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nikkeora · 1 year

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The Whole Being Soulmates Thing

summary; in this world, soulmates exist. he has one. it’s just that he already found someone, and your marks don’t match at all.

or, in which a stupidly stubborn punk in stupidly in love with someone who’s not his stupid ‘real’ soulmate.

pairing; hobie brown x reader, spider-punk x reader (soulmate!au)

warning(s); mentions of police brutality, not-too-detailed descriptions of injuries. r is non-gendered, no mention of r’s race. not proofread & written in the wee hours.

i am not black, i don’t have wicks. i did some research on how to properly care for them and wrote tiny parts in here with the info i had, but it may not be totally accurate. if something is wring, let me know. same for the lcp.

also hobie might sound a bit ooc but it’s a quiet fic and we don’t rly see him ‘quiet’ so eat my ahh(/j)

inspired by this post by @corrodedcoffeen ! not exactly 100% accurate but yea

He lived in a world full of soulmates and soulmarks.

Everyone who had a soulmate had a soulmark, like a little tattoo; whether it be on their arm, leg, back, even on their face. Sometimes, a person would have multiple soulmarks. In other cases, they wouldn’t have any at all. Some people were born with their marks, some appeared later down the line.

In most cases, people would do anything to find their soulmate. To be with them. To unite with their missing half.

Hobie Brown was among those who’d been born with a soulmate. Four little streaks that wrapped halfway around his left arm, like a scar from an animal that had halfheartedly tried to claw the whole thing off at birth.

Hobie loved his soulmark.

Not because he’d met his soulmate. Nor was it because the idea of a predestined partner made him giddy. No, it was because he felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at it. Pride that he’d beaten the system when he got you.

His thoughts wander as he sits on your your and his shared bed, a towel flat under his bum to prevent any grime that may be on his suit from rubbing off on the sheets. His vest and T-shirt had been haphazardly folded and placed on the bathroom sink, desperately needing a thorough cleaning after a particularly hard day, which left his torso bare for you to assess and repair the damage he’d been dealt once you peeled off the top half of his suit.

“Bit eager, yeah?” He’d joked as you hastily helped him out of his clothes, that cheeky smirk still shining through on his tear-streaked face. You’d answered with an exasperated laugh.

He had come home at two in the morning, stumbling through the window with a hand over the right side of his mask. When he’d ripped it off, tossing it on a random bit of the floor somewhere, you were met with red eyes, wet cheeks, a runny nose and a blood-crusted lip. Apparently, he’d been at the frontlines of a protest when one of the tear gas shells hit him right in the face, cracking his right eye lense and leaving him vulnerable to the gas’s full effect. You didn’t need to be told what happened to know what came next. After all, it was always the same routine with the pigs - gas the crowd and beat any individuals that strayed from the mass.

Now, as Hobie’s fingers tap a little rhythm on the mattress, your hands glide a washcloth long his skin, being careful to minimize pressure on his bruises. Which, granted, is hard when they cover most of his back and ribcage, but you made it work somehow. Tear gas residue sticks to anything it can, and although his body was mostly had been mostly covered, it gave the both of you peace of mind to clean anything off just in case. He thanks you by softly gripping your other hand, his fingers lacing together with yours.

“Need more milk?” You ask, going to put the cloth down and grab the already half-empty sprayer on the ground next to the bed, having already been used in the bathroom just minutes prior and put there just in case. He shakes his head, the hand that’s not on yours gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it back to his chest.

As you continue, he thinks back to the first time he’d held your hand like that.

It was when the two of you were barely teenagers, when he didn’t fully understand how the whole ‘soulmates’ thing even worked, or how messed up it really was. The only thing he really knew was that people were supposed to stay together forever if their marks matched, even if that wasn’t always the case.

Having known each other since you were just kids, he remembers wishing so badly that your soulmark matched his. He had wished that little planet on your ankle could be washed away, a temporary tattoo or doodle instead of an actual mark. He remembers drawing little black holes at the corners of his school worksheets, hoping that one of them would eventually swallow your mark whole and replace it with four lines identical to his.

Back then, he had wished his ugly little bands would somehow arrange themselves into a square. At least then he could insist that his mark was a planet. A weird square one, yeah, but a planet just like yours.

But as you looked at him with that warm glow in your eyes, he swore you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, soulmate or not.

If only that kid could see him now - here, with you.

He suppresses a smile that threatens to slip onto his face, as moving his lips makes the cut sting.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you mutter, wiping at the last bit of his torso. Hobie lets out a low sigh.

“‘M sorry love,” he says back, giving your hand a little squeeze. He really does mean it. He hates seeing the worry and sadness in your eyes every time he came back to you after one of these days. Fuck knows how he’d cope with it if you came home like this just every now and again, let alone what seemed like every other day recently. “I do try to be careful.”

You hum in response, getting up from your spot and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He does so with little to no hesitation, only waiting a moment to brace himself for the soreness that would follow. You lead him to the bathroom.

“Everything off,” you say, then immediately follow it up with, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say nothin’!” Hobie protests, feigning offense. As if that glint in his eye didn’t give it away.

“You need to get cleaned off properly.” You stress the lest word, letting go of his hand so that he can strip. “You can’t just go to bed after a quick wipe-down tonight. You need a shower.”

“But it’s gonna be cold.” Hobie groans. Tear gas wasn’t anything new, he’d had to clean the residue off of himself more times than he could count. That didn’t mean he was a fan of the cold showers that did most of the actual cleaning. Despite his complaints, he hastily steps out of his remaining articles of clothing as you start the water.

His muscles tense as he steps into the shower, pulling him out of his somewhat drowsy state. He quickly scrubs every part of his body, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

He washes his hair out last, taking care to not mess them up no matter how much he hates the temperature of the water. He’d made the mistake of trying to shampoo the whole of his head in one go just once before, and he’d be damned if he had to go running to the auntie down the street again to fix any tangles neither you nor him could sort out.

In his defense, he’d almost bled out just a couple hours beforehand that day. Having your first (superhero-related) near-death experience tends to shake you up a little.

“You’re such a man-baby,” you’d teased him as Hobie gripped your hand for dear life, the woman you’d guaranteed could get that nightmare of a knot out sorting through his hair with an arsenal of olive oil and a wide toothed comb.

“Oh piss off—” his reply was cut short as she detangled a particularly nasty bit of the problem, unfortunately having to tug exceptionally hard at his head. “Ow!”

The woman - Aunt Margaret, as you’d introduced her - tsked at him to sit still, poking at the tangle with the handle of her comb to see if it would give way now. Luckily, most of it did. She muttered something along the lines of ‘young people nowadays’, but in a sort of gruffly affectionate sort of way. From what you’d told him, Aunt Margaret was sort of the neighborhood mom, always helping people who needed it no matter how much she gave them grief for it.

The three of you made small talk over tea after his hair was nice and hairball-free, albeit a little slippery. Turned out, Aunt Margaret had plenty of stories of her own to share. Hobie had been delighted to hear about everything that had happened when she was a part of the League of Colored Peoples, almost ready to practically beg the woman to adopt him.

Two weeks later, when he decided to drop by again, the topic of soulmates came up. Aunt Margaret asked if he’d found his soulmate yet, to which he replied he didn’t believe in the soulmate system. She nodded in agreement.

“Just as well,” she had said, a frown making its way onto her face. “I’ve seen too many good people get their hearts broken because of that bloody mark.” She eyed his upper arm, exposed in the sleeveless top he’d worn at the time. “I got mine covered ages ago.”

“Did you meet your soulmate before that?”

Aunt Margaret shook her head. “That’s a story for another time, Bartholomew.”

He still makes time for tea with her every week or so.

The second he steps out of the shower, he’s greeted with a huge, warm towel fresh from the dryer. He wraps it around himself as you usher him back to the bedroom where you’d laid out some comfy clothes for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the clothes he’d discarded on the bathroom floor is long gone, along with his vest and tee that were sitting on the sink.

“I put the studs out on the veranda to air out,” you say, noticing him glance at the empty sink. “They’ll need washing, though. My eyes got all weird when I looked at the vest too close, and your belt’s not much different. The rest of everything’s in the machine.”

Pulling on his bottoms, Hobie silently nods at your words before pulling the tank top you’d dug out for him over his head. He then walks over to place a kiss on your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to leech off your warmth. He lets out a little noise of contentment when he feels you hug him back.

Wordlessly, he walks the two of you to your the shared vanity, plopping himself down on the seat. You grab the hairdryer off the table, checking to make sure it’s okay for you to help before switching it on to dry his wicks. Hobie closes his eyes as you make your way through each piece, eventually stopping once there’s no more water to be purged. Your fingers sorting through his hair so carefully is calming - almost therapeutic, and it takes all his willpower to keep himself sitting straight up for you.

After that, he clumsily grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, ignoring how you yelp in surprise and unplugging the dryer. He then proceeds to carry you around your place, flicking off all the lights before getting back to the bedroom and (softly) throwing you on the mattress.

“Was that really necessary?” You groan as he throws the sheets over the both of you. Hobie then proceeds to drag himself half on top of you, using you as a full body pillow.

“Definitely.” He replies, his voice a bit muffled against your pajamas.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He tilts his head up to give you a goodnight kiss, murmuring ‘dream ‘bout me’ next to your ear to which you respond by playfully pushing him away.

“Rude,” He mutters, smiling into your clothes as he huffs in indignation. Your laugh echoes through your body, a sound more beautiful than any music he had or would ever hear.

He doesn’t fall asleep too easily that night. Rogue thoughts on soulmates and fate flinging about his skull. For some reason, they’d all picked tonight to bug him to pieces.

Unknowingly, his grip around you tightens, feeling your weight in his arms. It grounds him as all the doubts try to throw him off, to destabilize something perfectly happy.

What if they find their soulmate? Then they’ll decide if they want me or them. (Me.)

What if I find my soulmate? What, like I’d break their heart for a stranger? Yeah. Fat chance.

He swatted those questions away like pesky little mosquitoes until he eventually fell asleep, choosing to focus instead on your heartbeat ringing in his ears.

So what if you two weren’t soulmates? He loves you, you love him. That’s all that matters.

The universe can suck an egg.

—

The next morning, Hobie woke up at 11, as usual. You woke up right after him as he stirred, like you always did. The two of you lounged in the comfort of your the sheets for a while before you had to eventually get up for breakfast.

Hobie was trailing behind you on your walk to the kitchen when something catches his eye.

His reflection in the vanity mirror.

Something’s… off.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Y/n?” He calls, looking down at his upper arm just to make sure the mirror isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there it is.

You turned around at his voice, eyebrows furrowed in a confused way. “Hm?”

“Look.”

He watches as your confusion morphed into surprise and then back to confusion again. Then you auickly check your ankle, confusion turning into realization.

“We match.”

Your soulmarks had somehow changed overnight, turning into small, stylized sun symbols that stand out more than either of your marks before ever did, clear as day.

It’s a few moments of stunned silence before laughter breaks out between the two of you.

“You know what we have to do now,” you manage, an arm around the front of your midsection and the other hand on your face.

“I think I do.” Hobie says, practically wheezing

By the end of the day, the two of you have covered up your new soulmarks with mismatching tattoos.

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bukojuiice · 3 years

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— genshin boys and how you take care of them when they’re sick.

ೃ ft. childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, and xiao x gn! reader

ೃ tags: modern au, headcanons, and tooth-rotting fluff.

ೃ 200 to 300 words per character.

ೃ genshin masterlist ♡ mha masterlist ♡ aot masterlist

ೃ note: if you enjoyed this, please do reblog! and if you want to be a part of my taglist, answer this form! ♡

CHILDE:

Childe has a very strong immunity system. No lame flu could ever get him. Mayhaps it's the below 0-degree temperature in Snezhnaya that helped his body grow accustomed to certain climates and temperatures? Because according to him, he "takes colds and kicks ass." However, after having too much fun and getting too competitive with Scaramouche at the Dragonspine Ski Resort, he's struck down with a terrible fever. From Sneznaya's Greatest Love Machine to sick babie in (y/n)'s care. He's not necessarily the whiny type but Childe is very helpless. Whether it was intentional or not, he couldn’t help himself at all. He forgets about the cough drops he has to drink and you have to remind him about it, when he refuses to eat Goulash fresh from Dragonspine and demands for alphabet soup, or when you're doing work in the living room and he comes up to you wrapped in a burrito blanket, asking for cuddles because "hugs are the best medicine." to which, you would reply with a hard "no." because you couldn't risk the both of you getting sick. (Even though you were craving hugs from him too.) Due to your boyfriend's stubbornness, it took a week before he could fully recover. And when he did, you bet he rushes to you, screaming, "I'm cured!" peppering you with kisses on your cheek and enveloping you in hugs that you've longed so much from him.

