with a pressed, unamused smile.

“But it really is fine—” you stop mid-sentence when you notice Hoseok taking a deep breath, chest struggling to rise while constricting the impatience and whatever else remains buried from within.

Please let me in, his eyes scream.

Your feet stumbles as they shuffle backwards, and in response, he takes one swift, large stride forward. The door shuts behind him, and suddenly, the room seems significantly more lackluster than before.

“What if someone sees us?” your fear translates into words.

“Should’ve worried about that earlier, don’t you think?” he flatly remarks, cocking his head to the side.

“...but,” you frown and shake your head, “what if they spread rumors about you entering my room?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes before returning the look of impertinence to you, “haven’t they already spread rumors about us? We literally made out at the pool last night. And who cares what they say? I’m tired of giving a shit about them. All it does is burden you.”

“Burden…” your mind subconsciously slips the words into formation when your eyes naturally trail from his gray sweatpants and up to his white tee where beads of water drip from his drenched bangs. “...hey, Hoseok, why haven't you dried your hair yet?”

He couldn't have possibly went out to practice again, could he?

“My hair…?” his brows cinch as his hands find their way to twirl the wet locks in between his fingers and his eyes light up before settling into a frown once again. “Ah… but first, why are you so concerned for me tonight?”

“Maybe because I was kind enough to let you in my room and that's the least you could do…?”

“But I’m the captain. I’m the one in charge,” he quickly quips. You can see the tip of his tongue running across the inner walls of his mouth from the protrusion of his cheeks and his hardened jaw, as if preparing for a fight. “So, technically, I do have the rights to be here, because you broke the rules. If you don’t want to see me, maybe you should turn off your lights next time.”

His sudden defense rubs you the wrong way when you scoff, “captain? Huh, funny, because I seem to recall a certain someone getting all pissed off at me because I begged them to come here in the first place.”

“What?” he asks in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at you.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. Why are you being so aggravated today? Are you scared to tell me the truth? That you’re playing around and checking in on me to pretend and act like you’ve been up hard at work all day? So you can continue playing around with me without having to hear me nag at you?”

You just want him to be honest with himself, and more so with you, and maybe you aren’t approaching it the right way, but you simply don’t understand how to fix the dent in Hoseok’s enclosed heart.

“What?” he repeats, the fury in his boiling blood exuding from his step forward and your step back. “I’m doing my job here, aren’t I? I’m guiding us through the camp, I’m teaching you guys how to dance, I’m even out here past midnight patrolling as a captain should! So how am I anything but a captain?”

Buzz, sneakers, collision, and buzz—the entire sequence washes onto shore once again from the back of your mind, blaring at you as if to tell you to back down.

He continues to take steps forward, forcing you to retreat backwards into the depths of your room.

“I didn't mean it like that…” you mumble, taking another step back until your heels hit the drawer and the back of your head bumps into the TV behind you.

Hoseok steps one intimidating stride forward, arms gripping at the drawer on either side of you and entrapping you in his field of control. He gives you one long, hard stare, and as uncomfortable as it is, something tells you there would be serious repercussions if you looked away.

“No, but it sure does feel like it and it confuses me,” he retorts lowly, “so tell me, Y/N, why are you so concerned for me all of a sudden?”

His watchful eyes and parted lips pray for the hopes that you had seen him, that he had finally found someone who knew the true him, but you don't want to and you can't possibly reopen his wound. You know it would hurt him all too much.

So you keep silent, just as he has all along

“...you’ll wake them if you yell any louder,” you mumble, looking off to the side in dejection.

But his warm hands cup the cold surface of your chin damp from your shower, turning you until your gaze has returned to meet his.

“Stop making excuses. You know they can't hear us,” he lowly utters. “What did you even think I was doing anyways?”

“I-I don't know. I was just asking what you’ve been doing. It’s not that hard of a question,” you mumble. “You can lie to me, even, if you want.”

“No,” he shakes his head, keeping his fingertips grazing against your chin. “I want to hear your guesses.”

You gulp, diverting from his piercing gaze, “I don't know…”

“You seemed to have a pretty good guess just a minute ago,” he narrows his eyes at you. “Just say it. I dare you to.”

I dare you to say it, but I doubt you can, because I doubt you even know, his leer screams.

“...maybe you had a girl over in your room or something…”

You know that's not the case, or at least you hope, but that's the most believable guess you could muster other than outright accusing him of his late night practices sessions.

“You think that I'd let another girl other than you into my room? Who do you take me for?” he scoffs, even chuckles. “Ah, you're too cute.”

He doesn't mean it, you tell yourself, you can't believe him and you can't fall for this specific trick because you know that's exactly what he wants to distract you from the pain hidden beneath that flirtatious crooked smile of his.

You frown, “quit playing and let me go...”

“Just one more question,” he laughs for a brief second, silence failing for a tense minute before finally asking in the lowest of voices, “can I kiss you?”

“W-What?”

“I mean, last time I was so congested and upset with these dark thoughts of mine that I forgot to even ask you for permission before I forced myself on you. Two elements of a great kiss are consent and surprise, remember? I think I got the surprise part down judging by the look on your face,” he smirks, but all you can do is stare at him in silence.

It's not like you're opposed to the idea of kissing him, per se, but you're against sharing such an intimate moment when you know he would just be using you like alcohol as a way to temporarily numb the pain.

But should you go ahead and let him? If something as trifling as this could even relieve him of the pain, should you give him what he wants?

“Are you… lonely? Are you upset over something? Can't I help you?”

Several seconds of silence passes by until you hear him chortle with a sigh, his arms dripping from your sides and releasing you from his grasp as he brushes by your shoulder and heads toward your bed. “I was just joking around with you. Don't look at me like that, it hurts me too, you know? I didn’t come here to argue anyways, ” he remarks, lightening up the mood. “I just forgot to dry my hair, that’s all. Do you have any snacks in your fridge?”

Nonchalantly, Hoseok plops onto your mattress without further permission, but all you could notice is the slight limping in his walk; if anyone else had watched his strides, including you from the past, no one would have suspected a thing, but now that you’ve discovered his secret, the uneven footsteps of his are all too glaring.

With his head against his hand propped by an elbow against one of your two pillows, Hoseok grins at you with an arched brow and a hand tapping on the sweatpants concealing the swelling of his leg.

“...no,” you finally answer, walking a few steps forward into the room to lean against the corner wall next to the lower side of your bed. You cross your arms and continue, “why would I bring food for a three night trip?”

“Ah, I forgot this is only for three nights. I see,” he nods, pursing his lips and turning to lie on his back with his head nestled into your pillow. The fingers of one of his hands drum against his stomach as the other props above his shoulders and under his neck.

The buzzing of your empty fridge stimulates you to memories you don’t want to revisit, but the overwhelming silence seems to be the motif of tonight and you just don’t know how to fix it; yet the longer he stares emptily into the ceiling above, the more curious you become.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?” he hums without budging his eyes from the ceiling.

“What’re you thinking about?”

A few seconds pass by before he takes a deep breath and sighs loudly, his chest noticeably rising and sinking underneath his water-drenched tee.

“Truthfully, I actually came here after you left because I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone tonight. I was wrong to shut you out,” he confesses; but when you’re left staring at him in utter, shock, Hoseok finally breaks his gaze from the ceiling to meet your gaping expression with a chuckle. “It’s a joke, Y/N. I’m a lonely person, just like you said, remember?”

“Being lonely isn’t a joke…” you grumble, uncrossing your arms and walking over to gently seat yourself beside him in bed.

You’re expecting some teasing remark for supposedly joining him in bed, but what you don’t expect is what slips from his lips instead.

“Have you ever wanted something so bad that it’s all you come to know, but the second you get it, it turns out to be the only thing you can’t have? It just… it doesn’t love you back. I’m the only one trying at this point.”

“Like what…?” you hesitantly ask.

“Like you,” he swiftly answers, turning his head to shoot you a lopsided grin.

Everything comes crashing down into a full circle once it finally clicked for you: dance; dance is the unrequited love for Hoseok, and you were just one of the many replacements to allow him to forget what he had lost.

The thought irks you the wrong way, and as much as you want to console him, the teasing relationship you two have established does not exactly authorize for such a moment.

“But you never got me in the first place,” you snort.

Hoseok blinks blankly at your words before scoffing in disbelief, turning his head and smirking with the shake of his head, “go dry your hair before you get sick, you cold-hearted woman.”

“No, I can’t leave you unattended in my bed!”

“I won’t stay here overnight, alright,” Hoseok rolls his eyes while cracking a smile. “So stop worrying and go or you’ll get a cold.”

“Psh, fine,” you huff, getting up from your bed; but before you could depart to the bathroom, Hoseok’s hands grip onto your hands only to pull you back into bed beside him. You sigh, turning your back to glare at the blank look on his face, “do you want me to stay or not?”

“Y/N,” he ignores you and proceeds with his question, looking you straight in the eye, “what would you do if I said I still wanted to quit dance? If I said this entire trip only reminded me of why I hated it so much in the first place? What would you do?”

Your eyes grow wide; he’s practically asking you upfront about his inner true conundrums, and this time, you’re going to make things right again.

“I would support you no matter what. If dancing isn’t what you want, then I’m fine with it,” you answer. “I kissed you so you would come to camp. That’s all I bargained for, and that’s all I’m asking for.”

Hoseok stares at you for several seconds in silence before scoffing and tossing your hand to the side, “I came here for an answer, but now you’re just confusing me.”

“What?”

“Go dry your hair already. Your hands are cold,” he states, turning his head away from you. “I won’t be able to kiss you anymore if you get sick.”

Glaring at him from his back, you oblige to his demands and retreat to the safety of your washroom. While drying your hair, you spend all your time scrambling for something to say, to fill in the conversation, to keep you from the pounding white noise of sneakers and buzz, but most importantly, to keep him from the ill reminder of his downfall.

Yet, all is in vain, when you return to your room to find him asleep.

Sighing, you tiptoe your way to lie down in the bed right beside him. With your head cupped in your hands propped on the mattress by your elbow, you lean just a bit forward to catch a glimpse of his dozing expression. Only in his slumber is he relinquished of all worries. The crease between his brows has vanished, and the frown he had constantly worn in the corner of his lips had dissipated along with it. Finally, he is at peace and solace.

“You see, Hoseok, the thing about life is that it constantly challenges us to new obstacles… kind of like what you’re doing to me right now,” you chuckle to yourself and brush the fallen streaks of hair off his forehead and to his temples, “but you’re strong enough to overcome it, and as long as you have someone beside you the entire time, everything will turn out just right. You are loved, you just don’t know it.”

And with that, you lean in to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

It’s the first time he ever failed to smirk after a kiss shared between the two of you.

With the official set of the sun ironically at the rise of dawn, an epiphany strikes you at 2 AM in the depths of your room where Hoseok lies asleep beside you.

Some secrets are meant to be kept hidden, some wounds are never meant to be revived; and so, instead of hurting and turning him away, you’ve agreed to be his sanctuary for just tonight.

Jimin [2:23 A.M.] Hoseok? No... he’s not supposed to be on patrol. I am.

315 notes · View notes

get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Ch. 2

Shigaraki Birthday Celebration! 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, brief male masturbation, tags will be added for smut in the next two parts

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which studying is done, unwilling connections are made, and Tomura thinks about the way you smell a totally normal amount.

AO3 mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (just shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged!

Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen.

He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library. But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him.

He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering.

Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant.

Group Project Bitch:

— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back

—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T

sounds good—

He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating.

When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right?

He wasn’t sure.

He didn’t do shit like this.

Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.”

He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager.

“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door.

Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors.

You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit.

Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor.

You made a fucking power point for him.

This couldn’t be real.

“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…”

You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in.

It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga.

He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations.

But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts.

“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him.

Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen.

“Look’s fine,” he mumbled.

The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for.

It was...good.

And that so fucking annoying.

Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids.

Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and—

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.”

He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to.

You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday.

“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze.

The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into.

“What’s your major?”

He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before.

You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear.

Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment.

But, obviously you didn’t.

So he didn’t.

He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—

Nope.

No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut.

Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side.

“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case.

