#trying not to be tired on the weekdays after work so i can draw more but it's so hard
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i have next to no time to draw because of work but i finished season 2 and im foaming at the mouth help
#wip#aziraphale#good omens#good omens fanart#trying not to be tired on the weekdays after work so i can draw more but it's so hard#i have so many ideas rn and so little time :'(
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The Wife, The Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 1
Chris Redfield x Reader
Part 1 (You are here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Synopsis: After a long day of being interrogated about Wesker's work in Africa, you try to drown your sorrows in liquor. Too bad it won't work out as planned with Chris Redfield watching your every move.
Includes: Minor reader injury, excessive drinking, vaguely referenced unwanted advances from a stranger, spoliers for RE5, my first time posting my writing publicly. Enjoy!
Hurt/Comfort with plot. Reader is referred to as 'Doc.'
wc: 3.8k+
“I had it handled.” Your tone was matter of fact and icy. You were not the best fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but you were positive you could have taken down that wobbling drunk with a good kick.
Chris kept his eyes on the road. From the streetlights outside the car that came and went as Chris drove his hummer towards your home, you could see his stony expression illuminate and darken.
“You were just about on the receiving end of a right hook.” His hands tightly grip the steering wheel. Not in anger, but in frustration at the situation you’d found yourself in.
“And I was preparing to counter just like Jill taught me. Your point?”
“My point? You almost got in a bar fight! Why were you even in there at this time of night?”
Your mouth falls open. “Oh so it’s my fault some small-dicked idiot doesn’t know what ‘no’ means?”
“That’s not what I said-“
“And you didn’t have to! I’m a grown ass woman. I can handle my own problems. I don’t need you playing hero for me. And if I want to drink myself into a coma on a weekday, I have every right to do that without getting chewed out by you.”
You look at Chris with a withering glare and he shuts his mouth and keeps driving. A tense silence overtakes the car. In truth, your night getting cut short by a drunk asshole then Chris intervening on the almost fight was just the final incident after a long day that made you see red. You shift uncomfortably in your carefully curated, business casual outfit. A minute later, you let out a tired sigh.
“I’m sorry. If you must know, I had a tough day and I didn’t want to drink alone.”
The captain tilts his head, still keeping his eyes on the road. “The D.S.O. interview?”
You could feel your eyes getting hot. When you had married Albert Wesker all those years ago, you couldn’t imagine that your life would be like this; living under the protection of the B.S.A.A. and questioned on yet another aspect of Albert Wesker’s work every few months. It’s days like this when it feels like Albert isn’t actually gone. Even in death, his stain on the world of bioterrorism still found ways to torment your existence. You being a former Umbrella scientist didn’t help your case either, regardless of the fact that you never participated in Albert’s schemes.
“More like interrogation… but yeah.”
Chris’ expression softens. “What was it about this time?”
You take a deep calming breath, debating on keeping the details to yourself as usual. Chris wasn’t your friend. He was your designated agent that gave you assignments whenever another virus made itself known (which was more often than you would think). You made a point to keep things professional between you two. Anything more felt taboo given the circumstances of your relationship. The will to keep it that way had worn thin with the day’s events, so you relented but kept the answer short.
“Africa. Again.”
More silence. You notice Chris sigh and look annoyed, but don’t draw attention to it. Africa was a sensitive subject for both of you. It marked the explosive conclusion to your marriage with Albert, and the beginning of your strained alliance with his murderer. You didn’t hold it against Chris in the slightest. You really didn't. Deep down you know Albert would have ended humanity with a smirk plastered on his face. You’d already mourned the loss of the man you married long before his heart stopped beating. Since then, Chris had surprisingly and unwaveringly advocated for you. He even worked out a deal on you becoming a consultant on viruses for the B.S.A.A. in exchange for protection. He’d helped you so much over the years. More than you could ever hope to repay. That debt continues to grow with every kind gesture. You hated it.
Tonight for example: after Chris grabbed that drunk’s arm on the backswing and pinned him to the bar counter, both of you got kicked out. You didn’t even get your drink. You’d already had a rough day, so you yelled at Chris about him being a stalker and an asshole as you stomped back to your car. A comical insult considering knowing your whereabouts was a part of his job. All you wanted to do was go back home, resigned to drink alone, but lo and behold your car wouldn’t start and Chris noticed. He had every right to leave you to fend for yourself, but instead he insisted on driving you home.
“You’d think after three years they’d run out of questions to ask. The government keeps hiring investigators more stupid than the last. It’s incredible really.” You quip with some annoyance after a moment, trying to ease the tension. Chris still stares at the road in silence, so you keep going.
“They demanded a lot of answers about why we helped each other that day. That was a fun trip down memory lane. Don’t be surprised if someone calls you to verify that I told them the truth.”
Chris takes a deep breath, shifts in his seat and his posture relaxes slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“I am talking to you.”
“I mean beyond the one-word answers. I know there’s a lot on your mind. You can talk to me.”
You roll your eyes and go back to looking at the streetlights go by out the window.
“Right. Because you’re so unbiased about this subject.”
“I’m serious. I’ll just listen if you need to vent.”
“You’re already driving me home. I don’t need any more favors from you tonight.”
“It’s not a favor. I just want to help.”
You think about it for a moment. This wasn’t the first time Chris tried to get you to open up to him. But instead of brushing it off like before, you consider it. And the more you thought about it, the more it made sense that Chris would be the perfect person to weigh in on your interview with the D.S.O. He worked under Wesker at the R.P.D., knew nearly every single thing there was to know about him from tracking Wesker down over the years, and he’d witnessed Wesker’s possessive treatment of you the day he died. He didn’t look at you with disdain like most of the B.S.A.A. He saw you for who you were. The only person who could even be remotely as qualified was Jill, but she was still getting back on her feet after what happened in Africa. Plus, you doubted she would willingly listen to a rant about anything remotely associated to the man who brainwashed her.
Plus it would be nice to have someone listen to your complaints without looking at you like you were the scum of the earth.
Eventually, Chris pulls up to the small house that the B.S.A.A. had put you in for witness protection. It was an older one story house with a few problems here and there, but it was inconspicuous and you had managed to make it feel more like ‘yours’ with the handful decorations and plants you had accumulated over the last few months.
Chris pulls into the driveway and puts his hummer into park. Both of you just sit in silence for a few seconds, with Chris staring at the steering wheel and you at the sad excuse of a flower bed leading up to your front door.
“Doc-”
“Sure.”
Chris looks at you, confused. “What?”
You turn your gaze from the window to Chris. “I’d… appreciate having someone to vent to.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean your head back in the car before you close the door with a cheeky smile. “Care to join me so I don’t have to drink alone?”
____________________________________
If nothing else, Chris Redfield proved to be a great drinking buddy. He took what was offered to him, drank without complaint, and took care to keep both of your glasses full throughout your animated storytelling of the day’s events. Although he did limit himself because he had to be sober enough to drive home, which you understood.
You on the other hand, had enough drinks in you to cause the vibe of the room to feel fuzzy, your social filter to disappear, your shoes and socks to be discrded in the corner, and to have any soft surface to feel like the most comfortable thing in the universe. You had completely relaxed laying out on the end of your sofa by the side table where Chris opted to sit in the armchair caddy cornered to the couch next to you, listening intently to your retelling of the days events.
“…then this pencil pushing government lackey asks me if I personally had anything to do with the development of that plaga strain that popped up in Africa.”
You motion your empty glass to Chris, and he reaches over from his spot in the armchair to grab the whiskey bottle on the coffee table to pour more into your glass while nursing his own drink.
“Thank you. And when I told him no, he started going on this tirade. And if he’d read any further than the last name at the top of the damn page, then he’d know my specialty isn’t parasites. It’s viruses! Yet this half-assed excuse of-”
You hiccup and take a moment to compose yourself after the hiccup before continuing while Chris makes no attempt to hide his smirk at your drunkenness.
“-half-assed excuse of a government agent goes on this rant of how I had to have been involved. There was no conceivable way that I wasn’t at least consulted on the development of the new plaga. So I tried to break down the differences between a virus and a parasite to him, and by the end of that little lesson I was convinced he didn’t know his ass from his elbow!”
You down the whiskey is one clean chug. Chris let’s out a light-hearted laugh at that, much to your annoyance.
“It’s not funny,” you admonish while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“It isn’t, but the way you’re telling it is.”
“Well, I’m glad my suffering is entertaining to you.”
“Go on, what happened next?”
Your face grows a bit more serious.
“The bit after that isn’t as funny.”
Another charismatic smile. “Go ahead. I want to hear it.”
You look at Chris, and the look on his face is so genuine, so kind, that you find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself.
“He started questioning me on what I was doing if I wasn’t helping create these things. He was asking why I stood by and did nothing. Why didn’t I try to contact anyone, sabotage the work, try to leave… that kind of thing. And how many deaths could have been avoided if I just sucked it up and called someone.”
In truth, those questions that the agent asked you prompted a well of guilt that you’d safely tucked away to return with a vengeance. In reality, there was very little you could have done to influence the outcome of anything Wesker was involved in, and there was nothing that could have been done to stop Uroboros before Chris and Sheva were sent to Africa.
But there was always that little pit of guilt haunting the back of your mind: If you were cleverer, you could have gotten a radio sooner. If you cared more, the subjects for those experiments wouldn’t have died. If you weren’t so afraid you could have stolen a phone or a laptop and ended Wesker’s reign of bioweapon terror years sooner.
That last one weighed heavy on your mind long before the D.S.O. interview.
You feel tears start to prick your eyes and you remember why you wanted to drink in the first place. You can’t be consumed by guilt if you’re too intoxicated to remember it.
“Top me off will you?” The request comes out in a mumble, laced with a false jovialness that not even you are convinced of. You don’t even hold up the glass in Chris’ general direction. You only stare mindlessly into it from your perch on the couch.
“Hey…look at me.”
You look up from your glass and become slightly startled from Chris’ close proximity. You hadn’t even realized Chris had gotten up from the armchair on your right to kneel in front of you at the end of the couch. You can feel the heat of him he’s so close. His concerned and comforting look and tone brings you dangerously close to shedding tears. Suddenly, Chris’ presence in your house feels suffocating and his gaze makes you feel exposed. You look to the side and stare at the rug.
“I’m sorry this was a bad idea. I think you should go.”
You move to get up from the couch and Chris mercifully backs up and gives you room to walk. Calling your movement a walk at this point was generous. You shuffled like the undead trying to head to your front door; unbalanced yet somehow still walking upright.
“Doc-”
You call over your shoulder back to him. “I’ll escort you out. Do me a solid and forget this happened.” You start to turn back towards the door and you feel your foot catch, stomach drop and body lurch forward.
In the moment, you forget about the little wooden divider between the hallway to your front door and the living room. Thankfully, by throwing your other foot forward and flailing your arms you catch your weight and you don’t fall to the ground. But the shock of suddenly almost losing your balance causes the grip on your glass to loosen. Before you could stop it, the glass in your hand slips between your fingers and shatters in the little hallway to your front door between your kitchen and living room. In your drunken and vulnerable state, the symphony of glass sounds like a death toll.
“Oh.. shit I’m sorry about that. Just… just get out. Watch the glass.”
You didn’t know why you were apologizing to Chris for breaking your own things. You felt like you were being viewed under a microscope and every little thing was being analyzed by Chris, who still wore his worried demeanor under a decisive mask of calmness.
“Hey it’s alright. You go sit back down…” His voice is so infuriatingly calm.
Chris’ body starts to try and move past you towards your kitchen, presumably to find something to clean up your blunder for you. The very idea of having this man do any more favors for you made your chest tighten and you to move to clean up the mess before he does too quickly.
“No this needs to ge- mph!”
When you stepped towards your kitchen to get a broom, you felt an agonizingly sharp pain in your foot. You instinctively lift the injured foot and lean on the archway, but drunkenness and balance rarely ever agree with each other. Your hand doesn’t gain enough purchase on the wall, so your arm slides past its target and you gracelessly and painfully crumple to the ground. It was a kind of fall that knocked the wind out of you for a moment.
“Shit.” You breathe out heavily, trying and failing to hold back your tears and attempting to get up. Chris is quick to act before you make much progress. He kneels down in front of you, gently grasping your shoulders, taking care to step around the glass in the process.
“Where does it hurt? That sounded painful.”
“I’m fine.” You grit through your teeth.
Once you’re sitting upright on the ground, Chris takes one look at your foot, and you see a slight shift in his expression where his eyes get just a tad wider. You can physically see him shift from concerned friend to authoritative captain. He speaks with soft authority.
“Stay put. Don’t get up.”
Before you can say anything, he disappears into your kitchen. You lift your leg and tilt your head to get a better view of your foot and you see red. Your foot is smeared with blood and bits of glass. You instinctively go to pull a larger glass piece out of your foot, but even with all of the whiskey you drank, it hurts like hell and you hiss in pain. You hear hurried footfall from the kitchen.
“Hey! Don’t do that.”
Chris gently removes the hand that’s trying to pick out the glass from your foot, places a wet rag in your hand, then moves it back to your foot, lightly clasping his hand over yours and your foot for a moment and you wince. He watches you with kind eyes.
“Keep that on there, ok?”
“I don’t want your-”
He doesn’t give you a chance to finish before you see him return to the kitchen. A moment later he reappears with a broom and a first aid kit. Chris tosses the first aid kit beside you and quickly sweeps the glass into a small pile by the arch so it’s out of the way of foot traffic and haphazardly leans the broom on the wall. Smudges of blood remain on the floor, but Chris ignores it in favor of sitting down next to you and digging supplies out of the med kit; disinfectant, tweezers, gauze.
“Stop! Okay? You really don’t have to do that…” You hear your words slurring together.
Chris ignores your protest and gently, but firmly, wraps his fingers around your ankle. He pulls it towards himself and you let go of the wet cloth as he perches your ankle on his knee.
“I do, actually. You’ve had a lot to drink and this glass isn’t going to pick out itself.”
“Will you just stop? I can bandage myself up.”
A lie. You’re too drunk and you know it. He knows it. You weakly try to pull back your foot, but there is resistance from Chris’ grip. You looks at you with a soft, but exasperated look.
“You’re drunk and you’re bleeding! Just let me take care of you.”
“And why the fuck do you even want to?” You’re angry. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get friendly with Chris. Pissed at Chris for being so nice after your repeated attempts to keep him at arms length. Heated from him ignoring your requests to stop helping you because you sure as hell don’t deserve it.
Chris looks at you and answers straight away, gently pulling your foot back towards him by your ankle.
“Because I’m not going to leave you when you need help!”
You just looked at Chris with your puffy eyes, flushed face, and tear-streaked cheeks. You two sit there for a long moment looking at each other. You’re frozen in your spot from his words.
“Why the hell are you of all people still trying to help me? You should hate me.” Your tone is incredulous and quiet.
You knew for a fact that your presence at the B.S.A.A. as a consultant instead of criminal at Chris’ own insistence caused far more trouble than it was worth over the years. The attempted kidnappings, the death threats, the extortion attempts and countless other events that occurred as a result of your proximity to Wesker and the B.S.A.A. caused, at best, a headache for the captain. Wasted time, wasted resources, wasted manpower, wasted anything that could be used to fight bioweapons instead of bad actors that wanted you dead at worst. Chris had absolutely no incentive to keep helping you after Africa, yet here he was. He had every right to look at you with disgust for sleeping with the enemy, yet he’s always tried to befriend you.
The silence stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time while Chris picks the glass out of your foot. It stretches through Chris disinfecting the wounds. It ends when he starts to bandage your foot with a roll of gauze.
“Your only crime here is falling in love with the wrong man.”
Chris wraps the final bit of gauze around your foot, and looks back up at you with a reserved playfulness.
“Last I checked, you get left off with a warning on that one.”
“People died because I didn’t do enough-”
“People died because Wesker was a psychopath. That’s not your fault.”
You look at Chris in silent shock.
No one in the years after Wesker died had told you that you weren’t at fault for what he did. You were always met with suspicious glances, strict professionalism, or outright disdain when you were forced to talk about him or any projects he was related to. You thought you deserved it. Even Jill still held you at arm’s length when it came to being vulnerable about what happened with Wesker. This was the first time that anyone had shown you genuine compassion and absolved you completely of guilt. And it’s devastating.
You can’t do anything except burst into tears.
Your vision goes blurry and before you can even think about stopping it, your body is wracked with sobs and you cry. Still unbalanced from your drinking, you lean on the wall facing Chris.
There’s a moment where Chris isn’t sure of what to do. But he knows that he can’t leave you like this. Chris tentatively reaches out his hand towards your shoulder, carefully watching you to gauge whether or not you wanted physical comfort.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay…” Chris’ voice falls over you like a weighted blanket. The heavy soothing tonality of his voice cuts through guilt that had been plaguing your mind and you can’t help but lean into his touch when his hand rubs your shoulder.
You don’t fight him when he pulls you into his lap. His embrace is warm, comforting and everything that you didn’t know you needed up until the moment you had it. One of your hands grab a fistful of his shirt for support, and you bury your face in Chris’ neck as you continue to sob.
“It’s alright, let it out…”
The captain’s tone never wavers outside of that low, soothing timbre. Chris uses the hand that’s not wrapped around your torso to rub comforting circles between your shoulders. His touch is consistent and methodical. It takes a long time, but eventually your breathing starts to even, sobs morph into sniffles, and rigid muscles relax into Chris’ embrace.