DILUC:

Colds are Diluc's worst enemy. Whenever he got remotely sick when he was a kid, whether it be a runny nose or a small allergy, his immune system literally betrays him. So, when he gets sick, he literally gets sick. Since then, He vowed to maintain a healthy body. You've never even seen him get a headache! It's always been Diluc taking care of you whenever you’re down with a cold. You had always wished for a moment where the tables would turn and it would be you taking care of him for once. That would soon happen on a particularly normal day. Diluc approaches you and asks if you could check his temperature. You bring out a thermometer to check if he has a fever, and it read 38 degrees. Diluc suddenly panics. His face red as a tomato and feeling woozy and lightheaded, your boyfriend wraps his arm around you for support as you bring him to your bedroom. Then, he suddenly sneezes. An adorable sniffle you did not expect to hear from your boyfriend or from anyone as handsome as him at all. It was the cutest "achoo." you've ever heard. You giggle, reaching for his neatly folded pajamas in the closet and handing it to him. "Pretend you didn't hear that." He says coldly, trying to not act embarrassed. Since that night and until he became well, you barely left Diluc’s side. He's wrapped in a blanket, his usual well-dressed get up is replaced with a dark gray hoodie and joggers, your stuffed plushies are cuddled up beside Diluc to keep him company whilst he's bed-ridden, and you're bringing him healthy and delicious meals to help him get better soon. When he had finally recovered, Diluc thought that maybe getting sick wasn't all that bad. Especially if the the one most dearest to him could love and care for him so well while he’s at his weakest.

KAEYA:

Kaeya tries to hide his cold at first. He doesn't want to make you worry too much. After all, he's not the type to get so sick easily anyway. T'was the cursed downpour of rain on that particular Wednesday night after his evening classes to blame for all of this. When you're around him, he clears his throat every time he has the urge to cough, He tries to sneeze as quietly as possible so you wouldn't hear, and he takes his daily medicine for colds behind your back. It wasn't til you accidentally hear his loud coughs whilst he was on his phone when you realized that he had a cold for the past few days now. You were a bit sad at first because Kaeya shouldn't have hid this from you, and yet, you quickly understood when he told you why. Since then, you've been taking care of him. He would lie on your lap as you apply a fever patch on his forehead, massaging his temples, as he coos adoringly at your gestures of affection. In fact, he loved the special treatment that he was getting from you so much, that even if he was getting better, he still asked if you could rub his temples to ease the pain he's been feeling from his common colds. Although it is very clear that he's already free of his illness, you chose to play along with him. and so from then on, giving Kaeya a loving massage became a part of your daily routine, and he was loving every minute of it.

ZHONGLI:

As a herb and tea enthusiast, Zhongli is able to keep a healthy mind and body. Chamomile tea before the two of you go to bed and a scented humidifier wafting around your house to rid of the germs. However, after eating something he had ordered for the both of you on Postmates and not knowing there was seafood in it, his mild allergies suddenly strike him with a severe cold. Zhongli hates this feeling. He hates not being able to get up, water the plants, read his books, or stroll around the city with you. He had no physical energy to do anything. He kept your house as clean and as influenza-free as possible. Yet here was, on your shared bed, speaking in a nasally but cute voice, a glass of orange juice on the bedside table, and tuned in to the Discovery Channel because it was the closest he could get to the wonderful world around him whilst he was sick. "I miss hearing your soothing voice." You say jokingly, drying a hot towel so you can pat and place it on Zhongli's forehead. "I'm afraid I can't do anything right now, my love. I'm sorry. A-Actually... my body feels hot. I think I need to take a shower." Wearing a bathrobe or else he'd shiver and have his condition worsen, you help your boyfriend take a hot bath by washing his hair and help dry it right after. Zhongli wasn't the type of boyfriend to ask for these kinds of things, but it was such a sweet gesture. You gingerly wash his hair, spread shampoo around his auburn streaks and small upward curls, and massaging his head in the process. He hums in delight whilst you giggle at his utters of praise, leaving him once you're done with your deed. After a relaxing bath that had probably defeated the colds that was plaguing him, Zhongli is back on his feet the next day. Unfortunately, you were the next victim of this stupid flu and now, it was Zhongli's turn to take care of you and making sure you would get the love and treatment that you had given him.

XIAO:

Calling your boyfriend stubborn when he's sick is quite an understatement. As a very productive person, Xiao always sets a certain amount of things to do as his goal for the day. Going to the skate park, hanging out with you, playing sports, or playing video games were just many of the activities he would do in a span of a day. But, when he catches a cold after staying up too late (sleep is for the weak! According to the Vigilant Yaksha as the mad lad had stayed up till 7 AM) after getting too invested in playing Resident Evil Village, he comes down with a flu that same afternoon. And so, his usual routine of going to the skate park, hanging out with you, and playing video games were soon to be replaced with lounging in the bed, taking medicine, being reprimanded by (Y/N) for moving too much, and feeling like shit because he can't do anything at all. You will literally shoot daggers when you see your boyfriend dashing around because he's supposed to be in bed, getting all the rest he can get. You were very strict with him, simply because you had to. Xiao was very careless after all. You were cooking dinner that same night when Xiao comes up to you, resting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering, "I can go to school with you tomorrow." "Xiao... no you won't. Go to back to bed. I'll bring you the Veggie Radish Soup there." You reply harshly, paying no attention to him at all. His tsundere tendencies were showing when you deliver the soup to him and he grumbles, "Y-you don't have to take care of me like this. It was my fault as to why I got sick in the first place. I can take care of myself, you know." You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing yet loving look. "I know that. But, I'm doing this because I love you. You're my freaking boyfriend for petesake! Why would I not care for you like this!?"

ೃ taglist: @mignonextte @inlovewithadeptusxiao @duhsies @qimiie @kozu-zumi @volleybloop

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deidearly · 3 years

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Shikamaru Relationship Headcanons

Back with another relationship headcanons of Shikamaru, this time! I had fun writing these, so, please enjoy! X.

He’s the type of person that would think every kind of activities that require efforts are a drag. The concept of ‘dating’, obviously, falls in the “what a drag” category— but dating you, however, is something he’d gladly do.

Hear me out, despite being very chill on the outside, Shikamaru is pretty much an overthinker. For example, he’d try to look uninterested on your first date. Would totally throw any outfit that he found comfortable. But in his mind, he’s DESPERATELY trying to figure you out, like

“DOES Y/N HATE MY OUTFIT” , “Why is she frowning— DOES SHE HATE EATING HERE” , “Man, wouldn’t it be a drag if she actually hated me”

A lot of “Hey, can you come over?” dates.

For relationship advices, he listens more to Choji’s than Ino’s.

“Listen, Shikamaru. The most important thing is your gestures. You have to show Y/N that you’re actually a fine gentleman—“ , “Just give her your last piece of meat then I bet she’d love you forever.” you can already guess which one is Ino and which one is Choji, right?

SHOGI DATES

So, the first time he had shogi date in his mind, he was REALLY overthinking it. He thought, you’d hate playing shogi together since it’s boring and it’s considered an old person game. But to his surprise, you LIKE it.

At first, of course, you were very bad it. Shikamaru beat you mercilessly— and would laugh hysterically about you losing.

But you started to understand how the game works and you’d eventually came up with a lot of strategies in your mind. So, one day, during your “can you come over” dates— you suggested, “Hey, why don’t we play Shogi?”

Shikamaru really didn’t see what’s coming

It was a tight match

Shikaku was watching

YOU WON

You left the Naras SPEECHLESS for MINUTES

Shikaku’s eyes were widened— he spent his years losing to Shikamaru. But today, as you grinned widely, Shikamaru sat in defeat. The younger Nara stayed calm, examining his pawns. On the contrary, the older Nara bursted into laughter, hitting his son’s shoulder repeatedly. “Y/N! You actually beat Shikamaru!”

Shikamaru’s mad on the outside but internally he’s like, “WIFEY.”

Seriously, don’t feel bad. For him, you’re a God-sent now that you beat him in Shogi. He’s planning a wedding in his mind.

Now let’s talk about touches. He’s not a big fan of PDA, because for him, it makes people uncomfortable. But he’s SO amazing with words— he’s a big flirt and there are so many aggressive sexual tensions between the two of you and THAT’S WHAT MAKES PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE ACTUALLY

“Do you think you can paralyze him with your shadow jutsu, Shikamaru?” , “Seriously, Y/N? If I could strangle you last night then I’m pretty sure I can now—“ , “(Ino, stressed out in a battlefield) GUYS COME ON NOT NOW HE HAS A BLADE.”

His favorite way to spend some time with you is obviously by taking a nap together, especially after a tiring missions. He’d take off his vest and throw himself on the bed. You’d stand near his bed and he’d go, “Come.” inviting you to sleep next to him.

He loves it when you’re curled up next to him inside a blanket— skins touching. He’d bury his head in your hair and play with your hair lazily until he’s asleep.

NEVER WAKES HIM UP because he has the prettiest face when he’s asleep like he looks so peaceful

Please, kiss him right after he wakes up. He just gained a lot of energy and it’s the best time to earn what you deserve!

“Y/N, how long have you been awake?” he whispered while rubbing his eye when he saw your back— sitting on the edge of the bed. Without saying anything, you crawled to him, leaning in for a kiss. Just when your lips touched, his hands began to travel down to your waist, pulling your weight closer to him. His fingers traced your skin as he deepened your kiss. “Excited much?” you broke the silence, “I thought you’re the one who’s excited.” he smirked.

Besides taking a nap together, he really likes having an interesting discussions with you. Please ask him about his opinions, theories, or basically anything! He’d spend hours explaining things and end up lost in his own thoughts but I swear it’s worth it because he’s so passionate talking about the things he’s interested in!

Would be very flustered at the end (but would try to hide it) because he’d think you’re bored

“Ah, sorry, Y/N.—“ , “*heart eyes* NO, PLEASE, CONTINUE.”

As much as he loves having discussions with you, he hates having to argue with you, though.

Arguing, especially with you, definitely falls in the “what a drag” category, too. He’s a determined guy— and so with his principles. So, when the both of you are being stubborn, he’d definitely leave you mid-argument, bidding his farewell.

Something like, “You know what, Y/N? This has been quite a drag. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But boy will be in a full emo mode later at night

Would stare at the ceiling for hours. Pretending to play Shogi with someone. All these to distract himself as he’s trying to cool himself down.

You wouldn’t believe it, but he’d totally walk to your place at night and wait outside your window for some time but then decided to come back home. He knows that he was being a little like a jerk by leaving you in a middle of the conversation.

He’d come first thing in the morning to make up with you.

“Shikamaru, what are you doing?” , “I brought breakfast.”

It would be a little awkward at first, eating breakfast together after a heated argument with no settlement. But he’d be the one to apologize, and he’d be the type to apologize with no “but”s. He’s very nice like that.

All he ever wants to do is cloud-gazing with you, tbh.

Even though he appears to be a cool person, he’s quite sensitive especially when he’s frustrated. When he’s unable to solve things, when there’s no way out.

It’s very heart-breaking to see him cry, actually. His body would shake, heavy sobs, gritted teeth. It’s painful.

It happened one time when he found out you had been seriously injured after a mission.

You were together assigned for a mission with the other crews, and he was the one who came up with the battle plan. He trusted you with your power, so he put you with the strongest opponent as well. Unfortunately, he miscalculated your opponent who, apparently, got so much surprise attacks under his sleeve— leaving you defeated.

He blamed it on himself.

He stayed with you every day when you’re hospitalized. Looking at your bruises face triggered every fibers in his body. His head hurt— and tears started to heavily poured from his eyes.

You wake up to the sound of Shikamaru crying, his head was buried on the bedsheet. You could actually tell how he was in agony by the way his body trembled. “Shikamaru.” you called weakly— but it surprised him. His eyes were swollen red, runny nose, and his cheeks wet from his tears. “I’m okay—“ , “It’s my fault, Y/N. I didn’t—“ , “I’m okay.” you repeated yourself.

And from that moment onwards, he swears to try his best to protect you from any sort of harm. He also promised himself to come back home, he doesn’t want to keep you alone for a long time— because deep down you both know that home is to be by each other’s side.