“Are you talking about The League?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.

He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings.

The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger.

Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought.

“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone.

You should narrate those fucking sleepy time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much.

Or no, no he would definitely mind.

Yes. It would have been worse if anything.

“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.”

He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room.

Weird.

So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.

This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at.

Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit after all. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion.

Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere?

Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word.

Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head.

The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard.

It...grew on him.

He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session.

Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack.

“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room.

“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing.

Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly.

“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction.

Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous.

“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.”

“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly.

“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin study room whenever I want.”

“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.”

“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”

Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.”

“Jokes on you, I welcome death.”

You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward.

But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers.

“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.

He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations.

So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach.

But it was only because you were hot.

And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background.

Yeah.

Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough.

Right?

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki imagines #bnha fanfiction #college au #bee.writes

334 notes · View notes

alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

Sticks and Stones

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Warnings: death (it gets pretty depressing)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I do recommend reading Chapter 1 before this one, which you can find here.

Fair warning, I normally don’t read angst, let alone write it, so this could all be a failed attempt at a depressing storyline. But hey, I tried :) And thank you so much @vancityfire13 for helping me out with this chapter!

“Mama, I don’t want to go to school. I think I’m sick,” Igor trudged into the kitchen, his steps heavy and his brows knit together.

“You don’t feel warm, Igoryok. Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast and then we’ll see how things go, yeah?” Igor nodded reluctantly as Natasha carded her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the bee’s nest that had formed on his head while he was asleep. When you entered the kitchen, you quickly adopted a look to match the frown on Igor’s face.

“What’s wrong, Iggy?”

“I don’t feel good.” You copied Natasha, feeling his forehead but finding it perfectly normal.

“What doesn’t feel good, Igoryok?” Your frowns only deepened when he shrugged.

“If you don’t tell us, we can’t help you.”

“I just don’t feel good, okay?” Both of you flinched slightly at his anger. Although he could get rambunctious and excited at times, Igor was generally sweet, always offering to share his toys with other kids and giving you and Nat random hugs “just because I love you.” Plus, he was four, and you weren’t expecting the attitude for another couple of years at least. After sharing a concerned glance with your wife, you knelt down and held Igor’s hand in yours, noticing his bottom lip wobbling and his eyes beginning to shine.

“Igor, sweetheart, what’s the matter? Why don’t you want to go to school?”

“It’s okay, Igoryok, you can tell us anything,” Nat reassured him when he started to cry, gently rubbing his back in an effort to soothe him.

“I don’t want to see Jackson.” You squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. You knew Jackson and his family; Jackson had even come over to play a couple of weeks ago. While you tried to keep the conversation going, you saw Natasha tense up the second Igor finished the sentence.

“Why don’t you want to see Jackson, honey? Did something happen?”

“Jackson said I’m stupid because my letters don’t look right, and he said I was a baby for having light-up sneakers. And he pulled me down when we were playing tag.”

“And your teachers didn’t say anything?” Natasha gritted out. It was obvious she was trying to stay calm for Igor’s sake, but any second now and Mount Vesuvius was about to explode, bringing all of Pompeii with it. Igor shook his head, his whole body trembling as he cried.

“They didn’t see it. He waited until recess and we were in the back of the playground behind the slides.”

“Igor, sweetie, why didn’t you tell them?” You tried wiping the tears off of his face as they fell, but they were quickly replaced by new ones.

“He said if I did he’d tell the whole class I was a weirdo because I wet the bed.” You butted in before Nat could start yelling, placing a hand on top of hers to try to remind her of the situation.

“I see. Igor, do you think any of the things he said were true?”

“No.” The muttered answer was hard to hear, but it was there.

“That’s right, they’re not. So don’t let that boy get in your head for one second, okay? For every bad thing that he says to you, I want you to remind yourself of at least one good thing about yourself, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Why don’t you start right now? Tell me three things you like about yourself.”

“Um, I draw good dinos.”

“That’s right,” you smiled. “Mama and I love when you give us dino pictures.”

“Maybe I can draw you one today in school.”

“We’d love that, Igoryok. Two more, buddy.” The redhead had relaxed slightly, her fingers beginning to comb through his hair once again.

“I’m good at soccer. And I have cool cleats.” You nodded at him, rubbing small circles over the back of his hand to encourage him to continue. By this point, his crying stopped, and he only paused every so often to let out a hiccup.

“I can read some of the big kid books in the library. Mr. Goldman says that it’s very impressive for a four-year-old.” Natasha chuckled as Igor puffed out his chest, Jackson’s insults long forgotten.

“It is very impressive. So-”

“Wait, Mama, I have one more!”

“And what would that be?” the redhead smiled.

“I have the two best mamas in the entire world. And they love me so much, and I love them so much too.” It took everything in you not to cry at that moment, and one look at Natasha’s face told you she was struggling as well.

“That’s right, Ig. Mama and I love you more than anything or anyone in the entire world, more than you could ever imagine. You never forget that, promise?”

“I promise, Mom, but don’t cry! It’s happy!”

“I’m very happy,” you whispered, giving him the tightest hug you could without crushing him.

“Igoryok, I need you to listen to me.” The four-year-old nodded as he turned to give your wife his full attention. “When Jackson says mean things to you, you tell him to stop, okay? Don’t be mean, but tell him firmly.”

“Firmly,” he repeated.

“And if he doesn’t stop, you tell your teacher. Okay?”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Miss Olivia is going to pick you up from school today, but Mom and I are going to talk to your teachers about Jackson as soon as we can, we promise.”

“Okay, Mama. Does that mean you and Mom are going to fight the bad guys again?”

“Yes, but just for a little bit. We’ll be back in time for dinner. Which means you have to be good for Miss Olivia or you can’t have any dessert,” Nat winked.

“Now, group hug and then it’s time to go to school,” you ordered, wrapping your arms around the two of them.

Igor remained mostly quiet on the car ride to school, which wasn’t unusual for him, but you and Nat found yourselves checking on him regardless.

“Mom, in school, Miss Taylor told us ‘sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me.’ Is that what she means, with Jackson?”

“Well, yes. Basically, it means that when people say mean things about us, like the things that Jackson said to you, we shouldn’t let it hurt us.”

“How do you do that?”

“You do what we did at breakfast. You know in your heart that what he says isn’t true, so you ignore it. And then you remind yourself of all the good things about yourself.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“We love you, buddy,” Natasha reminded him as she brought the car to a stop. “If anything else happens, you tell us and we’ll help you, okay?”

“Yes, Mama. I love you too.”

“Alright. Then you have the best, most amazing day at school, okay, lovebug?”

“I will, Mom. Bye bye!” With a kiss on each of your cheeks, Igor put on the Avengers backpack that was half his size and jumped out of the car to meet his teacher and friends at the front of the school. With Igor out of the car, Natasha’s anger returned ten-fold.

“‘Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me,’ huh? That’s the best they can teach?”

“Nat-”

“You know it’s outdated, and it’s totally not true at all! Of course words can hurt, you know that, Y/N!”

“I know,” you murmured, thinking back to all the pain and chaos a bunch of reporters had caused over some rumors about the Avengers.

“And who does that kid think he is talking about Igor like that?”

“Natty, he’s four.”

“Being four doesn’t give you an excuse to be a bully!”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” you sighed, “but being four means he has time to change. You know that at this age they usually get it from seeing other people do it.” Two minutes of driving in silence passed before Natasha spoke up again.

“You’re right,” she sighed, her shoulders slowly dropping. “It just makes me so angry that he’d do that to him. And Igor didn’t do anything about it. What if something else happens in the future and he doesn’t protect himself? Igor doesn’t even wet the bed anymore. He knows that and he still let that kid scare him. Or what if Igor doesn’t want to tell us when bad things happen?” The longer she spoke, the softer her voice became as anger dissolved into sadness and concern.

“Well,” you placed your hand over hers that rested on your thigh, “the good thing is Igor is also four. It’s good that something like this happened now rather than later because we have time to talk to him and teach him that we’ll always be there for him. Today was one step towards that. It’ll be okay, Nat. We’ll make sure it is. Especially if we’re going to have another little one on the way.” Your wife smiled at that.

“Igor’s going to be an amazing brother.”

“He really is,” you laughed as you picked up her hand and linked her fingers in yours.

“I will admit, though,” your eyes returned to your wife’s face in time to notice her quirk an eyebrow, “I thought we’d have some more time before we had to deal with the ‘sick to get out of school’ trick.”

“You and me both,” you giggled. “That kid is too smart for his own good.”

“How much do you want to bet he learned it from Tony?”

“Well, he definitely didn’t learn it from Steve.” All the remaining tension in the car dissolved as you two chuckled at the thought.

When the car became quiet once more, you brought her hand up to your lips. “I. Love. You,” you murmured, each word punctuated with a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you more. And everything’s going to be okay,” she repeated, more so reassuring herself than you.

“It is. Now, let’s go over that mission plan one last time. We have some butts to kick.”

---

“Okay, Steve’ll meet you guys at the rendezvous point. Get in, and get out. And don’t let yourselves get caught. It’s just an info grab, but it’s an important one.”

“Got it, Hill. See you later.” After ending the call with Maria, you turned to Natasha. “You ready, hon?”

“Yeah, I just can’t help but shake this feeling. I know the mission’s short, but…” You tilted your head slightly to meet her eyes, which was a bit difficult since she’d lowered her gaze to the floor.

“No, I get it. I think it’s just the events of this morning, yeah? And it definitely doesn’t help that we can’t have outside communication.” After a recent mission gone wrong, Fury had temporarily prohibited all outside communication on missions unless absolutely necessary, meaning you and Nat would only be able to communicate with each other until Steve picked you guys up. “Let’s just finish this mission and get back to Igor. Things’ll be better after that.”

“You’re right,” the redhead agreed, giving you an uneasy smile. You rolled your neck once before giving your wife a quick peck on the cheek.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

---

“Where have you guys been? I’ve been waiting for two hours!” His check and money was lying on the table, his meal eaten long ago.

“Sorry, Rogers, a minor complication meant we had to be a bit more careful. But we got all the info, and there’s no trouble.” Natasha slid a small flash drive across the booth. He simply nodded, pocketing the device and standing up.

“Let’s go.”

“Everything okay, Steve?”

“Um, yeah. Fury asked that you guys stop by the tower first though.” You frowned, prompting Nat to slip her hand into yours.

“Is it important? We wanted to get back and see Igor. We told him we’d be back for dinner, and we’re already late.” Before Steve could respond, a waitress walked up to the table.

“Oh, hey! I see your friends are here. Do you guys want to place an order?”

“Um, actually, I’m so sorry. Something came up and we have to go. Thank you so much, though.”

“Of course, have a nice night, guys.” You flashed the waiter a smile and handed her two twenty dollar bills as an apology before following Steve out of the restaurant.

“Steve, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he responded, his voice void of emotion.

“C’mon, you know neither of us is buying that. Is everyone okay?”

“Just hurry up,” he muttered. He was walking so quickly that you and Nat were practically jogging to keep up. You shared a worried glance with Natasha, but neither of you spoke up again.

After a thirty-minute drive, you’d reached the tower, and Steve sent the two of you up to Fury’s office without another word.

“Do you think we did something wrong, Natty?”

“I don’t see what we could’ve done wrong. We’ll find out soon enough, though,” she sighed. She sent you a small smile in an effort to calm you, as she could tell you were becoming quite anxious, but she was rather nervous herself.

Fury was waiting for you guys when the elevator doors opened, which only served to make the two of you even more on edge than you were before.

“Romanoff, L/N, follow me please.” He led you to his office, his demeanor stoic and unreadable as per usual, but something was off. As you placed a hand on Nat’s lower back, you found her spine to be stiff. She must’ve sensed it too. “Sit.” The three of you sat in silence for about thirty seconds, during which you realized what was wrong. The twinkle he always had in his eyes, whether from playfulness, determination, or something in between, was missing. That realization was enough to make you crack.

“Fury. Why’d you call us in here? I hate to rush you but we’ve got a kid to go home to.” You and your wife noticed when he flinched at your last sentence.