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
You hesitate for a moment, but nod your head. You let go of Chris’ shirt and maneuver your arms over his shoulders and squeeze. Chris gets the message immediately. Chris wraps his arms around you in a tight and comforting hug. The heat of him engulfs you fully and for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is okay.
There’s no Wesker, no D.S.O., no bioterrorism organizations intruding on your life.
There’s only you and Chris.
And for once, that’s enough.
_____________________________
Hopefully this will be a full series but we'll see if that happens with my work schedule. Thanks for reading!
#reader insert#resident evil#chris redfeild x reader#chris redfield#resident evil 5#re5#albert wesker#reader is a former Umbrella Scientist#hurt/comfort#frenemies to lovers#resident evil fanfiction#resident evil fandom#no beta we die like men
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This is an WIP drawing of my cat OC, Kaleido!
I have started drawing this on 11.05. It was started as an experimental drawing, to try out Krita's Clone Layer feature. And also, making sure that I do not completely forget how to draw.
In her teenager days, she was a band member! She and her band members liked emotional rock musics so much that they decided to form a band. She had an electric guitar and occasionally, she also did the vocal part.
She had a rough times during her teenager days, which lead to find more emotional medias that she can relate to. I know it's a boring canon, but it's my OC and I do whatever I want!
Anyway, I only have time to draw on weekends. I CAN draw on weekdays, but I get too tired after work. So yeah, maybe next weekends, the drawing will be finished.
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All too well.
"Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe i asked for too much"
Chapter V
Could you imagine when the sweetest one turn to be cold, timeless, and talkless? I have no clue for what happened here, between me and him.
It's end of July, we just date for 1 month and he suddenly slowly bit changed. He said, he was busy and stressed because of his works. He said he need "Me time" and i gave him.
No, i'm not the type of possesive girl who want my boyfriend to accompany me like 24/7. I know that his world is not only about me, ofcourse he has another thing to do. No more date in every weekend because he took his "Me time" often. We just doing chatting like a few bubble text in a day. I really try to understand, because he said he is busy. But he took too much "me time" and less for "our time"
i think about it a lot, i kinda miss the old of him. I still remember when it's weekend and i'm still sleep until around 10 AM. He kept texting me and ask me to wake up because he miss me. But that kind of thing is never happened again. I woke up in the morning and check my phone, there's no text from him like how he used to sent me back then. No more "Jiya, wake up! I miss you"
He just come around evening, for saying good evening and dissapear again until night without warning. I'm waiting, and hope that he can spend the time with me on the weekend. Dont get me wrong, we both busy in the weekdays and i never complain about that, i just want to be with him at least on weekend, but he didn't give me his time.
i just wonder why?
because he used to spend the weekend with me often, back then.
i rarely receive a good morning text daily, no more morning kiss and hug before work. And this is curse when i still remember how he being clingy in the morning, saying he didn't want to go work and just want to cuddle all day with me. Even at the break time he still can text me to remind me about lunch. But now, no more. He just rarely did that thing again. We are talkless nowadays. Just casually greeting each other, no more deep conversation. It's make me confuse and anxious.
knowing that our problem is communication, i dont want to repeat the same mistake by drawing conclusion, that's why i asked him what exactly happened to him? i feel like he is getting far away from me day by day.
"I'm sorry, i was busy this month. i just need time to be alone, but if you wonder about my feeling it's still same" He said,
he said that his feeling still same but he treat me differently and he didn't even realized about that. The consistency is gone.
"I just miss the old of you"
"I'm sorry, i will try my best"
"can you at least give me some hug and kiss in the morning? i never disturb you when you busy or when you tired after work."
"Sure i will try"
Morning greeting, kiss, hug, telling your partner how was your day going, communicate, is something that i should receive without i asked for. I never realized about that thing is a bare minimum in relationship.
in the next day, he did it he gave me hug and kiss before we go to works, but- i dont remember how long it work. He forget again, he sometimes just appear at the afternoon or evening. No more hug and kiss in the morning, no more breakfast in bed or warm cuddle before we start the day.
we become more far away when he always forget to text me, he left me unreplied often, he rarely talk with me, and just read my chat and left. I dont know, how could this thing happened? and everytime i asked, he just said that he is forget. I just dont understand about it.
But everytime i get mad of this, he always try to fix my mood. He take me to date, to the fancy date and it's make me forget about why i'm mad at him, But in the other day, he repeat the same mistake.
"I didn't ask much, i just want you to at least telling me when you already home, because i'm waiting you and i just want to make sure you are safe. If you want to take me time, it's okay but please tell me first about it, so i wont wait you all day. Just communicate with me and telling me in advance, that's all i want"
I told him what's spinning around my head, i just feel sad beacause he changed, i just cant recognize who is him now. It this all because he busy? because he stressed over his work and affected his mood?
but i have the same problem, i'm working too, i'm busy too, i'm stressed too. But i always have time for him, i always want to tell him about how was my day going, i always miss him and want to spend my off day with him. But i am the only one who want this thing?
Everytime he did the same mistake, i always forgive him and trying my best to understand him. I really try to put myself in his position, i lower my standar for him, i let him do whatever he want when i know that i didn't deserve that kind of treat.
Our relationship getting up and down, sometimes he gave me the butterflies again, but the other day he just dissapear, talkless, and left me unreplied again. i was afraid to losing him until i lose my self. i feel unhappy, and anxious with this, i really dont know with what should i do because i already told him and offering him many solution.
"Please text me when you already home"
"Alright"
am i ask too much for it?
is this really too much for ask?
i wonder, because he always forget about that. He just left me unreplied at the evening and never text me again, the next day he just saying "Good morning" like nothing happened, i often awaken in the middle of night because no text come from him. I wonder if he already home or have overworks, he never tell me again. Not like the old day when he come to my home after he had an overtime.
where's the old of him gone?
i gave him multiple chance but he cant fullfill his promise to be better, i really wonder if i asked too much for it. Then, i make a promise with myself if he repeat the same mistake, i'm gonna walk away from him- i should breaking up this relationship even i still love him so much.
November, before his birthday. I plan to spend the birthday with him, but he repeat the same mistake 3x in one month. He left me unreplied often even he know that i dont like it. Does my feeling not matter for him?
We broke up, i'm feel shattered. I'm the one who asked for broke up but i'm the one who broken into the pieces. You know how it's feel when you still madly in love with someone but you really tired of it.
Until the end, i'm the one who love him so much.
i'm the one who working for saving this relationship. And his feeling are changed, he doesn't want me anymore as much as he want, back then.
i'm the one who really want him to stay, but the more he stay with me, it will just hurt myself.
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𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
pairing: leo valdez x gn reader
summary: five ways he says i love you through his actions
warnings: implied nudity and s*x, discusses food and eating and nothing else, i think. oh, and maybe some typos
category: headcanons
love letters/notes
leo is a busy boy
he's always picking up new projects so he can spend all day in his workshop or the forges with his siblings
when you guys live together, he leaves small notes on the refrigerator for you
they're always short, saying simple things like "i love you" and "i miss you already"
for the love letters, he'll leave them in random places for you to find
if you're a big reader, i can see him hiding it between the pages of your book
one day, you pick up your book to read, and the note falls on your lap
it's a love letter written on a piece of blueprint paper; there’s a little bit of oil smudged on the side of it
he got distracted while he was working on something because you were the only thing he could think about
his love letters never fail to make your heart flutter
sometimes they make you cry
he's quite sentimental
leo always tells you he does better writing down his feelings than he is saying it out loud because he can organize his thoughts better
you know that leo has a hard time with that because of how he grew up
when you guys have an argument, which isn't very often, he writes his feelings down on paper
he's always quick to apologize if he did something wrong, and the notes help him form the apology that you deserve, and you're quick to forgive him
once, you were super angry after an argument, so you locked yourself in your shared bedroom
you needed to calm yourself down
the both of you much too angry and stubborn to make a compromise
as your recollecting yourself, 40 minutes in, a folded piece of paper slips from under the door
the letter has teardrop stains, and the ink is slightly smudged
on the paper, it's all his thoughts written out in the best way he can explain them
after reading what he wrote, you quickly deemed that whatever you were fighting about was silly, and you guys made up
you love his spontaneous notes so much that you do them back
you guys have a game of who can find the most creative hiding spot for your notes
one time you found one tapped to the inside of the toilet cover
you found it hilarious
you throw folded post-its with messages in his tool belt
he finds them during the day while he's working on something
after you joined in on the fun, he scatters notes in random places, and every few days, you find a new message hidden somewhere randomly
they're just so sweet; there’s never a time where they don't make you smile
gifts
this is a given
it's not a leo headcanon if gift-giving isn't included
he would make you things like roses from scrap metal to literal furniture
if you have a lot of jewelry, he will make you a cute jewelry box
if you're a big book reader, he'll make you bookcases to support your book collection
he's always giving you little trinkets that he made with leftover materials from projects
he loves making things for you and gets upset when you decide to buy something from ikea instead of asking him
"babe, why would you buy that? I could have just made it for you!"
when he's on his way from returning on his quest, sometimes he'll find something that reminds him of you in a store, and he'll buy it
when he has the money for it, he'd buy you a star :(
says that he spent even more money to buy an extra bright star
because "you're the sun in my universe"
brb gonna cry
also, he'd gift you a bond bracelet
you know, those bracelets where every time you tap on it, it makes the other person's bracelet vibrate
the both of you get anxious when one of you goes on quests, so the bracelets bring the other person who's at home comfort
because when you tap back, at least he knows you're alive and vice versa
one of the best gifts you've ever received from him was your engagement ring
he made it himself
he took so much care and effort into making it
imagine leo forging your wedding ring himself??? i'm in spain with no s
he was so nervous that you wouldn't like the style, so he had piper casually bring it up to you
piper was so nonchalant about it that you didn't even think twice about the question
the ring has the prettiest gemstone or diamond (whatever you prefer)
you cried so hard when he told you he made it himself that you couldn't even say yes to his proposal clearly
he makes both of your wedding bands too
he carves a saying that's dear to the both of you on the inside
this is nothing to do with anything but imagine when you guys have kids, he makes animals out of pipe cleaners for them i'm gonna cry, brb pt 2
overall, whether he makes the present himself or not, he puts a lot of effort and care into it
every gift has a meaning and a place dear to your heart
cooking for you
leo is canoningly a good cook
he loves cooking for you
and you love eating what he makes
he's usually busy on the weekdays, so he cooks on the weekends
you guys always joke that he'd be the cutest househusband
you got him an apron for Christmas as a joke gift one year, and he wears it all the time
there's something so charming about him wearing an apron with a funny saying like "Mr. Good Lookin is Cookin" or with like a ripped out shirtless guy in front of it
you giggle every time you see him wearing it
oh, no matter how many times you've seen it, it's still so bizarre when he takes out hot trays from the oven with his BARE hands
everything he makes tastes amazing
he makes all kinds of food and is always trying something new
if you tell him what you’re craving, he’ll cook it for you
once he woke you up to ask if you wanted ribs… it was 3 am but like, of course, you wanted some
unless you're vegetarian or vegan, sorry, HAHA
often though, he does make Mexican food
it reminds him of when his mom was alive
he always has some story to share
every time he makes caldo de pollo (chicken soup), he always talks about how his mother would make it in the summer and that when he was little, he would always complain about eating hot soup in hot weather
you know he doesn't notice his constant telling of this story, but you don't mind
it's so bittersweet when he talks about his mom
through the cooking of his traditional food, you feel closer to him and his late mother
the memories he shares with you makes your eyes sting with tears
especially when leo says how much he wishes that esperanza could have met you
sorry, that was a little emo
also, leo usually wakes up earlier than you
he knows you're a sleepyhead, so he'll cook breakfast for you
so that when you're running around in the morning trying to get dressed and your things together
you never leave the house hungry because there's always a tupperware filled with breakfast, and if he has enough time, he'll fix you something to take for lunch too
if you come home late from work or school, he'll make dinner even if he's tired to surprise you
so many times you've come home from a shitty day at work or school, and the small table where you guys eat your meals is all set up with your favorite food
leo greets you by peeking his head into the hallway from the kitchen, tossed curls, cheerful brown eyes, and a bright grin
"I hope you're hungry," he says, despite knowing that you are hungry
and then you guys talk and laugh together over a delicious meal
compliments
leo's really observant
he notices when you’re in a bad mood, even if you try not to show it
he also notices when you change little things about your appearance
if you get a haircut or you get your nails done, he'll comment on it right away
especially outfits
if you buy something new, he'll complement it
imagine standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in your new outfit
leo comes behind you, his hands coming around your waist
he'll pepper kisses on your neck, a soft hum leaving his lips as he meets your eyes in the mirror
"is this new, mi amor?" he asks, hands running up your sides
once you affirm that it is a new dress or shirt, he'll smile and tell you how beautiful you look in it
maybe says he'd rather see it off of you wink wink
there's never a day where he doesn't compliment you
he thinks you're the prettiest person in the world
you've caught him staring at you lovingly plenty of times
he's just asking himself how did he manage to get someone as beautiful and amazing as you
you always squirm under his gaze and playfully ask what is he looking at
"you're so pretty, mi amor. I can't help it."
AHHH!!!!
alongside the endearment of mi amor, he'd always call you bonita and hermosa
you're so sweet to him, and he can't help but tell you how much you mean to him every chance he gets
surprises
leo is an acts of service kind of guy
i think he'll spontaneously do things to make you happy
if you've been busy studying for finals or just beat up from a day at work
he'll draw you a bath
or he'll cut up some fruit for you and leave it at your desk
he randomly buys you flowers
he never needs an occasion to buy your flowers
it'll be a regular tuesday, leo just happened to walk past a store with flowers displayed in the front, and he thought about how bright your smile would be if he showed up with a bouquet
I feel like he's pretty introverted, enjoys being at home with you
the both of you are pretty broke for a while, so a lot of dates were at home
leo made the most of it
you guys will have nice dinners at home
he'll set the table nicely, set the mood with candles
he'll redecorate the space so well you feel like you're at an actual restaurant
and of course, his food is amazing
breakfast in bed is another thing he'd do for you unsolicited
especially if you guys had a looong night wink wink
you're woken up by his still groggy voice, fluttering kisses on your cheeks
you open your eyes to see he's set a tray with your favorite breakfast on top of the bed
the two of you will eat breakfast together, which usually leads to you staying in bed for the rest of the day
just enjoying the warm cocoon your sheets create around the both of you
overall, he's super observant and caring, and he goes the extra mile to make sure you're happy because he knows you do the same
anyways, does anyone know where I can get a leo?
masterlists
taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @Slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky
#my writing#leo valdez#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez x you#heroes of olympus#heroes of olympus fanfic#heroes of olympus fanfiction#leo valdez imagine#leo valdez one shot#leo valdez fanfic#leo valdez fluff#leo valdez drabble#leo valdez headcanon
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Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 8
Holy shit, it’s been so long since I’ve looked over this story! I found a half completed draft of this chapter in my old files and had a sudden influx of inspiration to finish it. At the very least I wanted to release this chapter, even if I don’t end up continuing or finishing this story. Thank you to everyone who’s read this trainwreck so far <3
LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8
_______________________________________________________
Ch 8 .:Three Runaways and a Russian:.
“Hopper?”
The surly man turned to you with a look of equal surprise.
“(Y/n)? What are you doing here?” Hopper asked, eyes narrowing, “Hold on, aren't you supposed to be in school?”
“Aren't you supposed to be at the police station?” you countered.
He sighed in exasperation and shook his head.
“Listen, kid, I don't have time for this,” he said.
“Well what are you doing?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he said crossly.
“Uh, that doesn't look like nothing,” you said, pointing over to the Slurpee machine where a man with dark curly hair and glasses was inspecting it in wonder. He was handcuffed but still held a large empty cup in his left hand, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the frozen drink move in circles on the inside of the machine.
“He's an extremely dangerous criminal,” Hopper said, “I'm. . . transporting him.”
“Okay, then why is Joyce here?” you asked. She was standing next to the unfamiliar man trying to show him how the dispenser worked. At that moment she turned to Hopper only to make eye contact with you.
“(Y/n)?” she said, eyes wide.
“Hi Mrs. Byers,” you waved awkwardly. What the hell was going on here?
“You got her mixed up with this too?” Joyce chided Hopper, her expression hardening as she walked over.
“I didn't get her mixed up in jack shit,” Hopper said incredulously, “She just doesn't know how to mind her own business.”
“Yeah, I'm right here, guys,” you said in annoyance, “And sorry if I 'intruded' but you're in a 7-11, not your office, so if I see a guy in literal handcuffs I'm going to poke around because that's suspicious and you know it.”
Upon seeing you point at him the man in glasses smiled at you, waving as much as he could while his hands were restrained. He then went back to fiddling with the Slurpee machine and you walked over to him, taking the cup from his hand.
“You have to press down on it,” you said, holding the lever down and filling his cup with the cherry flavor. You stuck in a straw and held it out to him which he accepted with a wide grin, nodding his head.
“What's your name anyways?” you asked him.
He just tilted his head, spluttering slightly as he turned to Joyce.
“His name is Alexei,” Joyce clarified.
“Hold on, does this guy not speak English?” you asked in disbelief.