#naruto #shikamaru #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #shikamaru headcanons #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru x y/n #boruto #fluff #naruto fluff #headcanons

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1kook · 4 years

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youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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choco-exe · 4 years

Text

the one where akaashi and tsukishima react to their girlfriend hiding that she’s sick

genre: fluff? ig type: scenario status: proofread pronouns: female warnings: none

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𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 . . . 🖉 [𝟾𝟹𝟽 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜]

♕ you know he’s a very observant person (it scares you sometimes) so you consider just not going to school the day you found out you were sick ♕ but you reconsider because you walk to school with him since he isn’t a dick and waits for you ♕ you sucked up the confidence you needed, exited your house, and went up to akaashi, a scarf tightly wrapped around your neck that also covered up half your face so he wouldn’t see your rosy cheeks and runny nose ♕ he smiled softly because you looked adorable, just bundled up in your scarf ♕ “are you cold, love?” he asks and you play along with his question and just nod your head. he takes out another jacket from his bag and drapes it over your shoulders bro where can i find a person like him oml ♕ his fingers brush your skin slightly as he adjusts his jacket to fit your body snugly, and he’s alarmed at how warm you are, since you don’t emit that much body heat ♕ he’s quick to pull down your scarf and cup your cheeks. sure enough, your body is on f i r e. he also notices how red your cheek area was, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from skin contact ♕ you’re internally panicking when he presses his forehead to yours ♕ “y/n, do you have a fever?” he would ask as he looks directly into your eyes cuz he knows you can’t lie when you two make eye contact ♕ you try to look away but he held your head firmly, preventing you from breaking from his gaze ♕ "it’s nothing.” you murmured, hoping he wouldn’t see past your bluff ♕ he didn’t buy it because he’s a smart boi and clicked his tongue. “stay home” ♕ you roll your eyes as you pulled away from his touch. “it really is nothing, keiji. let’s just get to school.” ♕ as you started walking away, you fail to notice akaashi frowning deeply ♕ so it surprised you when he picked you up in his arms, literally swooping you off your feet. . . “Keiji!” You squeaked, automatically looping your arms around his neck. “Let me down!” Akaashi ignored your request as he casually walked over to your front door. You sigh as he unlocked it easily nani dafuq he’s carrying you with both his arms this magical man how Subconsciously, you snuggled into his chest, since he was just so warm; his body heat was basically radiating all around him. You almost fell asleep, but the familiar door creaking open to your bedroom snapped you awake. “Keiji, you’re gonna be late for school-” You swerved your head around and sneezed, careful not to face Akaashi, nor get anything on him. He stayed quiet as he gently laid you down on your bed, draping your blanket over your body, and tucking you in. “I love how you worry about me, even when you aren’t feeling well,” he began, as he sat down on the edge of your bed. “But, even for these few moments, can you please just let me take care of you?” He stroked your cheek affectionately, patiently waiting for your response. damn akaashi you have your way with words Your heart fluttering, you nodded as you leaned into his touch. He smiled gently and kissed your forehead, then got up. “I’ll be back, princess.” He said, swerving around and practically running out the room, although he tried to step very gently so he wouldn’t make that much noise. A few minutes of you staring at the ceiling go by before you begin to think that Akaashi left for school, so it surprised you when you heard gentle footsteps hurriedly getting louder. You slightly shrink back into the mattress, but your face lit up in delight when you saw that it was just Akaashi, who walked into your room with a bowl with warm water and a cloth. He set the bowl carefully on your nightstand, dipped the cloth into the warm water, and placed it on your forehead. “I’m assuming you ate and had your medicine already.” He said in a low voice. “Mhm..” You replied sleepily. He thought your reaction was the cutest thing ever, but he kept it to himself as he pat your head. “I’ll give you some soup and medicine when it’s lunchtime for you, then.” You slowly nodded as you reached up to grab his hand, but stopping at the last second. “..you’re gonna be super late, Keiji.. go to school; I’ll be fine by myself.” Akaashi hesitated, putting his hand over yours and squeezing it gently. “Don’t worry about me.” He said. “Just get some sleep, okay?” “Okay..” You mumbled, your eyes closing. Within seconds, you were fast asleep. Akaashi stood up and headed his way to school, your homework also in his bag. Someone would have to turn those in and take notes, and it certainly wouldn’t be you.

𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚊 . . . 🖉 [𝟾𝟸𝟹 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜] ☾ so you’re avoiding tsukishima at all cost; you know you can’t skip school because your grades depend on it, so you’re just very cautious about where you go ☾ he would find out, though, when you don’t visit his classroom ☾ like he’d just be listening to his music until the bell rang ☾ he wouldn’t really be worried because sometimes you oversleep lololol ☾ when break began he wasn’t that concerned and was just waiting patiently, but when it ended, he was confused ☾ like why haven’t you visiting him yet?? are you dead?? ☾ he actually made the effort to go to your own classroom when lunch started since you’re not smart like he is T^T ☾ and when he asks one of your friends about your whereabouts she just look at him all confused and says, “wait i thought y/n went to your classroom already?? she just left??” ☾ k now he’s really concerned; he also notices that your stuff is at your desk ☾ the panic isn’t visible on his face, but he’s conjuring up a plan to try and find you cuz we all know he’s secretly head over heels for you ☾ then he gets a message from his phone from you! he almost flings his phone across the room, taking it out so quickly ☾ you told him that you wanted a snack from ukai’s store, and that he should eat with the team without you ☾ but he knew if you wanted to go somewhere you would just complain your ass off to him, so he’s running around campus trying to find you ☾ the last place he checked was the infirmary; he just glanced in it and walked away.. ☾ ..then he immediately whirled around and stared right through the window on the door ☾ you were chilling on one of the beds, although you didn’t look that healthy with red cheeks and coughing ever so often. ☾ tsukishima barges into the room, and you look up in surprise. . . “K-Kei?!” You sputtered, and then went into a coughing fit. He frowned and crossed to the bed you were on in a few long strides. “How dumb are you to come to school while you’re sick?” He harshly asked, staring down at you. You look down and fiddle with your fingers. “I didn’t want my grades to drop..” You murmured, staring at your lap. “..and I didn’t want to worry you-” “You think avoiding me would make me not worry about you?” Tsukishima snapped, glaring at you. “Do you think you’re the only one who has feelings? That the world revolves around your thick skull?” You stayed silent, contemplating what he just said. When the silence became heavy, he realized he went a bit too far with his words, judging how you subconsciously sank a bit lower than you were before, and you were now squeezing your hands together tightly. Sighing, he placed his hand on your forehead. “How’d you get sick in the first place? Did you stay up all night watching.. Kimetsu no Yaiba, was it?” “I had a really important test coming up.. so I studied all night for the past week..” It was then that Tsukishima realized that you had very dark circles underneath your eyes; it was like someone smudged charcoal under them. “Did the nurse give you medicine?” “Yes..” Tsukishima took out his phone and typed something in, then shoved it back into his pocket. With you watching him curiously, he turned around, kneeling so his back would be exposed fully to you. “What are you..?” “What do you think, idiot? Get on my back before I leave you to walk.” Hesitantly, you get off the bed and placed your hands on his shoulders; he lifted you up easily and started to stride out of school. When you two walk out the gates, you realize something. “Kei, everything is still at my desk. Can we go back-” “I’ll drop it off to you later.” He interrupted. “Don’t worry about being absent, either; I already told Yamaguchi to tell your teacher that you won’t be attending your classes for the remainder of the day. Try and rest for a few minutes, so I don’t have to deal with you talking.” You slightly giggle at his statement, although you hacked out a cough immediately after. “You’re the one who’s been talking a lot,” you said as you eyed his headphones, since they were just laying around his neck. Using one hand, you grab them and put them around your ears. Tsukishima said nothing to this as you rested your forehead on his shoulder, the soft music and the slight sway of him walking lulling you to sleep. Your soft breathing indicating to him that you were no longer awake, Tsukishima let out a soft sigh and started to come up with ways he could indirectly apologize to you.

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roberttchase · 3 years

Note

Manner minded or double trouble? Both SO matty? Maybe Christie looking after him?

double trouble: [character] is sick and injured.

I will be writing the manner minded one separately :) I hope you enjoy this (somewhat more detailed than I'd originally planned) ficlet.

Send prompts to my inbox.

+ + +

If you were to ask Matt Casey if he thought he was lucky, for the most part he would answer with 'no'. Yes, he's lucky enough to have Sylvie Brett as a girlfriend, lucky to have gone to the fire academy, lucky to have been promoted to a lieutenant and then captain. But he also had an emotionally abusive father as a teenager, a murderer for a mother, his girlfriend of eight years was killed, his wife left him. For every good thing, it feels like there are three bad things in his life.

So he can't even really say it's a surprise when, while on scene helping squad rescue two victims in a car that's balancing precariously close to the frozen Chicago River, Matt loses his balance, slips from the hood of the car, and falls almost twelve feet onto the ice that then suddenly cracks underneath him, submerging him in below forty degree water. Nothing in his life is ever easy. Intense pain radiates from his chest, his body feels like it's on fire, and then nothing.

From there, the scene is absolute chaos. Sylvie and Violet are both off shift, spending the entire week in Joliet helping teach at a conference. The two paramedics that are on scene are instantly calling for backup, while both Severide and Tony frantically suit up in scuba gear for precaution. Boden's yelling orders, but the three other members of truck are all frozen, staring at the large hole in the ice, from which their Captain is currently very much not getting out of.

+ + +

"Christie, you really don't have to do this, Severi-"

"I know what Severide said, but I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed with me." Christie Casey frowns, looking at her younger brother. He's at least four shades paler than he should be, cheeks flushed and eyes dull. Stubble consumes the lower half of his face, and the firefighter looks exhausted. She can't say that she blames him, not with the hell that he's gone through the past thirty six hours.

She'd gotten the call from Stella Kidd yesterday, a kind but shaky voice telling her that Casey, Matt, had fallen into an icy river, and was at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center being treated for two broken ribs and mild hypothermia. Arriving half an hour later, she'd been taken into Matt's room, where they had him on enough pain medication he was basically incoherent. One of the doctors had explained to her that the next few hours were important for any person who'd almost drowned- inhalation of the river water had occurred, and aspiration pneumonia was a large possibility. For a naive moment, Christie was certain that Matt would be fine.

Matt's never that lucky.

It's how she finds herself now, half glaring at her brother, who's been given instructions to stay with someone for the next forty eight hours, while his body wars with itself. The red haired doctor had explained that unless the mans fever reaches over 102, or his breathing deteriorates, he's allowed to stay out of the hospital. Severide's offered to let him stay at the loft, to take next shift off and watch over his best friend, but she tells her brothers best friend no. She needs to be able to watch over her little brother, if his paramedic girlfriend can't.

She's already talked to Sylvie, had called her only an hour after getting the call herself. They'd come to the conclusion that as long as someone was there to watch Matt, she needed to finish up the week for the CFD and CEMS.

"You ready to leave? I'm bringing you back to my place. Violet's got the guest room all ready for you."

Matt blinks and then nods, shoulders curved in slightly, one arm wrapped around his side. He looks a little woozy, though that could be from the pain pills being pumped through his body. That, or the fever he's sporting. April wheels him to the front of the hospital while Christie grabs her car and pulls it up to the curb.

Half an hour later, Matt's being helped into the guest room, where, sure enough, the bed has fresh sheets and a few extra pillows have been added for the man who isn't supposed to lay flat on his back. She gets him under the covers, thankful he's cooperating, and by the time she's back with the meds in a little plastic cup, as well as a glass of water, Matt's asleep.

"Matt, hey, you have to wake up and take your medicine, then you can go back to sleep, okay?" She shakes him as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt his ribs any more than they already are. She must knock something loose though, because not a second later he starts coughing, low and harsh, and his eyes flutter open. Gasping for air, they wait for his chest to stop spasming. His arm is cradling his side and she feels terrible, wishing she could help.

"I just need you to take this medicine, then you can sleep again," she promises, holding the cup out for him. When he nods, the woman lets the small pills tumble onto his open palm, and soon he's swallowing them tiredly.

"C-Can you stay?" The words are quiet and hang in the air as she turns to leave. Pausing, Christie turns back and is struck by just how young Matt looks, laying there with fever flushed cheeks and sallow skin.

Moving slowly, the woman gets into the other side of the bed, carefully shifting to get comfortable.

"Just like old times huh?"

She knows he's referring to their childhood. Christie can't help but smirk a little at the memories.

"Are you talking about when you would come crying to me because you were afraid of the dark?" Her tone is teasing, and instinctively she lets her fingers find his hair, running them through it just like she did when they were young teens and their father had been yelling at them.

A laugh bubbles out of Matt's throat, but it quickly changes to coughing, and it takes a moment for Matt to calm down, sipping water before replying.

"I was actually talking about when I was eight and caught whatever that punk across the street had after he coughed on me. I remember I was out of school for a week, and you stayed with me as much as you could."

She remembers it well.

+ + +

Matt never gets sick, not when he was a baby, and not now. She's always been the one to come down with colds or strep throat, and Matt always manages to avoid germs. He had been sick once when he was a toddler, once, but other than that, she can't remember him ever even getting a runny nose. And then Michael Jeffries goes and coughs all over him on the bus when she's in fifth grade and he's in third, and Matt's record of not getting sick goes down the drain.

