#so did tee chase after ice?
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Ok so Check Out the series happened. All I have to say is wow. It's a shame that chemistry was wasted in a bad show.
#check out the series#check out#i was so excited going in#and i was so disappointed#so did tee chase after ice?#is that what happened?#i feel like i was a little lost at the end#ninedaonuea#chahubbest
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fever pitch
✩ mark x reader | pro baseball player!mark | fluff | smut | 8.4k
SUMMARY | your world is shaken up (literally) when you meet the handsome man guilty of the accidental baseball smack to your head. after a comforting meet-cute and realization that he’s the city’s ace pitcher, you two go on a date. and by the end of the night, mark thinks he’s falling for you faster than any pitch he’s thrown before.
WARNINGS | sexual content (near the end), arm riding (iykyk), breast/nipple play, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, piv sex, some drinking // this is 80% fluff-20% smut (with lots of corny writing); there's actually not too much baseball mentioned, but i did a little research on it; however, inaccuracies may be inevitable!
RATING | mature
AUTHOR'S NOTE | i am sorry this is so late </3 i hope y'all enjoy! please also check out (and maybe send in some prompts to) @nctpromptmeme!
TAGLIST | @curieouscapt @dearlyminhyung @infnteen
Under the warm, summer sun, you beam as you walk towards your close friend, Chenle, and his dog, Daegal.
Shining back, he nods in hello to you with sunglasses pressed against his face. The teacup Bichon by his side wags its tail and pants happily at the sight of you, but is easily distracted the next second due to the park’s stimulating surroundings.
Dogs running amok, families having picnics, kids chasing each other in circles, friends playing baseball—
Specifically, a group of absolutely stunning men playing, as if a model catalogue exploded onto the field across from you.
But one in particular catches your eye.
Kind eyes shine behind wire-framed glasses, paired with a wide smile. His soft hair bounces with his light jog across the area.
In his fitted white tee, he ends up in one spot and continuously throws the ball into his mitt. The game seems to be on hold as he speaks to a teammate. Absentmindedly, he rolls his arm sleeves up, revealing lean, yet defined muscles.
You silently gasp, struck by the beautiful sight, then gulp at the flexing of his biceps when he continues tossing the ball. His teammate must’ve told him a joke since the attractive figure throws his head back in joy.
And this is the exact moment you go into cardiac arrest because his laugh is the last straw of what you can handle from this man.
Suddenly, the sound of your name shakes you out of your daze and reminds you to breathe.
“Okay, which one of these guys is the one who made you do a full stop in the middle of the grass?” Chenle asks, coming up beside you.
Daegal welcomes you with loving rubs against your leg. You squat to pet her, but your eyes are still honed in on the handsome stranger. The teams seems to be switching now when someone hands the bespectacled man a bat.
Your friend tracks your line of sight and nods, impressed. “Okay, he’s cute. Your distractedness will be excused this time.”
Scoffing, you shove his leg lightly and he giggles in return. After a few more moments of gawking, Chenle wonders, “Why do I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere?”
Standing up, you reply, “Probably comes here often with his friends when you walk Daegal?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I know him from somewhere else...”
Deciding you should probably drag your attention away and not be a blatant creep, you begin to walk away backwards, heading towards the ice cream cart before the line-up becomes as long as the field.
“Want your usual?”
“Yes, please!”
However, Chenle’s brightness fades instantly, jaw falling and eyes widening. You’re about to turn around to see what caused his change of expression when you hear a piercing—
“WATCH OUT!”
With a throbbing in your head, you wake up, squinting at the blinding rays. Coming into view, the cute guy from before replaces the sun’s spot, staring down at you with concern written all over his face.
“Oh, my God,” he pants. His hands shake in front of him. “I am so, so, so, so sorry.”
You roll your eyes a bit, trying to center your vision. Groaning, you ask, “What happened?”
“I, uh...” The individual’s mouth, slightly open with gritted teeth, pulls to one side as he runs a hand through his hair, “may have batted the ball and it coincidentally went straight for your head.”
Carefully, he helps lift your upper body off the ground. He asks if you’re okay, and you nod. But a grimace comes after, causing the stranger’s frown to deepen.
“Maybe we should get you to the hospital. You might have a concussion.”
All of a sudden, he inches closer and gingerly runs his thumb over the source of the throbbing. It’s likely all in your mind, but you swear the pain lessens from his touch. You tilt your head further, angling into his palm and embracing the comforting gesture.
“I’ll obviously cover all the bills—”
You cut him off with a slow lift of your hand. “No. I’m okay, I’m okay.”
You know you’ll definitely be more than okay if you can steal some more time with his magical touch.
Continuing, you say, “And that’s too much. If anything, you can buy some ice cream for me and my friend.”
Glancing around for Chenle, you find him, crouching like the stranger, but a few feet away. With a raised corner of his mouth, you deduce he’s deliberately giving space for you to interact with Mr. Handsome Baseball Hitter.
Said handsome baseball hitter chuckles. Hearing it tugs at your chest, even harder now that you can experience it up close.
“I’ll buy you a thousand ice creams to make it up to you.” He retreats his hand and you don't hold back pouting from the fleeting contact you already miss. “But seriously, if there’s any long-term side effects, please reach out to me and I’ll pay for any expenses that come your way.”
“How would I know how to reach out to you?”
He rambles the following matter-of-factly, “Well, you can find my manager’s information online, there’s the team’s Twitter account”—he looks up cutely in thought—“and I guess I’ve been kinda active on Instagram—”
You tilt your head in confusion. What is this guy going on about?
“Okay,” you interrupt, “but who are you?”
His face flips through a few emotions in the span of seconds, but they’re unreadable. Finally landing on a grin, he says, “I think what’s more important is: do you know who you are?”
“Yeah, I’m—” And you properly introduce yourself.
“Good,” he says, “so we’re not dealing with amnesia.”
Your cheeks rise at his humour. Saying your name warmly, he adds, “Nice to meet you, I’m Mark.”
He lends out a hand for you to shake and you do so. With help from his knees, he rises upward, aiding you to stand on your feet in the process.
“Mark,” you repeat his name aloud, locking eyes with him, “the baseball batter with the strength of a thousand suns.”
At the odd line, you catch yourself, thinking how the injury must’ve loosened your filter. He laughs at the lengthy label. “You should see me pitch.”
You shake your head. “Nu-uh, nope,” you playfully say. “I’m going to be safe and stay far, far away from that sexy arm.”
Both you and Mark’s eyebrows rise at the remark.
Yep, definitely a loose filter. Maybe you really do have a concussion.
While Mark breaks out into a pleased smile, you snap your eyes shut, wanting to run away. Or disappear, if at all possible. “Strong, strong. I meant strong...”
Avoiding eye contact, you hurry and make way to a now standing Chenle. Trying to leave the embarrassment behind, you grumble, “Chenle, let’s get going.”
Your friend smirks and whispers by your side, “You sure you don’t want to dig your grave even further?” You attempt to elbow him, but he’s too quick and avoids it.
“It was nice meeting you, Mark,” you call out over your shoulder as you walk away. “Thanks for looking out for... my head?”
Cringe falls over, making you pick up your pace. Time to officially stop talking.
Chenle turns away, his body shaking as he releases a snicker into his fist.
“Again, I’m really, really sorry!” Mark apologizes in a shout. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and also recognize his voice as the one who warned you to watch out before the incident occurred. “If you need to find me, I’ll be here over the next couple of weekends!”
When you’re far away enough from the scene of the crime, you smack Chenle in the arm. In response, Daegal chirps a bark at you. “You just had to watch me make a complete fool out of myself back there.”
He lovingly places an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into him. “I mean, Daegal’s great and all, but if anyone has any entertainment value out of the three of us here, it’s going to be you.”
You groan at his harsh, yet true, words.
“Your head good though?”
You note how the throbbing is barely there anymore. Touching the spot, you wince. At most, there’s likely just a bruise. “Yeah, it’s good.”
In a hopeful tone, Chenle sing-songs, “Think you wanna come to the park again with me next weekend?”
Reflecting on what Mark said, you ponder if he really meant it about coming to find him if anything was wrong. Even though everything would likely be fine, you’d love to see him again.
But how could you face him after the disaster of your mouth running free? You shake your head in defeat.
On Monday night, the next evening, your phone goes off right as you enter your apartment building. You drag your phone out, eyebrows furrowing at the notification that Chenle’s calling you. When was the last time he’s called you?
Actually, you’re fairly sure he’s never called you. Ever. You pick it up without hesitation.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“Find a TV playing the baseball game,” Chenle pants. “Right now.”
Out of all the things he could call you for, this is what he’s asking you to do? He’s not even into baseball; basketball is the sport he adores to death. “What?”
“Do it,” he orders. “Now!”
“Okay, okay.”
Thankful you haven’t gone up to your apartment yet, you stride over to the little in-house gym in your building near the front entrance. You haven’t used it much since you moved in, but you recall that the TVs usually play either sports or news.
And you remember right, except at the moment, the baseball game is the only event plastered on the screens. Most people in the room are fixated on the game while they’re doing their set or on their respective cardio machine.
“Okay...” you trail in uncertainty. A pitcher from your city’s team throws the ball and the batter misses. The camera cuts to the batter from the opposing team, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why must I need to watch the baseball game so ba—”
The camera’s now on Mark’s face.
The same Mark from the neighbourhood park yesterday, sans the glasses, and in proper baseball gear.
He’s on live, national television, playing baseball in front of the crowd of tens of thousands of people.
From a side angle, all eyes are on him as he tips his cap forward. His eyes mold into slits of concentration, his sharp jaw tightening after a lick of his lips. Sure, he’s different from yesterday’s care-free self, but you’d be lying if you said this serious side of him didn’t turn you on either.
Again, the camera cuts away, to the wide shot from behind him. Besides his great body (especially his gorgeous backside in those snug pants), you revel in the back of his white and dark green trimmed jersey, indicating his last name and his assigned number: Lee. 02.
He winds up for the pitch, raising his leg, and the ball is gone within a blink of an eye, landing directly into the catcher’s glove. The number 98 comes up near a rectangle on-screen, signifying the speed of his throw.
Mark wasn’t lying about his skills; he’s the pitcher with the strength of a thousand suns.
All the screens are filled with Player #02’s glimmer of a smirk, before he quickly stashes it away behind his cap. The camera lingers on him while the commentators in the background talk.
“A great put-out pitch for Lee,” one says. “His fastballs this season have been absolutely remarkable. Another great one from him.”
Cameras switch to another shot of Mark catching the ball, resetting once more for the next batter.
Another commentator supplements, “Aside from the slight hiccup earlier this season, he’s definitely on-track in making his mark on his debut in the league. A rookie ace indeed. It’s no wonder they’ve been calling him ‘The Tiger!’”
Understanding dawns upon you as to why he stated how easy it would be to contact him (and to be able to pay for any potential hospital bills). The city’s new star pitcher—how could you not know him?
“I knew he looked familiar!” Chenle pipes up from the other end, just as Mark’s nice figure takes up the screen once more. Awe and shock consume your voice, and you’re unable to create a coherent reply.
But you don’t need to, not when you have Chenle to talk your ear off about the game, but mostly Mark, for the rest of the night.
The week passes by, with you casually going through Mark’s Instagram (which, as he mentioned, he only occasionally posts on) and watching a few more of Mark’s games with Chenle in tow.
You fawn together over his plays (and his ass) and, despite not knowing much about the game, he must be having a great week from the commentators’ constant praises and the team’s overall wins.
Once Sunday finally arrives though, a wave of nervous anticipation rolls over you.
Because for you, it’s game time.
Sure, you may not have initially wanted to, but now that you know who Mark is, what is there to lose if you step up to the plate and see him again?
The scene of the park is quite similar to last week’s, except for the large presence of people staring at the men, many you recognize from the city’s team from all the games you’ve watched this week, playing baseball on the field. You wonder if you were too caught up with Mark last week because you didn’t notice how everyone else was this enraptured too.
As you stroll closer to the grassy area with Chenle and Daegal hovering behind, the players coincidentally take a breather. Some parents quickly take advantage of the break to bring their children up to receive autographs.
This is perfect timing for you too.
However, you stop in place, debating if this was a good idea to return. You’re surely going to make a fool out of yourself again (this time with no injury to blame) and Chenle, despite his promise of not interfering, will totally budge in and—
And it’s too late to backpedal, because Mark, although distracted by the little cluster of people surrounding him, lifts his head momentarily and his gaze lands directly on you.
Air seizes in your lungs when he flashes you a grin that could compete with the sun. He gives a small nod and wave. Like a star struck fangirl, you glance around to ensure he’s not gifting that nod and wave to anyone else.
But no, you’re not mistaken—his eyes are only on you.
Saying his thanks to his assumed fans, he jogs his way over to you, attired today in a fitted grey-mixed tee, ripped denim jeans, and thicker framed glasses compared to last time.
“Hey,” Mark says, still grinning beautifully. “How’s your head feeling?”
His smile is incredibly infectious. It’s a challenge not to do the same when you’re in the presence of this man. “Better. Had some bruising, but it’s all gone now.”
He nods in response, mumbling a “Good, good” under his breath. With his face turned away, he swipes some hair behind his ear and seems to be preparing himself to say something. But, you will yourself to address the elephant in the room first.
“So, why didn’t you tell me that you were in the major leagues?”
At the unexpected question, Mark darts his head up and draws it back in surprise, his lips pouting adorably. Your heart bursts.
Contrasting his cuteness, you notice the hint of stubble around his mouth. First the pout, now this. You’re captivated by it more than you should be.
He chuckles and lifts a shoulder. “Well, you didn’t ask.”
“I did,” you laugh. “I asked who you were!”
After looking up in thought for a moment, he concedes. “Okay, maybe you did.”
You two laugh in unison, and even when the moment is over, both of you stare into each other's eyes. Time’s filled with comfortable silence and equally comfortable smiles.
Mark breaks the silence, asking, “Are you still wanting to stay safe and far away from my sexy arm?”
“Oh, my God...” you groan, hating to hear the same words that left your mouth from last week.
“No,” he says through another burst of laughter, “it’s a genuine question.”
“I meant to say strong!” you argue petulantly. “I was just a little out of it from the hit, no thanks to you.”
“I know, I know,” he giggles. “I’m genuinely wondering though, cause...” Mark pauses and begins to fidget, this time rubbing the nape of his neck.
You tilt your head, intrigued. “Cause what?”
“Cause, I was, uh, wondering,” he says, eyes averting yours. “Since I owe you for your head injury—”
“You don’t owe me anything—”
“And I know it’s a long shot cause you’re absolutely gorgeous and you’re probably taken—”
This time, you draw your head back in surprise over the compliment and the grand assumption that you’re off the market.
“—but did you wanna go out with me sometime?” His hand moves through his hair before he shyly looks at you again. “Maybe?”
Before you can even process what's happening you hear a "Yes!" behind you, causing you to jolt upright. “Yes, she will absolutely go on a date with you!”
“Chenle!” you gasp, appalled but not surprised, in the direction of your close friend as he nears your side. You face Mark again and gesture in the direction of the incoming intruder. “Don’t mind him.”
As per his charming self, your friend holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Chenle. Your newest number one fan. Great plays this week, by the way.”
“Mark.” He takes the hand to shake, giving him a small smile. “And thanks.”
Mark’s eyes wander down and notices the dog wagging its tail excitedly. His face lights up. “Aw, who’s this cute little guy?”
“Daegal,” Chenle answers. “She’s my little handful, besides this one.” he says, jerking his head in your direction. Mark's too focused on Daegal to see you slapping her owner in the arm.
Squatting down, he pets the lively dog. You follow suit and crouch down too, watching Daegal gift Mark tons of licks and enthusiastically rubs herself against his hands and arms. She’s never this delighted with strangers usually.
“What do you think, Daegal?” Mark asks, holding eye contact with her as if she could reply, then he glances over at you. “Do you think your friend should go out with me?”
Immediately, she barks happily, causing all three of you to laugh.
“Good girl,” Chenle whispers from above.
Although you pucker your lips playfully at Daegal’s betrayal, you reach out to pet her fondly along with Mark.
“But how will you guarantee my safety from your strong arm?” Your stare lingers on them. Not that he has to know, but you had to make a conscious effort to not say sexy once more.
“I promise I won’t be tossing any more of my balls in your direction,” Mark casually says.
After a pause, your eyebrows raise and his eyes widen.
“Wait, I mean—shit...” he hisses, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Your lips twitch, suppressing a laugh and finding him adorable.
“I know what you mean,” you quickly say, relieving him of his embarrassment.
He shyly glances up at you and you share a comforting look. Suddenly, someone from the field hollers his name. With a small frown, he begins to walk in reverse away from you.
“I probably should get back, but now that you know how to get in touch, message me on Instagram and we can figure out a time that works for our date?”
“Yes, definitely!”
Incredulously, you look up at Chenle for answering on your behalf.
“For sure, Mark,” you say. “Have a great game.” With the way he plays, you know he will.
Chenle and you wave your good-byes to him and watch him retreat to his friends.
“You do know that I'm the one he asked out, right?” you ask as the three of you begin to walk towards to the park's popular ice cream cart, except you're more vigilant this time.
Your friend grabs out cash, ready to pay for your order. Or at least you hope so, for all the trouble he caused.
“Yes, and that's why I will live vicariously through you!”
After messaging him over the last week (with Chenle hovering over your shoulder and backseat driving many of the messages), Thursday really couldn't come fast enough for your date with Mark.
As you step out of your apartment complex, your jaw drops and an impressed smile fills your face.
In a green bomber, black tee, and skinny jeans, Mark coolly pulls up on a red Ducati motorbike. You recall seeing a post or two on his Instagram with it, but it takes you by surprise to see it in-person.
He takes off his helmet and runs fingers through his hair, attempting to ruffle out the messiness. You're a little envious of how good he looks, even with messy hair.
Your date takes in your outfit—an off-the-shoulder floral dress that teeters the lines of being cute and sexy simultaneously—and beams.
“Wow,” he says, mouth agape. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” you say, then make an over-the-top attempt to check him out. “You don't look so bad yourself.”
After a moment of shared smiles, he tilts his head towards his mode of transportation. “Hope this isn't too daunting.”
You shake your head. “Not at all.”
As Mark helps you with your helmet, now that you're up-close, you notice he's clean-shaven, unlike the other times you've seen him, and you presume he opted for contacts for tonight.
You also can't help but relish in the proximity of his hands near your face, flashing previously to the first time you met only a couple of weeks ago.
Once he's done, you ready yourself for the ride by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, holding onto him snugly.
He twists around with his visor open.
“Ready?”
You respond with a squeeze around his waist and a nod, so he closes his visor and you're off through the nightscape of the city.
Everything passes by in a blur, but when there are the occasional moments when he slows down or stops at the red lights, you drink in how beautiful your city is.
On the other hand, you're dying to know what Mark planned for tonight. He gave you a vague idea—dinner, a small post-dinner activity (no balls involved, Mark promised), and dessert—but that's all.
In a nicer part of the city, he stops and parks in front of a bumbling Italian restaurant.
Once inside, Mark gives his name to the greeter, stating how he has a reservation, and a sweet host immediately leads you to your table. As you walk through the restaurant, you admire its warm atmosphere with dim lights and candles spread everywhere, along with the many other couples eating their dinner.
The host stops in front of a secluded semi-circular plush booth. You shimmy in, and Mark follows. Both of you sit comfortably close near the middle of the booth.
Despite how much you have been talking through DMs over the last week, as first dates often go, conversation is awkward at first.
However, as dinner progresses and the extravagant wine (Mark insisted, “Only the best for my date, please.”) makes its way through your systems, it gets easier.
You learn more about his family, his team, and his love for reading. For him, he learns about your friends, your job vs. dreams constant conflict, and your love for music.
The easiness also goes beyond words. Underneath the table, your legs brush up against one another's. You throw your head back in laughter, and you bravely touch his forearm in response. Mark even leans in close to your body, sometimes the edge of your shoulders gently pressing into the other.
By the end of dinner, being the gentleman he is, Mark doesn't even let you glance at the check and pays it all without hesitation. Then, you're outside and on his motorbike again, off to the mysterious post-dinner activity.
When he reaches a particular end of town where there isn't much around except one place, you have an inkling where you're about to go.
Once you're there and parked, your hunch is answered correctly, but you realize something.
“Isn't the aquarium closed at this hour?”
He shrugs nonchalantly and begins to usher you forward with a hand lingering at your lower back. Whispering into your ear, he says, “I may have booked it privately for tonight.”
As you walk through, Mark and you stick to each other's side, shoulder to shoulder, and switch between revealing more about yourselves while reading and conversing about the informational signs on the aquatic creatures.
Both of you stop in front of the main showcase of the aquarium: the large tank that houses two beluga whales.
Mark leans in a bit closer to the tank, catches sight of one of them in a corner, and points it out to you. As he straightens, you feel the back of your hand brush up against his.
“You’re quite the romantic,” you state while glancing at the tank, almost as low as a whisper. Even with nobody around, there's something so serene about the aquarium that makes you want to be respectfully quiet. "Does everyone get this first-date, first-class experience from you?”
“Only the girls who get hit on the head by me,” he teases in a whisper, making you softly chuckle.
After a moment passes as you watch the tank, hoping and waiting for the beluga whales to move to where you're standing, Mark asks, “Would it be surprising to say I don’t go on dates as often as you think?”
Your eyes dart toward him, but you quickly keep your gaze fixated back on the tank. You nod. “A little.”
He hums, followed by a lengthy sigh. You can sense a shift in him. You hear how it's laced with sadness, maybe even a little regret.
“I’ve been working so hard to get to this point and of course being drafted’s been so worth it, but it also meant that I had to sacrifice some things along the way. But now that I’m finally here”—you feel his gaze now directed on you—“I definitely can rearrange my time for other things.”