“Uh, n-no,” the man said, able to read some context from the tone of your voice, “No English.” His words were followed by him speaking in a foreign language and making gestures with his hands.
“I'm sorry, where the hell did you find this random Russian guy?” you turned to Hopper for an explanation.
“Top secret police business,” he said, frowning, “Butt out.”
“So I'm not allowed to know about this 'top secret police business' but Joyce is?” you crossed your arms.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Hopper raised his voice.
“I'm just implying that some favoritism is being applied when it comes to breaking your precious rules,” you scoffed.
“Trust me, kid, you have no idea what the big picture looks like right now, okay? A lot of shit went down when you were gone that you couldn't even begin to imagine. This is dangerous.”
“I'm not a kid anymore so don't call me that,” you glared, “And if this is so dangerous then don't I deserve to know?”
“No,” Hopper said coldly, “Now listen to me and drive your ass back to Hawkins High before I have you turned in for truancy.”
His words made the situation painfully ironic when you all turned towards the front of the gas station as the roar of an all too familiar engine rang out. Billy's blue Camaro skid to a harsh stop as he climbed out of the driver's seat, running over to the door as he saw you through the glass. Once you got over the initial shock your mood soured as Billy made his way inside.
“(Y/n) I have to talk to you-”
“Save it,” you glared at Billy, cutting his sentence short, “Hold on, did you follow me?!”
“Please just hear me out,” he said, a rare crack of desperation in his voice, “Listen I'm-”
“What? You're sorry?” you scoffed, “You're not sorry. You clearly didn't give a shit about me from the beginning, so if you think everything's going to go back to the way it was after some half assed apology then think again.”
“What the hell is this?” Hopper asked Joyce off to the side.
“Lover's quarrel,” Joyce whispered back, “Just let them talk it out.”
“Well if you won't let me apologize then what the fuck do you expect me to do?” Billy said in frustration.
“Nothing!” you shouted back, “Don't talk to me, don't talk about me, just move on to your next little conquest and you'll forget all about this in a week.”
You felt a sharp pang in your chest as the words left your mouth. You didn't want to believe them but you felt like it was true. There was no changing Billy Hargrove, and even if there was, why would you of all people be the one to be able to do it? You weren't anything special, but Billy felt the exact opposite.
He didn't get the chance to say anything back, though, because at that moment the sound of a second car engine was heard as you saw Steve's car pull up to the gas station.
“Oh, you've got to be shitting me,” you groaned.
Steve was panting as he ran inside to the gas station, barely catching his breath before speaking.
“(Y/n), I wanted to-”
“I'm sorry, I thought I made it clear that you two are the last people I want to talk to right now,” you said coldly.
“Wait, hold on, what's going on here? Why aren't any of you at school?” Joyce asked, coming to the realization it was 12:34 on a weekday.
“I broke some stupid guy's nose, it's a long story,” you mumbled, “What I didn't expect was these two idiots following me.” You glared at them, trying to put as much distance between you two as you could.
“I was worried about you,” Steve said, causing Billy to roll his eyes.
“Oh please,” Billy scoffed under his breath.
Steve's expression hardened as he turned to Billy.
“Hey, you don't get to say shit,” he said, “You're the one who led her on and made her cry in the first place.”
“Led her on?” Billy's voice rose as he go in Steve's face, “Listen, pretty boy, if I remember correctly I beat the shit out of you a little less than a year ago. You asking for a rematch?”
“Yeah, maybe I am,” Steve glared, “Because I'm sick and tired of you treating my friend like shit.”
“Oh, 'your friend', huh?” Billy chuckled, “Bet you wish you were more than that, don't you, Harrington?”
“Both of you cut it out!”
Something in you snapped as you forcefully separated the pair, keeping them on opposite sides of the isle. Silence blanketed the rest of the convenience store as you spoke.
“I never asked for either of you to follow me here,” you said, feeling a wave of emotional exhaustion take you over, “As a matter of fact, I asked to be left alone, so you two need to get that through your thick fucking skulls because this is seriously the last thing I need right now.”
Alexei just stood innocently by, wondering what all the yelling was about and if he could do anything to help.
Through all the commotion none of you noticed the way Hopper was staring out the convenience store window, his stomach dropping as he saw a tiny figure on the road drawing nearer. Upon closer inspection he could see the silhouette of a man on a motorcycle.
“Get down,” Hopper said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the man.
His words made you freeze, all your senses on high alert as you could feel something was wrong.
“Wait, what?” Steve said in confusion.
“I said GET DOWN!” Hopper shouted, pulling you and Joyce to the floor just as a gunshot rang out and the windowpane shattered into pieces. Shards of glass fell onto your shoulders as you ducked behind one of the isles and panic quickly settled in.
You could feel Hopper dragging you further away from the door, your body frozen in fear.
“Listen to me, you need to get the hell out of here, all of you,” Hopper said.
“Hopper, what the fuck is going on?” you asked, your hands shaking.
“I don't have time to explain,” he said quickly, “Joyce, get them to Murray's house as fast as you can.”
“What about you?” you said, “If you think we're leaving you here like some shitty action movie you've got another thing coming.”
“I'll buy you some time,” he said, “And besides, he's after me, not you, but that doesn't mean he won't shoot you if you get in his way. Do you understand? Get out of here!”
Before you could say anything back Hopper was thrown back against the wall by a muscular man in a leather jacket. Joyce immediately grabbed you by the arm and started pulling you away along with Steve and Billy. You could hear them yelling but it felt like you were hearing things underwater. Your heartbeat pounded rapidly in your ears as you turned around, every nerve in your body shouting at you to run.
Your heart nearly stopped as another gunshot rang out in the store and the tile cracked beneath your feet as the bullet landed a mere few feet from where you'd been standing seconds earlier.
“Don't you dare, you son of a bitch!” Hopper growled as he tackled the man to the floor, getting a few solid hits in. The man grunted as his back harshly met the ground, his head slamming into one of the shelves. As Joyce turned you around again to get out you could only pray that Hopper would be okay.
“There's no way we can fit everyone into one car,” you said as you neared the exit to the parking lot, “Where's Hopper's police van?”
Joyce looked off to the side.
“Oh, um, it's. . . on fire in the middle of the woods.”
“It's what?!”
“I promise I'll explain everything to you once we're safe,” Joyce said, “Right now we need to figure out how to get everyone out of here.”
You turned over your shoulder and winced as the man landed a solid hit to Hopper's gut, knocking the wind out of him and making him stumble back into a rack of chips. Hopper grunted in pain but immediately fired back with a punch of his own, his right swing hitting the man square in the jaw. Hopper took the chance to follow up a knee to the man's gut, knocking him down with one last hit, although he knew he wouldn't stay down for long.
As Hopper struck him down you caught a flash of silver fly out of the man's jacket pocket and skid across the floor. You stared at the keys for a moment before your gaze flew up to the Harley parked outside the gas station.
'This is a stupid idea,' you told yourself, but in the moment it was the best you could do.
“Take my car,” you said to Joyce, tossing her your keys, “I'm jacking his ride.”
Joyce, Steve, and Billy looked at you like you'd just sprouted wings.
“Oh no you're not, it's way too dangerous,” Joyce said, incredulously, “He'll be close enough to shoot you if you make a run for it now.”
“I'll go around the outside,” you said, “If Hopper keeps him distracted I can make it.”
“Have you ever even ridden a motorcycle before?” Billy tried to reason with you.
“As a matter of fact I have,” you said, your eyes narrowing. You didn't mention the fact that it was just one time with your dad years ago but hey, you were a fast learner.
“Just trust me on this,” you said, “Think about it, even if we do manage to get out of here he'll catch up to us in no time on a motorcycle. If we take his transportation away he won't be able to find us again, or at least it'll make it harder.”
Joyce swallowed hard, shaking her head.
“I can't believe I'm about to let you do this,” she said.
“I'll see you in ten seconds,” you promised, “Get everyone in the car and we'll pick up Hopper on the way out.”
“Be careful,” Steve said, and despite you still being mad at him the life or death situation compelled you to say:
“You too.”
And with that, Joyce started to lead everyone outside to the parking lot towards your car.
You forced down any doubt you had in your mind and took a deep breath before running towards where Hopper and the man were fighting. You slid to a stop as you snatched the keys off the ground and made a break for the front of the store.
The man seemed to notice what you did as he snarled and reached for his gun, but Hopper was too quick. In one swift movement he knocked the gun out of the man's hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, throwing him as far away from you as he could.
You thanked Hopper silently as you put the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Your heart pounded in your ears as you leveled yourself on the motorcycle. You spotted Hopper out of the corner of your eye as he sprinted towards the store front, Alexei practically flying behind him in his grip. The Russian let out a small yelp as Hopper threw him unceremoniously into the backseat of the car, his body sprawled across Billy and Steve.
“Floor it, Joyce,” Hopper huffed, scrambling into the passenger's seat.
She didn't need to be told twice. The smell of burning rubber drifted past you as the tires squealed, all the passengers forced backwards at the force of the sudden jolt of speed.
You leaned into the turn as you moved to follow the car, daring one last glance over your shoulder at the man in the leather jacket. He threw what remained of a shelf off of his shoulders as he staggered to his feet, his expression terrifying as he stared you down. With a deep breath you turned to the road, quickly catching up with your Jaguar and leaving the infuriated man behind.
“Woah woah hey, my fucking car is still back there!” Billy shouted as you sped away.
“Really, that's what you're concerned about right now?!” you shouted over the wind, tempted to reach around the car and slap him. Your focus was forcefully pulled back to the road as you felt the cycle waver, quickly adjusting your weight as you tried to get use to the feeling. You were suddenly acutely aware of the helmet you weren't wearing. You took a long draw of breath in through your nose as you tried to calm your buzzing nerves, your knuckles white as you gripped the handlebars.
“Alright, Hop. You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”
Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria @spookyartisanmuffineggs @youcanstandundermyamberella @ashadowoftheforest @shrektiledysfunction @arithatonegirl @banannie25 @daddyuwuss @truthdaze @supervoldejaygent @gigi-maria-argu @dolan-mendes @mavix @reflectionsofyouruniverse @angelsarefalling @billyhargrovescigarette
#stranger things x reader#stranger things#steve harrington x reader#billy hargove x reader#stranger things season 3#Billy Hargrove#steve harrington#reader insert#x reader#jim hopper#original characters#fanficton#stranger things fanfiction#alexei smirnoff
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apple pie & ice cream
Kenma x Reader - Scenario
desc: gloomy days can always be brightened with sweet smells, cinnamon sugar, and a homemade apple pie from yours truly: Kenma Kozume
a/n: to the anon who requested this a little while ago... happy birthday, love!! i hope you’re okay that i switched things around a little bit & had Kenma make you something sweet instead <3</i>
warning: slight language
wc: 1580
---
Some days are longer than others.
You’ve never had a good explanation as to why, but there are at least some telltale signs.
Like when red lights seem endless, your favorite song doesn’t sound as pretty as it should, and you just can’t keep your tired eyes open. Even with a cozy mug of hot tea in hand or the gentle stream of sunlight filtering through your office’s window, the warmth on your fingertips and face simply refused to reach you on the inside.
It also doesn’t help that you were flipped off not once, but twice, by some shitty drivers when you clearly had the right of way.
So you determine that the faster you can get home to Kenma, the better you’ll feel.
You take every short-cut and any back road, impatiently awaiting the moment that you can kick off your uncomfortable shoes and step out of those constricting work clothes. To turn on the air-conditioning and crash into a couch that proves to be far more welcoming than the outside world. Even just a nice, long stretch would do your aching back and heavy arms some good.
But most of all, you long to sink into Kenmas chest and lazily breathe in the comforting smell of home that rested on his well-worn hoodies. To run your fingers through his silky, soft hair and make messy braids out of it while sighing heavily to relinquish the day's grip on your tight shoulders. You can’t wait to bother him until he sets aside his black and red headphones to kiss your forehead and pull you into a soul-catching hug.
Most crappy days call for extra love from your gamer-boyfriend… but today Kenma has really gone out of his way to shower you in sweetness. Literally.
You’d sent him an awfully lengthy text about the number of crazy drivers on the road, the dreary weather overhead, following it up with a recap of your teary-eyed breakdown in a fast food chain parking lot... and you topped it off with just how much you missed him.
So he did the one thing he knew could lift anyone’s spirits.
Kenma got to baking his world famous apple pie.
Countertops were covered in white and brown sugar, apple peels, and other various, scattered ingredients. A store-bought pie crust was preheating in the oven, because only God knows how long it would take for Kenma to learn how to make that from scratch. Spices plumed in delicate, little clouds throughout the kitchen. Everything was coming together beautifully.
Kenma mumbles to himself quietly, a little miffed that he’s missing his weekly streaming session...
But secretly, he’s been meaning to do this for you for a long time.
He’s been dying to thank you for putting up with his incessant live shows and never-ending computer gameplay. For living with him in his rental house even though he could probably (definitely) afford something far more luxurious. And you deserved luxurious. You should be decked out in diamonds and fancy cashmere, lounging on a sofa atop some rooftop garden oasis that overlooks the entirety of Tokyo, and dancing the night away at clubs and galas.
But you chose him.
Simple Kozume.
A smaller-framed boy with a knack for video-games, patterns, and strategy. The one they jokingly called “pudding head” in high school. That kid who used to hide behind his own hair because the world around him was far more daunting than he thought he could handle.
Kenma would rather stay in and binge a series on netflix than spend a night out on the town. He invests himself in playing an overly-competitive tournament of Mario Kart with you over flying out for a highstakes game of poker in Vegas. He prefers nights surrounded in fairy lights when you collaborate on videos with him, throw popcorn at his long hair, and drink a bit too much just because you both compliment each other more when you’re a little tipsy.
You love all of this about him and you’ve reminded him time after time that you wouldn’t trade him for the world… yet Kenma is still determined to at least have this apple pie done by the time you get home.
But as luck would have it, you’re early.
The lock to the door clicks and twists as you slide it open with a few squeaks.
Your senses are instantly delighted by the blooming fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg. An ambrosial wafting of warm apples and pastry dough permeates the airspace while the added ginger and lemon cut through the sweet scent.
As if the room had just handed over a fluffy blanket and set you in front of a crackly, wood-burning fire, you’re filled with that much needed comfort.
You’re home. And it smells so damn good.
If heaven had a scent, this was it. And you might as well be wearing a halo and angel wings.
“Kozume…?” You call out, wondering if it was really your boyfriend in the kitchen creating that mouth-watering aroma.
“...yes, y/n?” He replies slowly, trying to clean up the countertops, a little frustrated that the pie wasn’t finished in time for your arrival.
“Is that you? Or did Gordon Ramsey break into my house and take over my kitchen?” You giggle, waltzing into the kitchen, the stress of the day being alleviated immediately upon seeing those speculative, gold-speckled eyes.
His hands are in his hoodie pockets, but when your form turns corner into the kitchen and makes its way toward him, Kenma draws them out and sneaks his hands up to your cheeks, cupping them gently.
He leans in, his expression a tad quizzical and somewhat mysterious, and whispers…
“You’re an idiot sandwich.”
A laugh bubbles up and out, shaking your whole body as you wrap your arms around his frame. You’d seen him just this morning, but wow you’d missed him and his extensive knowledge of meme culture. Now Kenma has his arms draped around your waist, hands squeezing at your hips a little. Your flustered but smiley expression spurs on a soft chuckle, a gentle yet deep rumbling in his throat.
“I thought you’d be back a little bit later, but I’m glad you’re here.” He murmurs out, voice tired but so soothing to your ears.
“Mmm, I’m glad to be back… now are you gonna tell me what that magnificent smell is? Or should I open up the oven and check?” The cheeky tinge to your voice causes him to pull away from you for a moment to look you in the eye.
“If you want it to turn out well, I’d keep your pretty little hands away from the oven for the next few minutes.” Kenma quips.
You playfully stick out your tongue but then proceed to place a teasing peck between his eyes, making him crinkle his nose cutely.
“So, when you sent me those texts earlier, I might have accidentally made an apple pie.” Kenma admits, looking away.
“Accidentally?” A grin slowly spreads across your face, eyes glinting with humor.
“Yep. Accidentally.” He shrugs, “I found some ingredients and a pie dish and I just accidentally threw it all together. So yeah, how convenient is that?”
You sigh, rolling your eyes.
He’s really something else. And to think your day had previously been wrought with misery and disappointment.
“Mmm I don’t know, Kozume… it doesn’t sound like an accident to me. I think you did it because you wanted to be sweet.” You whisper softly into his ear.
Leaning back to brush away a strand of his hair from his face to get a full visual of his cat-like gaze.
“And why would I do that?” He teases gently.
“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because you love me?” You poke at his shoulder.
“Huh? Love?” He gives you a goofy look, raising both eyebrows in mock confusion. “...Is that some kind of sauce?”
He tries to keep a straight face, but the quirk of his lip gives him away.
You just stare at him before giving in to another fit of rolling giggles. The hearty, unrestrained laughter overtakes the both of you, causing you to double over and clutch your middle in an attempt to hold yourself up. Kenma has his back up against the counter-top, holding the edges of it with both palms to keep himself steady and from falling to the floor.
As you both recover from aching lungs and that cloudy, euphoric feeling, you can’t help but let a smile plaster itself on your face.