It had been on a Monday. That following Thursday afternoon, Christie's waiting for Matt to get on the bus when their bus driver tells her that her brother has apparently gone home early. The whole ride home, the eleven year old is upset, not for her brother, but at the fact she wasn't taken out early either. Why did Matt get to go home and play when she didn't? By the time she's walking into their small home, the blonde is stomping her feet and slamming the door behind her, ready to ask why her stupid brother gets such special treatment.

Instantly though, she realizes something is wrong. Mommy isn't downstairs like she normally is, but instead of being worried, the girl let sher anger build. Running up the stairs, her ponytail swaying behind her, Christie's ready to yell and throw a tantrum, but she freezes when she sees her mom sitting on Matt's small twin bed. She's holding their big blue bowl that she always gets out when Christie's stomach is sick, and Matt is throwing up, coughing and spluttering after, while she rubs his back. Cautiously, Christie walks into the doorway.

"Mommy...what wrong with Matt?"

Nancy and Matt look up, the older woman rubbing her sons back.

"Matt's just not feeling well honey, he'll be alright."

Christie frowns and looks at her brother, whose cheeks are a startling bright pink, his skin pale.

"He looks really sick..." Suddenly she's not mad at all anymore, instead she's worried, no, scared. Matt doesn't get sick. That's his superpower, just like hers is liking vegetables.

Before any more words are spoken, Matt coughs and lets out a strangled little whine. "M-Mommy..."

Christie turns her face away as Matt gets sick this time, not wanting to watch anyone throw up. Instead, she goes and busies herself with finding paper and her crayons. Sitting down on her bedroom floor, the eleven year old goes to town with making her brother a get well soon card, the only thing she knows she can do in this moment.

That night, while she and mommy eat downstairs, Christie can hear Matt crying with Daddy. The second she finishes her food and washes her plate off, the blonde runs upstairs, wanting to make sure the younger boy is okay. She stops in front of his room, but no one's there, the twin sized bed with dark green sheets is empty, even his beloved stuffed bear is gone. Walking further down the hall, she sees the two she's been looking for in her parents king sized bed.

Matt's laying against Daddy, Bear clutched in his hand, his ear against the boys lip. Daddy smiles at her and puts a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Nodding, Christie tiptoes in and peers at them both, before climbing in putting a delicate hand on Matt's shoulder, hoping he'll be ok.

+ + +

Brought back to the present, Christie feels Matt's forehead and sighs. "just try and sleep okay? I'll be here if you need me, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you Matt."

It's as if it's all he's been waiting to hear. It takes him all of two minutes to fall back asleep, head resting against his sisters shoulder. She supposes that this can be the start of all the years she'd missed taking care of him after she'd left for college. He deserves it.

#prompt #my fic #matt casey #casey siblings #chicago fire #lmm-snez-things #this got slightly carried away oops #bb!matt

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nbrook29 · 4 years

Text

So a few weeks ago, @foxsake5 sent me one of those dialogue prompts, and at the time I wasn’t taking them anymore but since she’s the sweetest I just couldn’t say no 😌💖

I’m sorry for the wait, I hope this isn’t awful :)

Therefore, ladies and gentlemen:

159. [text] Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.

***

The hopes he had late last night of waking up with all his symptoms miraculously gone vanish seconds after he wakes up and gets aware of his surroundings.

His head still feels like it’s full of cotton, eyes sting and itch at the same time, and his nose being all stuffy is the proverbial cherry on top of his misery. Before he can fully grasp this truly pathetic situation he’s in, he feels the beginnings of a sneezing fit brewing in his nostrils and sure enough, a moment later all hell breaks loose.

When he finally finishes, his chest aches with the effort and he drops his head back onto the pillow, whining at the unfairness of it all.

Every year, it’s the same story. Spring comes, trees and flowers release tiny grains to fertilize other plants and Robbe is doomed. He’s so fucking doomed. April barely arrives and he turns into a sneezing, itching, coughing, swollen mess. It’s not pretty. Far from it actually.

He curses himself for being stupid and believing he was cured after last year’s very mild case. Thinking about it now, it was probably due to being forced to stay in the house for the entire month more than anything. All his hopes of battling this fucking thing forever are now officially gone. His disappointment is immeasurable, his day is ruined.

And, Sander’s not here.

Why is he not here.

Why isn’t he lovingly stroking his brow to ease his sinuses pressure like he did last night.

He’s gonna have to have a serious conversation with his boyfriend because this is just unacceptable behavior.

Tugging the duvet tighter around himself to prevent the chilliness of the room from touching on his toasty warm body, he reaches for his phone. When Sander’s beautiful face welcomes him from his screen background, he yearns for his comforting presence even more. Yes, he’s being a tad dramatic, but sick Robbe has always been a drama queen, needing care and attention. Mama Ijzermans always laughs at him, saying he turns into a five year old when down with a runny nose. There may be a bit of truth to that statement, Robbe is a man enough to admit that. He just really hates having to blow his nose every ten seconds and all that, okay? Sue him.

Just as he’s about to start typing, his eye catches something flickering in the sunlight on Sander’s pillow. Frowning, he shifts closer to inspect it and discovers sprinkles of glitter covering the bottom half, and it’s honestly barely detectable, but for Robbe’s skilled eye it’s no hardship.

Weird. Unless he somehow missed the fact that Sander turns into a sparkly unicorn every night at midnight in the last year and a half, there’s no reasonable explanation for glitter being in his bed.

He decides to leave it be for the time being and goes back to the job at hand.

R: Where are u and why aren’t u here

S: Hello to you too, love of my life, light of my day

R: ☹️

S: I had to run home cause I forgot I promised my mum I'll be there when the couch delivery comes

R: That's a very elaborate excuse for you abandonning me

I won’t hold it against you if you decided to leave me after being faced with my gross snotty self :(

S: You’re not gross

R: I don’t believe you

S: Okay you’re a tiny bit gross rn but I'm not afraid of your snot 💪🏻

I'll be back in 40 minutes x

R: I'll try to survive til then 🥺

I miss you 🥺

I need your cuddles 🥺

I miss your fingers in my hair, my head hurts less then 🤧

S: You're so sweet when you're all sniffly 😂

R: That's cause I need you to get your butt here faster

S: I'll try my best

R: Okay :(

Hey sander?

S: Yeah?

R: My bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall

S: 😶

R: Why is there glitter in my bed

S: Idk

R: I hate glitter

S: Maybe it's the allergies making you see things

R: 😠 what did u do why is there glitter in my bed????

S: Gotta go the delivery guy is here love youuu

R: SANDER!!!

***

When he wakes up next time his head is still stuffed, but the feeling of warmth coming off Sander’s body and his hand playing with his hair makes it that much bearable. Scooching closer, he wraps his arm around his waist and buries his face into his black t-shirt, hoping the graphical form of Freddie Mercury in the front of it won’t mind much if he messes it with his runny nose by accident.

“I bought croissants on my way over, and there’s hot lemon tea waiting for you in the kitchen. Do you feel like getting up?” Sander asks in a gentle tone, hand stilling where it felt so good on Robbe’s scalp.

And no, he doesn’t really feel like it. So he decides to use the power of his eyes on Sander and rests his chin on his chest, giving him a pleading look that he knows his boyfriend is far from being immune to.

“Bring it here?”

Sander regards him for a second like he’s searching for a strength inside him to say no to him, but very quickly he gives up, head shaking at himself as his fingers resume the ministrations in Robbe’s hair.

He lets out a deep sigh. “I’m such a pushover, aren’t I?” And Robbe knows he won because there’s a smile tugging at Sander’s lips and a moment later, he disentangles himself from Robbe’s grabby arms, heading to the kitchen for their breakfast.

They eat in bed, sitting side by side, shoulders brushing as they keep reaching for the goodies on the tray balanced on Sander’s thighs. Robbe has his feet tucked under his calves, his extra clinginess during sick time coming out in all force, but Sander doesn’t comment on it, just smiles and kisses his temple, looking like he doesn’t mind to be his personal teddy bear for the time being. He lets Robbe lie half on top of him when they watch silly youtube videos and draws mindless patterns on his back as his arm is probably asleep from being stuck in the same position. His fingers make goosebumps rise all over Robbe’s body and he must be thinking the shiver is the result of cold because he then meticulously tucks the comforter around him, making sure Robbe is burrito-like and safe from cold.

It’s the first time Robbe has been somewhat under the weather since they got together and he melts at every caress and gentle touch that Sander provides without even thinking about it and just in general being this five star on booking.com thoughtful boyfriend.

So yeah, Sander is passing this when-in-sickness exam with flying colors, Robbe thinks, as he leaves a few kisses on what looks like Freddie Mercury’s hair, reveling in Sander’s content sigh.

It’s an all around peaceful afternoon, except when the peace is occasionally broken with sneezing, blowing (only nose, damn it) and groaning in displeasure. Sander is taking it all like a champ, teasing him only a little and handing tissue after tissue, his face twisting at the grossness of Robbe’s state only a few times. Mostly, he just squeezes him tighter, scratches his back in that way he likes, kisses the pout out of his face despite the gross factor and makes him a fresh tea.

He even cooks him a soup when Robbe naps out of things he finds in Robbe’s mom fridge, leaving Robbe himself gaping at him in astonishment, more so when the soup actually turns out good, because he had no idea Sander could cook something more than croques.

The confession earns him a light jab in the ribs, light because Sander is still considerate of his state, but jab indeed because he will not stand for Robbe disbelief in his cooking skills, hell no. Robbe then keeps moaning in pleasure at the taste of every single spoon of the tomato soup to show his gratitude (and because it’s really good) and Sander rolls his eyes at him, but there’s a pleased smile on his face that lets Robbe know his ruffled feathers have been smoothed.

When they get back to just simply lounging around in bed with Robbe breathing (wheezing) loudly as he plays with Sander’s fingers, he remembers something.

Propping his head with his hand, he narrows his eyes at Sander. “So what about that glitter?”

The guilty look that immediately blooms on Sander’s face leaves him with no doubt that it was his fault. He thumps his chest in frustration.

“I’m sorry! I just, I was kinda bored after you fell asleep so fast last night, and, um, I bought some new paints yesterday,” he explains, wincing at Robbe’s growing frown. He scratches his head before he continues as if to delay the fallout. “And I wanted to try them out a bit and some of them might have contained, um, glitter in them?” he ends in a squeaky voice, waiting for Robbe to blow up, because he’s well aware of his burning hate for glitter.

It’s like herpes. Once it’s on you, it never goes away.

“I can change the sheets later?” Sander adds wide-eyed, buttering him up as he leans in to kiss him once, twice, three times, until the scoff on Robbe’s lips melts completely.

He could get mad, but Sander has been so sweet today and he’s looking so apologetic now, like he’s actually afraid Robbe may throw him out the door for this unfortunate incident of bringing that abomination into his house. The idea is so ridiculous it makes him giggle, and at first, Sander’s confused, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Robbe doesn’t stop, he scoffs at him and pouts.

“Ugh, you made me believe you’re gonna yell at me and put a ban on sex for a month or something, jerk.”

He folds his arms all petulant as Robbe keeps rolling in bed, laughing, but then the sneezing fit abruptly stops Robbe’s fun and he sits up straight, letting out one sneeze after another, losing count after the eighth one. He thinks he got to twenty in the end, his new record, and when it’s finally over he feels so miserable and achy he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. His eyes are so watery it feels like they’re gonna spill out any second now, nose rubbed so red it’s painful to even breathe and cheeks burning hot from the congestion.

Sander keeps handing him tissues, holding the waste bin in his other hand, and Robbe must look really awful because all signs of sulking are gone from his now sympathetic face as he gathers him into his arms, whispering sweet nothings into his hair as Robbe hides his face in the crook of his neck to keep his frustration tears at bay.

Sander is graceful enough to not say anything when a few escape anyway.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, huh?” he suggests after a while, hand stroking Robbe’s arm. “Maybe he will give you something?”

Robbe shakes his head, his voice raspy when he replies. “It’s no use, the doctor is gonna give me stuff that’s gonna make me drowsy. I just need to get over those first few days, it always gets better afterwards.”

He gets a lingering peck to his forehead. “Okay.”

“Thanks for being so amazing.” Robbe looks at him with sincerity from under his droopy lids, thumb sweeping under his eye in caressing motion. Sander just smiles, shaking his head a little as if Robbe’s gratitude is silly.

“You’re always there for me when the situation is reversed, right?”

And they both know he’s not talking about allergies, of course he’s not. No more words are necessary as Robbe considers him for a few seconds, love shining in his bloodshot eyes before he shifts closer to place a kiss on his chin and then snuggles to him as close as humanly possible, his heart full when Sander does the same.