“Right.” Both of you stared at him expectantly but quickly became agitated when he didn’t seem to make any move to continue.

“Fury. What is it.” You placed a hand on Nat’s arm before she could jump out of the chair, but if he didn’t speak in about two seconds you’d be right there with her.

“We received a call about three hours ago about a car crash. A massive pileup caused by a drunk driver during the school rush hour. Two people were seriously injured.”

“I- I don’t understand. You want us to help with a car crash?” you asked, your voice shaky but light. “Fury, with all due respect, this is ridiculous. This isn’t our area of-”

“Why are you telling us about this?” Natasha cut into your rambling.

“Romanoff… this was three hours ago. Just outside of the elementary school.”

Three hours ago. What was three hours ago? Three hours ago would’ve been when Olivia was bringing Igor back home from school. But that couldn’t be what Fury was talking about. It was a different kid, a different family, maybe even a different school; Fury hadn’t been specific. No, you and Nat would go back home and they’d both be there. They had to be there.

“By the time the ambulance got there, paramedics suspected that they were both gone. They called time of death at the hospital. I’m so sorry.” You couldn’t tell when exactly your heart stopped beating, when all the blood left your face. He couldn’t be talking about what you thought he was. He wasn’t even looking you in the eye, dammit.

“Gone? What do you mean by gone? Who’s ‘they’?” You spoke in a whisper, not able to speak any louder. With each second that passed, you could feel Nat’s forearm getting tighter as she clenched her fists harder and harder.

“Fury,” Natasha finally spoke, her voice gravelly, “If you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me, you’re going to have to be very clear with me. So what. Are. You. Saying.”

“Igor is dead. Your son is dead. I’m so-”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” This time it was Nat’s turn to hold you back, grabbing onto your waist when you slammed your hands on Fury’s desk. “You have no reason to be sorry, he’s not- No, you’re wrong. That doesn’t make any sense. How in the hell would there be a drunk driver at 3 in the afternoon? No, you’re wrong! Nat, he’s wrong, right?” You looked at your wife, eyes shining, but her expression was unreadable. Her arms were crossed against her chest as she stood in the center of the room, and you couldn’t help but remember the last time she looked that alone—at the SHIELD party all those years ago.

---

She was standing in the corner with her back to everyone in the room. You didn’t believe it was her at first—sure, redheads weren’t that common, but how could it be her? You hadn’t seen her in months, although it wasn’t from lack of trying. Besides, this woman looked so unbelievably… small. And sad. And alone. This was a party, for heavens’ sake, and she looked like she was stuck in solitary confinement. None of those sounded anything like the woman you’d met.

But with a shake of your head, you turned back to the bar, taking a sip from your drink with the intent of clearing her from your mind. You got over her months ago, Y/N. It was literally just one date. Stop thinking about her. Besides, what are the chances she works for SHIELD anyway?

Yet, ten minutes later, the woman remained in her place and looked just as pitiful as she did when you first saw her. Your mind couldn’t stop your legs from swinging off of the chair and walking over to her.

“Um, excuse me?” Your heart stopped when you saw her face. It was her. She was glammed up for the party, but it was Nat, and she looked just as beautiful as the first time you’d seen her.

“Y/N?” Your heart caught in your throat for a second as if you hadn’t thought that it could be her, not allowing you to respond until after you’d taken another sip from your drink.

“Nat.” You didn’t know what else to say. You hadn’t really planned it out, to be honest. Your body just kind of… brought you here. The two of you just stared at each other, neither of you too sure of what to say. Suddenly, all the anger you’d had towards her over the past few months pushed its way to the surface. “Did you lose my number or something? Get a new phone?”

“Y/N, I- what are you doing here?”

“Really? We had an amazing first date, you told me you can’t wait for the next one, and then you didn’t talk to me for months? And then, when I do find you, that’s all you have to say? I mean, obviously I was the fool for believing yo-”

“Are you stalking me?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Are you serious right now? No, I’m not stalking you! I work for SHIELD now, which you would know if you didn’t freaking ghost me!”

“You- you work for SHIELD?”

“Yes, I’ve been working for SHIELD for six months.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I… I have to go.” You watched her, your eyes blazing and nostrils flaring, as she walked out of the room. She never came back that night.

---

“I have to go,” Nat interrupted the silence.

“Natasha, wait. You really shouldn’t be going anywhere like this.” Fury stood from his chair but remained behind his desk.

“I’m going home.”

“Natasha, please, just hold on a seco-” Unlike that night, you followed Nat out of the room. The two of you were out the door before Fury could stop you.

When you got home, the house was dark and Olivia’s car wasn’t there. That didn’t deter either of you, though.

“Igor! Igor! Mom’s home!”

“Igoryok, it’s Mama!” When neither of you heard a response, the two of you frantically began running through the house. You searched room after room, checking each one and the hallway closet at least three times. When your legs turned to lead and you couldn’t breathe any longer, you dropped to your knees, completely unaware of what part of the house you were in.

That’s how Natasha found you—in Igor’s room, sobbing, your knees digging deep into the hardwood floors and your head resting on his pillow right next to his stuffed pig and the green baby blanket he refused to sleep without.

“Y/N,” she murmured, her voice broken and tears trailing down her flushed cheeks. Your wife stumbled her way over to you and collapsed by your side. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, she pulled you as close as she could, and you let her.

The two of you cried for what felt like a million lifetimes, not stopping until you physically ran out of tears, your eyes so dry that it hurt to open them. Your head leaned against Nat’s shoulder. Both of you stared at the wall ahead of you with an empty gaze, the only sound heard in the room being your shallow breaths.

“You were right,” you whispered, your throat dry.

“About what?” Nat’s voice was as quiet and hollow as yours.

“Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Miss Taylor had told your son that words could never hurt him, but she was wrong. Hearing the words that Igor was dead; that your son was gone; that you would never get to see him earn his high school diploma, or get a job that he was passionate about, or grow up to be a happy adult, or even hug him one last time; that you would never get to see him become an amazing warrior like you’d predicted just five years ago—those words caused you the most pain you’d ever felt in your entire life.

-----

Tagging: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling #stones

115 notes · View notes

earlgreymon · 3 years

Text

leap

@taioraweek 2021 // [day 1] connection this is something i planned for last year's taiora week, but here i am. inspired after watching time traveler's wife and about time. if you want to know more about tsuyoshi and tsubasa, click here.

“Whatever, I’m outta here!”

Taichi stormed out of the room, making sure he slammed the door hard enough to express his anger. He paced down the stairs and walked away from the apartment building before stopping in the nearby park. Without anyone in sight, he had the freedom to curse loudly, letting all the frustration caused by the person he left at home.

This wasn’t anything new. Even before they turned their friendship into something more romantic, Taichi and Sora often argued with each other thanks to their dominant personality. When they decided to move in together, he thought it would somehow help to die down the little heat between them. Yet after almost half a year of living under the same roof, the fights were getting more and more frequent to the point where shouting became a bit too normal.

And now, it felt like Taichi had reached another milestone where he started to think over about their relationship. Maybe they made a wrong choice by living together. Perhaps they were no longer had the compatibility that used to make everyone green with envy.

He sat down on the edge of a tree seat, holding his head that kept getting heavier. Taichi closed his eyes, pushing an effort to simmer himself down; a few sighs here and there. When his heavy lids cracked back open, the first thing he noticed was a pair of kid-sized feet on the ground, wrapped in white-and-blue sneakers. Slowly as he lifted his head, his eyes met similar-looking brown orbs, but that wasn’t the only thing that felt familiar—the nose, the shape of the face, and… the notoriously big hair.

Seeing a ten years old-version of himself, the only thing Taichi oddly could say was, “…are you lost, little kid?”

“Save the pleasantries. I know you are surprised right now, Dad.”

Wait, what did he just call—

“Who are you?”

“Don’t I look obvious? I’m your son.”

It was an understatement to say he was surprised. Taichi was horrified.

“Oh, geez. Mum was right: you are dense.” The boy folded his arms, watching the face of the grown man in front of him turning pale. “I didn’t even cut my hair on purpose so you could recognise me easily. By the way, how on earth could you stand this hairstyle for a very long time? It’s heavy, itchy, and not proper at all.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out, kiddo!” Taichi could hear his own voice getting higher in panic as if this boy was a death threat. His little sister was somewhat a psychic, but Taichi himself had never experienced such a weird situation. “I—what—I mean—how—well—can you explain in a way that is more—I don’t know—human?!”

“I am a human.” The boy raised one of his eyebrows, looking offended. “Fine. Sorry for startling you.” He pulled a sigh before continuing, “The name’s Yagami Tsuyoshi. I come from the future, and I’m your son.”

Taichi blinked.

“No, you’re not a human. You’re Doraemon.”

“Just because I’m wearing a blue jumper doesn’t mean I’m a racoon-looking robot,” Tsuyoshi said, irritated. “Try to ask me a personal question, then.”

“Okay. Give me the name of my family members.”

“Grandpa Susumu, Grandma Yuuko, and Aunt Hikari,” answered Tsuyoshi casually. “But that’s something everyone can look up on Facebook. What you can’t look up, at least not in this year, is that Aunt Hikari is married to Uncle Takeru, and for your information, she got married before you did.”

“She what?!”

“Come on, be more personal. I’m your son, so of course we take a bath together pretty often. I know you have a mole under your right, hairy armpit.” Taichi had to resist the urge to strangle the boy for saying that out loud publicly. “And don’t you want to know about my Mum? Your wife?”

He was actually dying to know, but he was also afraid if the answer was far from his expectation.

As if he could read his mind, Tsuyoshi answered without waiting for Taichi’s response. “Today, you’re having a fight, contemplating whether you’re in the right relationship or not. Less than two years from this day, you’re going to have a wedding and find out that you’re indeed in the right relationship.”

Taichi’s eyes dilated. “Wait. Sora and I—we’re married?”

“Sadly, yes. I would prefer to have Uncle Yamato as my father, though. Maybe I’ll look more handsome then.”

“Oi, shut your mouth.”

“But Mum is the reason I can come here,” Tsuyoshi ignored Taichi’s foul mouth. “The first male-born of a Takenouchi is gifted with the ability to travel through time.”

“The first son?” Taichi repeated in a simpler term, concluding that Sora didn’t have the same ability since she was the family’s only daughter. “Why not the woman?”

“Grandpa Haruhiko said that women feel too much pain already—giving birth, et cetera. Time travel is not as easy as snapping fingers.”

“So you feel pain?”

Tsuyoshi did not answer the question for a moment, only gazing Taichi right in the eyes with so much enigma. He then took a seat beside Taichi. “Even if I do feel pain, I always go head-first anyway. I think it’s your gene.”

Taichi decided to take it as a compliment. Having felt that the subject was rather sensitive, he momentarily harboured the conversation, letting the silence sink in.

“Hey, Dad.” Tsuyoshi then called after some seconds. “Grandpa Haruhiko always told me that I have to use my ability wisely. One wrong move and I can alter the history. That’s why I’m kind of jeopardising my own existence by meeting you now.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re currently fighting with Mum. As per her story, she is packing her stuff right now, ready to go back to her parents’ house. I don’t know the exact time she’s leaving, but maybe by the time you’re going back, she’s already gone and you two are going to face an ugly breakup. And if that happens, I will be consumed along the way back to my time and… poof,” he blew his mouth like a deflating pufferfish, “disappear.”

Taichi felt like it was his responsibility to keep Tsuyoshi alive now.

“If you don’t want to disappear, then why don’t you encourage me to hurry back home right now?” Taichi couldn’t help but ask. Truth to be told, even without meeting Tsuyoshi and keeping him in company, Taichi wasn’t sure whether returning to the apartment was the right decision. His ego and pride still refused to make peace.

Tsuyoshi slowly turned his head to face Taichi. There was a slight smile on his lips—a smile that somehow reminded him of Sora.

“You’re right. I should be nagging at you, maybe even drag you to the apartment myself,” he said, but without showing any intention to get up. “The future isn’t something that is sure, but I’m here because I’m sure with both of you.”

Taichi was taken aback. Tsuyoshi started to swing his hanging legs.