Kenma has done many things today.
He gave you a reason to come home with hope in your heart. He’d drawn you into a heartfelt, soul-refreshing hug. He had made you laugh like nobody ever could. He’d even baked you an apple pie.
But best of all, he‘d held you together.
Like he always did.
Every single day, without a doubt in your mind, you could celebrate and smile. Because you would always have this cinnamon-covered cutie to smile and crack up with. He would always brighten the most mundane of weekdays and find the loveliest of ways to match your moods.
You two are like apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream.
And speaking of ice cream…
“Hey, Kozume?” You bring him into one more bear-like hug.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Did you get ice cream to go with the apple pie?” You ask, your face preciously tucked into the crook of his neck.
No reply. Had he heard you?
“Kozume? Did-”
Cue a huge sigh from Kenma.
“...Where are my car keys? I need to go to the store immediately.”
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tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel
(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader#kenma x reader#kenma kozume#kenma#nekoma#haikyu#haikyuu fluff#hq#hq x reader#hq scenarios#haikyuu scenarios#kenma scenario#kenma imagines#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu kenma#sneezefiction
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I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now
Word Count: 4084
Pairing: Analogical
The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.
Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.
They are both kind of idiots.
Warnings: none that I can think of
AO3 Link
Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.
He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”
“The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.
“Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.
“You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”
Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”
Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”
Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”
“I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”
Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”
Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”
“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.
Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”
Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”
Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”
They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.
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The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”
Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.
“Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”
Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”
Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”
Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”
Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”
“I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”
Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”
He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.
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Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.
Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.
“Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.
“That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.
Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”
Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”
An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”
“Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”
Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough, I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.”
Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.
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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”
“Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”
“Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”
Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.
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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”
“Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”
“That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.
“You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.
Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”
“Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”
Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.
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There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”
Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”
Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”
Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”
“Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.
“Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”
“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.
“No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”
“I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.
”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”
“Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.
“I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.
“Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”
Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”
Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.
It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”
“Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”
“Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”
Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”
Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”
“I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”
“Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”
“...I’m sorry?”
“You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”
Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”
“I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.
Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”
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5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.
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❝Stress and sleep deprivation have become the new normal to you, and has caused you to make a mistake that draws a wall between you and boyfriend Miya Osamu.❞
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requested by: @avylee *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
𑁍 Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader
»»—Trigger warning(s): hospitalization, light swearing—-««
➶ Genre: angst with a happy ending
✎ Word count: 2.87k
-ˏˋ A/N: I really hope this turned out okay?? I wanted to get this out before the weekend since I’m not going to have stable wifi, so I hope it’s not too bad! ˊˎ-
The past few weeks have been some of the most physically, emotionally, and mentally draining weeks you have ever experienced. After long days at school and tending to the boys at volleyball practice, you want nothing more than to go home, take a shower, and hop in bed. On most days, the order of events doesn’t quite happen that way. After volleyball practice you head to the convenience store located a block away from your house, picking up three hour shifts each weekday in order to save money for your future that is approaching all too soon. By the time you arrive at home, you are far too drained to put any effort into completing homework that has been assigned throughout the week, subjecting you to save it for the weekend. Your schedule is as busy as it gets, some, including you, wonder how you still manage to also have time for a relationship.
Although you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, Osamu is the one thing that keeps you going. The thought of being able to see him every day at volleyball practice never fails to bring a smile to your face, sometimes forgetting about all of the things in your life that have been bringing you stress. Becoming the manager of the Inarizaki volleyball club was the best decision you ever made. Not only did it allow you to meet Osamu, but also all of the other boys you’ve come to love and adore. They’re your family, and getting to see them every day is the only thing that you look forward to.
You clock out of work with a sigh of relief, thankful that the week is finally coming to an end. As you walk home you purposely take a wrong turn, deciding to stop by Osamu’s so you could see him. You had to skip volleyball practice today; one of your coworkers called in sick and they desperately needed someone to cover. As much as you didn’t want to work for longer than you already had to, you felt like you couldn’t leave them stranded. You don’t want to go a day without seeing your boyfriend, desperately needing to be in his arms just to keep your sanity. Your eyelids start to feel heavy on the walk to his place, but you force yourself to keep them open as you’re only a minute away.
As you approach the door you give it an eager knock, closing your eyes while waiting for Osamu to answer. The pain and uncomfort starts to ease the longer you stare at the back of your eyelids. Your tiredness is quickly engulfing you, your body unconsciously starting to sway as you begin to fall into a deep sleep. As you are on the brink of sleep, your body rocks backwards making you lose your balance. Before you could fall, you feel Osamu’s strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest.
You’re not even fazed, unaware of how close you were almost passing out right in front of his door. You just felt happy to be back in his embrace, something that has always brought you comfort. You loop your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into the crook of it, eyes still glued shut. As you breathe in his scent, you can’t help but notice he smells like sandalwood instead of his usual mint. You don’t mind though, intrigued by the sudden change. You pull away from him slightly, peppering a couple of small kisses along the side of his neck.
“I missed you today,” you speak in a small voice, tiredness laced through your words.
You pull him into a deeper hug, now resting your chin on his shoulder. Your eyes open for the first time since you got there and are met with the gaze of Osamu standing in the doorway a few feet away. A smile creeps onto your face, never getting tired of the sight of him. A small sigh leaves your lips as you squeeze him into the hug a little tighter. Then it hits you.
Osamu is standing in front of you. He is not in your arms. He is not the one you are hugging.
Horror flashes in your eyes. You slowly turn your head to the side, eyes landing on brown roots that fade into golden locks.
Oh no.
You loosen your hold and take a couple of steps back. Atsumu is staring at you with wide eyes, not daring to move a muscle.
You glance behind him, eyes falling on your boyfriend whose demeanor holds so many different emotions. He turns away from the two of you and walks further into the house, entering his bedroom before slamming the door.
“Shit,” you mutter quietly while pushing past Atsumu, making your way to Osamu’s bedroom door which is now tightly shut and locked. You give the door a couple of gentle knocks, silently hoping that your actions didn’t cause too much of a problem. It was silent on the other side of the door, no indication that he was going to walk over and unlock it.
“Babe, please let me in,” you start, hands growing sweaty, “it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Silence.
“Osamu, don’t be like this. It was an accident. Let’s just forget it happened and move on, yeah?” The worry and anxiousness keeps building inside the longer he stays silent. Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching the door before it swings open. You start to smile but it’s immediately wiped away when you see the anger presented on Osamu’s face.
“‘Don’t be like this’? Do you think I’m overreacting because I just saw you hug and kiss my brother?”
“I didn’t kiss him on the lips, it was just… on his neck.” You soon realized that your words are not helping you, but in fact making it worse. “Babe, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I swear! I just have so much going on and I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep and-”
“I really don’t want to hear your excuses,” Osamu stated, cutting you off mid-sentence.
“I’m not making excuses, I’m trying to give you an explanation.”
“Yeah, well I have a lot going on too, Y/N. I don’t get that much sleep either but you don’t see me going around and kissing other people because I mistook them for you,” he started, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Do you know how hard it is for me? I’ve lived my entire life standing in Atsumu’s shadow. Everything he did, he always did it better. He was always the one to get recognition for everything. I worked my ass off in both my academics and volleyball just to try and prove to, not only other people, but also myself that I am just as deserving as he is. The only thing that I have that Atsumu doesn’t is you. And now I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore.”
You could feel your heart shatter from his words. Not only was he sharing something that made him feel the most vulnerable, but he was starting to doubt if you still wanted to be with him. You take a step closer to him and reach to caress his face, slowly rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone.
“What are you talking about? Of course you have me, you’ve always had me. What you saw out there was a complete accident. I was just so tired that I didn’t even realize it wasn’t you. I’m really sorry, I promise it’ll never happen again.”
He stares deeply into your eyes, he can tell that your words are genuine, but something stops him from forgiving you.
He puts his hand over yours and removes it from his face.
“I just need some space. I think you should go,” he says while releasing his grip from your own. As he was closing the door he mumbled, “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe,” before shutting the door and locking it once more.
You stare at the door before squatting down, holding your face in your hands. Please don’t tell me I just messed up the one good thing I have in my life.
The walk home felt long, and the rest of the night felt even longer. You had been eager to start the weekend, but now you couldn’t wait for it to be over. You have too much time alone, too much time with just you and your thoughts. You couldn’t even bother to do the homework that you had saved over the week. All you could think about was your fight with Osamu and how he hasn’t even tried to reach out to you since then.
The amount of sleep you got over your two days off was miniscule, even less than you got throughout the week. The nights were filled with mindless thinking and many many tears. You spent so much time thinking about Osamu that you didn’t even remember to eat your usual three meals a day.
The weekend came and went without a word spoken between the two of you. You’re now dreading going to volleyball practice, somewhere that always brought you so much joy. You don’t know how to face him, worried he’s just as upset as he was before.
You stand outside the gym doors, contemplating what you next move would be. Should I try and talk to him? Should I continue to give him space? Should I pretend like nothing happened? Ideas kept flowing through your head, none of them jumping out at you as the correct choice. You decide that it’s best to go in there and assess the environment first. Hopefully that will give you a little insight on what to do.
You grab the two carriers that held the boys’ full water bottles, barely managing to carry all the weight in your small hands. You start you way up the few stairs that lead to the gym, each step taking more and more energy out of you. You reach the last step with a sigh of relief, walking through the open doors and into the view of your boyfriend and the rest of the boys.
“Hey Y/N!” Aran smiles, everyone’s eyes turning towards you. The rest of the team greets you as you enter, with the exception of Osamu.
As you are about to greet them back, you start to feel uncontrollably dizzy. White stars begin to scatter your view as your vision begins to blur. You start to stumble over your feet, eventually tripping and collapsing onto the wood floor, landing almost fully on your shoulder. You hear sets of footsteps running towards you, but you can’t tell where they’re coming from. You see blurry figures hovering over you, one of them reaching out to hold your face in his palms. You can’t visually make out who he is, but you know it’s Osamu. They’re shouting at you, but all you hear is quiet mumbling that sounds like it's coming from the other side of the room. You try to muster the strength to say something, but your eyes flutter shut before you get the chance.
The next time you open your eyes you’re greeted with a heavy pain in your left shoulder and a light that is far too bright. You come to the conclusion that you’re in a hospital, but the events that led up to it are a little blurry.
You feel a warmth in your hand. You glance over to see Osamu sitting in a chair beside your bed, his hand in yours and the other being used to rest his head on, his elbow pressing into his knee for support. A mixture of guilt and comfort engulfed your emotions at the sight. You felt terrible that he was in this situation because of you; you wish he would’ve slept at home in his bed instead of in a sitting position in the most uncomfortable chair. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel happy knowing that he stayed by your side throughout the night so you weren’t alone.
You reach out to him with your spare hand, brushing the gray strands of hair out of his face. Osamu wakes from his slumber at the feel of your finger grazing against his forehead, the tiredness in his eyes not dissipating. Once he sees that you’re awake, all the tiredness that he felt was suddenly gone. He hurriedly stands and takes a seat on the side of your hospital bed, making sure not to sit on you.
“Hey, baby. How you feeling?” You can sense the concern in his tone, his thumb mindlessly rubbing against the back of your hand.
“My shoulder hurts,” you reply with a small chuckle, “but other than that, I feel fine. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed. This bed sucks ass.�� Osamu laughs along with you, glad that you seem to be feeling a lot better than you were before.
“I’ll go get the doctor and see if we can leave.”
The process to leave the hospital took unnecessarily long. They kept handing you papers to sign and telling you to make sure you drink enough water and to not skip meals; two things you definitely didn’t do throughout the past few days. You’re just glad it’s over and that you’re on your way home with the person you care for the most.
When you and Osamu enter your house, he heads straight for the kitchen knowing that you’re probably in need for some food. He opens the fridge to see what he’s working with and notices that you have all of the ingredients to make your favorite dish. He quickly gets to work, hoping that the prep and cooking time wouldn’t take too long.
“Samu, you don’t have to make me anything. I know you must be tired from staying in the hospital overnight with me.”
“No, I want to. It's the least I can do since you were in that state because of me…” You frown when you hear those words escape his lips, not wanting him to feel guilty. You stand up from your seated position at the dining table and make your way towards him. You snake your arms around his waist and hold him against you, the side of your face pressing against his muscular back.
“Don’t say that, it’s not your fault. I was already going through a lot with school and work and volleyball that I just forgot to take care of myself. Please don’t blame yourself.”
Osamu turns to face you, your arms still tightly locked around his waist. He holds your face in both of his hands and looks at you with nothing but love and passion in his eyes, scanning all of your features. After being together for so long, he’s learned to memorize every part of your face: the way your eyes crinkle slightly when you smile, how your nose moves when you speak, how you slightly pout your lips when you’re frustrated. He retains all of these little quirks that you have, all the things that make him fall more and more in love with you. All he can think about is how incredibly happy he is that he has you, and relieved that his little episode didn’t break the two of you apart.
He pulls your head into his chest, one of his arms holding your upper back while the other is holding the nape of your neck.
“I’m sorry about our fight the other day. I know what you did wasn’t intentional, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about it. I’ll try harder so we never fight like that again, I really hate to see you sad, especially if it’s because of me.” He slightly pulls away from the hug so he can press a small kiss on your temple before bringing you back into the hug. “I love you, Y/N. No matter what problems we face, I’ll always love you.” He can feel your smile grow against his chest.
“Samu, that was so romantic. Since when did you get all soft?” You chuckle, pulling away from him. Your smile widens at the sight of your boyfriend in front of you. A pink hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his flustered expression enough to make your stomach do flips.
“Whatever… Go sit down over there, you’re distracting me.” He replies while releasing his grip on you, turning back around to face the ingredients on the counter. As he tries to get back to preparing the food, he can still feel your presence behind him. He turns his head to face you, “I said to go sit-”
You grab his face with both hands and bring his lips to meet yours, cutting him off mid-sentence. You can feel him smile into the kiss which makes you return the gesture. The both of you pull away at the same time, placing a couple of more pecks onto his lips before resting your foreheads together.
“I love you too, Samu. I will until the day I die.”
───
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#haikyuu#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu!!#hq#haikyuu social media#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu writers#miya osamu#osamu x reader
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clean up on aisle seven!
word count: 3.3k
genre: casual fluff :)
summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time.
This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.
This might be where you die.
Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic.
You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long.
Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . .
Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair.
You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way.
Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .
You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one.
Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .
Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway.
Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .
Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct.
You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task.
And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and...
No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before.
The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind.
You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper.
Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind.
“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!”
You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-
A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face.
Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store.
The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking.
“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out.
You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose.
“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him.
“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?”
The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him.
“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle.
“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.
“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all.
“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing.
“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute.
If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time.
“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms.
“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough.
“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”
“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding.
“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again.
“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”
“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry.
“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.
“Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes.
“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested.
“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”
“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”
“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”
“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind.
“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest.
“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”
“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.”
“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again.
You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.
“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing.
“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen.
“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off.
“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space.
“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”
“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight.
“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs.
“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression.
“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.
“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in.
“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”
“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...”
“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”
“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”
“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile.
“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation.
“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”
“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw.
“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out.
“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number.
On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside.
“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies.
You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused.
“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.
“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it.
“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone.
“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother.
Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture.
While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?
“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays.
But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip.
At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too.
#bts#jimin#jimin x reader#jimin fluff#bts scenario#jimin scenario#bts fluff#kind of boring but short and sweet (i hope)
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i love you and i like you
Based on @stars-my-darling's adorable post:
“When Mac starts talking he will sometimes just randomly tell Amy that he loves her, usually at the end of an unrelated sentence. They later realise that he learnt to do this because Jake is always randomly telling Amy that he loves her and Mac is copying him." aka. 5 times toddler Mac Santiago-Peralta tells his mommy he loves her
Also includes prompt #101 from the 101 fluffy prompts-list: "…They just grow up so fast."
Read on ao3
Every like and reblog is appreciated <3
Amy Santiago has so far had a lifetime’s worth of great jobs, which, she knows, isn’t that hard when you love work and everything it implies. Everything from assisting her middle school’s librarian to that brief job at a small uptown museum her degree got her to being a respected sergeant in the NYPD. She’s loved every single job but, she’s now come to realise, nothing vill ever beat her most recent employment: Motherhood. With a capital M, yes.
Mac throws her and Jake’s worlds over like the tiny miracle of a storm he is and they’ve never looked back since. It’s brand new, it’s exciting, it’s scary, and though they’re not exactly religious, he’s the answer to their prayers. Parenthood turns out to be nothing like what they’d expected, like nothing they’d ever tried before and looking past some of the rough days, which are inevitable, it’s actually even better. They get to shape and watch a human grow; a human of which they’re both the genesis and they couldn’t be any more proud - both of each other but also their son.
Everything Mac does and achieves is a moment to remember, and they take nothing for granted: every new sound, even simple gurgles, every new movement, even the flick of a tiny finger? They beam, look at each other with wide, joyous eyes and celebrate their newborn addition to their little family. They hold on to everything they can, while they can although, they swear, every other day they’ll be lying in bed with him while he sleeps or watch him begin to explore their apartment on his own and they’ll take turns breaking the comfortable silence with what they’re both thinking:
“They just grow up so fast.”
Even if he’s merely grown a tenth of an inch since the last time they brought it up.