Your breathing slows as you turn to face him.
Courageously, Mark intertwines his hand with yours and his free one raises, caressing the bare skin of your upper arm. The contact makes you gasp and hold your breath.
He drags himself forward, as do you, and his hand is about to cup your face...
Until the two belugas are now your front-row audience, glancing at you as if they were smiling.
You both chuckle softly and give them a wave, not wanting to lose this rare chance of seeing them this close.
And although the special moment has passed, you two finish off the marine life tour with your hand in his.
Once outside, Mark leads you somewhere nearby. After about ten minutes of walking, you're standing on a large cliff with a scenic view of the city. You've never seen the city from this height before, and all its twinkling lights and the starry sky beckon you.
An ice cream truck is also coincidentally there, and you assume Mark booked it for your date tonight.
You two grab your waffle cone orders and sit down on a wooden bench that overlooks the view.
“So,” you say, licking the cone on its side to avoid the ice cream from dripping down your hand, “does this go towards the debt of you hitting my head?”
“Of course,” he nods with his signature smile, doing the same as you and trying to avoid his sweet treat from melting. “It'll be one ice cream out of the many future thousands.”
The implication that there’ll be more than just this date hangs in the night air, almost as if it's a promise, and you really hope it'll be true.
At the very least, it feels true as you peer over your city, leaning your head onto Mark's shoulder while he casually drapes an arm around you.
Getting off the motorcycle, Mark walks you to the front door of your place and you don't even think twice about asking if he wants to come in. He says yes a little too enthusiastically, making you giggle, but it confirms that neither of you want the night to come to an end just yet.
Mark hangs his jacket as you grab beers from the fridge. Both of you make talk for some time on your couch, but the energy in the room is buzzing, especially since the almost-kiss.
The second you gravitate towards Mark, he rushes to wrap an arm around your waist and his free hand cups your face, dragging you in for the first kiss that's been itching to happen.
His lips are dangerously soft, addictive really. You swear he tastes like cherry (could be from the food earlier or maybe a lip balm flavour, you wonder).
It's a slow, yet deep, start. In the beginning, the kissing is with intent, wanting to know what each other tastes like. Naturally, the curiosity evolves into exploration, with Mark cautiously dipping his tongue into your mouth. You react with zeal, swiping your tongue against his and even experiment sucking on it. He shudders at the sensation.
Mark holds you close throughout, but your bodies move into a new position, letting you sink comfortably into your couch beneath him.
Here, passion rises. He grips your waist, whilst his body presses into yours, and he begins to trail down your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Although it's already off your shoulders, he drags a sleeve of your dress further down, hungry to kiss as much of your bare skin as he possibly can.
Your fingers tangle in his hair and you arch into him, embracing his clear desire against you. You're falling and falling and falling, becoming more drunk with every touch and kiss from Mark. Ever since the first day you met, you couldn't help but yearn for his touch. Now, having a taste of him like this, you're desperate to experience more.
Although you're underneath him, you decide to take hold of the kissing. When he takes a breather for an instant, you steal the chance and fervently kiss along his jaw and rugged neck. Mark moans, gripping your waist harder, and grinds into you, his hardness dying to be free.
Shockingly, he suddenly tears away, sitting up and panting. Confused, you mirror him.
“Should we stop?” he asks. “Like, I know I might be being presumptuous, but I don’t wanna ruin our potential next date if we rush too soon?”
It melts your heart that he retracted because he's concerned over your potential future. You delicately rearrange some of his loose hair stuck to his forehead. “If you want to stop, we can.”
He pouts, reminding you of him previously at the park, followed by a cute whimper.
“But I don’t want to stop...” he laugh-smiles, leaning into you, about to drive his mouth into yours again.
“Neither do I.”
And with that, Mark makes the split-second decision to continue this good thing and not look back. Once again, he's leaving love upon your shoulders, at a measured pace currently, and he carefully lowers your dress. Drooping off your shoulders, you let it drop and bunch around your stomach.
Surprise is written on his face, as you didn't wear a bra underneath your dress, but the surprise quickly dissipates into enthrallment over the beautiful sight.
He lowers himself, mouth traversing across your chest while his free hand gently massages one of your breasts. You succumb to the rising pleasure, curving into him again.
When he arrives at one tip of yours, he looks up and asks, his voice low and gravelly, “Can I...?”
You whimper-nod, already on the verge of begging him to take the next step.
It kills you that he teases first, merely pecking the surrounding area and your tip; his mouth leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your patience grows thin.
“Mark, please, just—”
Air is depleted as his tongue swipes against your nipple in a broad stroke. He then wraps his mouth around it, sucking firmly. The other hand that was kneading your other breast turns to focus on your nipple, pinching it between his index finger and thumb.
The more he sucks, the more you hear the wet puckering of his lips, the more it makes you clench tighter. Bliss begins to boil in your abdomen when he flicks his tongue and mimics the same on your other tit with the pad of his thumb.
Your breathing grows heavier, and you sense you're close, but Mark abruptly stops. You're about to speak up, believing he'd be the type to finish you off if you ask, until you realize he's kneeling on the floor in front of you and stripping off his t-shirt.
With your help, Mark eases your dress to the floor and places it safely on the coffee table. Focusing on you, his gaze is dripping of lust—so carnal, so different than his regular self.
As Mark advances to your heat, your palms graze over his defined shoulders and back. He parts your legs further with his hands wrapped around your inner thigh.
“Wearing panties?” he inquires, his finger pulling the fabric a bit to the side.
“Huh?”
“No bra, but panties?” he smirks, making you realize the joke.
You roll your eyes and relax momentarily, leaning your head back. “Are you into that? No panties underneath?”
“Could be hot,” he shrugs, tugging your underwear to your calves and tossing them off to the side.
“Maybe one date I can do th-ah—”
Without warning, he dives in, one his hands now grasping you by your lower back, and you lurch forward to get a good view of his head between your legs. You've got a grip on his shoulder, the other tugging at his hair.
His tongue laps at your folds with agility, figures out what you like or don't like. There isn't much you don't like, Mark deduces. Languid licks. Penetrating patterns. Fast flicks.
You respond eagerly to them all with harsh tugs to his hair, notably when he spreads your folds to devour you entirely. The hair pulling hurts a bit, but he doesn't mention anything; he likes it a little rough.
Despite the positive reactions, he can tell you've been at a simmer with his moves, not quite reaching close to a high. He withdraws his mouth, and, through your hazy vision, you catch sight of his honeyed lips.
But your eyes blow wide open and an acute moan dispels as your lover of the night fills you with his fingers, alongside his licking of your clit.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Following a few more minutes of scissoring and a few sucks to your bundle of nerves, he asks, breathing into your inner thigh, “Does this feel good, gorgeous?”
Your lip is drawn between your teeth, digging so hard from the pleasure you wonder if it'll bleed soon. “Mm-hmm.”
“Good,” he says, kissing your thigh tenderly, “'cause I'm gonna need you to remember how good tonight is so you'll keep coming back for more.”
Not gonna be a problem, you think, but all you could muster is senseless panting.
“You close?”
You can barely release a whimper out to respond, and Mark orders you to tell him when you're near.
It doesn't take long to get there. The warmth in your abdomen encapsulates your body and your hips rut upward frantically, desiring your climax to take authority.
“Mark, Mark, Mark. Fuck, I'm close, I'm—”
Immediately, he stands up, fingers still inside you and somehow impaling you further and faster while his thumb lazily strokes at your clit when possible, and his ardent kiss is the needed catalyst to take you over the brink. Simultaneously, the kiss swallows your bountiful whines.
When you finally come down from your high, you kiss him deeply and feel him through his jeans against you.
“Let's take this to the bedroom, I need to grab—”
“Should I run to the pharmacy to—?”
In tandem, you chuckle over how in sync you are, and tip your perspired foreheads against the other.
Holding his hand, you lead him to your bedroom. You turn on your bedside lamp and gesture to the tissues, so he can clean his hands. You then bound to your bedroom bathroom and fumble around to find your condom packs somewhere in a drawer.
Upon your return, you're graced with the sight of Mark sitting naked on the edge of your bed, stroking himself. You almost salivate.
God, he's bigger than you expected, and that's only one part of his magnificent body. You didn't have the opportunity before to admire his muscular abs, but you take every chance to do so now. The way his arm flexes with each stroke. And those thighs...
“Sorry,” he murmurs and shyly shrinks a bit, in contrast to his lewd action, “hope it's okay that I took my pants off already.”
He really is quite endearing. Maybe even a little perfect.
“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for, Mark.”
You place the condoms onto your bedside table, but are so absorbed with Mark's cock and existence. Entranced, it's your turn to drop to your knees.
Fingers wrap around his cock, and Mark's groans rise. You delve in your enthrallment for a bit, squeezing and stroking to your heart's content until you finally decide to ease him into your mouth.
Your tongue works wonders, tasting the underside of his length with every bob of your head. Meanwhile, his hands lazily thread through your hair and he watches attentively.
More saliva develops and drips, especially when you relax your mouth to let him hit the back of your throat. Obscene slurps accompany his delicate moans, both of which permeate the room in melodious unity.
As his threading develops into tight pulls of your hair, you detract yourself to avoid the night ending right then and there.
Since he's still sitting on the side of the bed, you sit onto his lap with a plan to abate and elongate the tension. You're back to kissing him, allowing both parties' hands to roam each other.
“I love your arms,” you mumble into his mouth as you reach for them.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I know you love my sexy arms.” You punch him teasingly.
But an idea flickers in your head. You halt your actions.
“This might be weird to ask, but could I...” you trail off, picking at your hands, realizing maybe you shouldn't finish your question.
“Hey,” he whispers, holding your chin in his hand. “You can ask me anything, beautiful.”
You hesitate with closed eyes.
“Could I... ride your arm?”
Peeking a nervous eye open, an evidently puzzled Mark stares back at you.
“I—What? Sure?” His voice raises in octaves.
Embarrassed, you try to wave it off. “Never mind that I asked.”
“No, hey,” he says, his palm caressing the side of your face and angling it towards him. “I'm flattered and obviously, nobody has ever asked to ride my arm before. But if you want to give it a go, by all means, I'm open to it.”
“Yeah?”
Mark gives you the sweetest smile and a reassuring nod. “Yeah.”
Since you suggested it, you lead him to lay on the bed, more in the centre so there'd be enough room for you to sit. He watches you gingerly lift his hand near head-level, as if he's almost flexing to show-off or about to lay his head on his palm.
Carefully, you sit onto his left arm, facing the direction of his body. At the contact, you shudder. “Is this okay?”
He agrees, enticed by your ass near his face and the general exquisiteness of your being. “You can put more weight on it, it's okay.”
You comply, relishing in the pressure of his arm against you. After becoming more comfortable and placing most of your weight to an arm on the bed, you slowly rub yourself upon his arm.
Mark's fascinated by this foreign act, eyes watching your every move. With his free hand, he touches himself.
His favourite part about you riding his arm? The look on your face—fluttering eyes paired with your lip biting—and the fact that you find him this attractive, that using him this way can simply get you off.
“This okay still?” you breathe.
“Fuck yeah.” He squeezes himself harder. He knows the answer to the next question, but he wants to hear it from you directly. “Does it feel good for you?”
You assent with a sharp moan. Without notice, you lick your palm with the intent of reaching over to grab his cock. At first, he's confused when he notices your hand, but he happily lets you handle him.
“Oh, God,” Mark pants.
You fasten your pace on his arm, grinding greedily against him. As you do so, your arm attempts to match the pace for his desire.
“Fuck,” Mark twists his head to look at your hips, tries to focus on how wet you are amidst his own pleasure, “you really do love my arms...”
It's a sweet dream for you—no, sweeter than any dream or fantasy could ever be. This is real, this spectacular sensation spreading all over and it's all thanks to his arm. Your body winds up, tighter and tighter, and you eventually break, chasing your second orgasm of the night.
Cleaning your mess up, you wipe his arm fast, keen on what's about to happen next. You then draw him into your mouth a bit to get him up again before rolling the condom onto him.
Once the rubber is on, you tease him from above, sliding the tip of his cock against your pulsing centre.
Mark may be a gentleman, but a gentleman can only be patient for so long. He seizes his possession and you gasp as he holds you by your hip, forcing you to sit down onto him.
The feeling is heavenly, stretching you sweetly. You bounce on his cock, and the sounds from you two are louder than from before. There's a small voice inside your head, worried about a noise complaint from your neighbours, but future you could deal with that.
Right now, it's all about Mark. He plays with your breasts with every move you make, while you fondle his abs and arms. Both of you try your best to look at one another through the pleasure, but it's difficult when you're floating higher and higher.
He then clasps your lower back and skillfully rises upward with the help of his strong abs. This position provides an angle for him to do all the work to thrust into you, as well as continuing to rub your breasts and even suck on them again.
At this point, you're in absolute state of frenzy, drowning in all the stimulation. Mark's underwater, right there with you too.
He pulls away in the midst of licking your nipple, his eyes going round. Nevertheless, you lean into him, your breasts pressed into his face and your mouth hangs.
Together, you cry each other's names and swear in endless spirals and the bliss finally reaches its peak for the evening.
As Mark lays next to you in your bed, observing your peaceful sleeping state, he's obviously amazed by tonight's events, but he’s also unsure what’s in-store for either of you.
There are so many factors at play with his career, you're both essentially still strangers, the future is unknown...
And yet, despite these worries, the feeling blooming in his chest is more than a blossoming liking. It’s akin to the moment he steps up to plate, either ready to bat or pitch. Nervousness, determination, and...
It’s too early to call it, but when he’s around you, he swears it feels a lot like his love for the game.
He shakes his head, not wanting to jump into the deep end this fast. He doesn't want to ruin this good thing prematurely.
Nevertheless, he places one last kiss atop your forehead before he sleeps, praying you'll be a new constant in his life, at least in the near future.
EPILOGUE — FOUR MONTHS LATER
Today is game four of the World Series and your city has won the previous three. If they continue their streak, tonight will be the night where Mark and his teammates take home the championship.
Hours prior to the big game, the teams are having batting practice beforehand to warm-up.
With your chin perched in your palm, you watch Mark closely—of course, safely from a distance and from behind him—and nod with every ball he hits well at the mound. You're seated in the lower area of the stadium among many of the other team members' families and friends, including a gleeful Chenle.
“Stop checking out your boyfriend's ass,” he orders, nudging you with his shoulder as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
“You stop checking out my boyfriend's ass,” you retort, nudging him back.
The two of you continue your little nudging contest until he says, “So when you guys get married—”
“Oh, my God, Chenle...”
“I'm just saying, we all know you two are going to have beautiful little baseball player babies! Anyway, as I was saying, when you guys get married, can Daegal be the ringbearer somehow? She's pretty much the reason why you guys got together in the first place.”
You shake your head, eyes still on your love. “Chenle, we'll have that conversation when and if we get there.”
“When we'll get there,” he states confidently, and you laugh, dismissing him.
Sure, it may have been a fresh relationship only four months in, but you couldn't deny that maybe the idea of marriage wiggled its way through your mind here and there. Despite your thoughts, it wasn't at the forefront; you were happy in love with Mark now, here in the present.
Player #02 hands his bat over to another player and jogs towards you. It makes you wonder why he hasn't done an advertisement with slo-mo running and wind blowing through his hair yet.
“How’d I do?” Mark asks, leaning onto the railing next to you. Chenle gives him two thumbs up with a large grin.
“Awesome," you agree. "Did you think about hitting my head with each ball?”
Mark chuckles and juts his tongue to a side of his mouth. “You’re never going to let me live that down, huh?”
“Never,” you quip, scrunching your nose. You reach out for him and hold the tips of his fingers in yours. “You nervous?”
“Yeah,” he exhales, closing his eyes. “More than usual.”
Your fingers progress forward and your thumbs rub the back of his hands lovingly. “You’ll do amazing, like always.”
“You’re too sweet, babe. But this might be the game and I might—”
You cut him off by cupping his cheek in your palms.
“And you are the Mark ‘The Tiger’ Lee”—you tenderly swipe some of his hair away from his face—“top contender for both the Rookie of the Year and CY Young Award. So no matter what happens, you will come out on top.”
In awe and in a little disbelief with how well-put that was, he stares at you with starry, doe-like eyes. He's so grateful to have met you, to have someone so supportive of him in his life.
After a few moments, he concedes. “I had a pretty great run this season, haven’t I?”
You admire how humble your boyfriend always is. It's one of his greatest traits.
“And you have me,” you add jokingly.
He tilts his head side to side. “I guess there’s that too...”
The two of you share a kiss, innocent at first, until he deepens it and you wrap your arms around his neck, which generates some of his teammates to holler and whistle. Likewise, you hear Chenle screech, "Save it for after the win!" and you swear you feel some popcorn being thrown at your back.
Finally, until you're content, you peel away and press your forehead against his.
“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” you whisper.
Mark nods, a little more confident than before. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“So much,” he punctuates it with a loving squeeze to your shoulder.
You don't think you'll see him before the game starts, so you grant him one last good luck kiss.
You wouldn't know it that night, but by the end of the season, Mark would indeed take home the Rookie of the Year and the CY Young Award, being the youngest recipient of both awards.
That evening though, your city's team works in unbelievable harmony (or maybe the opposing team is having its worst day) because the game is a perfect one. Mark shuts out the other team, not allowing them to have any runs whatsoever...
Thus, sealing his first title of being a World Series champion.
But certainly not without his beloved running out into the field to give him a congratulatory hug and kiss among the sea of people.
And at the end of that night in the confines of your bedroom (after earth-shattering celebratory sex), you would find out that Chenle was right (and later, that he was in on it) when Mark, merely in his boxers, gets on one knee with a little opened box in front of you.
He's visibly shaking, and not because he's half-naked. You've never seen him so unnerved. Your love spills the following in almost one breath:
“I know we just started dating, and we can be engaged for, like, ten years or whatever. I just know that, deep down, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I may have felt this way since our first date. I really, really, really hope you feel the same, even if just a little bit."
Mark takes a deep breath, trying to regain composure for the important question he exhales.
Tears rise in your eyes as an ocean of feelings hit you, but within that ocean, no doubts rise to the surface whatsoever.
All you think about is how you will be forever grateful for the baseball that hit your head on that life-changing day.
You immediately say yes.
#mark lee x reader#mark lee smut#mark lee fluff#mark lee scenarios#mark lee imagines#mark lee fanfic#nct smut#nct fluff#nct imagines#nct fanfic#nct scenarios#nct 127 smut#nct 127 fluff#nct dream fluff#nct dream smut#yn brainrot
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From Vormir, With Love - Part 5
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, will add as we go on
Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.
Word count: 2.2k
A/n: ah, spiders, amirite :)
"Are you sure it's okay for you?" You ask. You have a good thing going, but sharing a bed was something else entirely.
"Yes. You're not sleeping on the floor. And the ship has been claimed by Carol and June." You grumble something about those two getting along way too well, and Natasha smiles at that. You fluff the pillow and throw it back on the bed. It's the third time you do it, while Natasha is just looking at you, laying down on her side with her head in her hand. She looked stunning in a short and simple tee-shirt, with her hair freely flowing. You can see very clearly the disparaging hair color, and you want to plunge your hand in it to see it in more detail, get closer to her skin, and smell her scent.
Oh god. No.
Since the stress of landing was gone, and you realized how she made you feel, your brain started filling with all those thoughts of you and her together. You tried your best to keep them at bay, but it had been harder than you thought. During dinner, you spilled water on you when you tried to drink because your eyes were glued to Natasha while she was talking. Everyone laughed but they were gracious enough to not point out the reason why you were so unfocused even if you had a feeling a few of them noticed - maybe even including the one responsible. But no, if she did notice, why offer to share a room?
She's way out of your league, and now that you're back on Earth it's not like there is any reason for you to act on any of how you feel. Yep. No reason, you think as you finally find the courage to lay down in the bed, under the blanket. It feels nice as the house is slightly too cold for you - contrary to popular belief space is very warm and you are used to it now. But you quickly forget about it when Natasha slides her silhouette under the blankets in turn. She closes the distance between the two of you and faces you with a smile.
"Hey."
"H-hey?" You answer, confused about what she is doing and why she's so close to you suddenly.
"I want you to know, I'm not sorry."
Her words confuse you even more. Until you feel it. Her ice cold feet on your legs. You shriek and try to worm your way away, but there is no use, Natasha grabs your arms and quickly neutralizes you as the cold is penetrating you to your core.
"Please, stop! Get your feet away! Please!" She laughs at your shrieks, which are more laughs now, but you won't give up, moving around erratically as she keeps trying to fully pin you down to steal your warmth. And she succeeds, obviously, she's the Black Widow after all.
Once you realize you can't move anymore, you stop thrashing around and open your eyes. She's straddling you now, her eyes in yours, her cheeks a nice shade of pink - you're not sure if it's because of the play-fighting or something else -, and you feel her breath on your lips. Your mouth opened slightly to lick your lips, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest and you know she can feel it in your wrists as she holds them.
"Natasha–"
"Don't." She leans down towards you, your eyes closing briefly when you feel her plush lips ghost over yours.
"Don't what?" You swallow hard.
"Don't say anything."
You can't help but obey, nodding lightly. You can barely breathe when her fingers slowly caress your cheek, only for her hand to go higher. That makes you frown, especially when you feel her move faster and seemingly grab something.
"Okay, you're good." She smiles at you, and stands up, approaching the window with something in her hands.
"Hm. What was that?"
"There was a spider," Natasha says as she opens the window to let the creature out.
"There was… a spider…?"
"Mhm."
You stay where you are, frozen in time as what happened dawns on you. A spider? You almost kissed… but… A. Fucking. Spider? Your brain is trying to catch up to everything as the redhead joins the bed back and lays down like nothing happened. You feel the mattress cave under her but don't look, completely shocked by what just happened.
She turns off her light.