“I haven’t been travelling that much, but I learned that despite the efforts we made to change the past, something that is meant to happen will happen. I once went to the past to rescue Aunt Hikari’s cat from getting hit by a motorbike. I did it, and he was saved. However, a few days later, he still died of diarrhea. That’s where I learned that you cannot alter something if it was meant to be—just like you and Mum. You both have an undeniable connection that won’t be shaken easily despite the fights and flights, and believe me when I say you guys still bicker a lot after you get married. But hey, I’m still here travelling so casually. That’s a good sign, right?”

A lecture from a grade-schooler who claimed as his prodigal son wasn’t something he expected this afternoon, but it was all he needed to purge the doubts inside. Maybe Tsuyoshi was right. Maybe he and Sora were meant to be.

Yes, maybe. At the end of the day, the future is uncertain, like his son said just now.

But still, he had the ability to navigate himself into the future he wanted, right?

It was Taichi’s turn to smile, giving a ruffle to Tsuyoshi’s hair. “You’re wise. I think that’s another thing you got from your Mum,” Taichi said as he got up from the seat. “Let’s just hope she will still be your Mum.”

“She has too much stuff to pack. I bet she’s still at home.”

“Agree. I still have to be quick, though. Thank you, Tsuyoshi.”

“No worries, Dad. I’m going to wait for you on the other side. With Tsubasa too.”

“Tsubasa? Who’s—”

Tsuyoshi just winked, and even though it was Taichi who stood up first, Tsuyoshi was the one who ran towards the opposite direction of the apartment. He made a turn outside the park’s fence before going missing—hopefully, not for good.

Taichi, too, had to run as fast as he could. He had a future to secure, after all.

#digimon #by me #fic #taioraweek #taiora #taichi yagami #sora takenouchi

29 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 31

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: it’s going down now!! hope you enjoy it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

- Barnes. - he answered.

- Mr. Barnes, it’s Agent Cox. We have an assignment for you. - his grip almost loosened on his coffee cup. - If you could meet with us tod ...

- I don’t do that anymore.

- I’m sorry Mr. Barnes, but I don’t make the rules. 1 o’clock, you know where.

- Wait. - before he could even say a thing, the phone line went dead. Fuck. Fucking assholes.

He threw the mug onto the sink, the sheer force of the movement making the porcelain shatter against the spotless aluminium which made the sleeping Y/N on the couch, perk up wide awake. Through the temporary blurry vision of the first look after sleeping, Y/N got up from the couch and rushed towards the kitchen. Bucky had his back turned to the tiled wall, hands on the marbled kitchen top with his head looking down at the sink. She padded lightly, coming up on his left rather than behind him, placing her hand on top of his which quickly got a reaction from him.

- What’s wrong? - she was smart enough to know when something was wrong despite the fact he had learned to hide it from her. Bucky sighed, turning around to lean against the kitchen top. - Bucky?

Bucky remained locked inside his mind, fighting something which Y/N couldn’t really understand. It quickly passed her mind it could’ve been due to her actions last night but that thought quickly left as the overwhelming feeling of wanting to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his chest. Bucky was still much too lost in his own mind. He should’ve be enjoying retirement, or at least his version of retirement and he definitely should not be leaving his bride-to-be who was being harassed by some maniac stalker. Yet, here he was once again. He guessed when they said don’t hurt anyone, it obviously did not include him.

- Talk to me, Bucky. What’s wrong, love?

- What ... what ring cut do you want? - he tried to change the topic but she was much too smart to know he hadn’t broken a mug over deciding what cut she wanted for her engagement ring. - Princess cut? Heart? Marquise?

- Barnes! - she interrupted him before he decided to switch careers and become an engagement ring adviser. - What is it?

- I ... I have to go, Y/N. I have an assignment.

- What do you mean?

- It’s complicated.- he rested his hand on his neck. How does one even start to explain it? Bucky wanted her to see him as a regular man, he did not want the Winter Soldier, HYDRA, SHIELD or even the Avengers being part of his history with him. Maybe it was wrong of him to want to divide those two parts of him, but he wanted her to see whatever good was left in him. How would he even explain it to her when he can barely explain it to himself?

- Well then explain to me. Make it uncomplicated.

- I .. it’s part of my plea deal, princess.

- What plea deal? - she followed him into the living room, where he sat in the couch. - Bucky, talk to me, please. Let me help you.

- You think the government would let me walk around as if nothing had happened? - he meant for it to sound playful however it came out filled with resentment and why wouldn’t he resent them? It wasn’t freedom, it was constantly being kept on the leash by a government which was everything but capable of taking care of homeland security. - I had a list of people associated with HYDRA, it started with that then ... then after I was done they started calling me whenever they thought someone had HYDRA connections so I could bring them in and make amends.

- Makes amends? What is that supposed to mean?

- It means what you think it means, princess.

- Bu ...

- I have to meet with the agents to get the details today. - he interrupted before she could delve deeper into what he was sure she wanted to discuss. Bucky knew what he had to do and he knew there was no use crying and whining about it. - At one but I’ll be ba ...

- I’m going with you.

- What? No, you’re not going. You’re staying here, god knows the papers already know you skipped the party and will be starting with their theories.

- I did not ask for you opinion, I said I am going.

- Princess, they’re not gonna let you inside the room and you’ll be probably waiting outside for an hour. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable here?

- No. I am going, Bucky. End of story.

- So you’re calling the shots now?

- Yes. - she looked over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom to finally get rid of the dress that was starting too feel way too uncomfortable.

Bucky was not happy. The last thing he needed was the government to know he was dating, much less the officers and agents which normally assigned him tasks. Those were two worlds he did not want connected, he didn’t want Y/N mixed with his past, much less mixed with active ex-HYDRA members but he also knew there was no stopping her and the two of them left his flat just half to one, arriving at a mostly regular building which she would’ve mistaken for an office. Bucky parked the car in front of him, stare frozen onto the building as if it were a person which had hurt him. She felt powerless, she couldn’t help him. All she could do was be the first one off the car, eyes shielded by oversized sunglasses as he opened his door as he normally would do for her. He snapped out of it, exiting the car only to give the building that look again which was broken by her holding his hand. He’d done this so many times before and it had always been hard but now, now walking in that building meant he’d be leaving her just in the midst of a crazy person who was stalking her. He shouldn’t be tying up HYDRA’s loose ends, he should be throwing whomever that stalker was inside a cell.

- Wait here, okay? - Bucky instructed Y/N just before he entered the room to have the meeting. - I’ll be back.

- You’re gonna be fine. - she thanked heaven she had decided to take up acting because all she wanted to do now was break down. He kissed her forehead before leaving.

Everything looked so normal, almost like an office’s reception but she had quickly learned to dislike it. She disliked the pale blue colour of the walls, the sound of the coffee machine, the dark blue seats, she hated all of it. She did not need to know exactly why, she knew whatever it was, it was something Bucky deeply disliked and she did not know what to do. She should know what to do, say something more supportive. However, there was someone who knew what to do, who would know how to be better at helping him than she could. Y/N fished through her purse, a mess of stuff coming out before she could even get to her phone.

- Hello?

- Steve, you need to come. Hum ... I don’t know where I am but I need your help.

- Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where’s Bucky?

- I don’t know what’s going on. - she sighed, leaning her head against the palm of her hand. - He didn’t explain it to me but it’s about assignments and the government.

- I’ll be there as fast as I can, Y/N.

- Thank you.

All eyes in the room were on her, as if she was a circus attraction. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, she had grown up surrounded by an audience either it being her family or the audience of the plays she had been so she knew when people were staring at her. This look however, it was almost as of surprise and shock. She curled up against her own self, lip between her teeth as her fingers pulled at the pearls wrapped around her neck. She should’ve insisted to go in, to be by his side so he wasn’t alone.

- Y/N, are you okay? - she looked up to see Sam and Steve. - Sam, take her to the car.

- I don’t need to be in the car. I’m staying here to support him and one of you is gonna explain me to me what the heck is happening.

- I’m going to check on Cox and Buck. - Steve left Y/N alone with Sam, the two of them sat in probably the most uncomfortable seats ever created.

- Sam, are they gonna hurt him?

- Bucky’s gonna be fine, Y/N. This is part of “effort” to make amends.

- Make amends for what, Sam? For being the Winter Soldier? For being a persona forced upon him by HYDRA which was undercover in the government for years? This can’t ... it can’t be possibly legal.

- Try to tell that to a jury of people who see him as the guy who fought Captain America in Washington and threw a guy into traffic. It’s not as simple but he’ll be fine. He’s done it several times and they always tell him no one gets hurt.

- What about him? What are the rules about hurting him? - the two of them remained silent. There was nothing else to be said because both of them knew there were no rules. It was as uncertain as it came, it didn’t matter if he was “retired” from avenging or from being called the Winter Soldier. It did not matter.

Time went by slowly and it felt as if Bucky and Steve had been in there for hours, when in reality the clock only marked 30 minutes and 40 minutes when the two of them stepped out of the room. Y/N scrambled to her feet, despite the sleepy state she had been in, fast walking towards her fiance. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could, standing on her tips of her sneakers to try and convey she was there for him.

- Seriously? Steve? - he whispered against her ear but Y/N shook it off.

- Was it bad? - she turned to Steve, knowing Bucky would just try to shield her from it.

- Nothing far from usual. We’ll be standing by if you need it.

- Thanks. - Bucky put his arm on over her shoulder, pushing her close to him while he could.

- Next time call, Buck. If you don’t know how to use your phone ask your girlfriend. - Sam perked up before both him and Steve left.

She looked up at him, knowing she’d definitely get a scolding for calling Steve but instead he just leaned down to kiss her before holding her tight. She was left stunned, wondering why he was yet to say something. Y/N could not know much about her boyfriend’s former life with HYDRA, but she knew him. She knew Bucky hated to bring Steve into things, specially after their relationship had slightly strained and despite that she still called Steve in. Steve knew his HYDRA life, she did not. Yet, Bucky always seemed to either let out a sarcastic remark or at least roll his eyes at her. Not today though. He acted as if the two of them had just came out of a date, holding her by her waist as they walked into the car.

She remained suspicious, looking to the side as he drove to his Brooklyn apartment. No. He had to be thinking about something, he had to be wondering about how to make his discontent about her calling Steve known. But he didn’t. He just had the radio playing, his hand on her thigh but she was still suspicious. Her suspicion grew stronger as they entered his flat and he held her flush against him, lowering to kiss her as if he hadn’t seen her in years. It was soft, filled with passion and slow. The type of kiss which if long enough would lead to more unsavoury things.

- I have to leave tomorrow. - his voice came out meek and soft as his lips parted from hers.

- What? - now it made sense.

- I have to leave tomorrow for my assignment. I don’t know when I’m going to be back but I have made arrangements for someone to watch over you. No one will hurt you while I’m gone.

- Bucky, this is ridiculous. - she sighed. - Can’t we fight this? Can’t Steve help? You shouldn’t have to do this.

- I have to do this, Y/N. It’s my ... amends.

- Amends? Seriously? - she bit harshly onto her lip as not to start crying. She knew the moment she started to cry, he’d change the conversation to be about her and this was not about her. - You have to make amends?

- Y/N...

- No. - she interrupted. - You enlisted of a war caused by lack of government action, you were presumed dead only to be found by people who then seeped into the organisation which was meant to protect the country. They cut off whatever was left of your arm from a fall caused by them and brainwashed you. You are 106, you were 28 when you feel from that train. That’s 78 years, James. That’s more than average life expectancy for a man in the USA. You’re telling me they had you unwillingly under their control during their dirty deeds for more than a man’s life expectancy and you have to make amends?

- That’s the plea deal I accepted, Y/N. What do you want me to do? What do you want to do?

- I just want them to see you the way that I see you, not the way they made you out to be. - Bucky took a step forward to hold her but she stepped back. - How can you accept it? Having them do this to you?

- It’s just like the things your agency makes you do, princess. You get used to it overtime.

- It’s not the same. I chose to sign that contract, whatever comes of it is my fault. You did not chose to be used by someone and how is that fair? It’s not fair.