This fact aside, before they know it, their before so very tiny and helpless son can sit without assistance, sooner than later starts crawling and before they seem to have the time to catch up with the ladder he suddenly knows how to say “mama” and “dada” - and the day Mac takes his first steps, Amy filming on her phone while Jake is squatting to entice his son? Both parents guiltlessly shed a tiny tear rewatching the video that night after their little one, who suddenly seems so big, is put to bed.
With the walking comes the talking. Mac, like his dad, is an entertainer and seizes every chance he gets to chat with his parents, and anyone else who’ll listen for that matter, and hopefully make them laugh. Amy quickly sees through the fact that her son’s mannerism is definitely inspired by her husband’s, and Amy’s heart swells at every glimt of it: everything from Mac’s tiny ‘big dramatic movements’ to him attempting to crack small jokes (that sometimes are actually super funny but also mostly make people laugh because his delivery is beyond precious). Despite the fact that his personality is absolutely a solid blend of both parents, Jake’s genes definitely conquer everything else, and Amy doesn’t mind one bit. Although she could do without the short, Peralta-inspired attention span, which can be both very cute but also slightly maddening when you’ve told your barely 3-year old toddler 6 times to finish their meal meanwhile he’s to preoccupied by his father cleaning up the water said toddler spilled just seconds ago.
All in all, Mac is a copy of Jake, and in more ways that one Amy is grateful. Especially when the little boy starts getting a grasp of the word ‘love’ and what it actually means though his parents have showered him with it since before he was born. Jake and Amy will tell Mac ‘I love you’ on the daily and, besides this, his parents themselves aren’t exactly shy of telling each other, especially Jake who often tends to do it out of nowhere or any kind of context which the boy must’ve picked up on at some point.
It starts off quite naturally: the first time he says it.
One night after getting him washed down and put into his favorite firetruck-print pyjamas (the parents couldn’t deny him it even though they were far from thrilled), Amy’s sitting with Mac in his new so-called ‘big boy-bed’. Feeling her son’s curly-haired head nestled into her chest, one hand grabbing onto the fabric of her shirt while the other holds onto his best buddy Leo the Lion, Amy reads out loud from one of the many books she’s managed to accumulate for her son. Obviously worn out from the day Mac, as being almost 3 is very exhausting, stays silent and listens carefully to the sound of his mother’s voice, dutifully paying attention to the book’s colourful drawings and even sometimes pointing at them whenever Amy reaches a part of the story that’s been illustrated.
“Then the little puppy ran through the big big field and the big big forest to get back home-“
“Shee, Mommy,” Mac interrupts her with a lisp caused by the pacifier hanging from one corner of his mouth and points to the drawing of the running dog with his index finger. “Doggy runth!”
“Yeah, I see, baby,” she smiles before pecking the top of his head. Normally she’d ask him to remove his pacifier when he speaks. Her and Jake slowly trying to make the object something Mac knows he can use to relax rather than constantly needs, but when it’s this late and right before bedtime Amy can’t be bothered to reprimand him. For now she’s just proud of her tiny, smart guy. “Where is he running?” She pulls back to look at him, encouraging him to explain further.
“He’sh going home!” he smiles proudly to a point where his pacifier almost falls out, just barely clinging on for dear life.
“That’s right. He’s running home to his family - good job,” she chuckles sending him one last smile before skimming her wristwatch quickly realising bedtime is just minutes away. It’s not that they’re following a strict schedule that depends on every single minute and second of the day: something she’s actually glad Jake’s and his more laid-back lifestyle has transferred to their parenting-style. Although Mac, his parents have come to find out, will reach a point during the evening where it’ll be too late and he becomes overtired and impossible. Therefor 8 PM is the ultimate limit (on weekdays, that is) and Amy sees it quickly approaching so she quickly finishes up their story and shuts the book closed.
“That’s it for today, Mr. Mac. Time to visit dreamland,” simply not able to resist the feel and smell of her son’s newly washed curls, she places another kiss to the top of his head before climbing out of the small bed and hears him reply with a yawn which tells her that she’s probably timed bedtime perfectly. To the great delight of the now also tired mother (a high rank full-time job and a toddler will do that to you) she’s once more proved right when Mac gets under the covers without a trace of fight.
“Roshie?” he looks up at his mother with worried eyes as he hugs Leo the Lion a bit tighter. Those stupid beautiful brown eyes he’s inherited from Jake.
“Oh,” Amy kneels down to the bed’s side and starts running her hand all over the duvet, mattress and bed-frame. “Where’s Rosie, bud?”
Rosie aka. the pink unicorn he’d gotten from auntie Roro back when he was still a tiny baby (though he’d always be Amy’s tiny baby) was missing and they both knew very well that there would be no sleeping without it. Suddenly her hand comes across a bump, to her relief revealing the stuffed animal once she lifts up the duvet.
“Yay, mommy!” her son smiles as if she’s cracked the mystery of the century and Amy can’t help but feel just a bit proud - anything she does that makes her boy happy will do that to her.
“There you go,” she smiles and places the unicorn in his arms right next to Leo the Lion. “All good, Mr. Mac?”
He nods profoundly, eyes suddenly clearly tired and droopy, which earns him a warm smile from his mother before she leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly, all at once running her hand fingers his curls as to get her one last fix for the day. Incredible how your child can become somehow addicting.
“Sleep well. I love you,” she pulls back to take him in, the declaration of love hanging in the air for a few seconds before, taking Amy by surprise, her son answers her.
“I wuv you.”
She knows ‘love’ is an abstract feeling that a toddler can’t really comprehend and isolate as an emotion, which is probably also why Mac’s never said it back before, and although she’s told him a million times before and has never awaited or needed an answer, him saying it back definitely throws her off in the most magical, proud, emotional way in a long time. She’s constantly proud of the little things he does on the daily, slowly becoming a tiny actual human with opinions and a personality, but this is a whole new level.
“Thank you for saying that,” she can feel tears forming in her eyes and throat, but doesn’t want to confuse the small child who’s just begun to understand ‘love’, and therefor doesn’t also need to be explained that crying can also be a sign of happiness. That is an oxymoron that will surely just confuse him when, currently, crying is Mac’s way of expressing and understanding sadness and anger.
“That was very sweet of you and I love you so so much too, baby,” she manages to say it one last time, without breaking, before getting up to turn on his tiny night light and leave. “Me and daddy will be just down the hall watching TV, okay?”
A slight movement from beneath the duvet lets her know he’s heard her before she allows herself to half-close the door and walk back to where Jake is cleaning up after dinner. There she is finally able to let out a few soft cries as she lets her husband in on the small, incredible moment she’s just had with their son. Of course, it instantly makes Jake feel like crying with joy too. Their baby is surely the best.
From there on it’s just one big mess of declarations, at the most random moments and Amy is very amused but also even more enamoured.
One night Jake is away on a stakeout which leaves Amy is home alone with Mac, and to the toddlers immense joy this means he’s allowed to sleep with his mom in her and dad’s enormous bed. Jake has told him to keep mommy safe while he’s gone and of course takes this task very seriously. It’s 3 AM, they’re both fast asleep when suddenly Amy is awoken by what seems to be quite some new weight on top of her chest.
“Mommy,” promptly breaks the silence slowly bringing Amy back to consciousness.
It takes her a second to collect herself but she instinctually reaches out to figure out exactly where her son is in the dark. It’s quickly clear that he’s stretched out stomach down across her chest. “Yes, baby?” she mumbles tiredly eyes still closed hoping that her son is just being restless and will go back to sleep.
“I need pee.”
“Oh.”
This, with a power that almost no other request from her son holds, immediately dawns upon and takes over her body pushing her to sit up. Mac is pretty much fully potty trained but only day-wise. During the night he still uses a diaper, and they’ve only just recently started easing him into the night-potty by telling him it’s an option. The boy showing initiative himself is an absolutely great start and even more importantly an opportunity she won’t let slip by.
“You wanna go use the potty?” she looks at him to make sure and he immediately nods. “Okay, lets go then.”
And so they scurry out of bed and make their way across the hall to the bathroom, hand in hand in the darkness, where once the light is turned on Mac’s potty awaits him.
With a bit of help from mommy, he pulls down his pyjamas pants and diaper before getting settled on the potty. There’s no hiding the fact that they’re both very tired, especially Mac whose head hangs a bit, almost asleep while giving in to his body’s need for relief while Amy sits dutifully on the floor besides him.
“Good job telling me, Mac,” she praises, smiling tiredly but the little boy is too tired to even react.
They stay like this for a while, in silence, Amy not wanting to interrupt a probably concentrated Mac, when suddenly he, to her surprise, is the one to break the silence.
“I’m peeing and I love you, mommy,” he mumbles tiredly almost fully asleep right there on the potty, messy curls hanging in whatever which way gravity will allow.
Then, as if she’d never been tired, asleep, woken up and feeling exhausted, Amy’s body rises to a much higher level of awareness. Warmth, one that completely makes her forget about the bathroom floor’s cold tiles, spreads throughout her entire being and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was currently trying to pee, Amy would’ve pulled him into the tightest hug right there. But she doesn’t, of course, and instead settles for a gleaming smile.
“Mommy loves you too, honey,” He’s her very own bedhead, she thinks to herself lovingly running a hand through his hair. “And I’m so proud of you for waking me up to go potty.”
It’s very faint, too tired to put much effort into it but there’s definitely a small smile growing on her son’s face, When he falls asleep on top of her chest a bit later after he’s done and has been put into a clean diaper, just to be safe, the smile is still there, Amy can tell even in the dark.
Another occasion, it’s safe to say, happens when Amy leasts expects it. They’re running on ‘tantrum from hell: hour who-even-knows-anymore’, this time triggered by the banal fact that, no, Mac wasn’t allowed to play with the big knife Jake had been using to cut vegetables for their dinner.
Everyone has their bad days, the parents are well aware, but this one of Mac’s was particularly bad. All day, from the minute he woke up and went straight to the living room instead of joining his parents in their bad, he’d been extra fussy thereby not feeling content with whichever way his parents tried to fix his mood. They’d been understandable and gone easy on him all day, hopelessly trying to please him while also not just giving in to his unreasonable demands. It appeared that this was very a fine line to walk, and so far it sure hadn’t offered them the intended results. Both parents were exhausted and Mac screaming was far, so very far, from their ideal way of spending the evening in.
Both Jake and Amy have tried experimented with different tactics, some that are known to work. Picking him up to soothe him; ask him if he’s hurting somewhere; offering him to choose one of his daily snacks like a glass of milk, yoghurt or a fruit; suggesting that they play a game… But the little boy wants nothing. Nothing but that huge, sharp kitchen knife.
“Look, you can cry all you want, but daddy is not going to give you the knife. It’s dangerous, Mac,” Amy’s voice is definitely stern but nonetheless still calm well aware of the fact that screaming as well won’t get her anywhere. Besides that she also considers herself a structured, punctual but nonetheless also a cool mom: nevertheless enough is enough. She’s really had it by now, hands resting defensively on her hips as she feels a head ache creeping up on her meanwhile her 3 year old, who’s now lying face down on the kitchen floor, lets out yet another scream.
“Listen to mom, bud,” Jake intervenes the best he can without interrupting his wife’s operation. “She’s super right, you know? The knife is very very sharp and in your small hands it can easily slip and hurt you. We don’t want that.”
Another scream is how he’s thanked for the explanation and Jake, even though he loves his son unconditionally, has to roll his eyes and sigh. Logic is not relevant when you’re working with a toddler, he has learned but nonetheless gives it a try every time they’re back in the arena - only to be disappointed.
They try not to be the kind of parents that scold or punish their kid unless it’s necessary and they but alas this is not one of them. Amy has had it and shares a look of confirmation with her husband before proceeding - she needs him to back her up on this.
“Okay, McClane Santiago-Peralta,” Amy says strictly. Full name? This is the point of no return, Jake knows.
“If you’re going to continue to behave like this then that’s up to you, but that also means it’s time for time-out, because daddy and I don’t know how to help you, when you keep screaming like that.”
God, she hates this side of parenthood and this shade of herself, though she knows it necessary.
“Knife!” Mac cries out rolling onto his back and hitting the floor with the palms of his tiny hands in protest of now both the knife and the time-out.
“I’m not going to keep discussing this with you,” she makes up her mind, picks up her son which results in him screaming/crying even louder while also putting up a fight by wiggling his entire body in his mother’s hold. “If you’re not going to go by yourself, like the big boy I know you usually are, then I’ll have to carry you there.”
And so Amy, knowing that the most important thing right now is that she sticks to her pledges, starts walking out of the kitchen and down the hall towards her son’s room. The wiggling continues, the crying doesn’t come to quit and he even adds kicking into the air as she carries him to the mess of it all. He really doesn’t want to go, even less have his mommy take him there since it’ll mean that he’s really pushed her to the limit.
Then suddenly the next wail he lets out suddenly sends the situation down a completely different path.
“I just want the knife and I- I wuv you, mommy!” her son screams loudly through his cry, face all red and scrunched up as if he was cursing her which by nature results in Amy freezing on the spot, left to wonder what the hell had prompted that outburst.
That one was new, she thinks, and how the hell do you handle this exact situation right? On one hand his previous acts, and the fact that he’s still hysterical, means that he deserves to be sent to his room; on the other hand he just screamed, bloody murder, that he loves her… Parenthood was indeed so confusing sometimes.
A sigh leaves her body.
“I love you too, Mac,” she figures he deserves, and always will deserve, to hear it back - no matter how frustrating and crazy the situation might be.
“And daddy does too, but it’s really hard for us to help you when you scream and cry like that, baby,” she gives explaining the consequences of his tantrum one last shot, and, to her surprise, the boy actually stills in her arms and buries his face into her chest. The cries die out before transitioning to small sniffles and alas Amy sees the opportunity to, perhaps, talk some sense into her son.
“We’d much rather have you use your words, tell mommy and daddy what’s actually wrong, rather than having you scream and cry like this. Do you understand?”
There’s silence but Amy can feel Mac’s tiny head slide up and down in nod against his chest, and relief, although it might still just be a false sense of safety, floods her entire body.
“So, what is actually wrong? Why are you sad?”
“I-“ Mac sniffles trying to mould his thoughts. “I just wanted help daddy make food.”
Of course, she thinks internally rolling her eyes.
“I see,” she nods. “And you can help daddy cook, but next time you’ll have to say it like that. Use your words, okay?”
He nods again before lovingly grasping onto a strand of his mother’s hair.
“Good,” she pecks the top of his head. “Now,” she cranes her neck to look down at her son’s face where it’s half buried into her tear-stained shirt. “Do you want to be in your room by yourself for a bit to calm down, or do you want to come help me and daddy clean the kitchen and set the table?”
“I wan’ help,” he mumbles obviously lacking energy after spending it all throwing the tantrum, but if he wants to be with them and redeem himself then Amy won’t be the one to stop him. It took a while, but Amy always tries to remember that he’s still very little meaning that it’s inevitable that some social skills aren’t fully developed. So whenever he can come to his senses, with his parents guidance or not, Amy will of course be the first one to endorse it.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she walks back towards the kitchen with Mac resting silently in her arms.
A third memory that pops into Amy’s mind upon trying to remember the many random moment’s where her son has shared his love for her out loud and of the blue (Peralta-stylez), is one time (of the many) they went grocery shopping together. They’d been wandering around the big grocery store, her and Mac, targeting the cereal aisle, hand in hand with a basket in Amy’s free hand.
“Okay, since you and daddy ate the last of the Fruit Loops this morning we need to get some cereal. You think you can help me with that?” she looks down at her son who’s already looking up to meet her eyes. Mac’s enchanting glimmering eyes instantly light up at the thought of responsibility, a trait he’s definitely inherited from her, and prompts an eager nod. Before she can even say or explain further, which he probably doesn’t actually need her to, he’s let go of her hand.
“More Fwuit Loops!” he exclaims happily as his tiny legs take him ahead, down the aisle, to reach the mosaic of colourful cereal-boxes.
“Sure, if that’s what you want, babe, but maybe…” she walks towards him, "we could try something else for once?” she tries to not be too strict about her son’s eating habits, especially when she knows Fruit Loops is usually the only straight up sugary stuff he eats daily, but also, she has to admit, secretly wishes she could perhaps trick him and Jake to eat something just a bit less… candy-like.
“What?” he stops and looks at her with a frown. “Something else?”
“Yeah,” she catches up with him and looks as the many options before him. “Like… bran-flakes, maybe? They look yummy, right?”
Either Amy is a really bad actor or her son simply too smart, but nonetheless Mac looks more than quite unimpressed when his mom pulls a boring, brown box out from the shelf to showcase it
“I donno want brain-flakes ew, mommy” and the face Mac makes, a face of utter disgust, would be way more solid proof than a paternity test if one was needed - he is definitely, without a single doubt, Jake Peralta’s son - and she definitely can’t help but chuckle at the similarity he constantly carries with him.
The tiny human’s hand starts dancing across all the different packages, probably gathering himself a good dose of various germs that in the moment Amy can’t make herself care about, and every now and then he’ll stop to study a cereal that’s caught his child-brain and eyes’ attention.
“There are so many to choose from, huh babe?” she encourages but keeping her distance as to be supportive of him doing something on his own, independent like a big boy.