Robbe’s eyes sting too much for them to keep watching anything on their phones, but they’re also too lazy to get up and actually do something and they’re not yet hungry enough to think about preparing dinner. So to kill time, Sander quizzes him about Bowie and his lyrics, the year and a half of them being a couple pretty much skyrocketing Robbe’s knowledge about this man, so he knows the answers to 3/4 of the questions, Sander's eyes gleaming with pride as he pretends to wipe the imaginary tear making Robbe giggle and forget about his state for a while.

Eventually, Sander’s calming and sweet like honey voice lulls him to sleep, and the last thing he registers as he’s losing the fight to keep his eyes open is Sander chuckling as he promises him quietly to paint him in all of the intense colors of those glittery paints he owns soon and there’s nothing he can do to stop him.

#wtfock

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itsadamcole · 4 years

Text

get well soon

fem!reader x adam cole

(requested) reader and Adam are supposed to hang out on their day off, but reader doesn't feel well so Adam takes care of her ...

word count: 1.2k+

warnings: fluffy

— i hope y’all are having a good day and a good start to your 2021 —

masterlist || request an imagine here

***

Adam's POV

I'm in my car on the way to Y/N's house. She called me and asked me to come over because she wasn't feeling good. We were supposed to hang out today so I don't mind going over if it helps her feel better.

On my way to Y/N's house, I stop to pick up a few things. I grab over the counter medicine, tissues in case she has a runny nose, a heating blanket, a few of her favorite snacks, and a few different drinks. I'm going to make sure she's very taken care of.

As I pull onto her street, my phone begins to ring. I put it on speaker and say, "Adam Cole speaking."

"Adam," Y/N says, coughing slightly. "Are you almost here?"

I smile and say, "Right down the street. I have a few things for you too."

Her voice is hoarse as she says, "Yay. Hurry up. I want to see you."

"Two minutes, Y/N," I say. "I'll be there soon."

The line goes dead and I sigh softly. I don't like seeing Y/N sick. If she's not feeling good then I want to make sure I'm there for her. She lives alone and her parents are almost across the country so I'm it for her. Well, me and the Undisputed Era boys. We're her family.

The boys have been making sure my little secret doesn't get to Y/N either. I've had feelings for Y/N for months, and they're the only ones that know.

I finally pull up to Y/N's house and grab everything from my backseat as soon as I'm parked. Once everything is in my hands, I walk up to the front door and knock as loud as I can.

***

Your POV

You lay on the couch curled up under a fuzzy blanket. You were feeling sick last night and it got worse as soon as you woke up this morning. That's when you asked your best friend and longtime crush Adam Cole to come over and maybe help you feel better.

There's a knock on the front door and you get up, shivering with chills even in an Undisputed Era hoodie and black sweatpants. You open the door and see Adam standing on your doorstep with a few bags and a blanket.

"You are the best human being ever," you say, almost brought to tears as soon as you realize what's in the bags.

Adam smiles and says, "I gotta make sure my best friend is taken care of when she's sick. Can I come in?"

You nod and move aside so Adam can walk in. He enters your house and you close the door. He sets the bags on the coffee table and you make your way under the fuzzy blanket again.

He throws the blanket he was carrying over you and it heats up. He brought a heated blanket to you.

You hum softly, finally warm after shivering all morning.

Adam says, "I have different snacks and drinks. I also have over the counter fever medicine and painkillers in case you need them."

"You're literally my favorite person ever," you say, looking up at Adam. "I probably look terrible right now and you haven't run off either."

He laughs and sits beside you on the couch. "You always look beautiful, even if you're sick and in a hoodie and sweats," he says.

Luckily your cheeks are already kind of red or he'd probably notice how flustered you're getting. You had no idea that he thought like that.

Adam clears his throat and says, "Okay, so, what are we going to do? Watch a movie and eat snacks? Eat snacks and talk?"

You giggle and say, "I need to take some meds." You cough a bit. "My throat and head are killing me."

He grabs the bag and pulls out the medicine. He grabs a cup of water for you as you grab two painkillers and get the cold medicine poured in the little cup. Adam comes back with the cup of water and says, "So, just a warning, the pain meds might make you a little loopy. I tried to find Advil or something but they didn't have any."

"Yay," you say, coughing.

Adam takes the snacks out of the bag as you take your medicine. He looks over at you as you drink the cold medicine. You make a face and cough from the taste. "Ugh, that's disgusting," you groan. "I absolutely hate it."

He laughs and says, "It's what needs to happen so you feel better."

You move closer to Adam and you say, "I already feel better now that you're here."

"Really?" he asks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Nodding, you say, "Yep." The loopiness of the painkillers starts to set in and you can't stop the next words that you say. "You're my best friend. Plus, I may have a teeny tiny crush on you so I always feel better when you're around me."

Adam tenses up a little bit and you close your eyes, pulling the blanket closer to you.

He says, "I, uh, I didn't know that."

You get comfy and ask, "Where are the snacks? I'm hungry and I think it's bad to take medicine when you have an empty stomach. I haven't eaten today."

"Jesus, Y/N," Adam says. "I wouldn't have given you the medicine if I knew that you didn't eat."

You cough into your elbow before you say, "I wasn't hungry then but I'm hungry now."

Adam says, "Well, I brought Double Stuf Oreos, Gushers, Animal Crackers, and the closest thing I could find to a Wawa hoagie."

When Adam mentions the Wawa hoagie, you look up at him and ask, "You brought me Wawa?"

"I brought you something close to Wawa," Adam repeats. "It's not exactly Wawa but it's something close to it."

You say, "This is why I have a teeny tiny crush on you. You treat me so well."

Adam gives a little chuckle as you grab the hoagie. You unwrap it and take a bite, humming softly.

He knows how much you love and miss Wawa. This is the closest thing to a Wawa hoagie that he could find. You appreciate that he tried looking for something close to a hoagie.

The rest of the day is spent watching a movie, and with you fading in and out of sleep. The meds are making you sleepy as well as a little loopy.

Even though you weren't feeling well, you do appreciate that Adam came over and took care of you. He brought you food, drinks, and a heated blanket. You couldn't ask for a better best friend.

It's close to seven that night when Adam picks you up off the couch. He carries you up to your bed because you're too weak to walk. He walks into your room and sets you down on the bed, pulling your blankets onto you.

"Adam," you mumble, half asleep.

He's literally tucking you in as he asks, "Hm?"

You try to look at him as you say, "Stay with me tonight."

Adam smiles and says, "Anything for you." He crawls into the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You smile and snuggle into his side.

"Goodnight, Adam," you say, starting to doze off.

He presses a kiss to the side of your sweaty head as he says, "Goodnight, Y/N."

#adam cole imagine #adam cole fluff #adam cole x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling fluff #wwe imagine #wwe fluff #imagines #imagine #fluff imagine #fluff

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i-put-the-leg-in-legolas · 4 years

Text

I promise. (Aragorn x reader)

Modern! AU

Summary: Being a ranger for most of his life, Aragorn has learned not to get attached to anyone, so he's terrified when he realizes he's developed feelings for his travel companion. A fight ensues and she storms away. Will the moonlight and the beauty of the stars in the sky make him reveal how he feels about his starlight maiden?

Triggers: Cursing, verbal fighting (very mild).

❈❈❈

The air in the car was thick, filled with words begging to be said. As they drove through the lonely highway, teary-eyed and tired, Aragorn gazed at (Y/n) from the corner of his eye. Despite having been wailing and angrily hurling insults at him mere minutes earlier, he couldn't help but think she was one of the most beautiful sights there could be.

He'd seen endless mountains, sunsets, and oceans, but all these fell flat compared to the (h/c)-haired beauty that peacefully slept on the seat beside him. The soft skin of her cheeks was adorned with tear tracks, and her breathing was raggedy. It was as he glanced at her heaving chest that Aragorn realized that he'd caused this. He'd caused the woman who he thought he loved... no, who he knew he loved all this suffering, and for what?

For the past months, he'd been pushing (Y/n) away. At first, he was scared that she'd leave, but as the months went on, he realized that no matter what he did, (Y/n) wouldn't leave. Boy, was he wrong. The past week he'd been exceptionally distant, ignoring and avoiding her. This drove the (h/c) girl over the edge, and she angrily confronted Aragorn, who once again, just brushed off her questions while pretending to pack their camp.

"Strider! What's going on with you?! For the past week or so, you haven't even directed one word towards me! If you're mad at me, act like a man and tell me!"

"Can you pass me that heap of blankets?"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, yes I am, (y/n)... now, will you pass me those blankets, or not?"

"I don't even know why I bother trying to talk to you anymore! It's like talking to a fucking rock!"

"Well... then why don't you stop wasting your time with me and go talk to that boulder over there?"

And then, she stormed away.

As the events from earlier replayed in his mind, Aragorn felt guilt wash over him. The whole time they'd been traveling together, (Y/n) didn't do anything but support him, and keep him company. Her lovely personality made him start falling for her, and as he realized this, he started pushing her away.

Aragorn was a ranger, and so was she. He knew that catching feelings for the lovely lady that was now steering awake in the seat beside him wouldn't be ideal since they could take different paths at any given moment. He took another glance at the sleeping girl beside him, but instead of being met with the peacefully closed eyes he'd seen before, he was met by a pair of round, (e/c) eyes.

"(Y/n)..." Aragorn breathily whispered, "you're awake..."

(Y/n) briefly glanced at Aragorn and nodded, immediately turning her face away and pulling her knees up to her chest. "I am, yes..."

Aragorn sighed and let his gaze rest in (Y/n)'s face for a few seconds. The yellowish lights from the highway made her look angelical. He didn't care that her eyes were red and puffy, and her nose was runny. For him, her beauty surpassed the beauty of the rolling valleys and night sky.

They continued driving in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the ones the old engine made and (Y/n)'s soft sniffling. Aragorn and (Y/n) were both lost in their thoughts until suddenly, the sound of (Y/n)'s grumbling stomach snapped them both out of their thoughts.

"You must be starving," Aragorn remarked. After their fight in the early hours of the morning, (Y/n) had left their camping spot without having a bite of food. Now, the clock read 11:45 PM, and Aragorn assumed that she hadn't had anything to eat yet. She probably didn't have time to even think of food, as she had been too busy trying to get away from Aragorn, who relentlessly followed her.

(Y/n) nodded in response, raising her eyebrows as Aragorn swerved into the open field beside the highway. She stared at her fellow ranger with confusion painted on her face. Aragorn walked out of the car and dug into the trunk, taking out a bag before going over the passenger's side and tapping on the window.

"Come on," Aragorn said, chuckling as he noticed the expression on (Y/n)'s face. Her soft features had been overtaken by an expression that looked like a mix of fear and confusion. "What's that face for?"

"I don't want to get out..." (Y/n) said, "Judging by how terrible you've treated me these past few months, you're just going to make me get out of the car and then drive away..."

"(Y/n), you know I'd never do that," Aragorn said, a soft tone taking over his words. "C'mon, you need to eat something."

(Y/n) sighed and reluctantly stepped out of the car, looking at Aragorn with a small scowl before turning her gaze up to the night sky. "The sky looks beautiful tonight..." the girl observed. As she looked away from the night sky, (Y/n) was met by Aragorn sitting on the roof of the car.

"The sky looks better from here," the blue-eyed man stated, holding his hand out to (Y/n).

The girl stared at Aragorn, admiring the way that the pale moonlight illuminated his features. Yes, he'd upset her greatly hours ago, but now (Y/n) couldn't help but admire that Aragorn's eyes sparkled and reflected the moonlight, putting all the stars in the sky to shame.

It took her a few seconds to realize she'd been staring, but once she did, the (h/c) haired girl turned her face, which was now dusted a soft red color, away and took Aragorn's hand and with a little effort, sat beside him on the ceiling.

"I got you this," Aragorn said, handing (Y/n) a plastic bag. After she took it, he leaned back on his elbows and sighed, staring at the condensation his breath had caused.

(Y/n) took the bag, a soft smile painting on her face as she took out its contents. It wasn't much, just a bag of crisps and a soda, but they weren't regular crisps and soda. They were her favorite ones. "Thank you, Strider..." the girl said, offering Aragorn a soft smile. "I didn't think you'd remember..."

Aragorn simply smiled, staying completely quiet as he racked his brain for things to say. He was never good at apologizing, and his tough exterior didn't help with the situation at all. Ever since he was very young, he'd learned not to get attached to anyone, but now... he was about to lose the only person that he knew he could never let go of.

"Um... (Y/n)?" he quietly said, scooting closer to the girl. As he moved closer, the serene expression on her face immediately turned into a scowl, so he awkwardly shifted back to where he'd been sitting before. "Can we... can we talk?"