- Life’s not fair. - he took a test step, testing if she would once again walk back but she did not. She stood there, arms crossed and head low and it broke him to see her like that but he did not know how to react. He’d never had someone say that to him and had he been less shaken by the sudden call, he would’ve probably had a different reaction. Yet, right now, all he wanted was to hold her. He wanted to hold her for as long as he could until he had to leave.

Bucky fully approached her, wrapping his arms around her and resting her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her forehead, trying to hide his own emotions and trying to think of how he’d get that ex general down fast enough to return to her. To return to her little nose scrunch whenever she smiled with intent.

- I need you to do something for me, princess. You’re not gonna like it but I need you to do it. - he whispered, those words only for her. - Don’t make me say goodbye to you.

- What do you mean?

- Let me leave while you’re asleep. We go to bed just like we always do and you wake up tomorrow and I’m not here.

- Bucky, no.

- No, princess. Please. I was never good with goodbyes and if I don’t say goodbye to you, we never said it, so it never happened.

- Bucky ...

- Besides if I leave my dog tags with you, I can’t die. - he tried to lighten up the mood.

- That’s not how it works.

- I’ll be fine. I’ve done this plenty of times and no one has gotten hurt.

- Not one has gotten hurt yet.

She didn’t want to let go of him and even as night approached and they laid down to sleep, she couldn’t sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, the dark suffocated her and it made it hard to fall asleep. She looked at him the whole night, his hand holding hers until the heaviness of her lids eventually won the war against her yet it wasn’t that she was tired. She was just lying unconscious in darkness, feeling the tragedy in the air. He too had barely slept, awaking up up when he had to and finding it even harder to leave her. She was laying on his bed, her hair framing her face, chest slowly rising up and down. She was alive, she was no fantasy, she was his dream come true and he was leaving her. He guessed that was the price of freedom.

He took a final look at his bride to be, her fluttering lashes making her look ethereal against the white sheets. Oh, he’d be back. He’d be back for her. Bucky took his tags off, leaning down to place them across her slightly opened palm and to kiss her temple before he took off into the early dawn.

Y/N woke up when the sun was high in the sky, the light contrasting the cold of her bed. She didn’t need to look at his side of the bed to know he was gone. She couldn’t feel him, she couldn’t hear him. The flowers by the bedside had gone brown, the dead petals falling on her palm like teardrops against his dogs tags. She clinged onto the shiny material, bringing it up to her chest before she allowed herself to cry finally. No sounds came, no whimpers of sadness, no moans of grief. Nothing. Tears just streamed down her face in silent rivers falling onto the sheets as she tried to convince herself it would be okay. Things were gonna be okay.

Just as she managed to calm herself down, she realised the moment she opened that bedroom door, the lack of the smell of coffee, the lack of the smell of oil from his fried eggs. It would all just come back in big flashes and she would be back to where she had just been. She couldn’t be in his flat anymore, it was too painful. She needed to go, she just didn’t know where yet as she opened the door, there was indeed someone in her kitchen.

- Sharon?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @bbabysbaby @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing @cynic-spirit

125 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

Part 3

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, artist!reader, establishedfwb!jisung, skz side characters, explicit language, conflicting feelings angst, reader has past trauma/trust issues (implied), fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms (implied), fluffy n’ intimate body touching (this is a thing I think lol), lil bit of nipple play, seo changbin being the soft soft dom of my SOUL

Word count: 4.6k

Chapters

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

ding-ding-diNG!

Your teeth chattered, battling the early morning frigid air. White wisps of your shaking breath vaporized in front of you. Your arms were tightly wrapped around your chest and your knees bounced with a little dance to keep your blood flowing.

[02:29] CB

me: where the hell are you? are you coming down?

Your dry and cold fingers typed out the words hurriedly on your phone screen. One more time, you smashed your finger on the buzzer button. You figured that if he had fallen asleep after inviting you over, you would kill him.

“Come on, come on,” you hissed into the open air.

Thick footsteps came clomping down the stairs from the other side of the frosted glass door, and your attention quickly whipped over.

As expected, he had adorned himself in nearly all black clothing. Nevertheless, he had thought to pull out his silver chain over the padded coat with white stripes down the arms.

“Took you long enough. Let me in, I feel like my toes are frozen.”

Changbin’s eyes cast down to your thin canvas sneakers you had put on in your haste, which were now covered in snow.

“You should have worn better shoes then. Lets get going.”

“--Get going??”

He swung the door behind him closed and it locked with a little click.

“We’re going somewhere?”

“I’m hungry.” Changbin simply announced, then took off walking down the block.

“I thought that--”

“--Keep up. It’s not that far.”

He led the two of you onward, and you snuck one more look up at him and the way that the snowflakes got tangled in his hair.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Here, be careful, it’s hot.”

After brushing off the ice crusted bench, Changbin presented to you a giant bowl of steaming noodles so large you guessed you could keep live fish in it. The smell of the broth was dreadfully nostalgic and was full of all of your favorite ingredients, almost as if he had known exactly what you would’ve ordered. You couldn’t help but feel giddy while the steam wafted up your nose.

You wondered with full eyes, “Oh my god, what is this?”

“-The best thing that you’ll ever have in your life. You might as well thank me now.”

You pulled the little heater closer towards the two of you with radiating orange coils. Changbin didn’t skip a beat sitting right down next to you, letting the fabric of both of your coats intermingle.

“This is my favorite place in the city. Their recipes really remind me of my mom and grandma’s.”

“Well I’m really excited to try.” You blew off a handful of noodles steaming into your nose while Changbin expectantly watched you hork it down.

“So?”

You covered your chomping mouth with your hand. “So, so good.”

“Hmm.” He scoffed, then there was that smug little smirk of his.

You thought to yourself that it was kind of cute.

The two of you sat quietly together, watching the silent sounds of the snowfall on the road in front of you, following the cars that passed. Over time, your body seemed to gravitate: bit by bit and piece by piece, closer to the boy next to you.

Changbin set down his metal chopsticks with a tiny clink on the table. “So, are you going to tell me about yourself now?”

“Me?”

“Didn’t I say last time I wanted to know?”

You remembered, but this time you couldn’t as easily kiss away the questions on his lips.

“How do you mean? There isn’t too much to know.”

“I don’t think that’s true. What is it that you study?”

“You want to know what I study?”

You nearly laughed in your surprise at the mundane question considering that the person sitting across from you had seen you turned inside out, a moaning and muttering mess upon first meeting, and he wanted to know what you studied?

“Why does that matter?”

“Matters ‘cause I want to know.” He simply returned, and gave you that look.

Normally his eyes were stormy grey, like the way that the sky would sizzle with energy before lighting would crack. They clouded with severity that seemed dangerous when he was angry, or when there was something that he wanted. But, looking at you like this, there was no danger that they held.

“Are you going to tell me or just keep glaring at me like that?” Changbin nodded to your nearly empty bowl. “Finish that. Don’t let it go cold.”

You did as you were told--at least it wasn’t answering the question.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But tell me something else at least. Why were you at that show?”

“My friends took me? My friend Chan is really into underground rap and stuff like that so he usually drags me and Felix with him. I don’t mind.”

“See? Was answering that that hard?”

You had forgotten, then laughed a little to yourself. “Chan actually was there to see you. He had heard about you from whatever those circles are. He was really excited.”

“I’m actually glad you were there for that reason. For a second there I thought you might’ve said that you were there to see Han Jisung.”

You nearly spat out your bite of noodles, and choked a little on the broth.

“Guy’s a fuckin’ showboat and a cocky asshole. The girls at the shows are usually there for him.”

“What the fuck? You didn’t just say that.”

Anger bit like acid in your throat.

“What? He is!!”

It should have hurt more that he had assumed that you were one of the masses that would fall over their feet for Han Jisung, but it didn’t. Your chest twisted in knots knowing that the assumption was right--that hurt the most. You felt sick knowing now how he would look at you if he knew where you would stoop.

“I’m complimenting you!! I’m glad that you don’t waste your time on assholes like him.”

“Since when do you get to pass judgement on who I do and don’t spend my time with? -And aren’t you one of those same assholes? Up there on that stage, what makes you think that you’re any different from the rest of them?”

“I mean...I like to think that I’m not--”

Your eyes rolled back so far it might’ve hurt a little.

“You’re all the fucking same. I’m so fucking stupid.”

The words quietly fell off your lips like venom.

“We’re all?” What are you talking about?”

“And what the hell is this with trying to get up all in my business? We fucked once Changbin, what more do you want from me? You think I owe you something now? I’m not falling for that again.”

The crunch of your footsteps padded the snow when you turned out of your seat to speed away from him as fast as you could, and as far as you could.

He was the unbelievable one.

“Stop! I don’t get what you’re talking about. Falling for what again? You’re not making any sense! And no, I don’t think that you owe me something. I’m sorry if you thought that. I’m just--” He grabbed at your arm.

“--WHAT?” you tore his hand away.

“Is it a fucking crime to fuck someone and then give a damn about them? Ever heard about that happening?”

In your life?

Something terrible and suffocating rose in your chest that felt like a sob that you had held in for much too long.

“Listen.” Changbin approached you closer, carefully, that look softening. “It’s freezing out here, it’s late. We...don’t have to talk about it any more. I’ll take you back to my place, I’ll call you a cab, you can go home? Okay?”

Changbin poked out his arm looped in his pocket for you to link up to.

You didn’t need his help when you knew the way.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Rosemary and cedarwood again. It was like it was everywhere. It was in the hoodie that he insisted that you put on and all entangled in the fabric of that blanket that he draped around your shoulders. Had you remembered what it was like under the covers of his bed, it was likely there too.

“Warming up?”

The bed bounced a little where he sat next to you with the tips of his ears pink. As cold as you were, you were certain that he must have been colder.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” You crossed up your cold feet under your legs.

“20 minutes? Then I’ll call them?”

You nodded, pulling up the blanket hem to your nose and covering half your face.

Changbin breathed out a little laugh. “You look like a marshmallow.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Not a bad thing.”

His smile fell, and he focused on the silver rings twisting around his fingers. He fiddled with them, and you watched, neither of you knowing really what to do with the silence. After some resolve, he crawled over next to you, to lay facing your bundled up face.

At last, he sighed, “I could tell you about me. If you care.”

Rather than respond, you merely kept on looking at the way the silver would glimmer in the dim yellow of the light.

“Everything that I do, I do to rap and to perform. My parents never supported me doing this kind of thing and said that if I wanted to do it, I would loose their support. After a while, I realized their support wasn’t that valuable anyway if it was going to be over something that didn’t matter to me. I moved out after high school, I’ve been doing this ever since.”

“You like it that much?”

He cracked his fingers, “Sometimes you just know what it is that you’re gonna spend your life doing. For me, it’s this.”

Your eyes fell to your own hands which still were speckled with little flecks of acrylic.

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“I...paint. And stuff like that. It’s not my major, it could never be, but I feel like that when I’m mixing the colors together and it’s just right. Helps me get the thoughts outta my head.”

“Yeah...it’s exactly like that.”

In the warmth of the blankets, you felt a yawn escape your lips and your eyes grow heavy. Your vision had grown blurry, and your dry eyes begged for sleep, but you could still see the way that creeping little smile tugged at his lips.

You thought to yourself that it was kind of cute.

“Thank you for telling me something about you.”

His voice was some kind of dreamy watercoloring of pale pinks and blues. You thought you had likely imagined it. The weight of his hand on your arm felt weightless too, why was it lingering here? His fingers tickled your ear while he swept your hair behind the skin.

The way that he whispered, “You’re making me want to kiss you.” must have been some kind of dream too.

Laying like this, right by your side reminded you for before, and the way that your brain had gone cloudy--you could’ve kissed him like that for hours.

“You...didn’t stop yourself before.”

Your challenge was all that he needed to take both sides of your face into his hands connecting himself to you incessantly, but gently. He spilled into your mouth kisses of sky blue and lavender, every single one more dedicated than the last. He kissed like he was dizzy and that you would make it all right for him, and like you were the one that he could find over and over. His mouth was blazing hot with warmth and he missed no part of you, moving on to kiss you in places you didn’t know needed the attention: over your bottom and top lip, in the corners of your mouth and the tip of your nose, carefully on the peach fuzz on your cheeks and the bone of your jawline. Each one was purposeful and sweet and melted into your skin snowflakes.