First he stops in front of the Cheerios, which Amy can totally be content with, but alas he quickly, to Amy’s chagrin, puts them back in their spot. Then come the Frosted Flakes with their blue box and cute tiger cartoon (the perfect child-trap) which, if possible, are even worse than Fruit Loops. Amy unconsciously frowns at the thought of having to rip the box of cereal from her son’s grip when he in a few seconds won’t let go and instead grab the Bran Flakes. But to Amy’s great relief Mac’s finger continue their trip down past the tiger-trap, mindlessly mumbling small nothings to himself that she can’t quite make out. Then, all at once seeming way more determined than with previous ones, Mac throws himself at a bright and colourful box.
“These!” he exclaims jumping up and down on the spot with the held over his head in victory.
As soon as she gets a closer look, having gently grabbed the box from her son, it dawns on Amy that Jake Peralta being the father of her child isn’t exclusively beneficial. Not when their child is asking for Sour Patch Kids morning cereal and Amy knows it’s because he’s inspired by his dad as Jake will gladly share his candy with his son whenever he happens to have some.
“Oh, baby… “ Amy tries to keep up a neutral face as to not reveal how she dreads to get something that’s somehow even worse than the king of artificial ingredients, Fruit Loops, and sultan of sugar, Frosted Flakes, combined. “You sure you don’t just wanna get the Fruit Loops then? I don’t think you’ll like Sour Patch Kids.”
“Yes I do! I eat them with daddy all the time!”
Of course.
Her son is completely oblivious to her dread and shines proudly thinking he’s pleased his mom by finding something new (which it is - Amy can’t deny that) to have for breakfast. And Amy’s mom-heart can’t get herself to contradict her son’s persuasion of the fact that he’s accomplished the mission she set up for him. No way. Not when his face flows with pride like it does now.
“Okay,” she surrenders with a forsaken smile. “We can get these, but they’re very sugary so only for weekend mornings, got it?” she puts her hand forward as to shake on the deal.
Either it’s the handshake that takes his mind off of it, or her 3-year old actually somehow understands nutritional values, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate to meet her hand with his own, agreeing with her proposed deal. Immediately after she hands him back the box, it’s a mystery to Amy how such a simple thing can make her son that happy, he beams with excitement and basically hugs the box of sugary sweetness. Amy has to chuckle and then he’s off again to do his own little thing, prancing down the remains of the aisle chanting a made-up song, Amy guesses, to himself.
“Cereal. Breakfast. I love cereal. I love breakfast. I love mommy and mommy loves cereal and me and daddy and breakfast. Cereal, cereal, cereal!”
And to her, and Jake’s, sheer luck Amy manages to snap a short video of it for them to enjoy and fuss about for years.
That same night, Friday, they’re all lounging on the couch watching a movie. Tangled as per Mr. Mac’s demand because “Flynn Eugene whatever is really cool and the pretty princess hits him with a pan and the horse and green little thing are super fun too.”
So, needing no further arguments, they watch Tangled and snack on Sour Patch Kids (the candy, not the cereal) that Jake had bought on his way home from work after Amy had texted him about their adventure at the grocery store, attaching the video of their son singing.
Although, after a long day, by the time the lanterns in the movie light up the dark sky while Rapunzel and Flynn sing to each other, Mac is half, almost completely, passed out with his head in Amy’s lap and legs stretched across his father’s. Mommy stroking your face and playing with your curls turns out to be very soothing and sleep-inducing. Jake can also, if asked to testify, agree with this fact. Guess there’s something special about Peralta-curls Amy simply can’t resist.
“Ames, I think he’s asleep,” Jake whispers discreetly throwing his wife a knowing smile when he notices his son’s current state.
She, having not noticed being too busy watching the movie, looks down and sees, indeed, a sweet angel face with shut eyes and pouty lips that indicated that her son is, if not entirely, on the verge of being asleep. Nevertheless, every 30 seconds or so, his eyes will flutter just a bit, like tiny butterfly wings, as if he’s fighting to see the end of the movie - a movie he’s seen 134 times already.
“You want to go to bed, Mac?” she coos leaning down to peck his temple.
“Nu-uh,” he fights off the urge to say yes, Amy can tell.
“You sure?” she tries again.
He nods heavily in her lap, shuffling a bit in an attempt to get comfortable enough to, Amy knows, fall asleep. But he can’t seem to find the right spot, is surely overtired too and both parents can tell it’s a matter of minutes before he’ll give in to either fall asleep on the couch or demand to be put to bed.
And they’re right.
“Mommy,” he mumbles in the most exhausted and soft soft voice that makes Amy’s heart flutter time after time. “I love you but I wanna sleep - in my bed.”
Those three words, especially coming from Mac, will never seize to send a tiny jolt of joy and dopamine through her entire being. She chuckles softly stroking his back.
“That’s okay, baby. We’ve had a long day. Let's get you to bed.”
“Okay, I love you mommy. And daddy. Love,” he passes out before he can finish the sentence and won’t even notice his father carrying him to bed while Amy gazes after them with loving eyes.
Even three years in, four if you count the pregnancy, she can’t believe this sweet, beautiful and smart boy is hers. A bundle of love that is half her and half the man she loves the most (next to Mac himself, of course). Parenthood is an irregular graph with ups and down, but they have so much love that it’ll make up for the bad days and hard cases. In the very end the most important thing is that he, Mac Santiago-Peralta with his brown curly hair, tiny nose and deep brown eyes, is here and he’s theirs. Not only is he theirs but he is his own and he loves them, his parents, so much, every day. Plus, he’s so good at actually expressing it that Amy can’t help but feel like they’re definitely doing something right. She’s proud to know her son is surrounded by so much love that it has planted a seed that everyday blooms within him, making him spill over and spread his care and love to other people.
So, yes, Amy Santiago is 100% sure: she is definitely the luckiest, most loved mom in the entire universe. Mac Santiago-Peralta will always make sure of this.
#i don't know if i did the original post justice at all but here you go!#need me some toddler Mac in my life#peraltiago#baby peraltiago#mac#mac santiago-peralta#jake x amy#jake and amy#peralta#santiago#amy santiago#jake peralta#b99#Brooklyn Nine-Nine#brooklyn nine nine#fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#toddler#domestic
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Thesis Paper (80s College!AU)
Pairing: Tony Stark x Black!Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: A bit angsty in the middle, mention of alcohol and being drunk slightly, and lots of mention of stress, but overall fluffy and cute
A/N: This is one of a couple writings that I have planned for @chaneajoyyy and @shaekingshitup's Quarantine Writing Challenge. This was so fun to plan and write and hopefully I get another one of my ideas out, but I do plan to write them all, no matter what. Anyway I hope you all like it and thank you to @chaneajoyyy and @shaekingshitup for hosting this and inviting me to participate! Love you all!!! 💖💛💖💛 (It wouldn't let me tag @shaekingshitup! Sorry!😭)
UNIVESAL TAGS LIST: @beautifulwisdom2001 @iamzion-therealhabesha @jetaimeamore @thottio @shakzer00 @mixedfandxms @here-for-your-bullshit
Requests are OPEN, if you want to be added to the tags list for a certain character, just ask.
Masterlist
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Monday
“Tony, how does this sound.” You pace back and forth, reading the new sentence from your notebook, waving the pencil around and looking at him wide eyed when you’re done.
“Sounds fine… but a bit wordy. The great thing about being in anything science or technology based is the lack of embellishment needed. So cut some of the therfores and neverthelesses.” He chuckles and looks up at you from his word processor to get a look at your stress-consumed being. You were wearing firetruck red biker shorts and Tony’s grey MIT sweatshirt, hair haphazardly pulled back with curls pointing every direction and your gold Dorothy Hamill glasses resting on your nose. He knew you hated wearing them, but you hated wearing contacts even more, especially when studying. The face you were looking at him with was one of disdain and annoyance, which only made him stand from his chair, walk over to you, take your notebook from your hands, and engulf you in a hug. You fight it at first, wanting to get back to writing your thesis, but soon settle into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder. “You need to calm down or else you're gonna burn out. The more you worry about your thesis, the more likely it is for you to overthink the entire assignment and you know that.”
“Easy for you to say, Stark. I’m surprised you didn’t already have one completed from when you were four or something. Or that your dad didn't make you write one instead of drawing pictures as a kid.” You mumble into the fabric of his shirt covering his shoulder, sighing at the feeling of his hand moving up and down your back.
“Honestly, me too.” He mumbles and moves you back to arms length, still holding your shoulders and doing a once over of you face putting extra focus on your now pouting lips. He moves a curl from in front of your left eye then plants a quick unexpected kiss on your lips. “God you're fine. Okay, take a break from that and start studying something else. Don't you have your Microbial Physio final tomorrow?” You sadly nod as Tony quickly moves over to your backpack on his couch and pulls out a tattered red Mead spiral notebook and brings it back over to you. “That’s your favorite class! Take some time to go over those notes.”
“But, my thesis, I’m just past halfway done with it. I-” You take the notebook then drop your arm to your side, watching your hand grip it tightly to keep the number of loose papers and packets inside the pages, stopping your words in their tracks when you look up to see Tony, eyebrows raised and doe-like brown eyes peering into yours.
“You are going to burn yourself out before you know it if you don't talk a moment to just chill. Take...an hour. Go over that class. Then give yourself a 15 minute break. Then you can get back to writing your pre-Nobel Prize winning paper.” He kisses the top of your head then heads back to his spot, reading what was already typed on the white paper, thinking for a moment as he sits back down, then continuing to type. You watch him for a moment. Watch as his fingers cascade across the keyboard of the word processor. Watch his forearm muscles contract with the finger movements. You more specifically watch his eyes as they run along the page, looking down at his notebook and then his fingers every once in a while. After a few seconds he stops to look up at you and grins a grin that would only be worn by a mischievous four year old, then pans his eyes down to your notebook and back up. You just groan and sit down across from Tony, then take a sip from your water bottle before finally opening the notebook and filing through all the information.
Tuesday
You set back down the pen used to sign in for a study room and make your way back to Study Room 3 where Tony already was, clicking away on his word processor, completely oblivious to your emergence until you whispered a small “Hey” to him, kissing him on his cheek and then finally setting your backpack on the ground and your word processor on the table.
“Hey, uh, how was your micro...physio? Yeah, how was that final?” Tony snaps to jog his memory, rubbing his eye with the back of his thumb when he finally got it. His voice was groggy and hair more wild than usual. You knew he had a final for his biomechanics class at 9:30 this morning, but he seemed more tired than that, like he hasn’t slept since you last saw him.
“It went surprisingly well. I knew most of what I needed to know so that’s cool. Hey, did you sleep last night? You seem kinda… discombobulated.” You wave your hand in a circle, fingers outstretched, accentuating your newly painted red fingernails. Tony watched you as you sat down, smiling at your newly acquired brown “Cosby sweater” that you got the last time you went shopping. You had your hair pulled back into a curl-filled ponytail by a gold scrunchie, a hairstyle which he knew was only to keep your hair out of your face because, under normal circumstances, you loved wearing your hair down.
“I-uh,” He chuckles a bit and runs his hand through his hair before answering. “I maybe had like an hour of sleep. AND before you scold me, I know I shouldn’t have, but it was all time spent writing and last minute studying.” You scrunch your eyebrows and look at his word processor, as if you were cursing it. “Maybe, if you were there, I would have gotten one hell of a good night's sleep.” Smirks and wiggles an eyebrow, which leaves you less than amused for a second before his contagious smile gets to you and you begin to laugh.
“Okay, okay, no. Don’t take my focus off of the fact that this is the most important week for you to get at least 5 to 6 hours of sleep, okay? I’ll even let 4 hours slide. Just please get some sleep tonight?” You look up from your bag, now with a stack of blank white paper in your hands, pleading with your deep brown eyes. Without looking you swiftly take a piece from the top and load it into the word processor.
“Fine, I’ll try.” You purse your glossed lips at his promise then go back down to your bag to pull out your outlining notebook and the pages of your thesis that you already had typed out. “Would you look at that, what have you been doing all day? How much have you gotten done?” He rests his head in his hand as he watches you beam with accomplishment.
“More than half, but not quite three quarters of the way done. I already had just under half typed last night, but I just didn’t feel like lugging my word processor to your place. So I’ve just been typing all day." You set up the paper in the large machine in front of you and flip through your notebook to your outline notes.
"God, I wish I had your work ethic. I barely wrote anymore than what I had last night." He taps on the table, annoyed at his own lack of improvement.
“And that’s why we're here.” You type a word then look back up at Tony, who was still staring at his finger planted on the table. “Hey, it’s okay. Take a break if you need to. You’re like me, when you start overthinking, it takes a bit for you to come back. You’re just better at hiding it.” You giggle, muffling it when Tony’s lifeless eyes fall on you. “It’s okay for you to feel stressed out, Tony.” You reach out and take hold of his fingers and squeeze them a bit. They were always slightly callused due to his hobbie of randomly building robots that you still never understood, but hey, that was Tony. He couldn't afford to be idle. His eyes slowly light up and a small smile grows along his lips.
“I love you.” The words flow from his mouth as if they done it before and yet your ears have never heard it before. Your body takes control and suddenly you are in Tony’s lap, legs draped over his, hands holding his face as you press a deep kiss to his lips. He desperately grabs at your waist, pulling you closer until you both have a great need for oxygen.
�� “I love you too, Tony.” You press your forehead to his, forgetting the world around you two for just a moment. Unfortunately the looming due date and ungodly number of finals approaching in the coming days come flooding back, making you stroke Tony’s face one last time before getting up and going back to your seat. “Alright, now let’s get to it.”
Thursday
Wednesday held a Lab final and a Genetics final for you, along with a full day of writing your thesis. Tony had a Measurement and Instrumentation Final and a Product Design final with a day of staring at a thesis paper that was just over halfway done. Bottom line, you two were both preoccupied and spent the day alone with school work. But now it was the day before your thesis was due, a point in time that made all these years, slaving in a library over old textbooks seem worth it. You were headed to your boyfriend’s place with a backpack, a finished thesis, and a word processor, ready to do some final editing and spend time with him on this fateful night. You get to his front door and fish through your pocket to find the key he gave you months ago. As you unlock the front door your mind pans back to when he gave you the key, it was a random weekday and your first thought was that he didn't like having to get up at 12 a.m. to lock the door after you leave, but it was more telling you that he wanted to see you come in at anytime. He trusted you and that happened to be one of his first declarations of love to you without using words. You push through the door, excited to see Tony, but met with a dark apartment with only the hanging light above the small, wooden dining room table illuminating the space. Tony just sat there, eyes fixated on the paper flopping from his word processor, hand on a half full bottle of Jack Daniels. You close and lock the door behind you and drop your things at the door and slowly make your way over to Tony.
“Tony, how long have you been sitting here?” You finally get to Tony and gently remove the bottle from his hand, no resistance coming from his grasp. You examine the bottle a bit, realizing that it was full just a couple of days ago.
“Y/N, why am I here?” You tilt your head in confusion, and Tony continues. “What did I do, except be Howard Stark’s son, To get into MIT? Everyone expects me to be him. I expect myself to be him. Why the HELL can’t I be like him. Maybe, maybe if I was like him, he’d say he’s proud of me? Is that too much to ask?” He hugs you close by your waist, his tears soaking into your own Cardinal Red MIT sweatshirt. You bring your hands to his head cradling it as he shakes with sobs.
“Tony, if there is anyone at this school who deserves to be here, it’s you. No one is expecting you to be your father. You are a brilliant mind in and of yourself and that is who they want seeping through that paper. Not Howard Stark’s son, Anthony Edward fucking Stark, the man before me who is destined to do great things." You lightly stroke his head. He hasn't exactly had a break down like this before, but he has had pretty dark moments of doubt that you were there to comfort him for, so you knew the most important thing was just to listen.
“You're just saying that because you’re my girlfriend. You don’t deserve this, the immature Stark boy. You deserve so much better than this, I-I’m-” Before he could finish you push away and look him straight in the eyes, the illumination of the hanging light giving your brown skin a warm glow. You knew Tony, he was a heavy weight so these words were genuine, induced by stress and fear and fueled by doubt. He's always had a hint of doubt in what other people thought of him, what his dad thought of him, but never you. The crease between your brows eluded to anger but the assumption of that emotion couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Tony, I know I deserve the best. That’s why I’m with you. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but you are the most amazing man in the ENTIRE world. And you have made me 10 times better, 10 times more confident, than I was before. I’m a better student. I’m a more confident person. You brought this out in me and I could never be more grateful.” You back up and pace a couple feet back and forth. “Tony, your thesis isn’t just a thesis. You are planning to fully go through and make a fully functioning AI that can be programmed to any device with a speaker and a microphone with the voice of your fucking butler from when you were a child. An AI that will be able to evolve with technology and would already been way more advance than what's going on today. What I’m writing about… I would be lucky to even get an internship in a lab studying the biochemical aspect of AIDS, but you, you have the ability to do the great things your dad did and more. So great, that you will be the Stark everyone will talk about. But to get to the top, you need to compose yourself and finish your damn thesis, you understand me? Create your own greatness.” You finish, out of breath, arms akimbo, staring straight into Tony’s more sober eyes with a smile on your face that you don't even remember growing. He subtly nods and gives you a small grin which you return then come in for a hug, getting on your knees beside him because it was your turn for your head to be cradled.