"Good night."
"A spider…?" You whisper as the only possible answer. Is it all that caught her attention? The only reason why she was so close?
A spider.
Tonight, Natasha falls asleep before you.
-
It's early morning, and the first sun rays are hitting the kitchen just right to illuminate the wooden furniture and the silhouette of the redhead assassin. Natasha is sitting there with a thousand yards stare. She has a forgotten cup of coffee in hand, no puff of smoke coming out of it anymore. It simply sits there with her.
The events from last night replay in her mind.
"I almost kissed her," she tells the man who just entered the room. He looks tired beyond his years, but he comes to sit opposite of her. He knew perfectly who she was talking about - the way the both of you interacted didn't escape his legendary perception. The both of you had developed a quick connection that was evident. And if he would normally just listen, he feels that she needed a push.
"Why didn't you?"
It takes her a moment to contemplate an answer. Why didn't she? You were willing, that much she could tell, but something stopped her. Maybe her deep seated fear of abandonment. That she wasn't worth it. Or that you would end up the same as Bruce, not wanting her. Not enough. And seeing this spider - a wretched creature unwanted by most - made her realize she was maybe not enough. For anyone.
"I'm just not good enough."
It is the same room where she stayed the first time the Avengers learned about Clint's family. She doesn't want the cycle to repeat either. But it is her abandonment issues that are mainly responsible after all.
"Nat, you're amazing. No matter what you think, anyone would be lucky to have you."
"I don't think I should. She's still a civilian, and I'm–" she doesn't finish her thoughts, but it's clear to Clint. He is still there himself, after everything he's done. He shakes his head.
"You're a hero. You saved half the galaxy. I think that warrants some peace and quiet with someone you like." He extends his hand and takes hers from her mug. "At least think about it before you go all tortured soul on her."
She considers it, and nods. With a deep breath she comes back to Earth and looks at her coffee. She gives Clint's hands a press before she stands up and grabs her mug to put it in the microwave.
"Cold coffee is the worst," she declares before she turns around and leans against the counter. She's back in business. "You said Tony's funeral," she clears her throat from the emotion of his loss, "will be tomorrow?"
Clint nods and starts to move around the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Since his wife and kids came back, he's been making it for them everyday. He could barely believe his luck to have them back, and now Nat.
"I'll need to buy something for it," she comments when she realizes that the Compound had been destroyed, and that she had no safe house around the city that would have what she needed. It will also give her the time to be alone for a bit ; she had no occasion to be on her own the past week, and with everything that happened it might do her good. Give her time to grieve. To think about everything that happened. Think about you and what she truly wants.
"Hey guys," a strangely happy Carol Danvers enters the room. They take one look at her and it quickly makes sense what happened to her. Apparently Natasha isn't the only one with something going on. The redhead is barely surprised, knowing how charming the blonde is. This spells trouble if she knows anything about Carol.
With a sigh, she drinks from her coffee cup, still leaned against the counter. The day is going to be long.
-
You barely have time to think about what happened yesterday before you're alone in front of your parents' door. It's still the same as before, and you feel like nothing changed, like you're just visiting the way you used to until you were kidnapped. You take a deep breath and knock. You hear ruffling noises before the door opens, a waft of familiar smell invades your nostrils, and you're face to face with your mom.
"Y/n…?" She whispers with incredulity before she launches forward and embraces you in a warm hug. It feels so familiar, but it's been so long you're not so certain what you should do. It has been five years, after all, plenty of time to forget about the affection your parents gave to you whenever you met. Slowly, still, it comes back to you, and you raise your arms to return the strong embrace with delicacy, almost fear it's going to dissipate if you're not careful enough. It feels stilted on your part at first, but you relax as time goes on. The familiarity of the warmth feels good.
Your dad comes to peak what could be taking his wife so long out there, and when he sees you, when he understands you're back, his legs almost buckle under his wait and he has to hold onto the table in the hallway to not fall. Tears are not so resistant to gravity, and soon his face is peppered with them.
It takes your mom a while to let go of you, and your dad to be able to stand up properly again. When it finally happens, you're whisked inside and in questions that you answer patiently, retelling the events of your abduction and eventually how you came back, but you never go into the full details; you don't want to break their hearts further.
After that, your mom leaves the room to go call the rest of your family and tell them you're back, leaving you alone with your dad. He lets out a long, heavy sigh, and after a long beat of silence finally speaks.
"She never stopped looking for you. She always knew you were somewhere out there." He looked at you with the same eyes as yours. "But I have a feeling you didn't come just to stay here."
"I have to go back to see the proper authority at some point and I might have to stay with… people, for some time. Let the dust settle, you know." The government is probably going to want to know about your abduction, and your spaceship. It rubs you the wrong way, but you had a feeling you might not have a choice.
"No, it's not what I meant." He grumbles, his eyebrows knitted together. "Once the dust settles, what will you do?"
You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes. You often dreamed of coming home, but you never thought beyond that.
"I don't know," you admit. You look down with confusion. What were you supposed to do? Go back to your old life?
"You've tasted adventure, kid, and yeah, it was bad, and scary sometimes I bet, but you changed now. You have a foot in a new world, and I know you." He smiles as he remembers. "I don't know if you remember, but when you were a toddler, you got lost in some caves, and after we found you, all you wanted to do was go back in. No matter how scary it was." He chuckled. "I knew there and then, I told your mother 'oh this one, this one is gonna find troubles one day, and she'll like it.' You know. A 9 to 5 is never going to make you fully happy. So maybe… maybe space can be your thing now."
You look away, frown in the same way he does. In those five years, you were so focused on going home, you never stopped to think about the way flying made you feel, or how at ease you had gotten with taking jobs on the other side of the galaxy. "What about mom?"
"Now that you know where we are, you can come visit us from time to time."
You shake your head. "I don't know."
"Just think about it, kiddo. Just think about it."
You nod, and your mom reappears. You smile at her, and laugh when she tells you your aunt broke her phone again.
"We should have a get together with everyone! I already invited them, they'll be there this week-end!"
Of course she did before even consulting you. Still dazed by your conversation with your dad, you simply nod.
"Sounds great."
"You can bring your new friends if you want too!"
"I, huh, i'll see if they want to come."
After that, your mom starts talking about organization and food, and you check out.
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha x reader#natasha#fvwl#natasha imagine#idk how to tag
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More Than This
Part one of the series
Iceman x reader
Warnings: ummm slow burn? friends to lovers talk of heartbreak- self depreciating a little bit? Fluff ICE
a/n: Ummmm trying a lip peel off stain while writing this, that is all. This was actually very hard for me to write, based off real events so um yeah #embarrassing
Siting at the bar in your kitchen with a full cup of coffee. You haven't moved in hours, just staring at the tan color of your coffee, that is definitely cold by now.
You haven't been able to eat a real meal in a week, no appetite and whenever you try, you just feel like you'll be sick. You feel used. Betrayed. Broken. Your mind just keeps replaying the memories.
-Flashback-
"I just don't love you anymore-- I haven't since you got back from Mexico"
"so you mean to tell me you've been lying to me and using me for six fucking weeks? For what sex? why'd you introduce me to your god damn friends then?" Your brain is spinning, how on earth did you go from meeting his friends two weeks ago to this conversation- over the phone no less.
"No I wasn't lying- I just love you like a friend-- like how I love kyle" This makes you scoff.
"then go fuck Kyle" and you hang up the phone.
__
The pizza you ordered last night left sitting on the counter, only one piece missing. You could barely get yourself to eat, or sleep for that matter. It's not that you wanted to do this to yourself- he's not worth this. You just feel used, and hurt. Emotionally manipulated and picking up the pieces of yourself slowly.
You haven't found it in yourself to do anything- you suspect people might start thinking something bad happened. You can't really find it in you to care though.
All you want is to hit rewind and never meet your now ex, or notice all the red flags earlier. You feel so stupid for not seeing how badly he was treating you, until now. Hindsight 20/20 and all. Maybe it's because you feel so stupid and foolish you don't want to make the call to the person you need. The one person who always makes you feel better, can always make you smile and laugh.
If only he'd loved you back right, then all of this would've been avoided. You wouldn't have said yes to getting set up, you wouldn't have dated this guy as a means to forget who you really wanted. You wouldn't have felt used.
The hardest part about feeling used, is that you can't get away from it. You can shower, you can scrub over and over and over and yet the feeling doesn't go away.
Realistically, you're glad it's over, you know you deserve better than some mediocre asshole. You know, but it doesn't make it any easier to let go of the lies and hurt.
Maybe you should just stay single. Clearly that's better than this feeling, and well if the man you really want hasn't made a move in the years of friendship between you two then he probably never will. Only seeing you as a friend, as he chases after other girls.
Sighing as you feel the tears start rolling down your cheeks again. You're tired, so unbelievably tired and yet every time you try to sleep you just replay every memory with Brandon in your head. They all feel like a kick to the gut. Either a realization of how bad he was, or how fake he was.
You are brought out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. You are confused, because it's a Sunday morning at 10 am so who would be here?
You drag yourself off of the bar stool, slow and sluggish movements as you make your way to the door. When you open it, that's when it all comes rushing back. It's SUNDAY. You always had standing brunch plans with Tom on Sundays. You're eyes land on him and you feel so bad, because you forgot and he's standing there looking so nice- when isn't he looking nice though. Yet you're here standing with an oversized tee- one of tom's actually- sweat pants and hair in what can hardly be called a messy bun.
"oh my god tom- I totally forgot I am so sorry" but he's not worried in the slightest about your forgotten brunch plans, not when he sees the tear streaks on your face.
"Honey, what happened?" with your exhaustion riddled mind you don't even process what he says.
"Let- let me just go get ready real fast and we can go anywhere you want my treat-" you stop when he steps forward and wraps his arms around you.
"Why are you crying" this time you do pick up on his words, hard not too as he mumbles them right in your ear.
"oh um- yeah I know i'm a mess" and a wet laugh comes out as you try brushing off the pain you are so clearly in. He just squeezes you tighter to him, and for the first time in what feels like forever- your nervous system settles. His cologne washes over your senses and you feel yourself relaxing into him.
"you are a beautiful mess" and you know he means it but you can't stop the tears that continue down your face- one of the issues that you'd had with your ex was he never seemed to compliment you-- and when you brought it up he'd just say 'well I say you smell good all the time' like that's supposed to be the same as calling you beautiful.
If you could see Tom's face you'd know he's panicking, is he making you cry? All he ever wants is to make you smile and laugh.
"Darling what happened- please tell me" and you know he's desperate- you also know it's not fair to keep him in the dark. So you spill, everything. Every nitty gritty embarrassing detail of what happened to you. The arguments you and your ex had this last week- the phone call to dumb you yesterday- the way you feel broken, used and left with no self esteem.
Tom is so glad your face is still buried in his chest for two reasons, one: you can't see the rage that passes through his face, two: you also can't see the hope that flickers in his eyes.
Tom- never quick with his emotions realized shortly after you started dating that asshole that he was actually quite in love with you, but he felt he missed his chance so he stayed the good best friend even if it was killing him softly.
He does feel like a little bit of an asshole for being a tiny bit happy at the news of your breakup- especially because he sees how hurt you are. Except, how can he stop the happy giddy feeling that pulses through him at the notion that he didn't miss his chance, and he wasn't going to let this one get away from him.
You two stand there in your entry way for what must be a good 30 minutes before he gently moves your face so that he can wipe your tears.
"C'mon, let's turn on some trash tv and waste the day" you crack a smile at that, you know Ice hates sitting still and yet here he is offering to do it all day for you.
He knows where everything is in your house- possibly even better than you do. He makes quick work of getting snacks and a few blankets to wrap you up in. He might be the one named Iceman but your feet prove you're the colder of the two.
"Is that my shirt?" you feel a little bit of heat rise to your cheeks at the question- hoping that he wouldn't notice you still dressed in one of his academy shirts.
"uh yea- you left it over here the last time you spent the night. I'm sorry it just looked so comfy and well it is but I-I'll wash it and get it back to you" You move to stand to go and change so you can start the washer with this shirt when you feel a hand on your wrist.
"don't, it looks better on you anyway" and if you weren't blushing before you certainly were now. It also brings a fresh wave a tears, the pain of not feeling good enough, or pretty, and being treated terribly for the last nine months making its comeback in your mind.
You just nod numbly and sit back down, thankful Tom doesn't say anything. You know he noticed the change in your face, the man reads you like a book on the easiest of days, let alone days like today.
He stays with you, a quiet lighthouse that guides you home every time the thoughts in your head are a little too hard to deal with. He makes you lunch and makes sure you eat the entire sandwich. He watches shitty tv with you until you fall asleep on his shoulder, then he sighs kisses your head and makes a silent promise that when he makes you his- you're never going to feel like this again.
He will make you feel beautiful always- and make you laugh and dance and sing. He wants every beautiful moment with you, and he's going to do everything in his power to make you see him like he sees you. If only he knew you already did.
Pt 2 coming soon!
Taglist:
@alanadetigy
@luckyladycreator2
@multiplefandomsmess
@tkmarvel-divergentbish
@ohh-to-be-a-frog
@roosterschanelslut
@americaarse
@malindacath
@atarmychick007
@trikigirl271
@nessrin
#tom kazansky x reader#tom iceman kazansky#tom kazansky#iceman#iceman x reader#top gun fic#top gun 1986#top gun
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You drive me crazy : Part 2 : Crepe , Grape, poor Drake (Bucky X reader)
Summary :Enjoy a Bucky barnes getting green in envy and trying to prove otherwise !
No warnings , well if you consider , naughty and hot as warnings , then yes!;)
Ah and also, there is half naked bucky barnes ahead...
Chapter 2 ( Chapter 1)
In the shield headquarters
Sam, Tony, Steve and Natasha were all chilling in the room when Bucky barged in violently like wet bull ready for a bull fight, followed by you who looked more like a tamed little kitten shivering due to the cold wet garments that clung to your body than yourself. Steve immediately got up from the couch worried and rushed towards you.
“How did this happen to my little sister?” Steve said wrapping his arms around you in a bear hug.
“Your little sister ran away to meet her lover in the NGO and did not want to leave him.” Bucky said while taking off his see through full sleeves T shirt turning everyone’s head at his direction, making even Steve forget for a moment what the brunet had just said about his sister.
After throwing his wet garment away, which surprisingly Sam caught because he was walking towards him, Bucky walked majestically towards the cupboard leaving everyone behind him star struck.
“Why did you take your T shirt off man?” Sam asked Bucky standing next to him and after taking a peak at his well toned upper bare body.
“Sam, it’s not like my dignity was being saved by wearing that thing. Don’t behave like you couldn’t see what you are seeing now when I had this wet T shirt on.” Bucky told Sam staring at his stunned face after picking up a white towel to dry himself.
Out of them all, you were the only one who had your eyes glued onto this adorable creature patting his face, his creamy sun kissed chest and his tight abdomen dry.
“Would you like me to dry your back ,your Highness?” Sam asked drily.
“No, I want to do that.” You said in a low voice but high enough for your brother to hear you turning his amazed eyes at you, taking you aback for a minute. All you could do in this awkward moment was to shake your head negatively and pray that your brother dismisses this slip of tongue of yours.
“No thanks Sam, I don’t need your help... Hey Steve, don’t you have a change of clothes that I could use?” Bucky replied amused after he ditched the towel making Sam roll his big eyes and began searching for something to wear in the same furniture.
“For what? So you can change all your clothes in front of us putting up a private show?” Steve teased Bucky referring to both women who had their eyes fixed on him forcing him to turn around and offer him one of his naughtiest smiles.
Bucky headed towards your direction slowly and gracefully, just like an exotic cheetah walking towards its prey before attacking it, standing right in front of you with the gaze of an all- powerful beast showing mercy on his petty victim.
“Captain... look after your sister, she’s making me chase her all over the town like a madman. This is the third time I am running after her... she’s driving me crazy bro.”Bucky complained, surprising Steve and then walked out of the room while you were waiting for your brother to give you a tough time, but wait... you did not have to stay ...you could leave as well.
“I think it’s time for me to go to bed.” You said excusing yourself before Steve could even utter a word at you and followed the vibranium arm man out of the four tense walls, leaving your flustered brother behind.
The mechanical door of the lift closed locking both of you in the tiny elevator while you were pressing the button of your floor, avoiding at all costs to look at his irresistible naked chest.
“Why did you take your tee shirt off in front of everyone.” You asked Bucky, breaking the ice between both of you.
“ why, you couldn’t handle it?” He replied teasingly.
“No... I’m not talking about myself, Natasha and everyone else was looking at you.”
“And you too, because I caught you in the act.” He whispered huskily in your ear hovering his lips over your ear lobe.
“No, I wasn’t... I was just surprised to see you do that.” You defended yourself and a glorious grin drew on Bucky’s face at your excuse.
“Tell me... is that Grape, or whatever his name is, as handsome as I am?”
“I don’t know... I have never seen him like this. And what... Grape? You have butchered his name like no other”
“He deserves it.That chimp showing his full teeth to you”
“Why are you being so mean to him? I never thought you could...?”
“So you have never seen him shirtless. You know you shouldn’t stare at me like that after already having a boyfriend.” Bucky taunted you sliding his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.
“How many times do I have to tell you? He’s not my boyfriend and I wasn’t flirting with him.” You clarified damn seriously, wanting to end this mischievous teasing because these accusations had begun hurting you.
Your seriousness caught his attention, and he looked at you reducing the size of his smirk. In that moment, there was a sudden brusque movement in the lift and it stopped. Along with this, the previous bright light in the elevator, dimmed. This could mean only one thing, you were stuck in the elevator. Together.
“No, please no.” You cried nervously stepping towards the door trying to bang on it asking for help.
“What happened?” Bucky asked troubled by your sudden behavioural change.
“Please, help! Open the door!”
“Y/ N , relax, I’m here with you, you are not alone. Nothing will happen to you.” He came closer to you, gently placing his hands on your upper arms standing right behind you realising you could be experiencing a claustrophobic episode.
“No, but, I want to get out of here! Now! Do something! Please !” You cried anxiously feeling trapped banging on the metallic door.
In that very moment, the lift made an abrupt brief descent scaring the daylights out of you as you thought that the elevator was going to crash,. As a result, you turned around and wrap your arms around the gorgeous male standing there, burying your face in his chest.You were trembling, heavily panting against his body. In the position you were both in, he could feel the fear overpowering your vet figure.
Your name, relax... you are not alone, let me get you out of this place. please. Bucky whispered, caressing your soft moist here with his flush hand and stroking your back with the other, desiring to calm you down so he can aim his efforts to open the elevator door.
The pleasant warmth you received from the Super soldier’s body was steadying your wild breaths that he was feeling caressing his caramel skin.
“ Y/N trust me, I’ll get you out of here.” He whispered nuzzling in your hair and loosened his grip on you until finally leaving to figure out how to open the door.
You slowly turned to see his strong arms pulling the elevator's door apart when the sharp disturbing noise of separating the mechanical members hit your ears. God, no other human could even remotely think to do that.
“I think you can pass through this space.” He said while he helped you out of that gap he had made by lifting you up in his strong arms and pushing you to that floor.
After you were out of the elevator, Bucky jumped and came out of that place himself. Standing up in front of you, with his lips curled up in a soft smile seeing you safe and sound with your forehead covered with tiny hardly visible droplets of sweat.
“I told you I’ll get you out of there.” He mumbled at you, staring tenderly in your eyes.
“Thank you.” You mumbled smiling back at him, crossing your arms at the gush of wind that blew out from an open window of your floor.
“Anytime.” He replied at the same time you noticed that this was your floor you both were on.
“Well... I think that’s your apartment. See you tomorrow y/n. Goodnight.” His brain betrayed his heart which was clearly unwilling to leave.
“Goodnight.” Words flew from your lips, even though you wanted to stop him and invite him to your apartment so you can extend this memorable day spending more time with this lovely man who appeared to show himself tough but was just like coconut.
He waited... he waited for you to say something as well, glaring at your confused yet glimmering eyes, but you could not say anything. Perhaps, you were too shy to invite him in your house. So the gorgeous male moved his feet towards the stairs, not before stealing one last hopeful glance at you, before vanishing downstairs.
“Maybe ...he is a good person.” You said to yourself, correcting your earlier misjudgement about him.
Notes:
PS. Hi guys I hope you enjoy this. Please don’t forget to hit the heart button, share, reblog and drop two words of appreciation. Your support is vital for me. Thank you so much.
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reactions to bts seeing you in their sweatshirt/hoodie??
Oh boy, look at all that potential fluff!🤩
Enjoy!🥰
💟
---
Kim Namjoon:
(Book Store AU)
Namjoon is very large compared to you so you frequently steal his sweaters that look like dresses on you.
You just liked wearing his sweaters around the house whenever he wasn't home because they smelled like him.
"Y/N, I'm home!" Namjoon tossed his keys in the bowl by the door before turning around.
You froze. You had apparently come out at the worst time possible to retrieve your ice cream from the fridge.
"How was-" That was when Namjoon noticed you, with a spoon in your mouth, ice cream container in hand, and was that... his favorite sweater?
The spoon fell out of your mouth and you quickly ran away from the scene worried Namjoon would be mad. To your dismay, he chased after you in the master bedroom.
He snatched you up from behind and crushed you in a bear hug.
"N-Namjoon. I can't... breathe."
"Sorry! I just got really excited."
"Excited?"
"Yeah. I never see you in my clothes and you look so small in them." Namjoon grabbed a hold of your waist and nuzzled his face into your neck.
At least he wasn't mad about it.
Kim Seokjin:
(Chef AU)
"Biscuit, have you seen my-" Seokjin came around the corner to see you sitting on the couch wearing his favorite shirt. "Nevermind. It looks better on you anyway."
You giggled. "Jinnie, you should come watch a movie with me." You held your arms out to him over the back of the couch.