(Y/n) scoffed at his question and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, should I waste my time with you, or should I go talk to those pebbles over there instead?" the girl scoffed. As she turned to look at Aragorn, she felt her stomach dropped. The man who was always strong, no matter the situation, the man who she had never seen cry, looked like a kicked puppy. His greyish eyes were as beautiful as ever, but the moonshine shining down on his face revealed the tears that were threatening to spill from them.

"I... I'm sorry, Strider..." (Y/n) whispered, scooting a few centimeters closer to Aragorn. "We can talk, yes..."

Aragorn stayed completely quiet for a few seconds, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth, not daring to say anything in fear of making things worse. After a few more seconds, he finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat and spoke up. "(Y/n)... I'm sorry..."

(Y/n) just looked at him with a disappointed look on her face before shaking her head and looking away. "Seriously, Strider? That is all you have to say?" She scoffed.

Aragorn was taken back by her reaction. Truth be told, there were hundreds of things he'd like to say to her. If he could, he would even break down crying and confess her love for her right there and them, but his pride was bigger than his guts, so he simply placed a cold hand on the girl's shoulder.

They stayed like this for what felt like an eternity. In reality, it was only 15 minutes, and in those minutes, Aragorn managed to convince himself to swallow his pride and spoke up. "(Y/n), you see all the stars? The moon? The constellations?"

(Y/n) briefly looked at Aragorn, who was looking at her, and then directed her (e/c) towards the night sky, admiring it. "Yes... that one over there is called Delphinus. It's gorgeous, isn't it?" the girl observed, causing Aragorn to grin.

"It is... and it reminds me of you," Aragorn said, earning an eye-roll from (Y/n).

"How original..." she mumbled.

"But you know what's the biggest difference between you and that constellation?" Aragorn questioned, earning a mere shrug from the girl beside him. "If that constellation were to disappear one day, if it suddenly left without a trace... I wouldn't care," he said, looking at (Y/n) with a faint smile.

"But if you left my life... God, I have no idea what I would do..." by now, his voice was nothing more than a whisper. "I've been running away my whole life. Running from my past, running from danger... but trust me, I've never been as scared as I was earlier today when you left. The thought of never seeing you again was enough to make me want to cry, (Y/n)..." Aragorn explained, rubbing his teary eyes.

"I'm terrified of losing you... I can't imagine how life would be without the sweet sound of your laughter or-or the way that you sometimes sing yourself to sleep when you think I'm not listening..." by now, tears were already making their way down Aragorn's pale face. "Unlike you, I'm not very eloquent with words, Nîn meleth... But what I'm trying to say is that... that I love you..." By the time he'd finished blabbering his sentence, tears were already making their way down the ranger's face.

(Y/n) had been completely quiet the whole time Aragorn spoke. As he listened to Aragorn utter those three quiet words, her heart fluttered and her cheeks turned red. She didn't know what to do now that Aragorn, the man that hadn't shed a single tear when he got hit by an arrow, was now crying and showing her his soft side. "Oh, Strider..." she whispered, cupping Aragorn's cheeks and wiping his tears away with her thumb.

(Y/n) stared at Aragorn's teary eyes before gently leaning her forehead against his, rubbing their noses together. "Don't cry, please, Nîn maethor..." she whispered, "I love you too... and I have for the past few months, or so..."

Aragorn weakly smiled at her words, gently pulling away while he caressed (Y/n)'s cheek. "You're beautiful... so so beautiful, my autumn star," he cooed, "You've made me feel something I've never felt before... A love so overwhelming that it scares me, so real and deep that it made me realize that if you became mine, I wouldn't be able to live without you.."

"I love you, Strider, I love you..." (Y/n) whispered, tenderly brushing her lips against Aragorn's before wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sure no one would voluntarily choose to be a ranger... but if it means getting to spend the rest of my days will you, I'll be one until I die..."

Aragorn smiled and kissed the top of her head, lying down on the car's ceiling, dragging (Y/n) down with him. "Trust me, you won't be a ranger for the rest of your life," Aragorn said, "one day, you'll be a queen... my queen."

(Y/n) quietly giggled, tracing patterns on Aragorn's chest with her fingertips. "Oh yeah? We'll be king and queen of the rangers?" she chuckled. "For all I care, we could be... I don't know, orcs, as long as you're with me, I'll be happy."

Aragorn smiled and let a comfortable silence wash over them, and before he knew it, the sun was starting to rise, and (Y/n) was half asleep on his chest. "(Y/n)?" he softly whispered, only earning a tired hum from his lover. "One day I'll give you the life you deserve... you'll be a queen, and we won't have to run away anymore, we won't have to sleep on the floor or in the car anymore..."

"I promise."

❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈❈

Hi! I hope you enjoyed the story, remember my one-shot requests are open! Have a beautiful day ❣️

#lotr imagine #lotr imagines #lotr x reader #lotr x y/n #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #aragorn x reader #aragorn #aragorn imagine

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

BORROWED TIME (2/2)

pairing: JJ Maybank x Girlfriend!Reader

summary: JJ’s girlfriend tells him she loves him, and it’s the one thing he’s not ready to hear.

word count: 3.6k

warning: negative self-image on jj’s part; implications of anxiety issues and trauma from his upbringing

additional: based on i love you by billie eilish as if the song were from jj’s perspective. angst galore; the reader’s perspective.

masterlist

tag list

written for an anon

part one

Droplets of rain fall on the window of your car, loud and intrusive. Pop music’s playing on the radio in the background. You hear cars in the distance, too – people are coming home from work. A plane is overhead, too, and it should be deafening.

All of this should be enough to silence your thoughts, but it isn’t.

i should’ve said something else.

anything.

Your nose is runny and you sniff until it isn’t. Your hands move from the steering wheel and turn the radio knob to the right, until the sound is a little louder than the rain outside.

The irony of the rain accompanying the emotions inside you feels a little too poetic, and it makes you chuckle. Chuckle, with a tear sliding down one of your cheeks, and another sniffle.

‘you’re an idiot, jj.’

Your hands grip the steering wheel and you clench your teeth, suppressing the yell that’s aching to come out of you. It hurts; the skin on your knuckles pales until you can no longer hold it, and when you look at the insides of your palms, they’re red.

A sob passes your lips next. Your cheeks are hurting and you feel sick in your stomach.

‘i think you’ve said enough.’

You don’t punch the steering wheel because it would blare the horn and you can’t alert your family that shit’s hit the fan. You hold the back of your hand to your mouth instead and let out a wail, feeling yourself breaking.

It’s been three days. A million scenarios ran through your mind, a million different things you could’ve said, a million different explanations for the way your boyfriend acted, but none of them have been good enough.

None of them mattered.

it’s okay, you wish you would’ve said. i understand this might be hard for you, but let me help—

no.

It wouldn’t have worked. You don’t understand – that was the whole point. It was sudden and unexpected and flippantly unlike JJ that you were caught off guard, he was caught off guard, and the only thing you know you should’ve said is you’re not your father.

The rain pours over you when you get out of the driver’s seat. You think about using the hood of your coat, but leave it down, instead. Partly because you know the redness and blotchiness of your face will make a little more sense that way.

Partly because it feels like you deserve bone-chilling drops of rain to soak you.

‘you’re an idiot, jj.’

You grit your teeth as you stand in front of your main door with your hand on the knob. You breathe in, breathe out, over and over again until the world feels a little less hectic.

When you enter, you do so with a half-cheerful smile and complain about the rain as you kiss each of your parents on the cheek. Your dad’s halfway through making dinner and your mom has a pen in her hand and papers in front of her, and neither of them are curious about the state of you.

‘I’ll be in my room,’ you tell them. Your voice is a little shaky, a little jittery, but it can all be from the rain. ‘When dinner’s ready, just knock, please. I need to focus.’

don’t enter because i might be falling apart.

They don’t ask questions because they know you. If you wanted them to know, you would tell them. Your dad promises to come fetch you and your chest stings.

They have so much trust in you.

why can’t jj?

Your room is a little cold when you enter so you wrap yourself into a blanket, as much for warmth as it is for comfort. The book that’s open on your text is the same textbook you’ve been trying to push through ever since the night of the argument.

It’s an instinct, to look over at your bed and hope to find JJ there.

He isn’t.

The textbook offers enough monotony for you to get lost into. The repeated Latin phrases and names related to human body takes over the image of a blond boy in your mind, even if most of the information is passing through.

It’s a mantra, almost. Your fingers play with the right upper corner of each page, flipping it faster than you’d expect from yourself. The notebook at its side is filling up, slowly but surely, and the rhythm brings you into a life where all you can think is ossa manus and carpus and phalanx i and ii and iii.

i don’t have time for meaningless arguments, you think, and turn another page.

You dine with your parents and you’re quiet, but it’s studying that you give as an excuse. It’s important, it’s exam time, and you’ve got to perform your best.

They don’t ask about the noticeable emptiness of the chair next to you, for the first time in weeks.

Back in your room, you throw yourself into that textbook and spread all your notes over your bed, bringing your laptop along. The playlist is the same one that played during the argument because it’s your study playlist, and you’re not going to let anything take that away from you.

But it’s the bed, and when you lay on the side usually occupied by him, it smells faintly of sea and salt and woods.

It’s enough to make you catch a sob in your throat.

Moments later, your finger hovers over the send button next to a very short message: are you okay? There are no tears on your face, because you are so worn out from the last three days that you just can’t do this anymore.

That isn’t the button you press – you delete the letters, instead, and turn off your phone.

You sigh. Your chest feels heavy and your eyes are burning, but you open up that damned textbook and force yourself to memorise the Latin names until that’s all your thoughts consist of.

In the back of your mind, you still see his face. You still wonder how he’s doing. You still want to check up with his friends. You still want to see him.

You still want to cry and curl up in a ball and lie in your bed until you don’t hate every bit of that fucking conversation.

But you don’t.

You end up lying in your bed with the comforter to your chin as your arm is wrapped around a pillow. The air is humid, as it’s nearing the summer months, and you feel sweat poking out of your pores; hairs stick to your face. You know you should get rid of the comforter, or turn on the AC.

It reminds you of him. You’d always get too warm and sweaty when sleeping by his side, and it’s something you’d always complained. He never does, and it’s only now that you noticed how cold and empty your bed is without him, that you want the very thing you wanted to get rid of.

You still don’t cry. You need sleep and you close your eyes, try to push your mind away, but sleep doesn’t come.

Maybe that’s why you’re alert enough to hear the hum of a bike that you shouldn’t recognise, but you do. It’s right outside your house and it’s a deep, guttural sound until it disappears.

For a moment, you’re lying in bed, frozen.

You wait.

No other sounds come, so you get out of your bed with only your tank top and pyjama shorts on. Your feet are warm against the cold floorboards and it’s sharp and unexpected enough to bring you into the reality, just as you look out of your window.

It’s not raining anymore, but there are puddles all around the driveway, looking like tiny holes in the pavement. He’s in the very middle of them, leaning against his bike, one hand in the other. His head is bowed, hair messy and untamed even more so than you’re used to, and the pale yellow streetlight gives his denim jacket a greenish hue.

He doesn’t look up, but a breath hitches in your throat, anyway.

‘i think you should go.’

You are quiet as you walk through your house, out of the front door. It’s a chilly night so you put on a raincoat, just in case – you must look ridiculous.

Then again, thinking about the way you look in a situation like this one is ridiculous in itself.

He doesn’t see you approaching, not at first. You see him tap his boots against one of the puddles, watching the ripples in the water. He fiddles with his fingers, tugging on them and cracking his knuckles one by one – a habit you’ve picked up from him.

JJ’s head moves slowly, as if the decision to do so is one of great importance, and his gaze turns towards your room.

You left a light on. It wasn’t on purpose, but you see his posture go a little rigid, a little unlike anything you’ve seen from him before.

He doesn’t hear your footsteps until you’re merely a few feet away from him.

Your eyes lock.

It’s odd, you think, how you can look at a person for less than half a heartbeat and know everything they’re going through. The streetlight is behind JJ and you can’t even see his face, but you just know.

You don’t step any closer. He doesn’t move; he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

A thought crosses your mind: maybe he didn’t want to talk to me.

Your throat is dry when you swallow. The air outside is chilly even in your raincoat, so you rub your upper arms, almost as if shielding yourself. (Maybe deep down, you are.)

His Adam’s apple moves up then down, slowly. His gaze falls to his feet and he shakes his head, still playing with his fingers, sighing audibly before bringing his gaze to meet yours again.

‘you’re an idiot, jj, if you think i'd be in love with someone—’

It hurts.

You wish to see his face, and only for a fleeting moment, you’re terrified of what you’d see.