“Oh, you came over to edit and instead you spent 15 minutes talking me down. I’m so sorry.” You shake your head at his realization.
“Honestly, mine is great, I really came here for you. You know so I could practice my presentation.” You chuckle looking up at him then standing again, dusting off your black leggings and adjusting your red leg warmers. “Alright, for the last time of our undergraduate career, let’s get some work done.”
Friday
You stand in front of the Pierce Laboratory building, ringing your hands together as you wait for Tony to show. You slept at his place last night but your presentation window was 10:30-10:45 in the morning and across campus, so you had to leave before it would have even been remotely okay to wake him up. It was now 2:10 in the afternoon and Tony’s presentation was in 5 minutes with no sign of him. You adjust your messenger bag on your shoulder for the 5th time within the past 3 minutes, and feel a rush of relief come over you as you see Tony running up to you with a thick stack of pages in his hand.
“Sorry, I had to add some things, and-” He begins to ramble, apologizing in advance to any scorn you were going to give.
“Explain to me later. Go in there and make that thesis your bitch, okay?” You grasp his shoulders and scan his eyes, finding his usual confidence in them.
“Okay.” Tony answers, like the comfort your eyes bring to him. You look at your watch. 2:11.
“Go.” He turns to leave, but you quickly call for him, stopping him in his tracks. You run to him and kiss him hard, hands at the side of his face, pulling him down to meet you, for 25 seconds exactly. You counted and he had time to spare so you used a bit of it. The action obviously caught him by surprise because when you were done, he just stood the with a dopey look on his face, so you give him a nudge. “Okay. Now go.” And in no time, Tony was in there.
Twenty minutes later you see him come out, hands in his pockets and a haste in his step. From his point of view he sees you standing there, the smile on his face infecting you. You were in a large white “Heal the World” shirt, a jean jacket, baggy jeans with a thick black belt, and Adidas, obviously a different outfit than what he could imagine you would have worn to your thesis presentation. The mid-day sunlight complemented your gold undertones perfectly, reflected off of your lip gloss like a spotlight, making him feel warm at just the sight of you. He reaches you and makes an abrupt stop.
“It went well?” Your smile grows as you talk and before answering he pulls your face in and kisses you hard and passionately, a kiss that would've been difficult for you to measure the length of.
“Hell yeah it did." He kisses you again, softer this time, allowing you to savor it more. “Let’s get out of here. Murray’s?” He suggests. This dinner is where you guys had your first study session two years a ago, where you went as a backup for your first date because your reservations were mixed up and where he asked you to be his girlfriend 6 months ago. The place held value from your experiences there, the biggest one being this one, where they enter the restaurant ready for graduation.
“Of course Murray’s.” You watch Tony begin to take off ih jacket and hastily get behind him to help it off. “Our last time in Murray’s as undergraduates. How does that feel?”
Tony stops and turns around to look at you, clutching your shoulders and giving you a bright loving smile. “Amazing.”
#marvel imagine#tony stark imagine#tony stark#marvel#iron man#robert downey jr#college au#80s au#tony stark x black reader#tony stark x reader#quarantine writing challenge#black reader
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Mamma Mia AU [Part 7]
READ PART 6 HERE!
I Have A Dream
April mornings never cease to steal Marinette’s breath away. The cherry blossoms, the tulips and the lilacs all in full bloom...Marinette smiles into the breeze and inhales, savouring the sweet scent of the season in the air. It’s beautiful out here and Marinette can’t wait to take her daily morning break from designing to draw inspiration from the scenic parks of the Paris she loves.
Whenever she’s tired or lonely or just stressed out from work, she likes to go outside and stretch her legs. Now that spring has finally sprung, she rejoices in the warmth of the sun on her skin as it drives away the wet cold of the winter rains. It had been an especially chilly season and Marinette feels glad that she had at least a little reprieve from the weather on the weekends as the sleet came pelting down against the windows. Her heart and personal space heater returns to the Netherlands during the weekdays for school. He braves the traffic and takes the bus back to Paris every Friday evening and Marinette does her very best to meet him at the station to greet him with a pastry in tow.
She hums tunelessly as she shoves her hands into her pockets and walks along a pebbled path through the blossoming magnolias. She tries not to worry too much about what the future between her and Adrien might bring but Marinette has never been known for her rationality. He’s been nothing but accommodating and kind now that they’ve patched things up between them...but there’s still an underlying tension. Maybe, she thinks, it has to do with the fact that he still lives out of the country. They spend as much time as they can together on the weekends but between the akuma battles that have been ramping up lately and her mounting pile of commissions, Marinette wishes they could just stay together for good.
Of course, that would mean asking Adrien to move in with her.
Shortly after Luka’s and Kagami’s wedding, Marinette had to move out of her parent’s home just to get more space for her mounting fashion business. Now, she rents a one bedroom flat close by that she uses as a home, an office and a design studio and, although her two employees help keep her company, the loneliness closes in during the evenings when she gazes out of her belle-époque windows and watches couples meander down the boulevard hand in hand, sipping steaming beverages and window shopping together.
Sometimes, Marinette indulges in a fantasy to help her through reality. While she’s cutting and sewing fabrics and gossiping with her seamstresses, her mind is completely focused but during the other times, she imagines what Adrien and her life would be like together. Would he want to move in with her? Would he come to hate the fact that the space meant for a living room has been turned into a fashion studio? Would he want to live somewhere else because it’s too crowded here?
Marinette sighs. He would be taking on an architecture apprenticeship here in Paris once he finishes his fast-tracked theoretical studies, much to his father’s chagrin, and Marinette truly wonders if he really would want to live his life together with her. Would Gabriel, who had found out about his son’s studies through the tabloids and nearly blew his fuse, make him move back in with him? She can’t imagine Adrien agreeing to that, but she can’t help but wonder if moving into a crammed, run-down apartment with her would be any better.
There’s someone standing in the middle of the path and Marinette instinctively moves to the side to get around them. Everyone is taking pictures of the magnolias now that they’re in bloom and Marinette doesn’t want to photobomb someone’s Instagram story—
“Marinette!”
She’d know that voice anywhere.
“Adrien?!” Marinette gasps and spins around, holding her hands to her chest. Of course it’s him, all tousled hair and bright green eyes. He’s dressed in one of her creations, a chartreuse oversized sweater, and holds a bouquet of pink tulips in his hands, “What are you doing here? It’s a Wednesday!”
“It is,” Adrien’s ecstatic grin threatens to split his face in two, “I’m finished! My profs accepted my thesis on the first try!”
Marinette feels like she’s been struck by lightning, “You mean—”
“I don’t have to leave anymore,” Adrien runs up to her and stops just short, holding out his bouquet, “I can stay in Paris forever! I mean, if you...um, if that’s what you want.”
“Of course that’s what I want,” Marinette snatches the tulips from his hands and throws her arms around his neck.
Adrien melts into her embrace and kisses her firmly on the lips, relieved and elated all at once, “Does that mean I can move in with you too? Because I already left all my luggage at your place. The blonde seamstress let me in.”
“You…” Marinette trails off, her eyes blown wide, “You want to move in with me?”
“I love your place, even if it is a little crowded,” Adrien laughs and the sound of it makes her believe in angels, “As long as you don’t mind me buying us a nicer bed, I want to live with you and make coffee for you for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m the best roommate ever.”
“Just a roommate?” Marinette quirks an eyebrow, “Or something more?”
“I’ll be your husband too, if you want,” Adrien beams, kissing the astonished look off her face, “In fact, that reminds me. I have something to ask you.”
Marinette leaps a foot into the air and screeches loud enough to scare every pigeon in Paris as Adrien reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box, “How about it, Marinette? You’re going to need a model to boss around while you become Paris’ greatest fashion designer of all time and I want to spend every moment of my life with you. I want to be with you. I want to fight beside you and sleep next to you and kick Le Papillon’s ass with you. So what do you say?”
Speechless, Marinette’s eyes well up with happy tears, “I…”
“Come on, M’Lady,” Adrien gushes, his own eyes shining with emotion, “It’s only the rest of your life!”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Marinette jumps up and down and practically drags her future husband up to his feet by his collar, kissing him absolutely senseless. She jumps into his arms, wraps her legs around his body and giggles as his laughter rumbles through his chest.
“I’ve always dreamt of this moment,” Marinette gasps for breath, nuzzling his nose, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Marinette,” Adrien whispers, kissing her once more for good luck.
[One part left!]
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Catch the Wind | part one
I’m giving in and putting this in parts. Let me know when I finish the other two parts if you’d rather have a masterlist or just one long post. or both.
Pairing: Matt Murdock/reader
Words: 2700
Summary: You like Matt. You're pretty sure he likes you too. Then why does he say no when you ask? What is he hiding and why won't Foggy tell you?
Request: "How about an old friend of Foggy and Matt, who has this will they won’t they thing with Matt and she finally tries to act on it for her only to get turned down by him. His decision was because he is too focused on being Daredevil and doesn’t want her to be swept up in that so they decide to be friends, but it takes a strain on her relationship with Matt but also with Foggy too. Then like decide where it should go from there" (anon)
A/N: things have been crazy and I suck at writing things on time and I’m sorry. but I hope this is good enough for the wait? I think I can get two more parts after this that are 2k+ words each, but I’m still figuring those out. and I felt bad for never posting anything so here you go. I’m sorry and ily
ao3 || marvel masterlist || part two
For me to love you now
Would be the sweetest thing
T'would make me sing
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind
“Catch the Wind” - Donovan
You had been best friends with Matt Murdock for nearly as long as you could remember. As the longest—and oldest—resident of Saint Agnes Orphanage, you had been assigned to show Matt around when he first arrived after his father’s death.
You quietly knocked on the open doorframe. The boy inside sniffled and quickly wiped away his tears before turning towards you. “Come in,” he said, never meeting your eyes. At first, you assumed he was embarrassed to be caught crying.
“Nice glasses,” you offered, hoping to draw his attention away from the death of his parents—or whatever happened to his family that led him here.
The boy pushed the glasses higher up on his nose. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks, I guess.”
You stepped across the room and took a seat on the edge of his bed. “You must be special. Sister Anne would never let me wear sunglasses inside.”
“Oh, they’re…not really…sunglasses.”
He spoke so quietly, you didn’t really make out what he said. So you continued talking anyway. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
“Matt Murdock.”
You stuck your hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Matt Murdock.” You froze awkwardly as the kid made no motion to shake your hand. But then you put everything together—his dark glasses, the way he never met your eyes, the cane you were now noticing against the wall—he was blind. And you were an idiot. “I’m, uh, holding out my hand for you to shake.”
“Oh, sorry.”
At last, you shook hands, and you tried not to let the awkwardness sink in. “Um, so Sister Maggie told me to show you around. Do you want to go?” Matt nodded and stood, collecting his cane off the wall. You stood as well, unsure of yourself. “I’ve given this tour a dozen times to newbies, but never to a blind guy. How does this work? Do we hold hands or…?” You quickly shut your mouth. Obviously, you wouldn’t be holding hands—why would you hold hands with a stranger?
“No,” Matt chuckled. “Just give me your elbow.”
“Oh, sure.” You did as Matt said and led him out to the hallway. “I don’t know if they told you, but your room is the third one on the right. You must be lucky. You got a single room. Most of us have to share.” You directed Matt down the stairs until you were on the first floor. “We can’t go in now because they’re setting up for dinner, but the dining hall is here on the left. Breakfast is at 7 on weekdays, 8 on weekends, and dinner is always at 6.” You led Matt further down the hall and out the door. You stepped into a small, sunlit courtyard.
“This is the way to the church,” you continued explaining. “I don’t know if you’re Catholic, but you’re gonna be here real soon.” You stopped in front of the doors to the church, but didn’t go inside. “We’re required to go to Mass Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings, as well as the weekly Mass school gives.”
“School?”
“Yeah, Saint Agnes also runs a school on the other side of the block. It’s where we all go.”
“So I won’t be able to go to my old school anymore?”
You sighed. Newbies always had a hard time finding out they’d no longer be attending school with their friends. “No. Sorry.” His face fell. “But! I think we’re in the same grade, so we should have some classes together. I remember when I was the new kid, but, hey—you already got one friend. It shouldn’t be too bad.”
“What friend?”
You nudged his shoulder. “Me, doofus.”
Matt smiled softly at you and from that moment on, you were thick as thieves.
As you grew, you slowly realized you probably had more-than-friends feelings for Matt, but you never spoke about them out loud, nor did you dwell on them very often. Matt was your best friend—your only friend—and you didn’t want that to change. So you locked the butterflies in your stomach down tight and shoved those feelings in the back of your brain. It didn’t help that as you neared graduating high school, everyone thought you were dating. You even caught the nuns who worked the orphanage whispering sometimes about how wonderful the two of you would look married—as if things would ever get that far.
When you went to college, your pool of friends expanded by one: Matt’s roommate, Foggy. Foggy quickly became your other best friend—since you were around Matt all the time, it made sense that you and Foggy would be close as well. In fact, it was to Foggy one drunken night when you confessed your feelings for Matt for the first time.
You and Foggy stumbled back to campus after a night out on the town. You, Foggy, and alcohol were never a good mix—you always tried to drink the other under the table until neither of you could stand upright. You leaned against each other for support as Foggy fumbled with his keys to the dorm. You laughed loudly when he dropped them and fell trying to pick them up, but he quickly shushed you. “Shhhhh. Matt’s trying to study,” he slurred, trying and failing to whisper quietly. Matt said he couldn’t go out with the two of you that night because he had a test on Monday morning.
You made a zipping motion over your mouth, but giggled again as you watched Foggy unlock the door. He was on his knees, the doorknob at eye level, as he concentrated on putting the key in the lock as a surgeon would make an incision. He fell on his stomach when the door finally swung open. You leaped over him as soon as you could, eager to see Matt and annoy him to stop studying.
But the room was empty.
You turned to Foggy (finally standing), almost pouting. “Maybe he had to go to the library?” he offered. You shrugged, and then collapsed onto Matt’s bed. You weren’t sure your legs would hold you up any longer.
Foggy puttered around the room, trying to drunkenly change clothes, as you snuggled into Matt’s pillow. You closed your eyes to stop the world from spinning, but that made you realize how tired you were. “You know,” you yawned, almost half asleep now, “I think that girl at the bar really liked you.”
“Who? The pink shirt?”
You nodded into the pillow. “Yeah, she kept looking at you and smiling.”
“Huh.”
You peeked open one eye to stare at him. “Are you not going to ask me why I didn’t act as your wing woman?”
Foggy’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, no, that’s okay.” His voice was higher pitched than usual. What was he trying to hide? If you could move your limbs, you would have crossed the room to stare him down. As it was, you tried to be as intimidating as you could with your face half squished in a pillow.
“Who do you like?” you asked after a moment, finally coming to the conclusion that he must have a crush on someone.
“No one. Who do you like?” he countered.
“I’ll answer if you answer.”
He stared at you for a moment before flopping back on his bed. “You know the girl from my study group?”
You quickly sat up, instantly regretting it as the room—and your stomach—swirled uncomfortably. But you pushed it aside. “Marci Stahl? You like Marci?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”
“Ooh, I am so going to have to tell her.”
“Don’t!” Foggy quickly turned to face you.
“Why not? I already know she likes you.”
“She does?”
“Um, yeah, it’s obvious.” That, and she sat with you at lunch one day and had asked about him.
“Cool,” he sighed happily, laying back down. You huffed a laugh, surprised that was all he had to say. You slumped back into Matt’s bed, eyes drifting closed. You were almost asleep when Foggy called you out on your promise. “Who do you like?”
You froze. You tried to search for a fake name, but the copious amounts of alcohol you had this evening meant you couldn’t think of one. So you sighed and figured you might as well say it. Foggy wouldn’t tell, right? And it was probably best you got it out of your system. “Uh…Matt?” you said quietly. You weren’t even sure if Foggy heard you.
But he did, and after a moment’s silence, he asked, “Have you told him?”
“Definitely not. I didn’t want to mess anything up between us and now…”
“Elektra,” Foggy finished for you.
It seemed Matt had been hanging out with Elektra more than you and Foggy lately. You tried not to let it get to you. Matt was allowed to have other friends, after all—even girlfriends—but something about her gave you a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t put your finger on the feeling or why it was there, but it worried you nonetheless.
“You won’t tell him, will you?” you asked. But Foggy was already asleep.
You were pretty sure Foggy kept this secret over the years, as Matt never once mentioned it to you. Or he was so drunk he forgot about it. That, or Matt similarly thought you should just be friends and never brought it up himself. Either was okay with you.
But now your feelings were somehow growing and you were ready for things to change.
You were hanging out at Matt’s apartment—you always did, every Friday. It was tradition. The two of you were tucked into opposite ends of the couch, watching random things on your laptop. You described what was happening whenever an audio description wasn’t available. But it had been several minutes since you last spoke. Matt hadn’t dozed off, like you originally believed, but he was lost in thought. You tried not to disturb him, thinking he was planning his opening for a case or something like that.
But the three glasses of wine in your system had other plans.
You slowly slid across the middle of the couch until you were inches away, thighs nearly touching. Matt gave no indication that he noticed you. “Hey, Matt?” you whispered after a few moments of silence. His head tilted towards you, indicating that he was listening, but he said nothing. “Can I tell you something?”