And that's how Kim Seokjin suffered through two and a half hours of not being able to do anything else but grab your thighs and hold you close. Torture.
Kim Taehyung:
(Flower Shop AU)
"Princess, do you know where I put my cardigan with the flowers?" Taehyung called from the other room.
You came into the bedroom. "Tae, turn around."
"So that's where it went." Taehyung came over and undid the buttons on the cardigan to reveal that you were only wearing one of his shirts that came down to mid-thigh.
"Good luck at your event today." You giggled and kissed him.
"Nuh-uh. Get dressed. You're coming with me." Taehyung grabbed your waist a put you in front of your closest.
Jung Hoseok:
(Clothing Designer AU)
"Hobi, am I allowed to steal your shirts?" You sat on the kitchen counter, watching Hoseok make lunch.
"Why? I can just make you some, Little Duck."
"It's not the same!" You whined. "Your shirts smell like you and have that comfortable already-been-worn feel!"
"Alright then. I don't see any problem with it as long as you don't destroy them." He kissed your cheek.
You scoffed.
Min Yoongi:
(Café AU)
You were sitting on the couch, munching away on a blueberry scone while watching TV, wearing Yoongi's hoodie.
"Precious, I'm heading out for work. I'll be back around six." Yoongi pushed his hair out of his eyes.
"Okay."
"Is that my hoodie?"
"Yes."
"We're gonna have a long talk about stealing my clothes and why you shouldn't do it before I leave for work, when I get back."
"Okay." You giggled to yourself.
Jeon Jungkook:
(Tattoo Artist AU)
"Marshmellow! Did you steal my black tee again?" You heard Jungkook ask from the other room.
"Yeah! Why?" You answered.
"Because I need it! I have a private session today with a high paying client!"
"Alright I'll pick a different shirt!" You grumbled.
Jungkook ended up taking you with him for the private session when you recognized the name. That woman couldn't take no for an answer and apparently had no regard for the fact that Jungkook made it very clear.
Today's tactic: dressing you in Jungkook's white shirt with a belt and handbag while being as touchy as possible with him. If they doesn't work then you're going announce a false engagement.
Jungkook ended up almost yelling at the woman about how "my wife is right there and you are shamelessly flirting with me!"
That shut her up for a little bit.
Park Jimin:
(Celestial Beings AU)
"Dove, I know we had one of our little escapades last night but I really need my clothes back." Jimin rubbed at your side, slightly rocking you back and forth.
"No!" You snatched Jimin's robe and ran to the bathroom while putting it on.
"Well, guess I'm using the bed sheets." Jimin picked up the sheets and tried his best to make a make-shift robe out of them.
He couldn't deny that the size difference in his clothing compared to your's was endearing.
You just watched him get dressed from behind the bathroom door.
-------------------------------------------------------
My asks and submissions are always open!
I love you, my fluffies!🥰
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"Ugh... I completely forgot Valentine's Day was coming up," Vivian scowls as her bespectacled stare lingers over the advertising poster plastered against one of the mall's billboard mockups... and as if that wasn't already enough, it was also directly nestled next to the single escalator leading up towards the food court, where the bathrooms resided. Honestly, since an angry customer had splashed ice coffee all over Reanne's top, Vivian ended up buying her a new shirt before subsequently accompanying her across the mall in the hopes of somehow helping her clean up the stains, but now that they were almost at the food court, she feels her mood immediately begin to sour.
"But $35, huh? It's not exactly what I'd call a steal, yet at the same time, I guess it's way cheaper than those 'romantic' boat cruises they host every year for Valentine's. Still, I wouldn't be caught dead, listening to pretentious jazz music while sipping away at wine that probably tastes like cat piss," Vivian then shakes her head, and within seconds, sluggishly boards the escalator. "Anyways... it's a good thing your tank top wasn't see through, Riri; otherwise, you might have been mentally undressed by a whole bunch of middle aged white dudes right about now."
UNPROMPTED ┊always accepting.
Why did she have to deal with this kind of behavior just after she had signed off the clock and was wearing her favorite top? Ugh! She spent good money on this thing and now it was stained with coffee—and it wasn't even black coffee; it was the stupid mixtures of fake coffee drinks people got at that stupidly overpriced chain store that made frappuccinos or whatever they were! Thank god she was satisfied with a basic cup of coffee when she needed it.
Glancing down at the remnants of whipped cream that stood out as a stark contrast from the black hue of her top, Reanne stretched the garment in her hands and attempted to wipe down the stain with the napkins she had managed to grab earlier, frustration nearly bringing tears to her eyes, ❝ Do you know how many paychecks I saved to buy this?! It was so much effort saving and now some idiot decided to ruin it! ❞
Thankfully, Vivian was sweet enough to buy her a new shirt on the spot—and now she would make doubly sure to pay her back for that expense. Turning to her friend, the girl sighed in defeat, knowing that the napkin wiping was not going to get the stain out any better than it had before, ❝ How much was this t-shirt anyway? ❞ she asked, shifting her glance down towards the most random oversized style graphic-tee she had laid her eyes on. It had some sort of character on it—a red background and a yellow bird printed in a cartoon style she swore was familiar from somewhere.
Although it seemed the smell of the food court drew both their attentions away from the task at hand and they were further distracted by an advertisement posted by the escalator they were riding. As Reanne took in the price, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that her mouth might have watered at the cheap price (relative to her own dining expenses anyway), ❝ 35 for a 4 course meal...? ❞ she trailed off as her imagination ran with the idea of multiple entrées and side dishes and drinks set to cover an entire table top... a giant steak, a decent fillet of fish or an upscale surf n' turf, asparagus, carrots, string beans, salads, potatoes, amazing sauce garnishes, and maybe the nicest slice of cheesecake or chocolate dessert ever... a smile stretched itself onto her face. Ah, she was making herself hungry just thinking about it!
Except her companion didn't seem to be drawn in by the deal as much as she was, citing the high expense and terrible atmosphere. Her smile faltering, the girl held her stained top closer to her chest as if to forcibly calm herself down from the temptation of signing up for a night of exquisite food.
With an awkward laugh, Reanne chased away her temptations, ❝ I guess I can see why it wouldn't be appealing. I mean, I personally love the idea of a nice meal for cheap, but either way, this might be for couples only. ❞ She put a finger to her chin as she thought through her words. Though if it was couples only, she'd just drag Keith along like she did nearly every year to make use of the couple bonuses. With how easy it was to get him flustered and all, it wasn't hard convincing others they were romantically involved, ❝ And wine isn't bad, you just need to find the specific one you like. ❞ Whatever her dad drank actually tasted pretty good now that she recalled it.
Lowering her finger to properly hold onto her stained top again, Reanne laughed at Vivian's commentary about the angry customer, ❝ Haha, I never wear white so that wouldn't happen! Besides, I know people would be mentally undressing me regardless of whether or not I had a stained shirt since plenty of guys have told me about those kinds of thoughts in the past. It's a compliment at this point—it means I'm pretty! ❞
As they stepped off the escalator, an idea struck in her head—as if she could kill two birds with one stone, ❝ Hey, if this dinner thing isn't couples only, why don't I treat you to this as returning the favor of buying me this shirt today? You can try something new at no cost to you and I get to pay you back. How's that sound? ❞
#unladielike#* ✭ ❪❪ reanne ↠ in character ❫.#;; pfft these two have a very different idea of what 'cheap' means lol
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Combustion Reaction
Summary: Hanma knows exactly how to push people’s buttons and make them combust, but somehow, your reaction did not produce the same result
Word count: 1.4k
Genre: fluff; college! au; barista! Hanma Shuji; enemies to lovers? (to lab partners?); one suggestive joke on Hanma’s part; Hanma being a menace
A/n: dedicated to Tee @shujisbaby ; I hope I did your man justice but low key, I’m kind of in love with writing this version of him.
Hanma’s favorite pastime is being a menace. Call him a little shit, and while most people would be offended, he’d give you a snarky little grin and say, “Thanks ♡.” He likes to push the edge in everything he does. How many times can he show up late to his literature class with a half-empty iced coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other until his professor explodes? Last lecture, he stuck his tongue out with a sardonic smile as he passed through the door and he swore his teacher turned red.
And when he says everything he does, he truly means everything. How shitty of a barista can he be until he gets fired? How many times can he laugh at a customer’s face and walk away when they tell him he made their drink wrong?
His psychology class tells him it stems from his upbringing and the lack of attention he received as a child. Maybe they’re right since his parents were never home and there’s only so many games he can play until he’s bored, but that’s besides the point.
Because now that Hanma’s older, he knows how to have fun and you, you’re his favorite game to play.
“Hey sweetheart,” Hanma drawls, leaning over the register and smirking when you roll your eyes.
You’re such a perfectionist. He’s watched the way you take notes in chemistry class, with your pens lined up and your hand cramping as you try and write every single word the professor says. You’re always diligently studying and focused solely on academics and Hanma wonders exactly what it’ll take for you to unravel. How far does he have to push for you to lose your composure, to just, break? What a sight that would be, huh? He loves breaking things just for the hell of it, and well, he wants to break you too just for the hell of it.
Psych class also tells him that this is a reflection of himself and how he refuses to be the only broken thing in this world, but fuck that. What if he wants to do things for shits and giggles? There doesn’t have to be an explanation for everything.
“Can I have a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino?” Amusement is all Hanma feels when you choose to ignore his salutations. Oh no, sweetie. If you want him to stop chasing you, ignoring him is not the way to go. It only forces him to try even harder.
“How about I give you my number instead?”
There’s a twitch in your nose. You must think he’s so annoying and he basks in that glory.
“No.” Is all you say.
“You sure?” He asks, “I can keep you up better than that frappuccino can.”
Before you even get a chance to retort, Hanma’s scolded by his manager and you’re able to get your desired drink on the house after a series of apologies. Hanma’s a menace to society, a combustion reaction ready to set the world ablaze. Logic tells you that getting involved with him will only have you burned, but unfortunately, you lack the same rationality in your heart. Every time time you see his stupid face, your heart flutters like a moth attracted to the flame of his cocky grins.
It’s the reason why, even though you know he’s bad news, you still show up every day at your campus coffee shop to order your frappuccino; but the world knows you’re acting a fool and decides to hand you a lesson when you get paired up with him for a lab report. You stall until the end of lecture but by the time that you turn around and ask to begrudgingly exchange contact numbers, Hanma’s already zipped out the door. At one point he was inescapable, and now it seems that he’s the one avoiding you. You can’t even catch him at work because the moment he sees you walking through the entrance, he’s running off to the back regardless of whatever he’s doing. What makes you even more angry is that you know he’s doing this on purpose.
You could do this assignment on your own, but there’s no way you could keep up with the rest of your school work if you do. You’ve got essays, practicals, exams, and this lab report is at least ten hours of work so as much as you don’t want to work with him, he’s the loose pin to your grenade. If he doesn’t help you out, there’s a guarantee that you will be need to set an alarm for a daily scheduled breakdown in the library from all the stress toppling over.
You’re angry and restless, leg bouncing and pen twirling because you could have never foreseen this. You’re waiting on Hanma to get off his shift and just the thought brings bile to your throat and butterflies in your stomach. He’s so bad for you that you want him just as desperately.
Hanma cannot contain his grin when he spots you at a table near the exit after clocking out.
“Waiting for me, sweetheart?” He saunters over with his long legs with minimal steps before taking a seat opposite of you. “I won’t deny it, but I am quite surprised.”
“I don’t want to play your games,” You get straight to the point. He quirks an interested eyebrow at you - an interested and handsome eyebrow. “Give me your number so we can figure out how to work on this lab report.”
“Oh ho, you already had your chance.” Hanma places an elbow on the table and perches his chin on his palm. He leans forward so he can get a closer look at every twitch and every minute reaction you give, obsessed with it. “My number’s not for sale anymore.”
You glare. He glares back.
“Hanma.”
“That’s my name ♡.”
His cheeks start to hurt at how wide he’s grinning but you look so adorable with your frowny face that you think is intimidating. It’s not but it’s a good effort.
“This is 35% of our grade.” You try and reason with him.
“Do I look like someone who cares about my grades?”
Hanma’s at the edge of his seat. What are you going to do? Are you going to lash out? Kick and scream? He licks his lips in anticipation, but you surprise him once more at the wet sound of your voice.
“Please,” you whisper, eyes trained on the table between the two of you. “I can’t fail this class.”
Hanma feels guilt for the first time in a long time at the sight of you so fragile and small. He feels even worse knowing that he’s the source of your pain. The way that you look like you’re on the verge of tears, fingers wobbling like a newborn deer on ice, he can’t help but concede. He thought he’d get the usual thrill of seeing you break, but only guilt douses him in gasoline and your tears are the matchstick to this blaze. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, but Hanma decides he fucking hates it. He’d rather never make you cry ever again if his heart has to tear itself out of his chest.
“Fine,” he says, remorse lacing his breath but incapable of apologizing. He hopes you realize the gravity of that one word, what him relenting actually means. “Let’s work on this report.”
Just like that, you perk up. A sneaky smile on your lips, you wipe the tears that have barely begun to fall and give one quick sniff.
“Great!” You chirp, “We’re going to be doing this my way, by the way. I’m clearly the smarter one here so just do as I say.”
“Were those? Did you?” He’s shocked at the mood swing but all you do is blink those beautiful eyes of yours up at him. Glossy and innocent to the point that it’s malicious, Hanma pieces everything together and he can’t help but flash you a grin. “Oh you’re going to be so hard to handle.” He bares his canines, absolutely excited. “I won’t fall for those crocodile tears again.”
You shrug and match his grin with your own, “We’ll see.”
And you get up without another word, expecting Hanma to follow. Of course he does, because how else will he be entertained?
#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev#tokrev#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers x you#tokrev x reader#tokrev x you#hanma shuji#hanma shuji x reader#hanma x you#hanma shuji fluff#tokrev fluff#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers imagines#tokyo revengers scenarios#hanma imagine#hanma scenario#tokrev drabbles#hanma headcanons#blame tee for another tokrev fic#but tbh I had fun with this
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https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe5JcUMn/
Imagine doing this with Tom but the boys ask you questions about each other
this tik tok is so cute pls <3
｡☆✼★━━ requests are closed ━━★✼☆｡
Part of every great relationship is seeing who knows more about each other. You’ve got Tom down pretty well, considering he’s a blabber mouth during interviews and with you. Now, you’re willing to put it to the test. Tom’s competitive like that, so he won’t give up a challenge.
It was a silly tiktok that happened to land on your for-you-page, that sparked the idea, but now it’s unraveled into a true competition. You’ve got a simple pair of sweats on, and an oversized shirt. Tom also has his grey sweats on, and a navy blue tee that accentuates the bulge of his biceps.
Two water bottles are filled with iced water, thanks to Harry and his need to make everything extreme. Harrison places two towels on a chair beside the patio table. Yeah, you’re doing this outside, so not only is the water refreshing during this (rare) London sunshine, but it’s also easier for clean-up duty.
“Get ready to lose, love,” Tom strides out the back door with such cocky confidence that you roll your eyes — playfully, of course.
You scoff roughly to feed into the atmosphere. “As if, Tommy. You’ll be kissing my ass.”
“He does that anyways,” Harrison pipes up, commenting like the little shit that he is.
Harry makes a pained expression, one of disgust, and you laugh at him, Tom joining you. “Ugh, Harrison! Did you really need to say that?”
“Hey,” he raises his hands in surrender, “He’s your brother.”
“Are we ready?” Tom interrupts, picking up one of the water bottles, handing the other to you.
“Thank you,” you say in an accent.
“But of course, darling,” he says back in his best Victorian-English accent. You giggle, and then motion for Sam to begin the recording. Your phone records from its place in the tripod, and Harry reads off the first question on his index card.
“When did Tom first break his nose?”
“Uhm…” you’re bending your knees slightly, ready to squirt Tom with water despite the fact that it’s his turn. “20… 17?” You cower away as Tom giggles while spraying you. “I wasn’t done guessing!”
“You get one guess!” He says back, laughing at your wet face and now splotchy shirt.
You roll your eyes, “Next question!”
Tom chuckles and so does Harry, and Harrison reads out the next question. “Who’s Y/N’s favorite villain?”
Tom’s brows furrow and he freezes for a moment, arms coming out in bewilderment. “I don’t know? Who would know that?!”
“Me!” Harry says while you squirt Tom. Immediately, his curls dampen and then flatten completely, wetted by the cold water.
“Agh!” He shrieks, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t even guess!”
“Ooh!” Harrison raises his hand like a child. “I have a good one!”
You raise your eyebrows before encouraging him to continue.
“What’s Tom most cocky about?”
You smirk, something that makes Tom raise a suspicious eyebrow. “His bedroom skills.”
Harry gasps in surprise at such a blunt response, and Tom’s mouth hits the floor. “Y/N!” Your mouth opens too and in a matter of seconds, you use a hand to cover your mouth in shock. Harrison gasps in realization too, and Tom looks around at everyone as if you’re all crazy.
“What?”
“You didn’t squirt me!” You yell, pointing a finger at him and cheering.
“Damn, Y/N!” Harrison cheers. “She got it right, mate!”
“Screw you guys,” Tom pouts, and you laugh harder, coming down to your senses to continue the game.
“Aren’t you glad I know you so well?” You tease. Tom doesn’t miss a beat when replying.
“Yeah, and how’d you know about my arrogant bedroom antics?”
“Ewww,” Harry winces. “You two are disgusting.”
“Disgustingly cute,” You smile brightly, so much so that it makes Tom laugh.
“Tom,” Harry says, “How does Y/N like her tea?”
Tom pulls his brows together while he ponders the question. You’re so ready to spray him with the water, because he makes tea every morning yet never seems to pay attention. “She… doesn’t drink tea!”
You let out a loud laugh, squeezing the bottle with all your might and watching it hit Tom’s hair and face in content. “Tom, even you know that’s not true!” you laugh, looking at the boys with a bizarre expression.
“Fuck, I know,” He whines, clearing his eyes of the fresh water.
“Your shirt is literally drenched.”
“Would you rather it be off?”
“I mean…” You match his smirk, but before you go any further, Harrison breaks it up.
“We’re still filming!”
“Last question!” Harry squeals.
“What’s Tom’s zodiac sign?”
You look at them, stifling a laugh. “That’s like asking what his birthday is!”
“Well, what is it?!”
“He’s a gemini!” You squeal, protecting yourself.
“I get an extra point for the shit question,” Tom quickly brings the water bottle over your head, squeezing harshly. The veins that run along his arms and hands pop out while he does this, and you run from your spot, shivering from the cold sensation.
“Hey—!” Tom runs after you, but you splash him in the face. Tom squirts back, accidentally hitting Harry during his attempt to splash you again. Harry gasps, hoodie dampening, and he stands hastily, grabbing one of the spare bottles and getting Tom square in the face.
Tom has to stop chasing you from the shock of the cold liquid running down his face. “Harry!”
“You got me first!”
“Yeah, by accident, you div!” He extends his arms to squirt him again, but Harry steps out of the way and Tom’s water hits Harrison’s chest, shirt drenching in the water.
“Aw, c’mon!” Harrison yells. Hastily, he picks up the remaining water bottle and goes after Tom, who simultaneously outruns both boys and continues chasing you. You run backwards for a bit of time, wetting Tom’s front while Harry get’s Tom’s backside.
“You fuckers!” Sam yells from his seat on the patio, beside Tessa. “The video ended!” None of you bother stopping though, and as Tom makes the distance towards you, you squeal, squeezing the bottle until all the water runs out.
“Catch me! I dare you!”
“Just you wait, love,” Tom steals Harry’s bottle, who then gasps in surprise at the action. “I’m gonna get you.”
want more? my masterlist.
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a strikeout means i could not tag you! pls message me for support <3
#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fic#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagine#tom holland oneshot#tom holland blurb
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DATING NCT A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Yuta Nakamoto
A ⇴ AFFECTION
If there is one member you can count on being affectionate, it is most definitely Yuta. He loves to cuddle you and hold you as tightly as possible, at any point in the day, he doesn’t care where either, he just wants to be close to you.
B ⇴ BEFORE DATING
The two of you were sat together on a flight from Seoul to Tokyo. For most of the journey, you were silent, but then when you needed to move past him to use the toilet, the two of you finally struck up a conversation. After that, the two of you talked for the rest of the journey, exchanging numbers as you picked up your baggage.
C ⇴ CONFESSION
Yuta spent a lot of time getting to know you before confessing, he wanted to make sure that being in a relationship with an idol was really something he wanted before he asked you to be yours. He didn’t want to pressurise you or anything, but when you told him that it was what you wanted, then he finally asked you the all-important question. To begin with, you stayed quiet, until you noticed the panic in his eyes from your joke, easing his mind.
D ⇴ DATES
The two of you usually ended up doing something physical on your dates, Yuta loved to take you to different places and get competitive with you. You knew that he was sporty, so when he’d tell you that you were going skating or rollerblading, you’d never be surprised. The one thing you hated was how good Yuta was at everything, he loved to show off in front of you, but every time that you fell, he’d be right there to pick you up and encourage you to give it another go, this time holding his hand tightly.
E ⇴ EXPERIENCE
You were his first anything, first kiss, first love, he knew nothing, and experienced nothing about a relationship before he met you. To begin with, it was definitely a little overwhelming for him, he wanted to make sure that he treated you right, but he also wanted to make sure that all the other member supported the two of you as well. If he was only going to date once in his life, then he wanted to make sure he did it right, not just for him, but for you too, Yuta really wanted to make sure that he was the perfect boyfriend.
F ⇴ FIGHTING
Life was too short for arguing as far as Yuta was concerned, he never argued with you, but he’d definitely out sass you in a heartbeat. He’d often use that to try and stop an argument between the two of you, if he felt you getting worked up, then he’d come out with a savage comment that would stop you in your tracks. Before you had the chance to speak, Yuta would try and convince you that whatever you were arguing about was stupid and redundant, and that your time was much better spent laughing and smiling with each other. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t argue with his logic nor the smile on his face.