‘i guess i’m the idiot, then.’

The moment doesn’t seem to come to an end; an owl hoots in the distance. Cicadas are the only other thing you can hear.

‘I’m sorry,’ says JJ. ‘I know you want nothing do to with me and that’s fine, but I just needed – I needed—’

‘You needed what, JJ?’

It’s cruel. It’s nothing you should be doing. It’s exactly the opposite you’ve been telling yourself you’d do and it’s eating you from the inside, but you press your lips tight together as you stare at the boy in front of you, waiting for the answer.

He’s still in the dark, but you see his expression harden. When he speaks next, it’s as quiet as if he were speaking to himself only.

‘You.’ JJ’s voice breaks and his head hangs low. ‘I needed you.’

All the walls you’ve put up break and your heart’s all out in the open. Minutes later, the two of you are in the kitchen, as JJ has been drinking and you just… well, you just want some fucking tea.

He sits in his usual spot with his fingers wrapped around a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He doesn’t talk, or twitch, or fiddle – he’s quiet to the point of being unnoticeable, which is the one thing JJ has never been around you. You move around the kitchen quietly, too, as you would rather not involve your parents in this whole thing.

You make him a sandwich, too, the way he likes it, and he follows you into your room without a word.

He doesn’t eat until you tell him to, and he doesn’t drink his coffee until you tell him to. It’s as if he needs someone to tell him how to function – and that’s the realisation that breaks even the thickest of walls.

It’s an odd sight, JJ in your chair while you’re on the bed. He finishes his sandwich without so much as a sound and the coffee, too, and you watch him.

Now, under the light of your shitty lamp that you’ve had since you were a kid, he looks like a different person from the one you saw on your driveway. His face is pale but blotchy, with the darkness underneath his eyes spread to nearly the whole area. His hair, while usually a mess, looks greasy and unkempt and weak. His fingers are restless, constantly shaking and trembling, and he keeps parting his lips and them pushing them together.

JJ’s never been able to sit still, but now it’s as if he’s not even able to exist still.

He looks at the papers scattered over your bedroom floor. ‘You’ve been studying.’

It’s a statement with so much hope and pride in it that you’re taken aback; you nod, even if it’s a lie.

You don’t think he’d do well knowing that thinking about what happened has been taking up too much of your brainpower. Studying has been on the back burner.

JJ nods, to himself. ‘That’s good. I’m glad.’

The words sound truthful and you sigh, feeling the unease between your shoulder blades. ‘You know I don’t like talking to you when you’ve been drinking.’

‘I couldn’t—’ he stops himself, shakes his head, runs fingers through his hair. He doesn’t look at you. ‘I needed it. I was going to crash at the Chateau, but they all had so many questions, and I just couldn’t stand it, so I went home and—’

‘You went home?’ you ask. ‘To your dad.’

‘Wasn’t that bad.’ He fiddles with his bracelet—a nervous tick—before he half-grins. ‘It was fine.’

‘Did he hurt you?’

JJ shakes his head, but you don’t know if you should believe it.

You lean your head against the wall. Your hands fall beside you and you feel your chest heaving as you pull your knees closer, looking at him. It hurts to see him making himself small in the space that not too long ago belonged to him as much as it does to you. He’s sitting on the chair, with his legs bouncing, leaning his back against the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, for letting you do this to yourself.

But you’re not in charge of him.

It still doesn’t feel right.

JJ laughs, only it’s more of a ha, dry and empty and soulless. You want to put his hair together, to take his hand into yours like you always do when he’s not all there, you want to press a kiss against his forehead the way you know he likes but would never admit.

But he needs space. He needs to figure his shit out, so you wrap your arms around your knees instead.

He takes a breath, slow and deep, and he doesn’t look at you when he speaks. ‘No one has ever… Nobody said those words to me. All I’ve had was having to watch people I care about give up on me.’

JJ’s voice is soft and vulnerable – the only time you’ve heard him sound like this was the night of the argument, when he said ‘you didn’t mean it’.

You take in his hunched shoulders, his withered frame. There’s so many things you want to say, yet none of them feel right. They’d bring more bad than good, or so it feels, so you bite your lip instead and wait for him to continue as the only sound in the room is your laptop overheating.

‘I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ he tells you.

it’s okay almost passes your lips but it doesn’t, because it isn’t.

His finger traces shapes on the back of your chair. ‘It would’ve been easier if you said nothing. I keep thinking… I keep thinking of the day you’re going to do what everybody else has. Leave. Give up on me. Whatever.’ He brushes it off as if it were nothing, with the classic JJ grin in the corner of his lip, but it falls when he doesn’t see it reciprocated in your expression. ‘That’s how my brain works. And you saying…that, it’s better if you didn’t mean it.’

‘Why?’ you ask. ‘Why is it better?’

You watch his fingers continue to draw circles on the wood, only now they’re shaking. He’s barely keeping himself together, and your breathing isn’t even, either.

He still hasn’t looked you in the eyes. ‘Because,’ he murmurs, ‘it will hurt less when you give up.’

the higher you fly the deeper you fall. It’s something he’s said countless times, only you never realised how important the phrase is for him.

You want to reach out, to touch him, but you can’t.

or maybe—

Your nose itches and you rub it with the back of your palm, sniffling. Whatever the blurriness in your eyes is, you blink it away. ‘It’s not true, JJ. I’m not— I could never—’ leave you, you want to say, give up on you.

But there are some promises you can’t make. Life’s unpredictable and people change. You can’t promise to love someone forever, but you can promise to love them for as long as you can.

You move on your bed until you’re on its very edge, your legs so close to his that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

‘You can’t live in the future, JJ. You can’t keep being afraid of what could happen.’ You reach out, unable to fight the impulse, and you feel your heart breathe out when your palm is spread over his forearm, somehow making you realise that JJ’s really here. ‘I’m here. I’m not giving up on you, as long as I don’t have to.’

‘What if you do?’ JJ finally looks at you and his eyes are so broken that you feel as if you can’t breathe. ‘What if I just keep hurting you, because I can’t feel the way you want me to?’

Your thumb rubs circles into his forearm as you shake your head. ‘I don’t want you to feel any way that you don’t feel. All I want is that you know how I feel.’

‘You really meant it?’

‘I did.’ You trace the vein on his hands until the beginning of his palm, where you take his hand into yours. The touch is soothing and familiar and your body relaxes into it; you feel his do the same. ‘I’m okay with you not feeling the same. But you’re not’—you swallow and it hurts—‘a burden to me, JJ, and you will never be.’

The moment his thumb traces over the back of your palm and his forehead leans until yours is pressed against it, you know him. You know how he feels even if he isn’t saying it – you understand why he reacted the way he did.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, ‘for pushing you away.’

He chuckles. It’s quiet and barely there. ‘It’s okay. I needed it. I needed time to think, to figure shit out.’

‘Did you?’

‘Did I what?’

‘Figure shit out?’

JJ hesitates for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he says. You feel his breath hot against your lips, and he smells like alcohol and coffee and the sandwich you made him, but there’s a hint of the sea and salt and woods, too. ‘I think I did.’

You nod, put a hand on his cheek. ‘Am I allowed to say it again?’

There’s no question as to what you’re referring to. His cheek is hot against your skin but your hand know where it fits, how it fits, and it feels like home. You can’t believe you’ve ever doubted him.

‘Yeah.’ He covers your hand with his own. ‘I need to trust you.’

‘Do you think you can do that?’ you ask, and it’s a genuine question, even if your eyes are closed and the only thing you can think about is your skin against his. ‘It’s okay if you need time. I’ll give you all the time you need.’

‘Y/N?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I never should have doubted you,’ he says, quietly.

You kiss him. His lips are salty, or maybe it’s yours, but they’re soft and familiar and they move with yours like water moves with sand. Moment later, one of you or maybe both are crying softly, arms wrapped around each other.

You lay in bed with him that night, feeling his hand on your side, bodies pressed together, face buried in the back of your neck. He places kisses over every inch of your skin exposed to him and it almost feels as if nothing has ever happened – almost.

When you turn to him, when you look into his eyes, there’s something other than adoration within them, even he isn’t ready to admit it.

You lay a kiss to his lips, chaste and soft. Your fingers caress his cheek. ‘Nothing has to change today,’ you tell him. ‘I didn’t mean to say what I did, but it came out because it’s true. And I hope you know that.’

JJ nods. His fingers are now tracing shapes underneath the back of your shirt, on your bare skin, as they always would before you’d fall asleep.

‘I know,’ he tells you.

You smile, because he’s smiling, too, and god, you’ve missed it. ‘Okay.’

Later, right as both of you drift into sleep at nearly morning, you tell him you love him, again. JJ doesn’t freak out – he nuzzles into you instead, holding you close, as if he’ll never let you go, never let any of his worst fears that almost drove him away from you come true.

You’d be alright with that.

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @shawnssongs @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @activist-af @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @teamnick @jjmaybanksbaby @silverstarsandsuns @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul

#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #obx fic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank fic #my fic

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raccoon-macaroon · 3 years

Text

Two

A rooster crows. I stretch without opening my eyes. When I do open them, I see tree roots hanging above me. Pale morning light filters in through the open door. I yawn and rub the wolf’s fur, and she yawns back at me, her huge jaws shutting with a snap. I looked around the hut. It’s empty, but at that moment the door swings open and Muriel steps inside, holding three eggs in one hand and a chicken under one arm. He starts when he notices me awake.

“Good morning,” I say. I pull the fur up to my chin, feeling like I’m doing something indecent just by lying there. He nods, sets the chicken down outside, and crosses the room to the fireplace.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” I say, climbing out of the pile of furs and trying unsuccessfully to neaten them.

Muriel looks at me out of the corner of his eyes, brows furrowed. He’s cracked the eggs and they are sizzling in a pan over the fire.

“You remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Last night.” I feel the heat rush into my cheeks. Did something happen last night? I feel the wound on my forehead. It’s scabbed over and starting to itch. I knocked on his door. He let me stay. Then...he slept over there and I slept over here. I would remember if something happened. Muriel frowns at my silence. There’s dark circles under his eyes.

“Ah, I’m sorry. You didn’t sleep well because I took your bed.”

“No, that’s not what I��” He shakes his head. When the eggs are finished, he slides them onto a plate and sets it on the table. He moves to leave the hut, when he stops and turns back to me.

“You need someone to look at your head. I know someone who can help.” He grimaces, as if thinking of this person was unpleasant. “Eat your breakfast so we can go,” he said, going out the door.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He freezes with his hand on the doorframe.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I really appreciate the breakfast, but…” Why was I so insistent? Why did I want him to eat with me?

“I can’t eat three eggs. I don’t want them to go to waste.” Clucking sounded from outside. “The chickens worked hard on these.”

Muriel turns around to look at me, frowning.

“Here.” I pick up the tarnished fork sitting next to the plate and cut one of the eggs sloppily in half. The yolk is runny and spills over the plate. I scooch an egg and a half to the far side of the plate and the rest towards myself.

Slowly, Muriel steps into the room towards the table. He picks up another fork and a bowl from a shelf on the wall, the whole time never taking his eyes from me. As if I will strike him if he looks away. He sits down across from me, forking up his share of the eggs and dropping them into the bowl.

Neither of us say anything as we eat. I glance around the room, trying to come up with a topic of conversation, but the room is so sparse it’s hard to come up with anything. There’s a little wooden figurine sitting in an alcove in the far wall. A bear, maybe? The paint job looks old and rubbed off in places.

“That’s nice. Did you make it?”

“No.” I think he’s going to leave it at that when he continues. “A...friend made it for me.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Do they live around here?”

His eyes darken. “No.”

“Oh.” We finish our breakfast in silence.

As soon as I step out into the sunlight, my head begins to ache. I groan and put my hand to my cut. All of the numbing agent from the night before has worn off. When I lift my head, I see Muriel looking over his shoulder at me. In his eyes I see...concern? Maybe? But the look is gone quickly.

“...name,” he mumbles

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

What’s my name? What is my name? Panic washes over me. How do I not know my own name? Did my injury cause me to forget? What was I doing before I woke up in the forest? My eyes dart around, and they land on a scrubby plant.

“It’s Sage!” I burst out. “Like the plant!”

Muriel takes a step back, surprised at my outburst. Then he nods and starts walking.

I look at his back as we walk, paying little attention to the forest around me. Did I really just make up a name for myself? And couldn’t I have picked something cooler? Well, too late to change it now. After several minutes alone with my swirling thoughts, I need to break the silence.

“So, who are we going to see?”

“An idiot,” grumbles Muriel. “He’s a doctor. He helped Inanna when she was hurt, once.” The black wolf whines at the sound of her name, pushing her snout into Muriel’s hand. He scratches behind her ears, and for a moment I think I see him smile. But the moment is gone so quickly I can’t be sure.