“Always,” he replied. He turned his body to face you, realizing from the tone of your voice, you guessed, that this was serious.
“I-I—uh…” you began. You heart pounded. What even were words? “Ilikeyou,” you finally breathed in one rush of words.
“I like you too.”
Your heart constricted. “More than friends, I mean.”
“I know.”
What? Your brain froze. You couldn’t comprehend. You were expected Matt to laugh you off, Matt to turn you down, Matt to do anything but that. “You—you do?” Matt nodded. “Then why…why didn’t you say anything?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He was smiling at you.
“I didn’t want to change anything. Between us. But I told Foggy once in college… I think maybe part of me thought he wouldn’t be able to keep his big mouth shut.”
“Oh, he told me.”
Your eyes widened. “He did? Oh, I’m gonna kill him.” You sprung from the couch, searching for your phone. But Matt stopped you with a hand around your wrist.
“Hey, it’s fine.” He pulled you back to sit next to him. Your thighs were pressed against one another. “I thought you wanted him to spill.”
“A bigger part of me wanted him to forget. We were really drunk that night.”
Matt’s thumb moved to rub circles on the inside of your wrist. Goosebumps raised on your skin. “I remember.” You were surprised he did. But you guessed maybe it was hard to forget the time your best friend told your other best friend that they liked you. Even if you weren’t there. You were sure Foggy gave him all the details.
Matt continued to rub circles into your skin and it was hard to think about much else. Your eyes raised to meet his. You sighed. His eyes were so gorgeous. You wished he didn’t hide them behind his glasses all the time, but you understood. Even then, you wished you could stare into his eyes all day.
Your gaze flicked down to his mouth. Before you knew it, your lips were pressed into his. He froze for a second, not returning the kiss, and you panicked. But before you could pull away, his hand was on the side of your face, pulling you closer. As your lips crashed into one another, you regretted not doing this sooner. He was an amazing kisser.
As things delved deeper, you turned to press your body tightly against his. You threw one leg across his lap and eased him back against the back of the couch. Your hands roamed—through his hair, over his shoulder, down his arms, across his chest. But when you brushed across his ribs, he gasped in pain and pulled back. You instantly sprung off of him.
“Oh, my god, are you okay?” you asked. “What happened?” You knew Matt somehow amassed a large collection of bruises and broken bones—he was just clumsy, he’d tell you ever since they started appearing in your teens. But you weren’t so sure. You’d never even seen Matt stumble once. You slapped Matt’s hands away as you reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his ribcage.
Blue bruises stood in stark contrast to his skin, surrounded by cuts and scratches of various depths. He winced when your fingers ghosted across the widest bruise—was a rib broken? Several other injuries trailed around his side and you figured his back was in similar shape.
“What happened?” you demanded once more. “Have you gone to the doctor? Were you mugged? Did you call the police?”
Matt’s hands landed on your shoulders to stop your barrage of questions. “I’m fine,” he said, but he gave no further explanation.
“That’s not fine, Matt.”
“I saw a nurse. It’s nothing that won’t heal in a couple of days.”
You breathed a small sigh of relief. But you were still left with so many questions. “Who did this to you? What happened?”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it’s handled. They won’t be bothering anyone else.”
“That’s good,” you sighed. You wanted to ask more questions, but you knew Matt was being purposefully vague. Why wouldn’t he tell you what happened? Why didn’t he tell you that he was hurt? You wanted to press him more, but you knew Matt was as stubborn as a bull and there was no way you’d get any more information out of him. Tonight, at least. So you decided to distract yourself with the other question filling your head. “So…what about us?”
“We can’t.” Matt’s answer was immediate. No hesitation.
You felt as if a horse had kicked you in the chest. Your breath was knocked out of you. “What?”
“I…we can’t. There’s too many things going on and I can’t risk it.”
“What’s going on? You can tell me—you can always come to me. You know you can.”
Matt hung his head, leaning over his knees. “I can’t.”
Your eyes stung with unshed tears. Matt always came to you. You practically told each other everything. Had you messed things up by confessing your feelings?
“Does it have to do with your bruises?” you said softly.
Matt didn’t reply.
You stared at him, searching for words to say, begging for him to say something. But each of you remained silent.
Nothing.
“I have to go,” you said at last. You scrambled to throw on your shoes and gather your things.
Your heart shattered when Matt made no move to stop you.
part two
#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil imagine#matt murdock x you#matt murdock/reader#matt murdock x y/n#mcu imagine#reader insert
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Lockdown - Zabdiel De Jesus
Theme: fluff and angst I guess & google translated spanish.
Warnings: cute shit with a little sad shit
A/N: okay this song is literally the cutest and I couldn’t imagine anyone fitting this concept but zabdiel🥺 I hope you guys like the angst / fluff🖤 I love you all.
You’ve always had a crush on Zabdiel, he was always there to help you through whatever you were comfortable with telling him. He knew you sometimes better than yourself. You hated to admit you like him. Because you knew you’d end up like the other girls. Either becoming his weekdays or his one time. You didn’t want to be either. You didn’t want your heart broken again. The pain was unbearable last time, you fell hard for your ex-partner. Now you were crushing big time. Zabdiel walks over to you placing the covers over your body, laying your head on his thighs while his fingers caress your earlobe, basically helping you fall asleep faster.
“You look so tired nena, whats got you up late at night?” His voice soothing you deeper into your slumber, you brain urged you to comment “you” but your fear wouldn’t let that happen.
“Work stuff” you mumble, Zabdiel settling for a soft hum, he just draws circles on your lower back, as your ears drown out the music and laughter.
Twenty minutes later the sound of cursing and shouts dawn upon you. Later followed by Zabdiel’s voice “shut the fuck up, y/n is trying to sleep” smiling you slowly sit up snuggling yourself in the covers. Zabdiel peeks his head in the room sighing at the sight of you being awake. “I apologize for them, supposedly uno is super intense you have to scream and jump on couches” he jokes with you.
“It’s okay, I guess I slept too long anyways” you smile fixing the hoodie you had on. Time couldn’t be more awkward then it was now.
“Is that my hoodie? Wow I was hoping I didn’t lose it” his smile beams, your face turning hues of red from your nose to the tip of your ears.
“Mhm” was all you could answer, Zabdiel flops down next to you, his arms rested on the back of the couch. “So we’re going out tonight, we’re going to club then the beach, so get dress nena” his fingertips caressing your exposed skin burning you up in size. You felt like the angel in you burned the wings off. Hit too close to the candles flame. Nodding your head Zabdiel helps you up from the couch, opening the door for you to walk out. He’s a gentleman. The type any girl would fall for. His energy is contagious. The butterflies were to powerful. You’re surprised they haven’t exposed you. Richard turns his head your direction smiling.
“Sorry we woke you up precioso” he engulfs you in a hug “it’s okay, I was waking up anyways”
“Yeah Zabdiel was about to beat us up for waking you up” Joel comments very humbling
“This man hella overprotective of you, makes me think it’s something more than just a friendship” Christopher sticks his tongue out in a very nsfw gesture Zabdiel walks over to him but Christopher gets up before he can lap around there. Laughing at how they’re playing a game of cat and mouse, I walk upstairs to my room. They all decided to come over, we were watching a movie in that room and you got tired. Opening your closet door you grab the most simple but elegant. A lace bodysuit tucked into black ripped jeans. And a pair of boots.
After your shower you think about what Christopher said, those words made you feel fuzzy inside. Made you question some things and even jumped to conclusions. But you’ve cane to realization, Zabdiel is just a flirty person by nature, even his fans know that. So makes you any different? Settling for to pieces of hair laying down on each side of your ears and a slick back ponytail. Looking through the mirror you see Zabdiel slender body “maldito bebé te ves bien” [Damn baby you look good], Zabdiel stands behind you kissing your temple. Smiling you lean back on his chest playfully. Zabdiel digs his fingers into your waist adorning you from head to toe.
Zabdiel knew he needed to tell you, he felt just a strongly as you do about him, but he knew his reputation might have messed that chance up for him. “Cmon lets go!” Grabbing your hand he pulls you towards the exit, while you grab your phone and wallet in the other hand. The rest of the boys were sitting on the couch debating about something, but got quiet as we entered the room. “Aren’t y’all obviously talking about us” Zabdiel laughs.
“No se de que estas hablando” [ I do not know what you are talking about] Christopher smugly replies, you only understand half of that sentence, more or less three words. Richard gets up walking towards the front door “erick should drive, since he can’t do shit” Richard pokes fun at him, You put on a pout face seeing how they bullied him. You walk over and hug him around his waist, cheek on his chest.
“Don’t worry, at least we don’t need alcohol to have fun” you back him up
“Yep, you’re right about that” he smiles wrapping his arms around your shoulder. Zabdiel stood in the background feeling a little jealousy brewing in him. Turning on his heel he walks out the door, swiping the keys on your table you follow pursuit.
“Someone has to sit on a lap” Erick shutters
“You’re thé driver, you ain’t got nothing to worry about, I call shotgun!” You yell just as you’re about to hop in the front seat Zabdiel pulls you into him. “You’re sitting on my lap” without any hesitation he pulls you on his lap, while the rest sit down in the seats. Erick looks back at you smiling.
“Watch your head Zabdiel is built like a jungle gym” he enlightens the situation
“Start climbing y/n, see what lies at the top” Christopher chimes in, getting a smack to the back of his head from Zabdiel. You have no choice but to laugh. You feel his hand on your waist pulling you in closer. “You comfortable?” You ask looking back at him
“Yeah I’m good you?” He asks
Smiling you reply “yes”
Arriving at the club, you saw a couple of his friends, including the girl he’s friends with benefits with. She looked beautiful nevertheless, she smelled like coco Chanel, mixed with the breeze of coconut. She was never bitter to you. I guess cause you hid your feelings so well she wasn’t aware you had the biggest crush on him. Zabdiel walks over to her engulfing her in a hug, her fingernails rubbing up and down his back. It was painful to watch so you softly shoulder bumped Erick and he did the same. “I’m hungry” you complain to him
“Yeah same let’s go eat” you and Erick start racing to the dinner part of the bar, Zabdiel watched you in the distance. Smiling at your happiness even if it wasn’t with him. “Zabdiel, Cmon lets get some drinks” Isabella grips onto his arms. Zabdiel nods follow her over to the bartenders. After you finished eating Erick wanted to dance at first you declined feeling socially awkward by the crowd, but Erick promised if it was too much you guys could go back to sitting down and play with the darts in the back of the club. Erick and you started dancing the rhythm of the beat. Y’all bodies grinding and sticking to each other, blending in just like everyone else. It wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself.
“See! Was it so bad?!” Erick shouts over the music, giggling you shake your head in rejection. “No! It isn’t!” Zabdiel was on the couch with Isabella watching how you guys were glue to each other’s body. He wanted that with you. Isabella and Zabdiel are both in a jealous rage. Isabella understood that he didn’t love her, he loved you. She wanted to make your heartbreak so you’d stay away from him. Erick has left to go use the bathroom, Isabella took the opportunity to speak to you. Kissing Zabdiel on the cheek she gets up from his lap making her way over to you.
“Hey y/n how are you?” She asks
“I’m fine, hot is all” you reply
“Yeah it is hot in here, listen sweetie I have something to tell you” her hands lifelessly laid upon your arm “Zabdiel isn’t ready for a relationship, he’s told me that he only sees you as a friend, he couldn’t cross that brother-sister boundary, you know he’s the flirty type don’t take it personal” if you could throw up flowers like a Hanahaki disease. This would be the moment. All this scenarios they played in your head turned from maybes to imaginations.
“Oh, well thanks for tell me I guess” upon hearing your somber tone on the inside she was quiet glad now you would turn away from her “man”
“I’m sorry baby, I know you liked him a lot, but he isn’t worth giving your heart too, he’ll just break it” Isabella pats your back walking back over to Zabdiel” your ears becoming numb to the blaring sound of the music. You watch her sit down on Zabdiel’s lap his hands wrapped around her waist. Smiling as they have a conversation. You told yourself not to fall hard for him. Just in case something like this were to happen. Erick comes out smiling, but that smile soon fades upon seeing the way your lower lip poked out in despair.
“Hey y/n are you okay?” He asks caressing his thumb on your forearm
“Erick.. May I be alone for fifteen minutes? I’ll be at the beach okay?” you force a smile, his eyes downgrading in shades of concern.
“Sure, I’ll come get you in fifteen minutes” Erick smiles, he kisses your temple watching you walkout the door before he turns around heading straight towards Zabdiel.
Zabdiel stops laughing once he sees the look upon Erick face, he knows somethings wrong. “Que Paso ?” [what happened]
“Something happened with y/n, she looked hurt, like she heard something and was disappointed by it” Zabdiel pushes Isabella off of him. She tries to grab his hand but he swings it away.
“What did you say to her?” Zabdiel growls, usually it would cause a bundle of joy in the pit of her stomach, but this sounded like a raging monster.
“Papi I didn’t say anything, maybe she was just thinking about something” she lies, Richard smugly drinks from his cup
“pequeña eres una gran mentirosa” [ little girl you are a big liar” Zabdiel turns in his direction “bro she went and told y/n you’re not in love with her, and that you aren’t ready for love, she also said you’d just hurt her” Zabdiel’s fists balles up wanting to punch a wall or a table but calms down ready to tell her off “when I come back home, I want your shit gone, I’m changing my number as well, get the fuck outta my face” Zabdiel looks back at Erick asking where you’ve gone too.
You were sitting close by the shore not to close to be swept away but close enough the waves crashed against your toes. Wiping the tears from your eyes that blended in well with the salt water in front of you. Why did you have to get your hopes up? You thought to yourself. Hearing the sound of feet against the sand you sniffed and dried your eyes. “It hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet Erick but I’m coming” you get up from your position as you turn around you realize it’s not Erick. But the boy you’ve fallen in love with.
“Oh hey Zabdiel” you couldn’t talk to him right now, you didn’t know how you could talk to him. Things would be awkward. It already was awkward but you always played it off by flirting back. Now you couldn’t do that. Trying to walk past him he grabs your wrist making you stand in front of him, as he towers over you. “What don’t you wanna go back inside? Your girlfriend is probably worried”
Zabdiel rolls his eyes “you know damn well she isn’t my girlfriend”
“Well Isabella is waiting”
“Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck about her? Y/n I’m here cause Erick told me you were out here”
“Your point?” You didn’t mean to be cold,but you wanna let him get close, your heart is already broken. Twice could make you run away from him.
“For fuck sakes y/n I like you” Zabdiel bluntly comments.
Shaking your head you feel the tears roll down “no you don’t Zabdiel, I don’t wanna be just another girl to you, I want more then that I deserve more than that, I don’t want to feel my heart break no more” your voice floating in the window “cause the minute that we touch lockdown, Zabdiel because I am in love with you, I might never want to let you go”
Sniffling you drop your arm still in his grasp “just tell me please, you got someone else, so I can make easy to not go there” you let out one last comment.
“ I can’t lie to you. I don’t have anyone else and I’m not in love with Isabella, it’s always been you, you idiot” not giving you anytime to respond, the sun and the moon met, as his warmth cascade over you, his fingers placed gently on both sides of your cheek, holding the both of y’all together like glue, the waves crashing against the both of your feet’s. A gust of wind flowing in between you two. It was something and more you’ve always dreamt of. Pulling away from your space, a string of saliva becomes a divider between you two. His eyes swimming in love, but also in beauty because of you. “Y/n i meant what I said, I’m deeply and utterly in love with you, fuck more then I should be, it scares the hell out of me, but feeling that jealousy tension today I know that this feels right”
“You were jealous?” You ask curiously
“That’s all you heard?” Zabdiel laughs “yeah, I got very jealous today, what Christopher said is true, I’m very overprotective of you”
“I love you too” honey voice came from your lips, instantly melting Zabdiel, his smile so milky and delicate. Leaning in he crashes his lips upon yours with only one hand on your jawline.
Erick has to drive us home, everyone was drunk besides him and I. Zabdiel was tipsy he could’ve drive but he wanted you to sit on his lap again. Getting out the car the cold wind hit my body. We said out a little longer, playing with the water, kissing, watching the moonlight against the water. It was something that only happened in movies. “Here” Zabdiel wraps you up in his jacket, smiling up at him he kisses your forehead. Something that always gave you butterflies. Even with him bring your boyfriend now. Erick Opens the front door for us, while everyone followed pursuit.
“Finally you told her z! Told you she felt the same” Christopher slurs his words, You giggle in how shy he is by that comment but he just picks you up taking you to his room. Closing the door behind him you scope out the room. He’s done some remodeling there were things you never seen before in his room.
“I added something you’ll love” he speaks
“Hm, what is it?” You reply
“Change into my hoodie and you’ll find out”
“I’ll do that if you take a warm shower with me” innocently you plead
“Oh, already?” Zabdiel jokes with you.
After the shower you and Zabdiel were cuddled up in his bed “so where’s the surprise?” you ask he reaches over on his nightstand grabbing what looked like a remote. He clicked it and stars appeared on the celling. Looking just like the skies you saw at the beach. Astonished by the view your eyes turn into a galaxy. And he loved it.
“How is that for a surprise?” He mumbles against your skin “so now when you come over, we can do just this” he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you into his chest.
“What more would you do for me?” You smile
“Whatever you want me to do, you have me on lockdown”
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