His wandering hands were cold under the blankets, but you didn’t mind the sensation against your bare skin where he crept his way in, smoothing over the curves of your body.

Changbin cascaded is way down, pulling you in by the hips closer to his own body. Your core tightened feeling his hands trickle over your waistband.

“Can I?” He whispered into his kisses.

You nodded: your exhaustion mixed with some state of unconscious desperation that you had entwined together, and you were completely at his mercy once more.

“Yes. I’ve...wanted you to.”

He popped the button and unzipped your pants with little effort, slipping those same cold fingers into the heat of your folds. You shivered with the two temperatures mingling and the pressure of his fingers on your slicked bud in little circles.

All you could manage were a couple of attempts at forming some kind of words that would eventually get caught in your throat. With one hand, you clawed at the fabric of his tee, hoping just a little that he liked the way that your nails would dig into his skin. His digits mingled all in your arousal, and brought it back up to your clit to make it twitch. After a while he would let you throw your head back into the pillows to feel every little bit of it and focus only on the way that he would press his fingers in harder and faster, then tease you over with barely touching you at all. He would remove his fingers too, to admire the way that it would string between them, leaving you a writhing mess without him.

“Bin, please, just wanna--”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence before he granted your wish. He sped up for you, rubbing in perfect circles for your clit to throb under his touch, closer and closer...

“Can I--?”

He didn’t answer you, but instead, leaned down to fill your mouth with more kisses and maintained his pace with forearm muscles flexing slightly.

Your orgasm was faster and much harder than you had expected: it rocked your whole body, from top to bottom where your legs thrashed and your toes curled. The muscles of your stomach tensed, and you felt your whole core spring upward as you came. Luckily, you remembered to be quiet and kept your breath short and sharp, letting only the tiniest of moans meet the air.

Changbin helped you ride your orgasm out until you could take no more sensation, then stopped, snapping your underwear hem a little on the way up. He held you close as you caught your breath, snickering a little when your body would shake. Your euphoria calmed you down into an even more exhausted state, but the way that the endorphins coursed though you felt like a high. Greedily, the closeness and the way that your head spun made the word slip out of your mouth.

“More?”

Changbin said nothing while he indulged you and peppered your skin with kisses in all those places that you didn’t know needed the attention. He would smile into your lips each time that you would come undone; slipping deeper and deeper into him.

“M-more. I just want...one...more.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Just skipping one class isn’t the end of the world. You know that you look like a mess right?”

Minho, your assigned seat partner turned friend-in-suffering poked his pencil at the baggy black hoodie that you had forgotten to return. On the bus ride to campus, you had realized that you hadn’t taken it off.

“I know, alright? You don’t have to remind me.”

“You gonna tell me about it?” Minho poked at you once more with his teasing grin. You retaliated by raising your phone up as if to chuck it at his head.

Behind the two of you, a group of two ambitious girls hushed as they organized their plethora of colored pens and highlighters. Minho bowed a little sorry in apology.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m assuming that this isn’t yours.”

“I-it’s new. I just haven’t worn it before.”

He scanned over the fabric and the little white brand on the left sleeve. “Huh. Must be a popular one I guess. I’m pretty sure that my one of my friends has the same one.”

“--Will you lend me something to write on...and with? I...didn’t bring my stuff with me.”

“Really.” Your classmate tore out a piece of his notebook paper--a little extra loudly as well--just for those eavesdropping girls behind you. “You should’ve just not come.”

To your left, your phone vibrated with the screen illuminated:

Low Battery: 20%

[10:39]

felix: I can’t believe you. You went over there again? Didn’t you say that he looked at you weird or something like that?? What happened??

Your heart dropped a little remembering how you had pardoned Felix’s worried nagging and turned on the Find My Friends feature in your phone.

“shit.”

Your phone screen lit up the underside of your table as you frantically tapped through your settings to turn off the slide bar. In the corner of your eye, you had seen Minho take his phone under the table as well.

[10:41]

CB: good job leaving your keys at my place

i can’t get them back to you until much later. i’ve got work.

“shit.”

me: i have work until later too

and sorry

CB: my roommate said that he could get them to you at 5. you’ll be at the library then?

me: your roommate??

CB: relax. he doesn’t give a shit.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You read over the messages over and over, refreshing the little chat nearly every two seconds. Over the time waiting, your hand had grown embarrassingly damp, and your foot nervously tapped at the floor to the same tune that your chest thumped with your anxiety.

This was fucking humiliating.

Granted, you were no stranger to unsavory behavior, but somehow, this felt even worse. Furthermore, it all could have been avoided:

What the hell had happened last night?

It was becoming all too a common theme for you: you didn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up to the blaring of your alarm to those obnoxious Tardis sounds that were just a little too out of date...considering that you had long past all that Dr. Who stuff.

Changbin had actually left the bed all to you, waking up some time a little before you from sleeping on the couch and offering you some horribly cheap tasting coffee. You still drank it.

CB: just stand somewhere by the front door. i told him that’s where you’ll be.

The library overlooked the main quad of your university. In the wintertime, the trees that encircled the usually grassy circle were reduced to craggy and bare fingers powdered in the white snow.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You scolded yourself though clenched teeth.

“--Y/n?”

He had snuck up on you, coming from the right, rather than the front of the entrance.

You squeaked out, “Oh fuck.”

Minho twisted your jingling keys around his fingers.

“This is...” Minho laughed out incredulously, “...a coincidence.”

You clawed your keys from his hand with a hasty “Thanks.”

His eyes scanned you up and down as if he was meeting you for the first time, which he certainly wasn’t.

“The hoodie. Dammit. I should’ve known.”

“I-I really need to get back inside, they might need me in th--”

“--So you’ve been screwing him?”

Your heart thumped even more painfully.

“Wait, and you’ve been inside my apartment before and I didn’t even know?”

“Well I didn’t know that you were his roommate!! I didn’t even plan on meeting any of you if I could help it!!”

“So what is he, like, your type?”

“HEY. I don’t mean to stay over, it kind of just happens...I didn’t even want to see him after the first time--”

Minho scoffed then shoved his pink hands into the pockets of his navy and white striped bomber jacket.

“Will I be seeing you around there now?”

“--No.” You cut in. “You won’t.”

Your classmate huffed out a visible breath, “You say that now, but I know that you don’t mean it.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Minho rolled his eyes, then gave the top of your head a chastising pat.

“If you’re gonna be over, you might as well bring snacks or something. No one in that damn apartment knows how to grocery shop for themselves besides me.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Too many fucking coincidences.

You had sat yourself at the exact same table that you had sat at the night before, but this time, you watched as it was Changbin who was standing behind the counter of the noodle shop, taking orders, and smiling much too widely for it to have been normal. He was even wearing one of those cutesy little aprons that the rest of the employees had: there was a little chicken embroidered in the corner next to his nametag.

To anyone else, it made no logical sense why you had decided to show up there: but your frazzled brain still working off your embarrassment from earlier thought this was the best thing to do. You felt like yelling just to get something out of your body. It wasn’t even his fault that his roommate happened to be one of your friends. Your head however, made it his fault.

He had clocked you from where you had sat fuming, not even looking phased at all. In fact, he had dished out for you one of those smirks. One of those stupid, cute smirks.

“See you tomorrow.” He clapped his coworker on the back while he took off his apron.

The shop door creaked out when he opened it.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. You really wanted to see me that soon already?”

You shoved the bundle of his hoodie from your hands to his.

“Here.”

“You came all this way just to give me my hoodie back? That and I’m assuming Minho told you that I work here.”

“How come you didn’t tell me that before?”

“Didn’t seem that important--”

At last, you let yourself snap. “--You made a fucking fool of me today!! Do you know how awful it was??”

“Ahhh Minho did say something about knowing you.”

You had expected sympathy, but rather he teased you with that little cocky grin. Had you known any better, it was almost like he was admiring how flustered you had become.

One, two, then three fat raindrops fell from from the sky and onto his parka, then the rest followed all at once. The bits of slushy and freezing rain barreled in suddenly and fell sideways. It slapped against the sidewalks and pattered on the shutters and gutters of the buildings lining the road.

“Great! This is just great!!” You pulled your coat over your head.

Changbin grabbed at your hand without hesitation. “Come with me.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Open the door!! Open the door!!”

Frozen bits of snow and rain matted your hair and dripped off into your collar; meeting your bare skin. Your entire body felt as if it had been plunged into a freezing cold ocean, and you shook with ferocity. By now, your jeans had completely soaked through with with water and the denim stuck to your legs.

Changbin fumbled with his wallet and wet fingers, finally unlocking the door with that same,

ding-ding-diNG!

The heater in the little vestibule blasted you with heat upon your entrance: a welcome feeling to your drenched body. He had reached out for your hand to guide you to the elevator even though you knew the way.

Water dropped off your bodies into the linoleum floor of the elevator and it got all muddled too by prints from your shoes. After, you followed him further into the apartment building, to the very place you had sworn up and down that you would never see again. You didn’t know how many more times you would have to say it out loud before you would actually obey your own words.

“Fuck--it’s so cold.”

Changbin clinked his keys into the brass keyhole in the long and dank hallway that had matted red velvet carpeting. There was an odd and old-looking stain in front of his door that you had noticed last time.

“It’ll be warmer inside.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He didn’t need to, but he reached out to you once more to pull you through the doorframe. A sense of determination seemed to sweep over him, and you could just barely see that stormy expression cloud over his eyes.

“Ah! Y/n! How nice to see you here officially at last!”

Minho perked up from his book where he was cuddled up on one of those pleather couches in the living room.

Changbin didn’t give you a chance to to respond, but rather tugged you away down the hallway to the bathroom at the very end nearest his room.

“Changbin, what are you--”

He slammed the door behind the two of you, then flicked on the lights at the exact same time as he crashed his whole body into you, flattening your back against the door and scooping up both sides of your face to run his cold lips over yours. His hands were just as cold, and the tips of his bangs dripped tiny droplets of water onto your forehead.

In your shock, your hands were suspended in the air, but he just as quickly took them to wrap them around his sides.

The wooden door rattled a little behind your back, but the sounds faded when he deepened his kiss: floating his tongue over your bottom lip and letting out a breathy little gasp along with it.

“Fuck. You’re really good at making me want you.”

His voice had turned grave with his want, and he never broke your gaze while he peeled off every single piece of your soaked clothing. His eyes ravished your bare skin riddled with goosebumps, and he immediately took to kissing into your shoulders and collarbones once he had access. You tried your best to help him take his clothes off too, but instead he pushed your hands away to do the task himself. Once he had finished, he connected his lips with yours.

“Touch me.” He commanded of you.

You found the request odd, but you still obliged him, starting by running your hands down this pecs then to his abs and around his waist where you scratched at the skin of his lower back. He did the same to you: tracing gentle fingers down your breasts, then going to kneed at them, tweaking the buds just slightly. It wasn’t for long until he encapsulated you completely into his arms, then drew a line into your spine with his ring finger.

Your body warmed by the second: skin now set ablaze by his teeth grazing the skin of your neck.

He drew you along with him, then turned on the water to the shower with a metallic sounding groan. Within a couple minutes the whole room filled with a dense steam. He lead you in to the small compartment, stopping too for a moment to watch the way that the water flowed down your body in little transparent veins.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered into the nape of your neck.

The showering of water was too loud for you to hear, and it wasn’t like you were paying attention anyway. Your phone vibrated where it at fallen in your mess of clothes on the tiled floor.

[23:27]

jisung: what the hell’s been up with you the past few days?

phone break or something??

you didn’t see the other texts I sent you?

are you doing anything right now?

...

are you

ok?