G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY
His family loved you before they met you, it was a huge relief for all of them to know that Yuta had someone in Korea who would look after him and love him just like all of them did. Knowing he had you was a comfort to them, and the first time they met you, they made sure to express their gratitude to you.
H ⇴ HOME
Your home tended to be the place for the two of you, as you were able to get a bit more privacy than you would at the dorm. You knew Yuta was very happy at the dorm, so you’d never force him to be at yours, but if he wanted to come over, then you’d never say no, until eventually he ended up staying with you permanently.
I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”
After meeting his family for the first time was when Yuta was the first to say, ‘I love you.’ He knew they loved you anyway but seeing how well you connected with them all in person was the icing on top of the cake for Yuta, confirming all of the feelings that he had for you, and making him realise that he really did love you.
J ⇴ JEALOUSY
Yuta loved to be social and enjoyed being around other people, but the second he felt that someone was getting a little too close to you, he wouldn’t be afraid to say anything. His ultimate goal was to keep you safe, and if he felt like that wasn’t happening, then he wouldn’t be afraid to push a guy aside and let him know that he was out of line. You loved seeing how protective Yuta became when he was jealous, you’d try and assure him that you were alright, but he’d refuse to listen and bring you back next to him.
K ⇴ KIDS
There was no secret made from Yuta that he wanted to have children in the future, but he was also very aware that there were a few years yet before he could really think about fatherhood. Seeing him around your friend’s children always put a smile on your face, at times he was still a big kid himself, and so he always got on well with little ones. He just hoped that your little ones would be just as amazing as your friends’.
L ⇴ LAUGHTER
Yuta loved to make you laugh, usually with a lot of tickle attacks or chasing you around the apartment to try and get a cuddle out of you. You love the way that he teases the other members and makes incredibly blunt comments towards them and knowing that it gets a reaction out of you gives him the encouragement to do it even more. If you’ve had a bad day, it would kill Yuta on the inside, he’d do whatever it would take to put a smile back on your face, refusing to let you go until he managed to cheer you back up.
M ⇴ MISSING
He’d been away from his family for many years now, so when he went away on tour for the first time leaving you, Yuta was sure that he’d be alright. But in fact, he was anything but. It was agonising for him to be so far away from you, to not be able to be by your side to ring him and tell him that you’d had a bad day or that you were missing him. It would take a lot of persuading from the other members to stop him jumping on a plane sometimes and heading back to Seoul so that he could be back by your side. He always hoped that things would get easier, but it never really felt like they would when he was on the road.
N ⇴ NICKNAMES
Yuta loved nicknames with you, he would never settle on one. ‘Cutie,’ ‘darling,’ ‘petal,’ anything that sprung to mind, Yuta would try with you, but each one would always end up putting a smile on your face.
O ⇴ OBSESSION
He was obsessed with your hair, he loved to play with it and brush his hands through it, often twirling it around his fingers when he slept to relax himself.
P ⇴ PDA
Yuta wasn’t afraid to be affectionate with you in public, he loved to mess around with you, and often push the boundaries. You were a little more reserved than him, so whilst you’d often worry about doing something wrong, he’d be there to make you smile, and above all else, make sure that you felt comfortable.
Q ⇴ QUESTIONS
He loved to know every single thing about you, even after years of dating, he’d always feel like there was something else to explore about you. He was desperate to find out every last detail about you so he could really know you to a tee.
R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS
A lot of his free time was spent reading fan comments, and more so when he started dating you. He loved to show you all the positive comments that the fans uploaded about the two of you, to reassure your mind. Knowing that the fans were so supportive of the two of you was incredibly comforting for Yuta, as much as he loved to read what the fans said about him, seeing what they said about you too was much more important to him.
S ⇴ SEX
Yuta is incredibly loving, and that definitely reflects during intimacy. He loves to have you as close to him as possible so he can play with your hair and be able to look into your eyes. He’ll keep the distance short between the two of you and bundle you up in his arms so that you can feel loved by him. His athletic build also very much came in handy when the two of you were intimate, which you were completely obsessed with.
T ⇴ TEXTS
The two of you text quite a lot throughout your day, the two of you are always communicating, so as soon as either one of you gets a break, you’ll send the other a text and wait for the other to get a break to reply.
U ⇴ UNIVERSE
Yuta loved having a partner in crime with you, the two of you were mischievous together, which whilst the other members hated, you loved having them all under your control and being able to wind them all up.
V ⇴ VACATION
Before he even had the chance to argue, the first holiday that presented itself to the two of you was spent on the way to Japan. You wanted him to use the time to reunite with his family rather than worry about you. A gesture that both Yuta, and his family, were incredibly grateful towards you for doing for them.
W ⇴ WHINING
Yuta will definitely whine if he wants something, he’ll be sure to know that he needs you by kicking up plenty of fuss until you notice him.
X ⇴ XXXXX
Any chance that Yuta had to kiss you; he would snap up instantly. He loved to cup your cheeks and pull you nice and close, kissing you in between words as he spoke to you. If you ever began to get worked up or nervous, he would always kiss you to stop any panic from setting within you. He knows that his kisses bring you a lot of comfort, and with that, will always make sure to kiss you whenever he senses that you need it.
Y ⇴ YOU
You were the love of his life, the only one there ever would be.
Z ⇴ ZZZ
He’ll often end up using you as a pillow at night as he usually sleeps without one. His head will usually rest against your shoulder or your chest to prop himself up, still making sure that his arms are securely wrapped around you.
---
Masterlist
#nct#nct imagine#yuta#yuta imagine#yuta nakamoto#yuta nakamoto imagine#nct 127#nct 127 imagine#nct yuta#nct 127 yuta#nct scenario#nct reaction#nct drabble#nct one shot#nct fluff#nct headcanon#yuta scenario#yuta reaction#yuta drabble#yuta one shot#yuta fluff#kpop#kpop imagine
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The Ice
Five things Bruce taught Jason and one thing Jason taught Bruce. (1/6)
Bruce isn’t sleeping when his bedroom door creaks open. He’s not even pretending, when the small, whimpering child climbs into the bed beside him. Small fingers clutching at his nightclothes, a tuft of curly hair tucked under his chin.
He wraps his arms around the small shaking figure, presses a soft kiss into the hair. “Deep breaths, Jason.” He says softly.
The boy in his arms takes a shuddering breath, clutches tighter to Bruce’s pyjamas. His tears are starting to soak through.
“Sorry.” Jason says. The words are barely a whisper, Bruce feels them in his chest, more than he hears them.
“Hey.” He says, in gentle admonishment. “What have I told you about apologising. There’s nothing to apologise for.”
Jason sniffles again, presses himself further into Bruce’s embrace.
“Try and get some sleep.” Bruce says, and with one arm he tucks the covers around them both.
It’s not the first time Jason’s had a nightmare. It’s not even the first time this week. It’s also not the first time Bruce’s own dreams have kept him from rest. If he’s honest, since the incident last week, he sleeps a lot better with Jason here too.
Jason’s been with him eight months, two weeks and five days. And it’s going well. Really well, in fact.
Jason is everything Bruce was not as a child. He’s loud and full of life, with a mischievous gleam in his eye and a heart of gold in his chest. He’s eager to learn, quick-witted and sharp, already catching up with the smartest in his class, despite the school he’s missed.
He’s funny. God is he funny. He makes Bruce laugh in a way he hasn’t done since Dick was small. With silly impressions, or out-of-the-blue jokes that are way beyond borderline for a twelve year old.
He shows affection with reckless abandon, throwing his arms around Bruce or Alfred’s necks or waists, whatever he can reach. Pressing kisses into cheeks, squeezing their hands in his, or dazzling them with a brilliant smile. Like he's been so full of love his whole life and just needed someone to give it to.
And he trusts them. Alfred and Bruce. Trusts that he is secure with them, loved by them, where he should be, with them. With each passing day, more of his personality shines through, as he starts to build his home, his life, there with them in the Manor. Warm, and full, and safe at last.
Bruce had hoped… when he took the kid in, he had hoped that he could give Jason what he needed. That he could make up, in some small way, for all the ways Jason had already been failed. By his parents, by the police, by social workers, by Gotham. Hoped he could give Jason something, that would make up for the years before. He just never counted on how much Jason would give him. Because Bruce adores him, and as the quiet tears turn to gentle snores in his arms, he already dreads letting go come morning.
It's late autumn, the leaves have already fallen from the trees. The first frost of the season had descended on the Manor and it had been a harsh one, killing the last of the late summer blooms that were still hanging on.It had only been a week ago, that first frost, but it's only with Jason's warm body held close that Bruce can shake the chill, even now.
It had been that next morning, the Manor grounds glittering silver, when Jason and Bruce had been working their vegetable patch. Now nearly empty, after they’d picked their carrots and pumpkins and squash. Bruce’s pumpkin had been biggest, but Jason’s carrots had tasted the best.
Ace was out too, running up and down the garden, chasing squirrels, barking good naturedly up trees. There was only so much interest an eleven year old could show in weeding an all but empty vegetable garden. Before long Bruce had shooed Jason off to play with the dog, whilst he knelt in the soil, picking out frozen slugs and other undesirables.
He could hear Jason laughing with the dog. Wrestling with the old Alsatian every time he refused to drop the manky, old tennis ball they were playing fetch with. Jason had a strong arm, but Ace, despite his age, had more energy than even an eleven year old, and before long Jason’s throws became more haphazard.Bruce hadn’t seen what had happened, had only heard it, half listening in the way all parents do. Jason had thrown, but Ace seemingly hadn’t got the ball. “C’mon Acey.” Jason had cooed, “Get the ball.” Before there was a good natured humph, the dog seemingly refuse to do as asked.
The next Bruce had known, Ace was baying manically and Bruce was sprinting from the vegetable patch, because those were warning barks. Ace was a little down the garden, over by the swimming pool, Jason nowhere to be seen.
No. The single word repeated itself in Bruce’s mind as he ran across the frozen grass. No, no, no, no, no.The world went silent as he reached the pool. Panic drowning out Ace’s barks. The thin layer of ice across the surface was cracked open, Jason below the water, still and unmoving.
Bruce yelled. He doesn’t know what. Jason’s name. Maybe Alfred’s. Maybe just an angry, desperate noise, wrenched out of his throat at the thought that someone else he loved was being taken from him.
He careened into the pool. Half wading, half swimming, arms desperately reaching for Jason. He didn’t feel the cold. Didn’t feel the wet. Could only feel the all consuming panic as his fingers finally, finally closed around Jason’s arm, dragged him to the surface.
“Hold on, Jay-lad. Hold on.” He said loudly, and kept saying as he pushed through the icy water to the pool edge, a thousand terrible scenarios running through his mind.
By some miracle, none of them came to pass. Jason had started coughing up water before Bruce was out of the pool, tears joining the water running down his face.
It had been later, sat by the fire in the drawing room, wrapped in blankets and Bruce’s arms, Jason had quietly wept. Whispering over and over “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” into Bruce’s chest.
“You never go out onto the ice, Jason.” Bruce had said. “Never. No matter what.”
But of course Jason wouldn’t know. What pools of water were there in Crime Alley, what frozen lakes or rich idiot swimming pools were there to learn from? Jason had never even left Gotham, had never crossed the river until he came to the Manor. Had never even been to the river, could never know the dangers beneath a frozen surface... Why hadn’t Bruce explained it to him the second they got outside? Why hadn't he had the damn pool cover fixed at least? Why hadn’t he been watching Jason more closely? He should have been playing with the kid, with his— with his son, not picking frozen slugs out of the ground whilst his darling boy drowned.
Except that was the other thing. Because it wasn’t just about not going out on to the ice, never, ever, no matter what. It was that Jason couldn’t swim either. He hadn’t said as much, always casually finding a reason to avoid the water over the summer months. But Bruce wasn’t called the world’s greatest detect for fun. He should be called the world’s biggest idiot. Having an open pool of water around an eleven year old who couldn’t swim. Having not even booked swimming lessons for the eleven year old who couldn’t swim.
Who did he even think he was? Thinking he could be a father to this child. Give him what he needed. He’d already failed fatherhood with Dick, ruined what had been the most important relationship in his life, with his own stupid pig-headedness. And here he was, arrogant enough to risk doing the same again. Stupid enough to—
“B?” Jason stirs in his arms, bringing Bruce back to the present. Interrupting the sixth consecutive night of him reliving the kid’s almost death. Putting an end to the self-loathing diatribe he now has down to a tee.
“Mm?” He can feel Jason’s eyelashes flutter against his neck.
“Thank you.” Jason says softly. “For saving me.”
Bruce has lost count of how many times Jason has broken his heart, but he adds another to the list. “You don’t have to thank me, Jason. I will always save you. Always.”
You can read the rest of this fic here https://archiveofourown.org/works/34213801/chapters/85127050
#spbfic#batfamily fanfic#bruce wayne#jason todd#red hood#batfam#batdad#batfamily#soft dad bruce wayne#batkids
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𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘐𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]
⧏ jeno's installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐
synopsis: he likes to think it's romantic how he always finishes your sentences for you. you think it's annoying that he keeps interrupting you.
✧ ice hockey player!lee jeno x (fem.) tutor!reader ✧ college au
✧ genres : fluff, angst, slightly suggestive ✧ word count : 4.4k ✧ disclaimers : mentions of sexual activities, swearing
✧ author’s note — same universe as my puck in your goal which does not need to be read first but can be. also, hi @crownily i did it :)
let's just say jeno sucks at school and that the one thing he doesn't suck at is hockey, ice hockey. and let's just say that you're his tutor, strictly for tutoring purposes. yet, here you find yourself at his doorstep at 3:47 in the morning, or so your phone says.
he opens up to see you clad dressed down, different from the neat tee and skirt he's so used to. to be completely honest, jeno has never felt anything towards you and even he himself finds that hard to believe since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive but he isn't attracted to you, per se.
jeno wished he would though, especially now that he's suffering from what he called you here for in the first place: an extreme case of breakup.
one hand leaning your weight on the doorframe, the right of your shit rides up. jeno bites down on his lip, retracting his eyes to your face. "let me get this straight, you called me here, at this time of night, to get me to help you with what exactly?" so what if he thought fucking you would be a good way to keep his mind off things? too bad he didn't think any further than that. the words come to his as he speaks, "i just thought that- that...you- you would be awake at this time! because you know- you like to study…did i interrupt anything?"
donning a dreary expression, you nod in clarification, "yeah, you interrupted my studying."
"right, okay, i'll let you get back to that," he turns in haste as if to close the door behind him but you catch it with your heel, a scowl making its way across your face at what you were about to say, "forget it, jen, i'm already here. what do you need help with?" you stare into his back, his widening eyes unbeknownst to you. he turns again, now deliberate in motion, just to give him as much time to get his bearings together. lifting one shoulder in suggestion, and truthfully confusion, his voice is a pitch higher when he responds, "...studying?"
and that's how he finds himself staring into the crack between the wall and the far end of his desk, your figure hovering above him but not in the way he'd planned for, planned poorly for. jeno is on edge and frankly, he feels incredibly bad because he doesn't understand anything that comes from your mouth and the words you jot down on his paper before him all seem to collide and blur into each other. that's when he realizes he's started crying.
and that's when you're rendered speechless as the boy sits there, the little tracks running down his face wetting the paper you were teaching off of. "jeno, oh my god. fuck, you good?" you don't want to come off as prying so you avoid the whole 'why' notion but you're not that socially inept to miss that he didn't call you here at such an ungodly hour of morning just to get some unpaid tutor hours in and he certainly isn't crying because he doesn't understand shit.
a hand of his is sifting through his hair while another rubs harshly down the side of his face. "i don't think you should- i'm just gonna go get you some tissues, i'll- i'll go get that." you turn on your heel and navigate your way from his room to the kitchen you'd passed on the way in. it's dark and you know he has roommates, you were less than willing to make your presence known. to your dismay, the kitchen was currently being occupied by a man whom you've yet to identify, being only two steps in when you stop in your tracks.
he identifies you first, "y/n, what are you doing here?" and you pick up from the voice that it's donghyuck. your foot hits a cabinet before your eyes get a chance to adjust to the lighting, "fuck, yeah i'm here with jeno, well i'm not- not like that, we're just studying."
"just studying?" there's no way to see it but you swear the cock of his brows is apparent as it would be at day. you hum in response, fingers trying to make out the paper towel dispenser you were sure you caught a glimpse of on the way in. "so you're saying," he pulls out his phone and the light that emits from the screen is enough to guide you in the right direction before he shoves is back in his pocket. "that you booked a tutoring session with him at 4:19 a.m.?"
tearing one, then two, from the dispenser, you distractedly let a disbelieving, "yup," past your lips. hyuck scrutinizes you in the dark and his next words nearly shock you out of your skin, "is he fucking you because he just got dumped? is that why?"
you swivel at lightning speed, "he what?" hand over his mouth, donghyuck seems genuinely apologetic, though you wouldn't put it past him if he was not, "shit, you didn't know?" folding the paper towels two times over in your hands, you gingerly across the room to where the boy is seated, "i mean, i know that he didn't call me here just to study but that's legitimately what we ended up doing." he doesn't answer for awhile so you follow up with a question, "you think he wants to fuck me?"
hyuck looks you straight in the eye, "yeah, yeah i do." it hangs unsaid in the air between the two of you, but it's within both of your knowledge that jeno only wanted you here for sexual relief from his frustrations, that whatever else could be denoted by the deed was simply inapplicable for this situation. you shake your head of the thoughts, "so, what are you doing up this early?" you know that there is a weary and weeping jeno you have to get back to but you also know that your presence is somewhat unwelcome there, uncomfortable even, while he wades in his fit of tears.
hyuck replies with a heavy tone, "he gave me some things to think about too."
and you jump to conclusions all too quickly, "he wants to fuck you too?"
"god, y/n, no."
a weak laugh lining your demeanor after the last of the interaction, you reenter jeno's room to find him sprawled wide, his back to the bed. "hey," you preface as you round upon his bed, setting the paper towels on his nightstand. it seemed his tears had run their race and his eyes were now staring lethargically into the ceiling. perching yourself on the edge, you reach to place a hand atop one of his, giving two reassuring squeezes. "need anything?"
only now does jeno seem to take note of your arrival, his eyes hooded eyes flit to you for half a second before resolutely tugging you by the hand you had clasped within his. "what-" your breath is stolen from you as your back hits his chest. jeno drapes his arms across you front, "jeno, what-"
"i need a pillow, that's what i need."
you blink, trying to make sense of your thoughts, "did you ask me here to fuck you numb?" his body goes rigid underneath yours and you're right to assume that you've pinpointed the answer. "i'm right, huh?" eyeing downwards, his fingers are fiddling for you to see. after a few moments laid in bated breath, he lets weakly, "sorry about that, it's not gonna happen."
"yeah no shit," is said dulcetly despite the denotation. you feel his chuckles reverberate beneath you. "i'm really sorry, i swear i don't think of you that way." a smile upon your own face, you turn in his arms to place an expression to his voice. propping your head up on your folded arms, your arms atop his chest, you peer into his eyes sincerely. there is much that needs to be said, the reasonings behind his unexpected breakdown and the closeness you suddenly feel with still have to be addressed. but at this hour in the morning, you can't bring yourself to.
instead you query, "should i stay the night?" he peers into your eyes with equal sincerity when he responds, "it's already early morning, you'd probably be off better sleeping here." giving a soft nod and a few moments to rearrange your thoughts, you perk up again just as he's about to fall asleep. he isn't annoyed in the slightest, rather he smiles at that, your voice, "do you have practice tomorrow?"
it's his turn to give a nod in response. "wanna come watch?" your arms move around his chest, encasing him like how he's encased you. hiding your smile in the front of his sweatshirt, your voice comes out muffled, "i'd love to but i'm a bit busy, jen. next time, maybe."
at your response, it's the first time that jeno feels, acknowledges, that his heart drops, even though it's in the slightest. there's an image of you in the stands, your textbooks in your lap and glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose. the image moves as he moves cross the rink and you look up when he passes by, eyes bright and a small smile and thumbs up in encouragement. from then on, it's that image that's plastered in his mind every time he thinks of you, that one self-conjured image.
jeno feels his heart drop even more when he awakes to an empty bed. he finds that the text that you've sent in departure isn't nearly enough to repair his spirits, he wishes you were there instead.
practice sucks ass the next day and the day after that, he doesn't pay it any mind, knowing more than well enough how renjun whispers of the news of his breakup among the members. he doesn't hold it against him though, after all, his ex is his teammate's best friend. jeno thinks it hurts the most when his ex shows up at the next game, the one he'd invited you to when you'd crossed paths on campus a few days ago. he finds himself in a weird predicament between trying to forget about a girl and chasing after another one. he can't tell if he really likes you or if he just needs a rebound.
today, jeno decides it's the latter because he's fuming the entire game at how hyuck would send winks in her direction, how he would skate up to the edge of the rink to converse with her during their breaks. jeno hates how she's moved on all too easily and he feels and urge to prove that he can do the same. he wants to prove to himself.
he's let almost every goal in by the time the buzzer signals the end of the final round. the coach reprimands him because at this point, he might as well be from the opposing team. the helmet is off in a split second, he showers for the briefest of moments, only allowing the water to slosh across his body one time before he's patting himself dry. jeno slips the towel from his shoulder throws on a hoodie in its stead. he's out the locker room in bare minutes where he comes face to face with you. you, with the little sheepish, apologetic smile on your face. you, who'd just arrived from your shift at the local cat adoption center, late for the game but in just time for him. you, the only person he's been aching to see the whole day. but even now, he's unsure of exactly why.
"y/n, hey," he's by your side in an instant, hesitant in his actions but words tumbling out nonetheless, "you came. late, but...you came."
you meet him in the middle, hands coming up to your aid and waving nonsensically as you speak, "i'm so sorry, my shift was extended and i forgot to tell my boss beforehan-"
"it's fine, i'm just glad you're here." he readjusts the bag onto his shoulders in a nervous fit. he barely manages to make eye contact with you and he wonders when he started to feel this way about you or, again, the desire for a rebound, his need for a taste of vengeance is willing him to act this way. jeno shrugs off the thought and fills the silence with an offer, "so do you wanna go...do something together?"
jeno should know by now. the little sparkle that glints in your eyes and the way his stomach upturns itself in response. he should know by now how much you like him too. hyuck exits the locker rooms in that instant, he greets you in passing as he joins a girl up ahead. you turn back to jeno, momentarily distracted, only to find his gaze hardened and fixed on the girl. a sickening feeling erupts within you as you begin to piece one and one to make two.
he turns back to you and you avoid his gaze. the shift in your countenance jolts him as much as his had jolted you. you lick your lips before looking back up at him, your own eyes guarded. he wishes he knew why. "jeno, i'm gonna have to rain check. i just- i thought of something- something came up. i have to go."
you're stalking away from him before he can even process it. he's lucky that his strides are long because he catches your wrist right before you get to the exit, "y/n," he tugs gently so that you turn to him but he's caught off guard even more when he sees the tears that have begun to form in your eyes. "why are you like this all of a sudden? what happened?"
you shake your head at him, hurriedly swallowing the sobs before you can embarrass yourself even further, "nothing, jeno. i just realized something." you stare down at his wrist expectantly but he only clutches it tighter, "then, what did you realize?"
he lets go of your wrist now and you feel like your heart couldn't get any heavier as you answer, "i realized that i'm just a fill-in until you get over her." jeno sucks in a breath as he watched the words leave your mouth, as he watches you turn and leave, and he hears more tears bubble from your frame, the sounds receding the farther you walk from him. for some reason, it's only when you tell him so that he understands that he feels the exact opposite.
it's only when you shove it in his face, your own face scrunched up in tears, that he's only going after you as a rebound, when he sees his feelings for what they really are. honest, jeno finds it hard to believe that he's never felt anything towards you since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive, he finds you attractive. fuck it, he likes you.
fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, your next tutoring session was scheduled for just a few days after, just enough time for him to get his act together and enough for you to cool your head enough sift through the thirty or so voice mails he'd left you. most of them seem to contain the same rueful, repentant tone, though a few seem to be displaying his slow spiral into self-deprecation. you're pretty sure the last is a mistake, a butt dial maybe.
jeno's not proficient with the knife, definitely not with how he's cutting the pears right now. he thinks he would've been better off bringing bananas but that would've seemed too insincere, wouldn't it? his thoughts are jumbling and sludging against one another when a finger of his slips and the fine edge of the knife is pressed on a knuckle. "fuck," he swears, his other hand already reaching over to the sink to run the cut under cold water. the sting is piercing and he looks away from the cut to the clock overhead. "double fuck," he mutters this time. the last thing he needs right now is you thinking that he stood you up.
with steadfast athleticism, he finishes off the last of the pears with one hand. he's sure you'd laugh at the whole debacle if you were there though he's thankful you're not. jeno faces the fear that he sucks at everything except ice hockey, and he's barely getting by these days. he only ever feels confident on the rink with his stick in hand, crouched low so his eyes were level with the ice. he's never felt that much control over anything else, much less confessing to a girl and trying, somehow, to show that she was of much more worth than what he'd made it seem like.
the library is a ten minute walk from his house, a three minute sprint. yes, he had sprinted.
he knows for a fact that pears were the right way to go when you let the tiniest of smiles adorn your face at the sight of him setting the tupperware in front of you. you check your expression back into taut impassivity before he can indulge in his victory any longer. he knows you're not half as mad as you present yourself to be but that doesn't mean he'd take his mistakes lightly and go about this sleazily. jeno needs your trust.
you resist the urge to reach over and flip over the hair that stood upright on the wrong side of his head. reverting your eyes onto the computer screen before you, "let's get started." not a half hour into your session, you're spaced out, eyes zoned onto the way jeno spins his pen between his fingers. maybe it's the lack of sleep that's getting to you.
"y/n? you good?"
you swallow thickly, removing your gaze from his hands, from him, from his paper, from anything that has to do with him. you notice how your chair has inched closer to his, or his to yours, you notice the finger-wide distance between you and him. shivers are sent down your spine. "let's take a break, is that fine?" jeno, from beside you, yawns and for a brief second you think he's about to pull the stretch and hand around shoulder trick. you blush unknowingly.
jeno speaks before you can ask to resume the session, "can i say something?"
"is it work related?" you give your best efforts at keeping your voice level and head turned somewhat in his direction. in your peripheries, he cocks his head to the right, "...no, but we're on break." almost letting a huff escape your complexion, you relent, "fine then, shoot," figuring he would say it anyways.
"i want you to come to our next game."
you're lucky you had the whole scenario thought through, at least something can be harvested from your late nights spent tossing and turning, "i don't think i can-"
"y/n, i haven't even told you when."
"okay fine," you wrinkle your nose in distaste and hand out the truth for him to see, or hear, "i just don't want to." jeno is doing his best, he really is, but he knows that you've heard all that he has to say, if not once, then twenty-nine times over. the last one was a mistake. "did you get my voicemails?"
sighing, you chance a glance at him to see that he isn't the slightest bit annoyed, face drawn into a frown of sorts. you'll never admit that even just the sight could soften your set mindset. consideration replays in your irises when you answer the yes or no question with a decisive nod.
"then i'm sure you understand why i want you to come."
jeno lets you drive him home that day, he'd be the last to complain. the ride is silent from start to finish until right when he's about to close the passenger door, the car parked in front of his shared house. an, "i'll think about it," is what he's left to brew over for the next week or so as he stares that the text, read and unreplied, that he'd sent to remind you of the day and time of the game. he's anxious but it's only to that extent.
it's becoming more and more evident that jeno is loosing his touch on ice. he hates that the only thing he can attribute it to is his dwindling love life. he finds that the enforcer is atypically rough today but he's glad that his role at the goal requires the least interaction and footwork. he'd promised his coach that he would be more wary of his surroundings but he can't help the occasional glance at the rink entrance every once in awhile. what he doesn't understand is that his definition of 'once in awhile' marks at around every thirty seconds.
the last round is the most painful, undoubtedly, because it's as if his defeat is being dragged on and on, as if the giant timer above the rink is ticking to the heartbeat of a dead man.
jeno can is aware that he's breathing. he's aware but he has to double check when the entrance doors open for the last time that game and you've arrived. you're standing by the doorway, apprehensive, but jeno can't get it past his head that you've arrived, that you're here. he'd have gotten decked in the face had you not motioned your head in the direction of the fast approaching puck and the burly man behind it.
he blocks the shot and every shot after. there's no need to wonder why.
the buzzer rings in his head so quick that he thinks time runs on his emotions rather than the clock. his helmet is often in seconds and he's making his way at supersonic speeds to the part of the rail where you're stood. the glass fogs with his breath as he tries to get his words across. 'i'll be quick,' he mouths.
you count two minutes until he's off ice. jeno hasn't bothered to shower, he lacks the patience for it. he sits you down on the lowest of the bleachers, closest to the rink. standing over you, he finds that he has so much to say, so many things he wants to let you know, all the feelings he's ever bottled up for the girl so obviously made for him.
he's never had much of a way with words but he thinks that the romance movies hyuck's made him watch over the years give a pretty good overview of what to say in situations like these, "i'd cross the world for you." you snort back at him, nose crinkling in distaste at his choice of words and poking fun at him with your own, "rink, jeno. you mean you'd cross the rink for me."
"y/n, i'm tryna do something here," he whines, the pout on display mimicking his displeased but light-hearted implications. you're equally as amused, "oh yeah? what are you tryna do?"
"i'm tryna," he takes your two arms in his and wraps them around his middle. you instinctively fist the fabric of his blue jersey at the back, "jeno, what are you-" you stop when a hand of his own comes to trace the lines of your face softly. maybe he can't find the words but surely he could show you. if he could just…"you keep interrupting me, jeno."
drawn from his resolution, he's snappy when he retorts, "i think as your boyfriend i ought to have that privilege."
"boyfriend? since when did you-"
"i just did," he revels in the idea that you think him to be smooth with words when in reality the 'boyfriend' was a slip up, a mirror of his daydreams. he's over the moon that it worked out in his favor. while he fixates on just how much he feels for you, you're playfully annoyed at a whole other, "stop fucking interrupting me, jen-"
"i love you."
you blink up at him. well shit. a lot of things are happening and you lack the brain cells to process them. there's only one thing you can think to do, only one think that you're thinking about, have been thinking about, will still be thinking about.
he may be the one to steal words right from your mouth but beyond that he's oblivious, you think. the smile still plays on his lips when he follows up, "is it okay to interrupt you if i say something like tha-"
you press a smile of your own onto his lips, cutting his words effectively. a hand of yours moves up to the curve of his neck to bring him down further, the angle at which he is kissing giving him all the advantage he needs to deepen it. when you part, you aren't surprised to see how half your body is leaning on the row of seats behind you and that jeno's entire body is sprawled on yours, supported by a knee on one side of you.
you like your lips as you feel his breath hot on yours. "how's it feel now?"
shaking his head, jeno presses his temple to yours so that the only thing you can see is him, just him. "interrupt me any day, will you?"
copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.
✧ end note — wrote this up in approx. three hours. lee jeno is so rude for interrupting all my other wips (that are also mostly for him). i hope you enjoyed because i did, i freaking love writing for him <3
#nct jeno#nct scenarios#nct fics#jeno fluff#neothestars#neo-constellations#hockeyplayer!jeno#jeno angst#lee jeno#lee jeno fics#nct jeno fics#rouiyan fics#rouiyan writes
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Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 6
[Read on AO3]
Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 2: Death
Upright: Change, Ending, Release
Reversed: Refusal to Change, Unfulfillment, Stagnation
A seam strains along a well-worn shoulder, so stretched he can actually hear it creak over the din of the canteen. That clinches is: that asshole’s got to be picking out too-small fatigues from the GI bin.
There’s no other way for him to look like that, biceps testing the tensile strength of cotton every time he takes a sip of his coffee. Sure, this guy’s jacked the way all the active rangers are, ready to heave 750 tons of metal onto their backs at a moment’s notice, but he’s not Mitsuhide. It makes sense when he pops buttons off his coverall, or stretches out one of their dingy cotton tees. But that’s not this asshole.
He’s lean, the kind that telegraphs that taking an elbow from him might be career limiting. There’s no reason the general issue tee should cling to his back like it’s painted on, his coverall hanging off his hips like he’s got an occupation other than freeloading. Shirayuki leans over, fingertips brushing over his sleeve with a laugh--
“Just punch him already,” Kiki drawls, “get it out of your system.”
Zen blinks, suddenly aware there’s still some Taco Tuesday left in his mouth. “What?”
“Kiki.” Dark bruises circle the skin beneath Mitsuhide’s eyes, underscoring the weary strain in his voices. “We shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behavior.”
“Why not?” Her elbows dig into formica as she leans over her plate, shoveling rice into her mouth. At her father’s table, Kiki knows the use of every spoon, the name of every fork, but this deep in the dome, Ranger Seiran’s never met a meal she can’t inhale in five minutes flat. “I did it.”
Air hisses right through his perfect teeth, the only sign he’s annoyed besides the tense bar of his shoulders. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”
Kiki hums around the lip of her mug. “You mean like you did with Lugis?”
Mitsuhide doesn’t have skin like his, the sort that flares up like flash paper at the barest hint of sun or taunting. But still his neck flushes red as a burn, so bright Zen’s half tempted to slap it, just so he knows what it’s like.
“T-that was an accident,” he insists, even as his mouth settles into a satisfied smile. “Even the inquiry said so.”
It’s a struggle to keep his own from curling at the edges. “Only because Lugis didn’t want to press charges.”
“Only because he didn’t want it getting out that a girl ran circles around him on the mat,” Kiki corrects, each word a scalpel’s slice, excising those particulars from that shitshow with surgical precision. They can talk about this; Lugis’s challenge and the way Kiki swept him; that he was hardly on his feet when Mitsuhide somehow mislaid his fist and found it in his face, but everything else, the whys of it--
Those are all off the record. Forever. Or at least they would be, if Lugis wasn’t crawling through the dome like a stoat that’s caught whiff of an egg.
But that’s not what this is about. “And you want me to do that with that asshole?” Zen mutters. “Since it made Mitsuhide such good friends with Lugis, after all.”
“Obi isn’t Hisame,” Kiki informs him with the kind of steel in her tone that suggests she won’t be taking critique on that particular assessment. “All your issues with him are external.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, teeth gritting down.
It’s a mistake, a rookie one at that: never ask a Seiran a question you don’t want the answer to. “He’s got Shirayuki’s attention and you don’t.”
Mitsuhide clears his throat, shoulders set like Zen better plan to shelter in place. This particular storm isn’t about to hit its usual conversational breakwall. “Attention you’d have, if you hadn’t skipped out on your session.”
Zen grips the table to take that hit. But it’s not nearly the last; the stare Kiki turns to him is wide-eyed, half-betrayed. “You didn’t say anything about that.”
“It’s none of your business.” Even as the words fly from him, he knows it’s not fair, that he’s spitting nails into the wind so that they’ll hurt someone else instead of him. It doesn’t stop him, it never does, but a guilty knot settles in his gut. “The sessions are voluntary. They always have been. I don’t need--”
“Someone to keep your head on straight?” Every syllable snaps like ice, her eyes twice as cold. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? So if something happens to us, you’d have--”
He can’t listen to this, not another word. “That was never the plan! I would never plan for you guys...”
Not coming back. For Redwood Dancer to be left a ruin on the sea floor, their bodies strapped in, hermetically sealed until the ocean wore the jaeger down to parts.
“Nothing is happening to you guys,” he grits out. “Shirayuki was always an addition, not a-- a replacement, because you’ll never--”
“No one can promise that.” Mitsuhide’s never one to throw a first punch, but oh, does he know how to end a fight. All the breath’s knocked clean out of him, and there’s Dancer’s right hand, shoveling down another bite of rice like it’s nothing. “Every time we go out there it’s a flip of a coin. It doesn’t matter how good we are, one day there’s going to be a kaiju that kicks us clean off our feet.”
He shakes his head, wishing the words would fall right out of them. “No. That’s not--”
“Zen.” He’s never heard a siren’s call, but it can’t be as inexorable as Mitsuhide saying his name in that tone, both firm and pitying and mournful all at once. “You know better than anyone. Rangers don’t grow old.”
There’s no thought when he levers himself up from the table, just up with away chasing its heels. He just can’t be here listening to this, not now, not after they just barely crawled home from another kaiju clawing its way across Korea’s shoreline. Not when he knows he should be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with them-- that he would be if they stopped trying to saddle him with every rookie that rolled out of the simulator and finally put him with the only person that could fill that brace beside him.
“Zen!”
It’s easy to ignore Mitsuhide’s shout over the dinner rush; it’s just part of the noise, a buzz at the edge of his senses. Something to goad him, to push him out of there before either of them think to follow after. Their pity’s the last thing he needs, the last thing he wants. After all, it’s not him that won’t climb in the Conn-Pod, but his--
“Boss!”
Zen blinks, the empty corridor resolving around him. He’d let his feet carry him, their only imperative away-- and now he’s all turned around, every bulkhead the same. He’s heard about this happening to rangers when they lived in the dome too long; chasing the Minotaur, a ranger called it, three drinks down at the local hangar. And no fine little princess to give you string to find your way out.
Except he did have one of those. A person to help him through the labyrinth, even if she couldn’t show him the way. He’d been avoiding her.
That seems stupid now. It’s not like she’s on that asshole’s--
“Hey! Hey, boss.”
Speak of the devil. Zen turns, and there he is, too-tight t-shirt and all: his own personal problem. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” He holds out his hands, as if that’s proof enough to clear him of ulterior motives. “I just...saw you head out and it looked like...”
Zen’s shoulders square, body braced like they’re back on the mat. “Looked like what?”
Obi’s breath rushes out of him. “It looked like you shouldn’t be alone.”
It’s not until he lifts his hand that he realizes it’s trembling, barely able to push his bangs back where he needs them. “Yeah? And you thought-- what? I’d want to see you?” Even to his own ears, his laugh is bitter, wrong, like it came from someone else’s mouth. “You, the guy who won’t get out of my way?”
Something ripples across this asshole’s face, too fast for him to catch more than its wake. “You think I’m the stick stuck in the mud here?” When those strange cat’s eyes stare at him, it’s out of placid waters, but that grin on his face-- it doesn’t reach them. “Rock, meet hard place.”
Zen’s hands clench, so hard his knuckles creak. “You think this is a joke? You’re trying to shove your ass in a seat that isn’t for you, and you--”
“You think I want to be out there?” He lets out a bark somewhere between pitying and derisive, arms folding over his chest. Zen takes special care not to check how stressed his seams are. “I did my time, Your Highness. I got out. I got told no one would ever look for me again.”
“Then why are you here?” Zen spits. “No one wants you.”
“You don’t know how true I wish that was.” A hand pulls at his shoulder, long fingers digging in around the blade. “But your brother dragged me down the coast because I’m not done. I’ll never be done, because I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch Snotju or Head Banger or whatever cosmic asshole crawls out of the rift wreck another wall.”
His hand lifts, scrubbing through the bristle of his hair, just a shade too shaggy to be regulation. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it, Master? I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here, but I’m the one who’s got the balls to get back in that jaeger. And you--” a cold gaze rakes over him-- “you’re content to sit there and watch the world burn just because I’m not--”
“Shut up.” He’s trembling, every muscle straining against his self-control. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing--”
“I’ve been in your head,” that asshole reminds him. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“You don’t.” He can’t. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me.”
He cocks a hip, grin loaded like a bullet. “The prove it.”
Kiki’s right: in the instant where his knuckles hit that cut-glass cheekbone, Zen feels great.
Shirayuki’s office has always put him at ease; he stepped in here the first time before she’d even properly covered the walls, the tension seeping right out of him into the push carpet under his boots. There’s just something about how she fills a space-- something that has nothing to do with furniture or wall hangings or motivational posters-- that makes his brain put out whatever chemical that means safe. He’d never understood why the other rangers avoided her, not when they could have forty minutes in the room equivalent of a warm hug.
But it’s different this time.
“Izana made you call me here.” He’s ramrod straight on her worn couch, hands clenched in his lap. Or rather, right over the throw pillow he moved to sit. “Didn’t he?”
“The Marshal’s personal feelings have nothing to do with this.” Her words snap like a window on a sill, closing on that topic with a sense of finality he expected from the top brass, not their therapist. “The PPDC’s code of conduct is quite clear on the procedure to be followed after a non-sanctioned physical altercation between personnel.”
There’s a loose thread right by the fringe; he’d noticed it months ago, but never dared to tug it. Every time he’d felt the urge, he’d think of dominoes and load-bearing pillars, of the whole edge unraveling in his hands right as she looked at him.
Today, he pulls. It comes right off with a snap. “And that’s the only reason you brought me in?“
Shirayuki turns to him, one incredulous brow raised. “You were the one who cancelled our last session--” her mouth twitches as she twists the knife-- “last minute.”
Well, he deserves that one. Sure, he’s had his reasons, but Shirayuki-- well, she deserved more than one step up from ghosting. If the thought of having to look anyone in the eye after all that hadn’t made his stomach turn for three days, maybe he would have come to that conclusion before Kiki ripped him a new one over it.
“Sorry about that,” he mutters, aware with every word that it’s not enough, that there’s not enough apologies to patch up the trust he broke. “I wasn’t...ready to talk.”
He expects the clap back; yeah I got the message, or but you were ready to take a swing? But he should have known: that’s not how Shirayuki works. She’s a professional, whether that’s what he wants from her or not.
Instead he face softens, right back into his friend. “I know. What happened in the drift can be...intense.” She hesitates, teeth sinking into the plush bow of her lip. “I just wish that you had felt comfortable conveying that to me. As my patient, you’re supposed to be able to control--”
“I don’t want to be your patient.”
Her mouth closes with a grunt, hand pressed to her stomach as if he hit her. “O-oh,” she murmurs, breathless. “I hadn’t realized that you, ah, wanted to terminate our sessions--”
“No!” God, it would be nice to be able to say this all smooth like he’s sure that jacked asshole can, leaning against a wall with his hand right by her head, sexual tension rocking the Richter scale. “I just meant--” his teeth try to grind down his thoughts into something palatable-- “Shirayuki, I don’t want to just be your patient.”
He could fall into her eyes they’re so wide, rounded ‘o’s that match her mouth’s geometry. “Ah, Zen, that’s...”
“I don’t mean because I-I like you.” Even though he does, but there’s rules for that. The kind the PPDC will look the other way on, but not Shirayuki. She’s not from under the dome; she still worries about what people might think outside of it. “I just...wish you were on my side.”
“I am on your side.” Her shoulders pull straight against the back of her chair, her soft look hardening into resolve. “Which is different from telling you want you want to hear.”
He jerks back, cheeks stinging like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say I wanted that,” he mumbles, hands clenching over his lap. “But I don’t need you to tell me to do whatever it is Izana wants me to either.”
“I wasn’t going to.” The notebooks in her lap closes with a snap, and with trembling fingers, she sets aside her shield. “Izana wants you back in a jeager for the legacy. For the unbroken line of Wisterias standing between humanity and the rift. But I...”
Her eyes lift to his, and they’re no longer the lush, leafy green of a forest, but the hard glint of emerald. “If you get back in that cockpit, you need to do it for yourself.”
It’s an effort not to say, I don’t see the difference.