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #changbin x y/n #changbin x reader #changbin x female reader #stray kids drabble #stray kids imagine #stray kids oneshots #kpop drabbles #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #kpop smut #when she turns out longer than you expected ooP #hehe its ok its ok its for the plot development hehe

138 notes · View notes

vampiremansionpoolboy-moved · 3 years

Text

renga week day 1: date

(this takes place in between episodes 10 and 11)

the morning after reki has the cindereki dream he realizes he feelings for langa

he panics at first because what if langa doesn’t like him like that but then he thinks back to their conversation from the night before and he’s not so sure it’s one sided

but he has no idea how to act of this and is almost late for school because he’s thinking about it so much

when he skates to school he sees langa at their meeting spot scrolling on his phone

reki apologizes for being late and tries to ignore the feelings langa’s smile stir in his chest

so as they’re skating to school reki is stuck in his head about what to do (“what do they do in movies when people like each other? what happens if i mess up? what happens if langa only see me as a friend?”) he tries to ignore the thoughts like these

he thinks back to his dream (did he actually marry langa?- does that mean he wants to in real life?-feelings are so confusing) and he’s not sure if he can’t just skate with langa as a way to court him seeing as they skate every day

he almost skates off the street when he remembers dates are a thing

so he compiled all his knowledge of romantic dates into a little folder in his head (sue him if most of the knowledge comes from his sisters’ books and shows)

reki doesn’t notice but langa keeps sending him concerned looks when reki only mumbles half responses to langa’s questions

reki isn’t his normal bright and bubbly self but he’s not like he was before their fight so langa hopes everything is ok

when they finally get to school reki has a semi stable idea of what he’s going to do

step 1: confront langa

step 2: ask langa to dinner

step 3: if langa says yes plan time together (if he says no skate into the sun)

it doesn’t seem to hard but every time he tries to talk to langa someone interrupts or langa takes it the wrong way then starts complementing reki thinking that’s reki is about to take down on himself

so finally when lunch rolls around reki tells himself, as he stands before the door to the roof, ‘you either ask him now or never’

and so reki steels himself and steps onto the roof only to find langa is not their yet (reki’s not sure whether to be disappointed or relived)

and so when langa comes up to their spot later than normal (he had to ask his teacher about something on the homework) he finds reki pacing, his bento left forgotten on the ground

langa tries to make small talk (school, skateboarding, S, anything to make reki talk to him) but gives up after reki doesn’t respond to langa waving a hand in his face

so langa goes back to sadly picking at his lunch and dosent expect reki to say anything (he’s stuck in his own head it ok) but the last thing langa expects reki to say is “go out with me”

langa stares at him

“like on a date” he blurts, face burning

“like- like romantically?”

“no platonically” reki snarks, joking to lessen his nerves

langa face falls instantly

“no wait no i was just joking! yes romantically...if you want to.” langa doesn’t say anything so reki continues “i like you langa, i’m not sure how long, but i just realized and i hoped you felt the same way.”

langa stays silent for a few more seconds before letting out a breathless “yes” and beginning to laugh

reki stares confused as langa continues to laugh

“wha-what’s wrong? what’s so funny? do i have something on my face??”

“well it’s just- i kinda thought we were already dating?”

now it’s reki’s turn to stare

“you what?”

“well im not sure how courting works in japan and you were so much nicer to me than everybody else, you taught me to skate, you built my board, you patched me up when i fell. i just thought that you showed your affection through skating or something.”

“i was just being nice to you!”

“well reki, i’m sorry for reading the situation wrong. but i like you too, so yes i would like to go out with you.”

and so they plan to meet up at one of the nicer restaurants in the area (not joe’s restaurant though, that would be to embarrassing. it’d be like bring your father on a date. or more accurately going on a date at your father figure’s place of work)

opting for more traditional fancy clothing, reki panics while trying to think of what clothes he hasn’t ruined during skating

but for the rest of the day, everyone seems to think langa is showing being very bright and not his emotionless self, while reki seems to but about 100x more happy then normal, smiling for the rest of the day, and practically blind anyone in a ten foot radius whenever langa is in the room

skating together to their meeting spot under the street light reki suddenly feels embarrassed. how do you say goodbye to someone after you admitted feeling and plan to go on a date later?

but apparently that awkwardness didn’t effect langa, who simply held up his hand in a wave, saying goodbye before skating to his apartment, as per usual

getting ready is a whole different mental battle thought

after finding something nice looking, nice smelling, and that fit reki had been home for two hours. they planned to meet up at 6:00 and it was already 4:30

when reki walked into the bathroom he realized he had forgotten he had hair. and so began another panic session where he tried to figure out what to do with his hair. should he keep the headband? should he gel it? should he just run a comb through it? should he just shave it all off?

and so finally reki stood looking himself in the mirror at ten till six, semi satisfied with his final product. he had found a nice unripped pair of jeans, which he paired with a black button up (which it may have had a small hole but hey it was a very small hole), his nicest sneakers, and he decided to forgo the headband, instead just combing his hair back. but as he opens his door he hears his mom and youngest sisters in the living room and knows he won’t be able to sneak past without them asking questions. so just as he’s about to close his door he sees koyomi, and they make eye contact. she notes his nice clothes and mouths ‘what?’ he holds a finger to his lips and hopes his eyes scream ‘please’ before silently shutting his door

he sneaks out the window and skates to their meeting spot

langa is already there and reki almost falls off his skateboard

he’s not wearing anything much different than normal (black slacks, a button up, plus an old red jacket over top) but his hair is pulled back from his eyes and reki swears they were never that blue

reki, again, is overcome with embarrassment (does he still go to do their dap? should he have brought flowers? should he-?)

but langa apparently knows what to do again. he holds his hand out for a dap, but after they finish he doesn’t let go “is this ok?” langa asks squeezing their joined hands. reki nods, unable to speak

then langa holds out his free hand “i know they’re not real flowers but i wanted to give it to you,” in his fist is a flower sticker “i’ve been studying how to make skateboard stickers, because i know you’re like them a lot and i wanted to make something for you after your made my board for me, so here you go.”

reki takes the flowers with a shaking hand, he looks up a langa, who looks a little nervous, “i love it,”

and in that moment reki realizes that their love language is skateboarding. that they’ve shown their love to each other through skating. and when words are not needed or cannot be found all they need to do is skate

and so reki slips the flower sticker into his pocket and says to langa “how about we ditch that fancy restaurant, it’s not really our style. wanna skate?”

langa’s bright smile is a sure enough answer

#rengaweek2021 #renga #here’s my addition to renga week #hope u enjoy

67 notes · View notes

btsficsforthehumble · 3 years

Text

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Small s/o to Fae from sope-and-shine for giving me great inspiration for this chapter!

Part Three

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 1.8k

You continue down the street, noticing yourself hold a faint smile from your time with Jimin. You have a feeling Intro to Comp will be more fun than you anticipated with him to keep you company. You really appreciated his easy-going nature that allowed playful digs to seem second nature between you two, even if you had just met.

You glance up at the sun, now starting to feel more intense as it approaches midday. Noticing, you slip your sunglasses out of your backpack and look at your phone to double check directions --- you weren’t too confident getting around campus quite yet. As you are looking at your GPS app, you see a text pop up from an unknown number.

*Hi y/nnnnn it’s your favorite seat partner from intro to comp!! Hehe*

You roll your eyes at Jimin’s text, and save his number.

*You are my only seat partner from intro to comp, Jimin. It’s been one day.*

*:( Don’t be a meanie, y/n. You know I’d be your favorite no matter what :DD*

*Who's to say? Maybe next time I’ll sit closer to Yoongi*

*GASP. You wouldn’t dare*

*Are you willing to put money on that?*

As you text Jimin, you follow the directions on your phone and end up at a cute little grocery store, with a built in cafe off to the side. When you notice it, you get some spring in your step. After seeing the coffee that the other students had in class you were yearning for a cup of your own, especially after your hectic morning.

The barista sent you a smile as you read the menu. Deciding on a nice warm cappuccino, you tell her your order and walk over to the side to receive your drink when she finishes.

She rings you out, and as you wait for your drink you begin running though your mental grocery list. Thankfully your apartment had a decent kitchen, which you knew you’d get good use of as you enjoyed cooking when you had a chance. Not to mention, your parents owned a small bakery in your hometown which meant you were well versed in the art of baking, and often found yourself baking during stressful moments in your life as a distraction. Maybe while you were here you’d pick up some basic supplies for baking… sugar, flour, baking soda, vanilla extract….

Your train of thought was quickly cut off by the barista, sliding your drink across the counter with a smile. You give her one back as you thank her, and stroll over to where you think the baking aisle would be. You take your time, checking out the products in each section to make sure you got everything you needed, beyond just your baking supplies.

As you near the paper goods aisle, you barely see a figure swing around the corner and run smack-dab into a paper towel display, which happened to be less than a meter from you. Unfortunately, the collision caused several of the rolls to go flying --- and one flying hard enough to knock the fresh coffee right out of your hand.

The chaos of the moment causes you to stand a little open mouthed while you stare at the now half-empty cardboard coffee cup rolling on it’s side away from you.

Toward the top of your field of vision you see a pair of men’s sneakers, which causes you to scan up towards his face. He is looking at you with the widest doe-eyed shocked expression you have possibly ever seen. His arms are half reached out, as if he wants to help, but can’t as he already caused the damage. One of the arms reaching out at you has a patchwork of black ink, trailing down over his toned muscles to his knuckles. His oversized grey t-shirt and loose jeans seem to swallow him a bit, which only adds to the almost child-like innocence of his wide eyes. Wavy brown hair frames his face, accentuating his masculine jawline.

Once your eyes connect for a few seconds, surely both wide in shock, he makes a squeaking noise and bends down to collect the scattered rolls.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I took the turn too fast, I’ll go buy you another coffee as soon as I pick these up---” His voice, while speaking rapidly, remained soft and delicate, obviously embarrassed at his mistake. When you bend down to join him in collecting the runaway towels, he cuts himself off to again look at you with a wide-eyed expression.

You smile at him, the surprise from the situation fading as you stretch your upper body as far as you can to grab one that rolled particularly far. “It’s okay, we all can be clumsy sometimes. I promise it’s not that big of a deal, it was just a coffee.” You give him a warm smile in reassurance, wanting to ease his obvious anxiety.

You both stand up, having collected the spilled display and him grabbing your abandoned coffee cup. “Um, what were you drinking? I’ll get you a new one, it’s the least I could do.” His blush deepens with his question, and he nervously glances off to the side as he grabs his elbow of the hand holding the empty cup to make himself smaller.

“It was a cappuccino… but honestly, you really don’t need to, it’s okay.” Sending him another warm smile, you hope to convey your ease at the situation.

“No, I want to. I’ll be right back, okay?” He holds your gaze for a second, seeming to double check that you weren’t going to run away on him.

“Okay.” Once you let out your reply, he sends you a quick smile as he turns around and lightly jogs away from you, back the direction you came from.

You can't help but notice the subtle ripple of his muscles across his shoulder blades as he does so. For being so meek, he sure had quite the muscular build under those baggy clothes. He definitely was “yummy” to use the word Jimin so aptly applied to Yoongi earlier. At the memory, you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle under your breath.

You scan the area quickly, making sure your run in with the boy didn’t leave a mess anywhere in the store. After seeing it clear, you glance back over your shoulder to watch him talking to the same barista. You could tell, even from this distance, that he seemed slightly embarrassed and had a pink tinge to his cheeks. The duality of this guy honestly is blowing your mind… his tattoos and muscular physique would give the impression that he would be super intimidating and confident, but by the way he blushed at attention so easily and was so timid when he apologized to you showed that he was was really a big sweetheart.

As he was now waiting for the barista to remake your drink, standing in the same spot you occupied a few minutes ago, you felt awkward hovering in the spot of the incident. After a quick glance back at him, you thought he would be able to find you pretty easily if you ventured down the aisle further. An aisle down from the paper goods, you found yourself in the exact aisle you were looking for.

Your mind quickly abandoned any prior thought as you took stock of the baking supplies the store had to offer. It looks like you’d be spending more on groceries today than you had anticipated.

“Um, here’s your coffee…” The boy from earlier had returned before you realized any time had passed. Caught, you looked at him, now looking at you, with a hesitant look on his face, as he saw the almost comical amount of stuff you had balanced in your arms. Now embarrassed a tad, you realize you have no hand to take the coffee from him, and it seems like it had just occurred to him too. He looked back and forth between the coffee in his hand and your ridiculously full arms and quickly offered, “I’ll be right back. I’ll get you a basket.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I’m sorry, I guess I got carried away!” You sheepishly respond to his kind offer. It was above what a normal person would do. He nodded his head quickly and did his half-jog thing again to go back to the front of the store. You weren’t getting tired of the view, to be honest.