“I saw you when the siren went off.”
Zen scrubs a hand over his face; he remembers. Their eyes had met over that seething mass of fear and competence, and-- and he’d been so sure that if he saw her, something more than that glimpse of red in the corner of his vision, he’d forget every inch of his resolve and go to her. That he’d just take her in his arms and tell her all the thoughts roiling in the sea of his mind, but--
But he hadn’t. He’s taken one look at her and, without even a pang of guilt, left her there. A real hero.
“Zen.” She says his name so firmly, so seriously, that his head jerks up, gaze tangling with hers. “You don’t want to be on the sidelines. You don’t want to be the general hiding being his troops. You want to be out there, Rex Tyrannis shoulder-to-shoulder with Redwood Dancer. And you could be.”
It’s his breath that’s rasping, the death rattle of the man he’s let himself be these past few years. “How?”
There’s not an ounce of hesitation in her when she says. “You have to choose to move forward.”
And cozy up in the cockpit with that asshole. He thinks about that grin, cocked with a confidence he’s never been in the neighborhood of having, and...
It’s so familiar that his double vision makes his head pound. “I can’t work with that-- Obi. I won’t.”
“I know that...” Her lips press together, bursting apart with a pop. “I know there’s no limit to the amount of people a ranger could potentially drift with, but there’s something...special when you find the right one. That there’s something right about it than can’t ever be replaced.”
He stares, head galloping in his chest. She shouldn’t know that-- there’s no way she could. Most rookies out of the academy just drift successfully once, and that’s it-- that’s their partner, for better or worse, like marrying the first kid you kiss. There’s exceptions-- emergencies, injury, irreconcilable differences-- but even though this job has a high turnover...rangers rarely die alone. There’s not enough people for a paper.
“Yeah, I’ve...heard that too.” Probably from the same mouth she did, though it seems Mitsuhide’s polished the speech since he last gave it. To him, at least.
“I understand that you have a vision of who you want beside you in the pod,” Shirayuki presses, voice growing tighter, more tense with every word. “But Atri’s gone.”
Every drop of blood in him turns to ice. “Atri?”
Her breath hisses out through her teeth, relief slumping her shoulders. “I know no one can be him, but--”
“You think this is about Atri?” A giggle bubbles up from him, bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been sitting here for weeks-- no, months! And you think all this, the whole reason I won’t climb in a jaeger with just anyone off the street is because of Atri?”
Every corner of her face lost. “Isn’t it?”
“No, I...” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like it might stem the pounding of his heart behind his brow. This whole time he’d been so careful, trying to be understood for once, to let someone see him instead of his mistakes--
But he should have known; as long as his brother is obsessed with sending him an endless parade of nobodies which he sits behind a desk, it’ll only be his hang ups hung out for everyone to rifle through.
“I should go,” he finally manages, levering himself to his feet. The room spins, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, but he can’t stay here, not when she thinks-- when she’s always thought--
“Zen,” she murmurs, voice muffled by distance. “Are you all right?”
--That he’s pathetic. “Yeah.” He stumbles to the door, swinging it open. “I just need to--”
And of course, standing right there is that asshole, hand half-raised to knock.
“Boss,” he breathes, clearly stunned. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be...”
The awkwardness in the office is palpable, so thick that he might as well be moving through molasses. Before this guy showed up, he’d though he had half a chance; he was practically the only one outside of K-Science that would even look at her, and his sessions always felt like more, but now--
Well, it’s no wonder he didn’t stand half a chance next to him, if she thought he was waiting for Atri.
“Don’t worry about it.” Zen pushes back him, shoulder clipping his. Or at least near enough to claim the feat. “I’d hate to keep you two from your--” date-- “dinner plans.”
Shirayuki’s breath gasps from her. “Zen, wait, we’re not--”
“It’s fine,” he lies, every muscle tense where he stands, fighting the urge to look back. “A couple of things are clearer now.”
It’s not just her. They all think he’s waiting for him, that one day he might stroll back in here like nothing happened, and Zen--
“Please.” Shirayuki’s voice trembles, and even if he’s not looking, he knows she’s at the door, vibrating in its frame. “Let’s just finish the session.”
-- and Zen’s been giving them nothing else to work with. All these years, looking like a kid stood up on prom night.
“No, I just remembered there’s something I’ve got to do.” He forces a smile on his face, giving her a bare hint of it as he peeks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”
It kills him how much hope lights in her eyes. “Next week?”
“That our appointment, isn’t it?” he says, light tone limping. “Unless I see you around the dome before then.”
“Right,” she breathes, cheeks flushed at both corners of her smile. Obi’s watching her, concern writ large in his eyes, and well-- maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as Zen wanted to believe. “Until then.”
He gets halfway down the hall, before Obi calls out, ��Hey, boss...”
It’s clear when he looks back that Obi hadn’t meant to speak, but now that he has, he clear his throat, giving himself a visible shake.
“You could come with us,” he says, hesitant. “If you wanted.”
It’s an olive branch, one he doesn’t deserve. One he should take, if he wants all this to heal over without a scar. But he’s not ready for that, not yet.
“No.” He shakes head. “I wasn’t joking about having something I got to do. Go enjoy yourselves.”
This is a terrible idea.
He knows it the entire time he’s walking, the anxiety cresting the second he sees the plate on the door, engraved and letters painted black: IZANA WISTERIA. MARSHAL.
“Well,” Izana hums from his desk. “Are you going pace outside my office all day, or are you planning to come in?”
Zen lets out a rush of breath and pushes the door open the rest of the way.
“You win,” he says, all in a rush. “I’ll do it. I’ll give him another chance.”
“I think at this point, he’s giving you another chance,” Izana tells him, barely glancing up from his pile of papers. “But...I’ll arrange it.”
He nearly says, I figured you’d have it all arranged already, but bites it back. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. And Zen.” His brother looks up, capping his pen calmly before he folds his hands over the desk. “It’s not me who wins. It’s humanity.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting that steely gaze. “But I’m not doing it for them.”
For once, his brother doesn’t have anything to say.
It’s Obi who’s locked in first this time.
His cheeky smile is already waiting when Zen steps on deck, body gripped by Rex Tyrannis’s hydraulics when he throws him a wink. “Second time’s the charm, right Your Highness?”
“Third time,” Zen mutters, keying in his code. “It’s third time’s the charm.”
“Right, but you were top of your class.” A guy like Obi shouldn’t be so comfortable when he’s got twenty tons pinning him in place, not when he’s got a face just asking to be hit. “So we can shave one of those off, right?”
“Depends.” His mouth twitches. “Where did you rank?”
Obi’s grin grows stiff enough to float. “I think you’d say I’m a natural talent.”
“That bad huh?”
A laugh saws out of him, raw in the loud silence of the pod. “You have no idea.”
“I think I could take a guess.” The hydraulics hug Zen tight; even lifting to his arm to the panel is a chore. “Ready?”
“For you?” Obi’s mouth stretches into a leer. For once, he feels like he’s in on the joke. “Any time.”
Don’t chase the rabbit. It’s Obi’s voice that says it; not the way he had before, serious and concerned, a scolding and a reminder. No, this one is a laugh restrained, sing-song. One pill makes you big and one makes you small.
There’s a faint riff of guitar, and Zen’s about to tell him to can it, that putting trash in the drift just clogged up the flow, but--
But between one breath-- one blink and the next, he’s lost in the tide, rolling through his memories rudderless. When a hand grips his shoulder and--
“I’m ready.” Zen’s always too honest, too eager but he’s young here, younger than he ever remembers being wearing the badge. “To pick up the legacy. To be what father meant us to be.”
The memory runs true, his younger self still chatting away with Shidnote, unaware that his whole world’s about to be cut off at the knees. But he’s not watching that now, he’s watching the way shadows crawl across his brother’s face, a storm front that appears and vanishes in the moments no one looks.
“About that.” Izana settles his hand on the desk, but the drumming is no longer bored but...nervous. An asynchronous beat that runs at the speed of his thoughts. “I meant to tell you. I’m being promoted.”
“Promoted” The word still kicks his legs out from under him, still knocks the wind out of his lungs as efficiently as any punch to the gut. “But I thought we would--”
“They want me in a command capacity now that Mother’s taking over Anchorage.” Izana won’t look at him. The man who has built his career on being able to stare down Orochi in Sagami Bay can’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m being taken off active duty.”
“But--” He looks between them. “But--”
“But--”
“But--”
The memory stutters. It’s him, he’s the one who’s pushing away. He’d always thought he couldn’t give this to someone, to some guy right off the street, someone who might pity him, but it’s-- it’s him. He can’t look at this. He can’t face failure another time.
And he doesn’t know how to stop.
Hey. Obi’s voice is too close, but he’s just an outline in the drift, blues and grays fuzzing between misfiring synapses. Hey, we don’t have to watch this.
They do. They have to, if he’s going to get through this.
Right. There’s no way for Obi to sigh here, where there’s no air, but he does, long and loud. It sounds...different. Almost...feminine. I have worse. Want to see me wet the bed when I was--?
The words fuzz before they can continue. Go ahead, Obi says, sounding like himself. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like we have clocks here.
Zen can’t nod here, not without a body, but he breathes, one solid in and out--
“It’s supposed to be us.” Even with the distance of time, every word is carves straight from his flesh, laid out on a platter for his brother to see. “We’re supposed to carry on the legacy.”
“Shidnote will continue on in his current capacity,” Izana explains, bored, as if he didn’t even speak. “He’s served me well. I’m sure you’ll both be sufficiently compatible.”
“But--” Zen grits his teeth. “It’s supposed to be us. Why are you giving me an excuse--?
He blinks. He never said that. He’d been thinking it the whole way to his bunk, but in the moment it had only been a yes sir. I understand, sir.
Then why--
“It’s an excuse.” The shine’s all worn off Atri’s grin, baring the raw edge beneath. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”
Scrap litters the floor at his feet; he’s never known what jaeger-grade parts sold for on the black market, but he knows it’s not pocket money. This is a small fortune if someone knew where to sell it.
Which clearly Atri does.
“You’re going to blame me?” Zen’s laugh limps with bitterness. “I catch you with stolen goods, and it’s my--?”
“It’s not stolen, it’s salvage,” Atri snaps, snatching a length of steel from his hands. “It’s not like they’re using it.”
A lie-- there’s not a shred of steel or wire that’s wasted in the dome. Jaegars come with a price tag that only governments can pay, and any corner that can be safely cut on maintenance is considered savings passed onto tax payers. There’s no way he can’t know it, not after six months, but--
He doesn’t care. He never did.
“This is why you agreed to be my copilot.” Every word aches as he births them from his lips, a truth that cuts even as he speaks it. “You didn’t care about protecting your friends. You just wanted access to parts.”
Atri shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. “I never said I gave a single fuck about all that hero shit. You just assumed I did, because you do.”
“But the drift...” His breath wheezes, the way it did when he was a kid, before his dad paid for all that to be fixed. “How did you...?”
“I just thought about the stuff you cared about. Friends. Kaiju. Me.” Atri’s grin turns smug. “Some of us don’t wear our heart on our sleeves, Wisteria.”
Wow. Obi’s outline fuzzes as he circles behind Atri, a single brow raised. He’s a real fucknut, huh?
His memories are jumbles, him-now and him-then all tumbled together until his first instinct is to jump to Atri’s defense. He may not be an academy-trained ranger, someone who has a lifetime worth of experience in a simulator, but put him in Rex Tyrannis and he’ll--
Steal the toilet cover? Obi offers, mouth canting into that insufferable grin. The one that always reminded him of--
Ah.
Obi darts a glance to where Atri stands frozen beside him. Jeeze, you really know how to hit a guy where he lives. You think I look like this asshole?
Just the grin, really. He’s almost a head taller, broader in the shoulders, and Asian besides. Better looking too--
Obi’s smile stretches into a leer. You don’t say, bossman?
Maybe Atri’s right. He’s got to get better about what he thinks about in the drift. Especially with someone this insufferable around.
If anything, Obi’s more amused. So it’s this guy though, he’s whole hold up you have with me? It’s not--
Against his will, Atri springs to life, mouth curled into his nastiest sneer when he says “I don’t know why you’re acting so betrayed. After all, you only wanted me to get back at the Marshal, and I played my part, didn’t I? I’m sure he’d jump in the pod if that meant he could be rid of me.”
“That’s not--” true, he should say. He can’t though, not when he’s not this-Zen, when he’s just looking out from his eyes, straight into Obi’s.
“Yeah.” There’s no spit to swallow in the drift, but he does anyway, a force of habit. “It is.”
The memory fuzzes away from him, and it’s just them now, two men braced in the Conn-pod, staring at each other through their visors.
“Right hemisphere, calibrated.” Zen blinks, watching as his hand opens and closes, the robotic voice’s dulcet tones washing over him.
“I never wanted this, you know,” he murmurs, “not if it wasn’t with my brother. That’s how it was supposed to be, me and him versus the kaiju.”
“Left hemisphere, calibrated.” His arms seem to move on his own, and it’s strange how he can’t keep the smile off his face this time. It feels good, moving like this again.
“No,” he breathes. “It was supposed to be me and him versus the world.”
“Ready to activate the jeager.“
Obi’s arms lift, a fighting stance to mirror his. It’s easy, so easy. Easier than he ever thought it could be. “What changed?”
He’d shrug, if the hydraulics would let him, but this isn’t Redwood Dancer. “Seemed like a shitty reason not to save the world.”
“Calibration complete.”
Obi grins, teeth shining bright under the lights of his visor. “Doc tell you that?”
Zen laughs. “Pretty much.”
“She’s got a gift,” Obi agrees, hands moving in sync with his. “And it’s making you feel like an asshole.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Looks like you jokers are getting along,” Kiki deadpans through their helmets. “How do you feel about taking Rex out for a drag?”
“After being cramped under this dome for months, Princess?” Obi drawls, tossing him a conspiratorial wink. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“Just give us a sec!” It’s been a long time since Zen’s talked much with the crew in CIC, but he recognizes that voice-- Yuzuri, one of Shirayuki’s friends. The peppy one with the cute accessories. The one that told him she’d give him cement shoes if he made her cry. “Let’s see if we can get you off your leash.”
He’d always liked her. Hopefully the feeling’s mutual, since she’s right next to the plug.
“Hey, boss.”
Zen blinks, glancing across the cockpit. “Yeah?”
“I know Atri was supposed to be a big fuck you to His Majesty, but...” He hesitates, thoughtful. “You drifted with the Big Guy for a while after that. Why?”
“Ah--”
It’s impossible not to think of it, the siren rising in the air, the men running past them, voices drowned out by the drone.
“I’ll do it,” he says, glaring up at the man across from him. “At least you know you’re just a seat warmer.”
“Zen--”
He blinks, the memory stuttering beneath him. That’s not what Mitsuhide called him then, that wasn’t until after--
“Zen.”
That’s not inside the memory, that’s inside his helmet. “Mitsuhide?”
“You’re out of alignment.”
He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “What do you--?”
“You’re out of alignment.” He repeats, each words strained. “You both chased the rabbit, and...Obi went straight down the rabbit hole.”
It doesn’t make any sense. “But I--”
“You have to go get him,” Mitsuhide says, dire. “He’s pointing the plasma cannon at Mission Control.”
#obiyukiweek21#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#pacific rim au#my fic#ans#never did i think i'd cause so much controversy about who would end up in Rex Tyrannis#but i'm glad that this chapter was already going to cover it#and oh my what's that?#are we getting Obi backstory next chapter?#>:3c
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A Cure for Insomnia CH.4
WARNING OF DEPICTION OF A PANIC ATTACK
and mentions of drugging.
////////
The rest of the day went by pretty uneventfully. That is after Nate lectured you about stranger danger and how you couldn't just walk forty miles in two hours. You really have no clue how you messed up the math that bad or how calling Nate for a ride never crossed your mind. Nate made you promise not to get into another stranger's car, especially without knowing their fucking names.
“I mean seriously YN, you just hopped in their car because they had a dog?! That's literally the first thing they tell you not to do when you learn about stranger danger!” he said munching on a boston cream donut. It was a good thing you'd brought donuts because you caused this man to stress eat...or was that a bad thing?
After you agreed to having better stranger danger instincts, Nate told you things would be run a little differently around the shop. Apparently the camera out back had died on Sunday, which although weird could be explained away as a camera that hasn't been updated or switched out since the shop was opened, maybe even before then too. So unfortunately Big Jo and Nate still didn't know who broke into your car or if they had been looking for anything. But Big Jo still wants to take precautions like the two of you leaving together and in the morning one of you waiting in their car with the doors locked for the other to come and then entering the building together.
Nate also mentioned a few other things, shipping and inventory related, that wouldn't really pertain to you or change any of your current tasks. It's really just to limit the amount of people coming through the back room. The back room was the emptiest you've ever seen when you went to check on your deer skull. You wonder if you hadn't been hired who would've gotten this position and how long they'd be able to keep their mouth shut about the obviously illegal activity going on. But you remember the person who had this position before you had been Bambi, a sweet if not oblivious girl. So, had you not come along the Cowells would have probably found someone else who didn't have an ounce of perception for their surroundings.
The week goes by slowly and with no further incidents. The deer skull has been completed and you plan on taking it to Maddie's Workshop next week to get a mount for it. In the time that you were bleaching and polishing the bones Nate took it upon himself to clean around the shop. Even though he's made it clear you just have to do your task list here, which takes about an hour maybe two depending on the tasks, he's always working on something.
Nate's the type of guy who's never content to just chill he needs to keep moving always chasing that high you get from accomplishing a goal, whatever he's made his that day. He's probably just substituting whatever he did daily with these new deep cleans of his.
Even with the lack of incidents following your car's break in the two of you have kept to the new precautions. Nate even going so far as to remind you tonight that on Monday if you arrive before him you'll need to stay in the car. At this point you think it's less about safety and more about the security of the store's extra curricular activities. Either way you don't really mind.
Things seemed to return to normal, you were back to driving yesterday and after you rearranged furniture in your house you felt a little less on edge. And every night this week you'd been able to get a good night's sleep, which although not too strange did stand out to you. Maybe another thing that had kept you on edge this week, because it meant when you saw a shadow pass by you during the day you couldn't write it off as quickly as you normally would.
But tonight it seemed your luck had run out. You sat on your bed with your sketch book in hand just doodling strange squiggles till your eyes were so tired they couldn't focus. Putting the book down to rest your eyes and crack your wrist, you sigh not feeling tired at all. The thought of a hike isn't really appealing right now, plus if you made a run into the mini mart you'd probably see either Ronnie or even Tim working behind the counter, that thought set your ears a flame. While the night life in Kepler was decent especially for a Friday night in summer, you just felt the need to be alone.
A drive was the best answer you had. You'd just choose a random lane on the interstate and take a random exit till you found a diner or something, order a tea and a slice of pie. Like you were a background character in someone else's story longingly staring out the window as your dreams slowly slipped through your fingers in this cold cruel world. Ok, you'd been joking about that because you saw a TikTok saying that, but your melodramatic ass actually thinks that sounds fun.
Throwing on some jeans and a flannel over you muscle tee, you were out the door. When you were checking the lock you'd heard rustling coming from around the house where your bins were. Worse case it's a stalker, best case just some raccoons. Either way you decided to calmly but briskly walk to your car, locking the doors immediately. Once in you drove around the side of your house, luckily, you assume, you spot the chonkiest raccoon you've ever seen digging through the bins. His tiny little person hands drawing an awww from you even though his demonic gleaming eyes should send a chill down your spine.
Hissing at the car Chonk returns to dig through your garbage. Weird how he only comes on your pizza weeks. Probably has a thing for Leo's homemade pizzas. You sure as hell do, as much as you love it you do save a slice for this little guy. You haven't put it out yet though, eh you'll do it tomorrow.
Having solved that mystery you sit in your car and link up your phone so you can have your driving playlist. It's mainly Folk Punk and Sea Shanties and while most might say it's a weird combination you say it's the same genre just different fonts. You could drive hundreds of miles into the middle of no where listening to this playlist and you'd be just fine...maybe have an emotional break down or two but expressing your emotions is suppose to be good for you. Mouthing along to Jim Bogart as it comes through the stereo you set off on your little excursion.
Just like when you have the urge to hike at night the urge to drive is nearly one in the same. Momentum taking you forward and not looking back as you do, needing to just go forward with no real destination in mind. Tonight however would be a little different you'd stop at the first diner you see that's out of Kepler bounds. Or turn right back around at one in case you hadn't found anything. There've been times that you kept driving straight through morning and didn't know where the hell you ended up. Not to mention you rarely remember the ways to get back after going for so long, and gps can only get you so far in some of the towns that also border the Monongahela Forest. You'd just have to rely on dumb luck tonight.
Unlike hiking, which gives you a burst of adrenaline as you push your body to its limits to move as far as you can and as much as you can. Driving gives a much more relaxed feeling, it's a feeling a weightlessness that gets lighter and lighter the further you get from home. Some may describe that feeling as a wanderlust or nomadic calling, but you've never cared for either of those things. You've only ever wanted to stay in one place for as long as you could remember. Moving around so much in your youth really messed you up, and you promised yourself this would be the last time you uprooted your life. And you've really come to love Kepler in these past few months. You can't imagine how you'll feel next year after getting to know the community more, but so far it's been really compassionate and understanding, a few rocky spots here and there but nothing like your hometown.
Without realizing it you've picked up your speed, you're doing 75 in a 55 zone. Even with no other vehicles around you slow down to just above the speed limit. While there might not be any cops around looking for easy tickets you don't want to risk dissociating at 75MPH or more. That could only end horribly. Though dissociating behind the wheel at all would be horrible. In the middle of shaking yourself from these thoughts you catch sight of an exit sign, which holds the logo for Denny's on it, and the exit is coming up in five miles. Switching lanes you cross over and get ready to hop off on the next exit.
You're pretty sure the only pie Denny's has is the dry apple with a scoop of ice cream. That isn't very appetizing to you, but then again you aren't really a fan of pie, a fact you seemed to gloss over when you made the decision to drive out here this late at night. Not too bothered by the fact, you remember Denny's has a salted caramel and banana pancake which should work in place of pie.
Pulling into the parking lot there are only three other cars, peering into the diner you don't really see anyone so the cars must belong to the skeleton night crew. Entering the Denny's you see there actually is one other patron, you only see the back of his head as he makes no move to look at the new arrival.
“Hun, seat yourself, I'll be out in a bit.” is the motherly voice that rings out from the kitchen, truly something you've only experienced in the south. Walking into a diner in the dead of night and being treated like a daytime regular.
Seating yourself near the TV mounted to the wall you let the sounds of the soap opera playing drown out any buzzing you feel in your head. The waitress is out within minutes and though she startles at your masked face she regains her composure very quickly.
“I'd like the salted caramel pancakes if it's alright.” you say declining the offered menu.
“Just the pancakes?”
“Ah, yes please. And water's fine too.” it really pays to know the menu prior to coming in. Gives you ample time to run scripts over in your head.
Viv, the name on her name tag, nods and gives you a smile as she spins right round to the kitchen. Probably happy she won't have to run out so many times for just one order or maybe to spend time with the cooks in the back. You remember working food service sucked but the line cooks made it so much better at the end of the day. Even if they said you were too quiet and called you 'mouse'.
It might not have been exactly what you set out to do but this little midnight self date was really nice, you should do this more often.
Pancakes finished and mask back on you waited for Viv to bring out your check, then you notice the other patron also making his moves to leave. You're sat facing the door so when he turns and comes closer dread fills your veins like burning cold dry ice. It's David, a local from Kepler you briefly met when you first moved. He gave you really bad vibes and over all was just a very skeevy dude.
What made you feel worse about him was when he left town to “help his sister” right after Bambi disappeared. Those in your circle told you she always talked about leaving Kepler one day but you trusted your gut in saying she didn't leave by her own choice. It got made for her, and David leaving just furthered your theory. You look away hoping he hadn't noticed you but unfortunately you could hear his footsteps falter and then pick back up by passing the door completely.
“Hey...YN, right?” fuck he remembers you, alarm bells are ringing at this fact. Why would he remember someone he briefly met months ago?
“It really is you, still as quiet as I remember.” what did he mean the two of you only met a handful of times and that had been because of your mutual friendship with Bambi.
Where is Viv with the check? You'd really like if she saved you from this painful situation right now. But you aren't sure what's worse having to sit here and listen to David tell you everything he's been up to these past few months, like you even care. Or the thought of leaving with David having him follow you and maybe doing whatever he did to Bambi to you.
“Yea so my sister's better now, I should be seeing you around soon. We should catch up maybe do Saturday Night Dead. Does the Crypt still do that?” great a fucking rhetorical question, he knows the Cryptonomica still does it's weekly movie nights, it's only been two months he's been gone. Not to mention it's a big hit and a huge source of revenue for the shop.
You haven't said anything this whole time, fuck being polite to a potential killer, and fuck being polite to this creep. He's just been talking nearly nonstop for the last few minutes. He must really love the sound of his own voice or thinks he's the most charming person to ever grace the Earth with his presence. Since he's not really caring that you aren't proving to be a stimulating partner in this conversation. He really does love hearing himself talk. By the time he's said his own goodbyes Viv finally makes it out from the back.
She apologizes for the wait, had to go on her break sometime you supposed. You take your time finding your wallet, it's in your back pocket but you wanted to stall for time since you could still see David's car out there, you were also keeping an eye on your own car. Only relaxing when you saw him pull off from the corner of your eye. Oh look you've “found” your wallet, handing Viv your credit card you just want to get out of here quickly now.
You pay and leave a nice tip for Viv, while she didn't save you from that creep it's not like she could've known. You sit in your car for a moment or two just breathing in and out in the glow of the diner lights. Almost meditating before you begin your long drive back to Kepler with all these thoughts of David, Bambi's disappearance, and how it can't be coincidence that David is coming back at the same time that you have a break in. Could you be his next target? Were you just over thinking things? Just blaming this poor guy because you didn't like him? But you've always been intuitive and bad vibes aren't something to ignore. David appearing now meant something.
Just that thought alone put you on edge as your skin begins to crawl. With a few calming breaths you go to start the car and sync your radio when you notice the glow of the lights changed from the slight yellow to a sterile blueish white. Looking up where the diner should be you see the mini mart back at Kepler...how on earth did you get here? You didn't drive! You couldn't have dissociated while driving, you never even turned the car on and you can barely take a hike dissociating let alone do something as complex as drive a car.
It happens before you can register it, on shaky legs that move on their own you are passing the threshold of the convenience store and catching the tail end of a conversation.
“ppened to not feeding into delus...” the voice cuts off as the door shuts behind you. You know that voice why is it so hard to focus?
Something warm brushes your hand and you see someone in front of you. Who is that? You can't see their face, they've got a mask covering their face. Like you but that person is not you. You might know them...Tobais?
“Yea? You good there?” confusion, you blink hard and see you are standing in the mini mart now, Connor standing under your hand, Toby hovering close by and both Brian and Tim watch with unease over by the register.
“...I don't know how I...how I got here.” you register movement in the background but not consciously.
It's the shifting of Brian's head as he looks out the front windows and spots your Kia.
“You drove.” shaking your head, “Maybe...I don't...I dissociated?” in your confusion you can register Toby stiffen in front of you.
Fear, fear, uneasy, breath....are you breathing? Your head's so jumbled right now.
You scan the shop trying to look for answers that may help you but you find none. The more confused you get the more worked up you get, chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a step back or try to and end up falling on your butt. It's starting to get hard to breathe with your throat constricting, you bring a hand up to your larynx.
“..re.....have..attack......”
“could be o...me..”
“.....pressure...”
Is all you can make out with your fuzzy consciousness before a heavy pressure is piling on your chest and knocking you fully on your back. The pressure is actually pretty lifting as contradictory as it may seem. Instead of restricting your breathing more it seems to be kick starting your lungs to exhale and inhale. With oxygen coming back into your body you can feel your toes and the tingle behind them. You can feel your fingers and the fur under them. Fur?
Taking in a big breath you move your head and come face to muzzle with Connor. You give a nod of recognition to the dog before lying flat again and staring up at the ceiling. After about ten minutes you're thinking more clearly than before, which isn't saying much.
“Thanks.” you aren't sure who it's directed at but you still mean it.
It's silent until Toby breaks it, “I'm taking you home.”
“Car.” it's all you can manage to say but the message though distorted got through.
“I'll drive it, Brian follow behind.” there is no room for arguing, driving under any influence must be a touchy subject for Toby. Or maybe you're really fucked up right now and just can't comprehend how bad.
You use Connor to get up, he seems ready and no one else makes a move to you. Toby pushes past and holds the door open as Connor guides you, still holding onto his vest with one hand, and Brian murmurs something to Tim before following you three.
Outside Toby already has your keys in his hand, when did he get those? Did you give them to him? Your hand is risen, you must of...how on earth did you even drive like this. Had you really driven? There's a lump in your throat again and you're breathing's gone shaky, god you hope you didn't hurt anyone. You must have been zoning out for too long, not only is Connor pushing your legs but Toby has a grasp on your forearm coaxing you forward.
His grip isn't suffocating, honestly even seeing it there you still don't feel it. Maybe it's because you're so numb, or maybe it's because he's genuinely helping you but you can't feel the pain that usually comes with being touched. The sharp jab that feels like you've been struck with a fire poker where ever someone laid their hands on you. After he's pushed you into the backseat, more like nudged you, even making sure you didn't bump your head, he buckles you in then snaps and Connor jumps into the car and lays across your lap.
You're shaking, actually trembling as you look at Toby. What's going on? Why can't you figure out what's happening? The brunette doesn't say a thing as he gets into the driver's seat and buckles in to drive you home. That's strange you think, how does he know where to go? You told him right, just follow the road...or maybe he guessed from the other day. What happened to you? Why the mini mart? You were at Denny's.
“This town doesn't have a Denny's.” did you say that out loud?
“I...I went for a drive, a town over...up...no.. north I think...” you start blinking barely able to keep your eyes open before your eyes lock shut. It's sending you over the edge even more in your confusion.
“Hey, hey just focus on the Denny's. What'd you do once you got there?” is he trying to distract you? Calm you down? Or is he trying to piece together what happened like you are? You can remember Denny's just fine, the dull yellow glow of the inside the skeleton crew murmuring in the back, the pancakes you had, and the “conversation” with David. Did David do this, had he put something in your water glass? Did you even touch your water glass after he left? Breathe. You need to breathe. Toby's waiting.
“Pancakes...I had pancakes. Then that creep came over...and he started talking. Didn't like. We aren't friends, I don't know him. I don't understand why he'd talk to me. Didn't like. Didn't like.” finger back to pressing down on your larynx and the weight of Connor preventing your legs from striking out at the seat in front of you.
“Wait, were you drugged?” Eyes flash to the rear view to lock with your own teary stare.
“No, maybe...I don't think so.” you barely feel the pain in your throat right now, this is all so overwhelming. “He left, I...I watched him drive off before getting in my car... I had an episode while the car was off then..” then you were at the mini mart. You never touched the ignition.
“I didn't drive, I never started the car. Didn't, didn't, didn't” Your attack is probably stressing even Connor out now, but this is all so confusing.
You're so focused on the fuzzy events you don't notice Toby bristle. Or how he grips the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles grow white despite his already translucent skin. He might not be able to feel or see it in the mirror through his mask but he's probably gnawing off more of his face. He'd deal with it after he dealt with you.
You've made it to your house and he's waiting for the headlights from Brian. When he sees them in the rear view he gets out but not before telling you, or maybe Connor, to stay put.
It's a few long moments before he comes back. But in the silence and darkness of your car, growing colder by the moment, you start to ground yourself. You aren't calm by any means and you're still very unfocused. But you aren't crying as the numbness overtakes you, you don't even jump when the door beside you opens. With a snap Connor is out of the car and soon you're being pulled from the car, that same weightless touch gripping your forearm. Toby guides you into your own home, and walks towards the hallway looking into the bathroom, the only other door, before finding your room.
Seemingly understanding your catatonic state he sits you on the bed and gives some order to Connor before he leaves the room. And you just sit on the bed staring into dead air as a silent guard sits in wait. You aren't sure what he's waiting for or why he's still there but the numbness has taken over too much and you can't find it in you to give a single fuck.
#ticci tobyx reader#ticci toby#ticcitoby#reader insert#readerinsert#creepypasta fanfic#masky#masky x hoodie#masky x reader#hoodie#hoodie x reader#timothy wright#timothy wright x reader#brian thomas#brian thomas x reader#timothy wright x brian thomas#A cure for insomnia
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how to live here!
here's a special deleted scene that was supposed to go in one of the chapters after rachel and chloe start fighting, but i never really found a place where it made sense. but i always liked it too much to delete it.
The first time Chloe had talked about hanging out in a junkyard, Max had kind of assumed she’d been joking.
She’s been here a few times already since her return to Arcadia Bay, but the novelty of it still hasn’t worn off. Chloe doesn’t seem to mind, letting her wander off, camera in hand, to explore and take photos by herself until she’s halfway through a roll of film and finally satisfied.
Max lets the sound of breaking glass lead her back to Chloe and snaps one more picture. Chloe, broken off hockey stick poised at the highest arc of a big swing, aimed at the sun-bleached head of a mannequin perched atop a splintered milk crate like a fucked up golf ball on a tee.
The arc of the swing is completed. The head goes flying with a sharp crack, landing in a pile of scrap a few feet away. Chloe holds the stick up over her head and cheers.
“You get that, Max?” she calls over her shoulder. “One for the highlight reel.”
“Got it,” Max confirms, reaching up to withdraw the Polaroid as it’s ejected from the camera. She closes the distance between them to show Chloe the shot.
“Sick,” Chloe says, and then twirls the stick in her fingers. “Y’know, I never used to allow press in here before, but maybe that was a mistake. A few more like that and maybe I can finally catch some attention from the big leagues.”
“I can’t imagine they can ignore skills like yours for very long,” Max grins, leaning up on her tiptoes and craning her neck to try to spot the mannequin head in the garbage.
Chloe grins again and mimes another swing. “Wanna take a shot? Ride out my hot streak?”
“I’m good,” Max says.
Chloe nods and shrugs and swings again abruptly, for real, putting the end of the hockey stick through the screen of a boxy old TV on the ground suddenly and loudly enough to make Max jump.
“You sure?” She props a boot on the corner of the TV to hold it in place as she yanks the stick loose. “It’s hella cathartic. You’ve always struck me as having more rage than you’re willing to own up to.”
“Do I really?” Max asks, a little alarmed.
“Maybe I’m projecting,” Chloe concedes.
They wander further, Max trailing behind as Chloe beats the ever-loving shit out of anything even vaguely breakable in her path.
“Remember when you actually played?” Max asks, after the fifteenth minute of uninterrupted smashing.
Chloe pauses, turning on her heel and drawing the bandage on her arm across her forehead to wipe away a bead of sweat. “Oh hell yeah. They called me The Destroyer.”
“No they didn’t,” Max rolls her eyes. “Only you called yourself that.”
“Me and both our dads,” Chloe points out. “Yours even made a sign.”
“Oh yeah,” Max laughs. “Y’know, I think you were the hockey hooligan kid he always wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved when I quit the team.”
Her dad was a huge hockey fan and had been elated when she and Chloe had agreed when he showed them the newspaper ad he’d found seeking players for the local youth hockey team. William and their mothers had been a little more hesitant, Max remembered, but no one enough to really object to their joining.
Chloe took to it immediately, aggressive, competitive, and already more naturally athletic than Max had ever been. Max’s tenure was only a week long, but she’d remained a devoted fan of the team long after, going along with her parents to every game, home and away.
“Relieved, I think,” Chloe speculates. “You were a really small twelve year old.”
“I was appropriately sized for twelve,” Max protests. “You were tall.”
“Pint-sized,” Chloe teases. “Microscopic. Besides, you never had the heart for it. The bloodlust.”
“I liked the skating part. But yeah, you always had more fun with it than me. Did you ever get back to sports?”
Chloe shakes her head, quick and jerky, almost offended. “I never liked sports. I liked hockey ‘cause you guys would always come to my games and stuff. But then…after…”
Chloe missed the first couple weeks of practice, after William had died. It was Max’s dad that got her to go back, at Joyce’s insistence, hoping that the sport could be an outlet, that trying to preserve as much normalcy as possible would help Chloe deal with her grief.
Max and her dad had stayed in the bleachers through that first practice without William. Chloe’s play had been sloppier, and she’d left the ice early, face splotchy and red, thick hot tears running down her face into her jersey. It hadn’t gotten easier from there. It made sense that Chloe had stopped going entirely once Max’s family had moved.
“Anyway, can you even imagine me playing for Blackwell?” Chloe scoffs, brings the hockey stick down on the windshield of an old beat up car. The first blow sends a spiderweb of cracks all through the glass. The second penetrates, a small, fist-sized hole. The third, fourth, and fifth obliterate it completely.
Max closes her eyes, chases the images of a young, grief-stricken Chloe from her mind with this new fantasy. Chloe, hair undyed, strutting through the halls in a red and white letterman jacket. Chloe doing keg stands with Logan and Zach. Chloe with girls like Victoria and Juliet hanging off her arms. Chloe completely and totally ignoring a nerd like her.
“Okay, it’s a little weird,” Max admits, feeling a little embarrassed for the irrational churning in her gut. “You’ve never really been a joiner, huh?”
“Organized sports are so not punk rock,” Chloe says obnoxiously.
“It’s kind of hard to imagine you at Blackwell at all,” Max admits. “I wish I’d come back sooner. Y’know, before you left.”
Chloe’s quiet and Max knew it was a risk to go there at all, but it feels too true to keep to herself so she keeps speaking.
“I didn’t choose to be gone, but,” is it brave or stupid to do this now, actually? Has Chloe been waiting for an apology or will this just make things needlessly awkward and uncomfortable and painful? “I mean I wish I’d handled it differently. That we’d talked more while I’d been away.”
“Yeah,” Chloe shrugs. It feels like Max is on the verge of losing her, so she hurries on before the silence between them stretches too far.
“Can I be honest with you?” Max asks, stomach twisting in knots.
Chloe raises an eyebrow and nods for her to continue.
“I kind of thought,” she pauses and winces. “I mean, I was a little afraid that after I left you just. Wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That you’d replace me.”
“Max, what the fuck?” Chloe lets the words out in a harsh exhale and Max knows that tone of voice. Knows she’s pissed off for real, now.
“I know,” Max cringes, scrubbing a hand down her face. “But, I mean, you were always the cool one, right? And you were going into high school and I was still sleeping with a teddy bear and—”
“This is such bullshit,” Chloe’s voice cracks and Max was not expecting that. “You’re not just— You can’t just replace a best friend! I fucking needed you. I was so… I needed you so much and you hung me out to dry because you were scared I’d stop thinking you were cool?”
“No,” Max hurries to clarify, feeling appropriately breathless for the desperate, drowning sensation overwhelming her. “No, not like that. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I just kept putting it off, y’know? Like with homework. Remember how many times my mom had to bail me out because I’d wait too long on finishing a project and it wouldn’t be ready by the due date? Only no one could bail me out this time. And the longer I waited, the worse I felt, the more sure I was that you hated me, that you’d scream at me and tell me to stay out of your life. And I was too scared to face that so I…”
“I never hated you,” Chloe says, face caught somewhere between fury and despair. “Fuck, for the longest time all I wanted was to leave here, to be where you were instead.”
“The night you called me,” Max cuts in gently, proud at least when her voice doesn’t shake, “when you tried to run away, I was so scared for you. And I felt guilty because I realized I was wrong, that you still wanted to be my friend, and I knew I didn’t deserve it. I cried myself sick on the ride down with my mom to pick you up. It really freaked her out. But when we got there you just hugged me and you let me hold your hand the entire way back to Arcadia Bay.”
Chloe stays silent, chewing her lip hard enough to make Max wince.
“And even after, even though we were talking again the entire time I was away I’d think about being back here instead. I think about all the years I missed with you and I get mad because it feels kind of like my fault. Like if I’d tried harder it wouldn’t have taken this long. But I can’t fix that now, I know, I’m just glad we’re here now.”
Chloe shakes her head, rough, and throws the beat up hockey stick into a pile behind her. “Max, you fucking—”
She cuts herself and stomps over and Max isn’t sure what she was expecting, but she’s definitely surprised when Chloe wraps her arms around her, drags her close until there’s almost no space between them.
As tight as the hug is, Chloe’s hands hovering over her back are gentle. She’s quiet but her breathing’s rough. It takes a long time for her to speak again; when she does her voice is shaky, quiet. “I never, ever hated you, but I was pissed at you for a really long time.”
“I’m sorry,” Max tries to say but Chloe squeezes her tighter until she falls quiet.
“I got tired of it,” Chloe says. “And it wasn’t fair, either. Not really. We were just kids. God, I fucked so many things up so much worse than that. You don’t know how bad. If you did, you’d think I’m so pathetic. You’d hate it.”
“Chloe Price, you’re so many things, but pathetic has never been one of them,” Max insists, a little startled by the steel in her voice. Chloe tenses in her arms, but doesn’t move away so Max continues, gentler, “I wish I’d been here more. I know you weren’t alone the whole time but still, if I could go back and change anything it’d be trying harder to be a bigger part of your life. It’d be not letting it take so long to get here.”
It’s stupid, she knows, it’s ridiculous to think she could have prevented any of the hard knocks Chloe had taken in her absence but the thing is she’ll never know and Max thinks that she’ll probably always feel responsible somehow.
“God, imagine if we’d had a few years together at Black-Hell,” Chloe says and releases her, finally. She stays close, pushes some hair out of Max’s face. “We would have gotten into so much trouble. Me, you and…” She trails off with a wince but doesn’t linger. “You could have cheated off my science papers. I’d trade you rides around the Bay for homework.”
“Hey,” Max laughs. “Presumptuous. How do you know I would have compromised my morals like that?”
“Oh, you would have,” Chloe says, laugh all low and breathy. “When have you ever been able to say no to these baby blues?”
She bats her lashes facetiously, but the blush staining Max’s face is very real. “Okay, whatever. What else would we have done?”
“Oh, pranks,” Chloe says. “No doubt. We would have pranked it up so hard on those nerds. I always had this idea about semi-permanent hair dye and Victoria’s shampoo bottles, but I never lived in the dorms. And for some reason, Rachel refuses to be my inside man on this one.”
“I’d be down,” Max blurts out, not sure what the sudden pained look on Chloe’s face could have been leading to, but desperate to head it off.
“Wait, for real?” Chloe asks, appropriately distracted and Max realizes suddenly that her hypothetical assent to collusion had just been offered in practice.
“Uh, I mean—”
“No take-backs,” Chloe crows, gleefully. “Holy shit, dude, yes. Okay, I’ve got it worked out pretty well, this is something I’ve been sitting on for a few years at least. First, we’ll need a distraction…”
Chloe’s plan is elaborate, but thorough, and by the time she’s done laying out the details Max isn’t sure she’ll be able to follow through, but she does know that whatever lingering doubts about their friendship she’d had this morning were founded in one-sided insecurity.
“Let me sleep on it,” she says, finally.
“Max,” Chloe whines. “You promised.”
“I did not.”
“I mean, practically.”
“No, I didn’t.”
It’s almost like being a kid again, arguing about something pointless under the midday sun, a little dehydrated but having too much fun together to do something sensible like go back inside. Max has missed this for so long.
She’s deliriously happy she won’t ever have to miss it again.
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