Before you even knew it, he was back and gently removing items from the tetris you created in your arms of baking supplies. “Thank you so much, you really don't have to do any of this…” you feel slightly guilty for the boy’s kindness.

“No, it’s really okay, I shouldn’t have thrown paper towels at you.” As he speaks, he catches your eye and gives you a smile you could only compare to a cute bunny or other small adorable creature. You couldn’t help but fall just a little in love with him right there in the aisle. Now comfortable enough to joke with you, you left out a surprised laugh in response. You tip your head back slightly and feel your cheeks squish up without warning.

“I suppose you got me there. Maybe try to lower the aggression levels on your next grocery store run,” you egg him on slightly, a teasing smile remaining on his face.

“What would be the fun in that?” His eyes hold contact just a millisecond longer than normal, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in them. Ah, so bunny-boy knows at least a little how much of a hunk he is.

“Do you flirt with pretty girls at the store by knocking the coffee out of their hands for fun then?” Your eyebrow is raised slightly, and your tone stays as a teasing lilt.

Apparently at his banter limit, he blushes and gapes for a second. “Just teasing you. Thank you again for the coffee,” you reassure. Full basket and fresh coffee in hand, you flash him one last grin before you make your way around him to head towards the register.

As you leave the store, re-entering the street, you can’t help but hope you run into that guy again. He seemed like a genuinely sweet person that you’d love to be friends with. Starting towards the direction of your apartment, you ponder the chances.

You also ponder what baked treat you were going to throw the rest of your afternoon into. After some mental deliberation, you settled on muffins. Easy to take with you for that pesky morning calculus class. Ugh, at the thought of calculus you groaned inside a little. Not only did you have to grapple with the boring math, but you now have to grapple with the decidedly not so boring boys in your class.

#BTS #ot7 #ot7 x reader #poly ot7 #fanfic

45 notes · View notes

virtueangel · 4 years

Text

limitless.

chapter one.

wc: 2,034. original publish date: october 1, 2020.

Winter seems to drag on this year, pushing back Spring farther and farther until it steps off the chessboard of seasons completely. It's early April, but there is still snow piled up on the sidewalks, filling in the cracks of the concrete squares and melting into slush on the smooth surface. John F. Kennedy and Cleopatra walk down the sidewalk now, grasping hands dearly so as not to slip on the melted snow. Cleo is bundled up tightly in a black cardigan, John's varsity letterman jacket draped on top for extra warmth. She huddles close to the boy as she walks, trying to bask in some of the natural body heat wafting off of him. They like to walk in silence -- sometimes it's easier that way. Their questions don't have to be answered if they're never asked. But sometimes, the burden of carrying around the question is greater than the weight of hearing the answer.

"Why don't you ever take me on real dates, John?" Cleo asks in her shrill voice, almost whining.

"I don't know why you'd want me to, Cleo," he replies coolly, still grasping her hand. She wears elegant black gloves which hug her lean fingers fittingly. The cashmere is smooth and inviting against John's palm.

"Because some girls like romance, John."

"I thought you liked making out with me."

"I do!" She relaxes her hand, still holding onto John but not as violently. "But I don't feel like your girlfriend when I'm being shoved into a closet. I just feel like a pair of breasts and an open mouth."

John stares ahead nonchalantly. "That's because you're not my girlfriend, Cleo."

She lets go of his hand completely and scoffs. She shoves her own hands into her pockets -- John's pockets -- and watches her feet on the sidewalk. Her shiny black boots tick against the pavement, her movements slow and even steadier now that she doesn't have the boy's support. "Some girls like being girlfriends, too."

John sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. "We've been over this, Cleo. I don't date, but you like me and you're hot."

Cleo clenches her jaw. "That's a shitty thing to say, JFK. Don't you like me, too?"

JFK shrugs. "I like your ass."

The girl rolls her eyes, quickening her pace to walk in front of John. She slows down again, realising that the bottoms of her new boots are too slippery to risk a pace faster than normal. "Whatever. We're almost to my house anyway."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Cleo lets out a huff before grabbing onto JFK for support again. She wraps her gloved hands around the loop his arm makes as it sticks out of his pocket. "I'm not gonna argue with you when we're right on the verge of a make-out session," she says.

"I thought you didn't want to be used for your body."

She shrugs before giving the shameless answer, "I don't, but you give exceedingly good head."

John F. Kennedy smirks. "Oh, you bet I do."

Cleo blushes, and tries to hide her face from John.

"But I can't today."

“What?” She asks. “Why?”

"Because I've got a lot of homework," he says, knowing it's a half-assed excuse.

Cleopatra turns to him, her eyebrow raised. "You don't do homework, John."

"I have to help Van Gogh today," John explains.

"Van Gogh?" Cleo repeats. John nods. "He needs your help?"

John rolls his eyes impatiently, wondering why Cleo can't seem to get it. Wondering why everything about her is so superficial that she can't understand that he has a best friend; why she isn't the only one who matters. "No, he doesn't need my help, he just doesn't like being alone on Friday nights."

"Neither do I," Cleo protests, batting her eyes desperately. She means the action to come off as flirty, but she knows she's going to lose this fight.

"So call some of your other friends. Abe, Joan-"

"Abe Lincoln and Joan of Arc are both cool enough to have plans on a Friday night," she combats.

JFK smirks. "Surely you won't let them be cooler than you."

Before Cleo can protest, they are walking up her driveway, her hands still wrapped around his arm. John walks her up the three steps to her front stoop, whirling her around so her back is to the door and her face is to him. He holds her gloved hands delicately, pretending to feel bad about blowing off his hot not-girlfriend to go spend time with his emotionally deprived best friend. It does sound depressing and lame when he hears it in his own head, but there's no going back now.

"Call me tonight?" Cleo asks, the slightest hint of a beg in her voice. She tries to hide it again under a flirtatious lilt, but it falls flat for the second time this afternoon. Cleo already knows what JFK is going to say.

"I never call, Cleo. People who are dating call, and I-"

Cleo cuts him off with an exasperated eye roll. "-don't date. I know."

"So why did you ask?"

Cleo shrugs. "I don't know. But I'm going now."

Nonetheless, she steps toward John for her expected kiss. He leans down to give her one, as per their afternoonly routine, but it doesn't bury itself as deep as usual. John keeps his mouth closed, despite Cleo's best efforts to engage him in the endeavour. When she realises her plan isn't going to work, she pulls away and scrambles into her house, swiftly shutting the door behind her to close off her embarrassment from the rest of the world. She has enough to worry about it seeping through the cracks.

***

JFK knocks on his best friend's door nearly ten minutes later, his feet sopping wet in his tennis shoes. He'd made a mistake when dressing that morning. He could see the snow intruding the sidewalk from his bedroom window, but he'd still opted for his sneakers, full of breathable holes and heat-accommodating fabrics. His big toe feels like it could snap off at any moment. He thinks if he were to take off his cotton sock and look at it, his toe would be blackened with the final stages of frostbite.

Vincent Van Gogh answers the door himself, wrapped in a fleece blanket and feet smothered in three layers of sock. Kennedy can't help but feel a little bit jealous, sure his toes are nice and cozy in their thick woollen fortress.

"JFK," Van Gogh greets the boy, standing aside to let him through the door. Van Gogh wonders how Kennedy ever could've noticed him at school; he stands at 5'5” while the varsity cross country runner was 6'1" last time he measured. Van Gogh is often a traffic cone to be tripped over.

"Sorry I'm so late. Cleo was bitching at me," JFK apologises.

"That's okay. I'm used to being alone," Van Gogh shrugs.

"But I know you especially hate Friday nights. You hate when there are sports games because the town gets loud and the drunken yelling echoes through the neighbourhood, bouncing off of the shingles and spinning like tops in your ears -- ear."

Van Gogh scoffs. "Spare me the poetry, Kennedy. You don't need to romanticise my mental illness, okay? It's not fucking fun."

"I thought you liked all that flowery prose -- all that girly shit."

The shorter boy shakes his head, feeling even smaller under Kennedy's scrutiny. "Don't talk down to me. And just because literature is written like a painting doesn't mean it's 'girly'. You like my artwork, don't you?"

"I like the one you did for AP art last year... the self-portrait."

Van Gogh smiles internally, secretly pleased with his best friend's answer. "I never thought I'd get a real compliment out of you, Kennedy."

"I compliment you!" He protests.

Van Gogh shakes his head, still wearing his smile. His lips are like daisies soaked in blood -- full and dripping. "Not without coating it in some condescending insult."

"Whatever, Gogh. You didn't want to be alone, and I'm here. So what now?"

"Well, so long as I'm holding you hostage, you may as well do some homework."

"I don't do homework," JFK reminds him.

Van Gogh smirks. "I know that, Kennedy. I just had to remind you of your morals before you go off and give me an honest compliment again. Weirds me out when you go soft, even for me."

JFK follows Van Gogh to his bedroom. The hallway walls are oddly bare and would go without notice if they hadn't been painted a murky blue. No pictures are hung, which strikes Kennedy as uncomfortably odd every time he visits his best friend's house. JFK's dads have hundreds of pictures of him stuffed into each nook and cranny of their house -- it's striking to see a pair of parents who care so little about documenting their child's early years.

Gogh pushes open the door to his room tentatively, almost as if he's scared there'll be an apparition seated on his bed. He shudders at the thought, trying to shake it off by opening the door all the way. He sits on a chair instead of the bed, nervous to accidentally sit on top of the ghost and give it a perfect chance to tunnel its way up into his organs. JFK notices the boy's shuddering and raises an eyebrow, taking note of the closed window and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Who knew such a small boy could be so hopeless at keeping warm?

"Cold?" Kennedy asks, and Van Gogh looks up from the spot on his hand where he'd been anxiously picking at a scab. "And don't do that; the skin's almost healed," he adds.

Van Gogh narrows his eyes at the boy on his bed. "Since when do you care whether or not my scabs are healed?"

JFK shrugs, nervous to admit that he feels like he has to care since his friend's parents so obviously don't.

"Sorry I snapped," Van Gogh covers quickly. "Reflex."

Kennedy nods dismissively as if to show that he understands.

A couple seconds tick by, filling the room like a hose in a swimming pool. The time collects in the bedroom, spilling into every corner and fault line crack of the walls. It begins to overflow, and that's when Van Gogh can't stand the silence anymore. He invited Kennedy over so he wouldn't have to drown in stillness. Why can't JFK talk, dammit? Why is he so self-absorbed that he can't carry on a conversation for longer than five minutes at a time?

"Do you wanna read a book?" Van Gogh suggests, but it comes out in an urgent blurt. Maybe that's for the best. It gets Kennedy's attention.

"I don't read books."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a violent fire from embarrassment. "That's because you don't have the attention span to," he spits. "I could read it to you."

JFK's head snaps up. Gogh's cheeks darken an even deeper shade of red and he can feel his heartbeat in his face. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay," Kennedy says at last. "Read me a bedtime story." His overconfident, annoyingly-flirty tone is back, and Van Gogh smiles in relief. The blood drains from his cheeks and his heartbeat follows, little by little.

He excuses himself from his chair to slide a book off of his shelf. Kennedy lies down on the bed, his head on the pillow and his too-long legs spilling over the edge. "Give me a blanket," he demands, clearly serious about the "bedtime" thing. Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but fishes a blanket out of his bottom dresser drawer and throws it over to Kennedy nonetheless. JFK has just finished unfolding the blanket and throwing it over himself when Van Gogh settles back into his chair, lifting the cover of the book with his long fingers gingerly. His nails grow out past his fingertips which is normally a girlish look, but Kennedy can't help but wash his eyes over the boy's hands anyway. It doesn't look girlish on Van Gogh. Nothing looks girlish on Van Gogh.

#jfgogh #jfk clone high #clone high #van gogh clone high #fanfiction #van gogh x jfk

149 notes · View notes