When we reach the edge of the forest, Muriel pulls his hood up. Inanna is nowhere to be seen.

“This way,” he mumbles. Fields slowly give way to houses, and then a town.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“Vesuvia,” he said. A bell chimes in my mind. I’ve heard that name before.

At the edge of town where the dirt path ends and the cobblestones begin, Muriel stops. He looks uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” His eyes dart to me, then back to the city.

“I don’t like coming here,” he said.

“Oh.” Immediately I feel the need to alleviate his discomfort. But what can I do? I’ve never been here before...that I can remember. I glance down at his hand. My first instinct is to take it, but I smush the thought down. We only just met. That would be weird. Muriel shakes himself and keeps moving.

With each road we take, the city seems to get busier. Townhouses become businesses and market stalls, a handful of people walking in the street turn into bustling crowds. I try to keep my eyes locked on Muriel’s back. It shouldn’t be this hard, I think to myself. It’s not like he’s hard to find. But as the crowd shuffles around us, he seems to get further away. At a break in the crowd, I dart forward, grabbing onto the back of his cloak. He starts, turning around to look at me.

“Sorry,” I gasp, bending my head to hide my burning cheeks. “I was worried I would lose you in the crowd.”

After a moment he nods. “Don’t let go,” he says.

After a while, Muriel stops in front of a little shop. The sign on the door shows a mortar and pestle with a snake wrapped around it.

“Should be next door…” Muriel mumbles.

The building to the right of the little shop has a sign too, a raven with a syringe in it’s talons.

We stop in front of the door. I realize I’m still holding on to Muriel’s cloak. The door in front of us pops open, and a tall, red haired man with an eyepatch appears in the doorway.

“Oh, um, hello. I was just about to close up shop for a bit but...what can I do for the two of you? Eugh, that is quite a doozy of a head wound if I do say so myself. I assume that’s why you’re here. Come in, come!”

The space is spacious, but cluttered. Knickknacks litter the counter and shelves. Compasses, seashells, carvings and things I don’t recognize. One shelf is covered in just jars of black blobs. Books fill the rest of the space, shoved wherever they will fit. A raven lifts its head sleepily from a little nest on the very top of a shelf close to the ceiling. He caws at us and rustles his feathers.

“Thank you, Malak,” says the doctor dismissively. “Have a seat.” The man gestures to a little side room with a flourish. Inside is a little cot, a chair, and more shelves full of stuff.

I sit gingerly on the cot, and realize I still have yet to let go of Muriel’s cloak.

“Sorry,” I say, dropping it like a hot coal. Muriel shakes his head. He looks peeved, but not at me. He’s staring at the red haired man as he bustles around the room.

“So, how’d you end up getting such a shiner?” The doctor sits in front of me and rests a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose, brushing the hair off my forehead to examine it. When he touches me, I feel Muriel tense beside me.

“I don’t remember,” I say honestly.

“Whew, amnesia? Been there. How far back do you remember?” He’s holding my wrist now, glancing up at a clock on a shelf.

“I don’t remember anything before waking up in the forest.”

“Nothing?” said the doctor. His eye widens in surprise. “That is serious.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about that, but we can do something about that head wound. Though I pride myself in my stitch work, I’m afraid we’re going to need some more help for this one.” He grins at Muriel and winks - blinks? at him. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the face of your pretty lady.” The doctor begins rifling through the shelves for something.

Muriel sputters. “She’s not...can’t you just heal the wound with your...powers?”

The doctor stops and looks at Muriel.

“Er...ah, no, I’m afraid not. Not anymore.” He looks at the ground, but then smiles. “But! With a little magic-ing, in combination with this-” He holds up a jar of black blobs. “You should be good as new! Er, at least your head wound will be.”

“Julie?” A woman’s voice sounds from upstairs. “I’ve been waiting for-” A pretty woman enters the room. When she sees us, her eyes light up. “Oh, hello! I didn’t hear you come in.”

The doctor grins and presses a kiss to the back of the woman’s hand. “Always arriving just when I need you, as ever.” The woman gazes up at him fondly.

“May I introduce my lovely and magical wife and assistant, Keziah.”

#the arcana #muriel #julian devorak #apprentice keziah #thearcanagame #fanfic

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years

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If we are not this, than what are we?

- pt. 1-

A/N: I got inspired by tik tok for this and let me tell you, I’m so glad I did write this. I’m probably gonna do a part 2 because I couldn’t put all the request in and I have to. It didn’t fit all together and Imma finish it in part two I gues??? Idk. Just school is in my head right now so it’s hard to think.

REQUEST: Can I request a James PotterxSlytherin!Reader where they were neighbours and bestfriends as kids and when she got sorted in slytherin, james was an arse to her. When they are older (6th/7th year) they spend time and realise they like each other but all their family and friends are against it.

James Potter.

An asshole.

A true, unpredictable asshole.

"GIVE IT BACK, JAMES!" you shouted, stretching your arm to get the journal in his hand.

You didn't know how he got a hold of it. It has always been under your pillow, sometimes under the cushions or the bed but never in reach for someone to grab.

He threw the journal to Sirius, who was laughing a few feet behind him. James wrapped his arm around your neck and stood behind you. You grabbed his strong arm that was tightening your neck and causing your head to be in an uncomfortable position. "YOU'RE HURTING ME! JAMES!" you shouted, feeling tears well up in your eyes as other students started to gather around and watch.

"Hurting you?" he loosened the grip and you pushed yourself away into Sirius' arms, grabbing the journal from his hands and pushing it against your chest. "You know we're always playing, lil Snake." he kept goading you, seeing well clear you were about as close to crying as Sirius was close behind you.

"You're an asshole!" you fumed at him. "A self-observed, narcissistic, prideful, son-of-a-bitch asshole!"

"And you're a slag, (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Oh, I'M A SLAG?!?" you stepped back, scoffing and laughing forcefully. "Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately, Potter? Or were you too busy playing with Bibby the Bear? You know, coddle him like you did when we were kids? Kiss him a kiss goodnight?" you goaded and saw the colour on his skin turn bright red.

"Hold her, Pads!" he growled and you felt your arms being whisked away from your book.

Sirius was locking your arms behind your back, causing the journal to fall to the floor and being picked up by none other than, James Potter.

You knew there was no way out of this. You knew it and you admit to it but it's your journal and it's all of your feelings on a page.

You've been bullied by him since the first year. He was the one causing you to be anti-social. Because everybody loves James and who James likes, they like but who James doesn't like, they do not like either.

So as he opened the cover with the malicious smirk plastered on his lips, he took one last look at you. "Got any other words to say to me or do you want me to just read it?"

You felt your knees go completely numb and you were might as well hanging in Sirius' grip. "Please, James. Please don't." you pleaded, begged, prayed even... But it was James... And James hates you.

He opened and started to read. He laughed immediately. "Okay, okay. You weirdo." he commented and tears started to trickle down your eyes. "Dear thinking book, May 5th, 1973 - blah blah blah - Oh!" he exclaimed, looking up at you. "You fancied the Perfect Klemmens in your third year? - 'His eyes are so wonderful! Green marbles-"' "he laughed, barely containing it, just as the other students around you. "- sorry. It's just too funny. " he continued to laugh. "- for you to think you ever had a chance with Klemens."

"STOP!" you shouted but he just turned around with his finger in the air.

"I'm just gonna skip 73' since Klemens is all you talked about." he flipped a few pages. "What happened to 74'?"

You don't talk about 1974.

"Oh, here I am!" he beamed. "September 3rd: 'Back here and nothing has changed. Everything is the same, even the infamous Asshole of the Gryffindor tower hasn't grown up a brain.'" he looked at you and touched his heart. "Ouch. To be quite frank with you my brain is evolved just fine. It's yours who need some working." he was up close, watching you and blinded by the wet cheeks.

A tear fell and you felt absolutely defeated. You spat in his face, kicked Sirius in his crotch, and pulled out your wand "Inferno!" you shouted but instead of hitting the journal as you wanted you, you lit up James robe.

At this point, you didn't care.

"Missed!" you heard his mocking laugh but you just ran. You ran outside, you ran out of the castle, you ran so far until you were sobbing at the edge of the lake.

His voice kept repeating in your head as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. You lost your whole energy to that night. You laid on the side, rocks digging in your hips and causing you much more pain but to that pain, you were numb. The real pain was inside of you. You grabbed the grass and pulled it out because you were so furious and so upset. You just wanted to die right there and then.

'He used to be my best friend!' you cried in your head, tears enabling you to open your eyes as a scene of a messy 8-year-old boy, prancing around you and pulling you into the mud with him rolled in your head. 'We used to be best friends.'

---

He walked into the dorm, seeing Remus help Peter with his homework. He stomped proudly, throwing the journal on his bed and taking off his school robe. He pulled up the burnt edge and shrugged. "Oh, well. I'll just write mum to buy me another one." he laid on his bed with his shoes still on.

"Where's your other half?" Remus asked.

"Saw some Tinkerbell down the corridor as we walked. Got distracted."

"Should I ask about the robe?"

"Nah. No, fun without someone else telling the story. We'll have to wait for Sirius."

"Alright."

"Alright." repeated James, looking at the ceiling and thinking of you. It plastered a smile on his face to know you wrote about him in your journal. "I wonder..." he mumbled to himself, laying on his stomach and opening the journal again.

" November 16th, 1975: 'I thought I was over this. I thought I was strong enough! I THOUGHT I WOULDN' T BE TREATED LIKE THIS ANYMORE! I keep repeating the same thing because I know that I still can't get it through my thick head of how he went from my best friend to my enemy. '" James turned the page and kept reading. It was obvious. You were a Slytherin. You betrayed him. Everybody knows Slytherins are the worst."' I can remember us just chasing each other down the big grass. His mother hated me as a child. Both of our parents disapproved of our friendship- his mother hated me because of my parents but I can' t choose which family I was born into. He promised that he doesn't care about what his parents think of me but clearly, he does. Clearly, he thinks I am just as WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!'" he backed his head away from the page, completely shocked by this sudden burst of anger.

What? Why would you think he thinks that?

He furrowed his eyebrows at the page and continued to read. " 'He hates me just like everybody else. He hates me just like his parents hate me. He hates me just like my own parents hate me. He hates me just like the rest of Hogwarts- hell he' s the cause behind all of that in the first place. And you know what's the worst part?! When he bullies me and belittles me in front of everybody- when he makes me cry and weep in the long nights after that - I still can't do it. I still can't bully him back AND I HATE MYSELF BECAUSE OF IT! I'M SO DUMB AND SO STUPID! I CAN' T EVEN STICK UP FOR MY OWN SELF, LET ALONE SOMEONE ELSE!!! - "

Again...that burst of anger but... But what was he feeling currently? What?

What's happening in his head right now? Why does he feel like his world just flipped? Why does he feel like he wants to cry? What's this uncomfortable feeling inside of him that feels like it's eating away his stomach?

" 'I hate myself. I just hate myself so much. I hate everything about me. I can' t even look myself in the mirror anymore. I'm just so bloody ugly and pathetic. Why am I still putting up with this? Why don't I just end it as a normal person would? Why don't I just end it right here and now? "

He read and his eyes were wide and watery. He didn't even know what he was doing until he was outside the castle grounds, breathing heavily.

Merlin?! - he grabbed his head. What if you kill yourself because of him?! What if you- how could he live with himself! - he-

"I can't breathe!" he gasped for air. "I- what's happ-" he tried to grab the air with his hands but then his eyes saw you- you in the far distance. You in your Slytherin robes, looking at the mirror of yourself in the water. You were on your knees, just letting your fingers dip and move along the waves.

His breathing got calmer, the air filled his lungs and for some odd reason, he smiled.

"Thank God!" he breathed out, getting on his feet and moving forwards.

You heard branches snap behind you and you quickly turned around, eyes widening in terror. "Please, James don't hurt me! James, pleas-"

He opened his arms and crashed into you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug. "Thank God, you're alive!" he squeezed you tight and you felt the confusion hit your brain cells.

"What?"

He squeezed you harder against him, digging his nose into your neck. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)" he felt a lump form in his throat and he started to choke on it, letting out fat tears. "I'm so sorry (y/n)!" he sobbed and started to cry in your arms.

You were completely shaking. You didn't know whether this was a prank or if he was truly honest with you.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you!" he continued to sob and you felt it. You felt it in your bones. This wasn't you being naive. This was you feeling old James in your arms. "I didn't know! I didn't know- I'm so sorry!" he pulled away with a completely runny nose and puffy red eyes, almost matching yours. His hands rested on your shoulders and he sniffed. "I won't do it again. I promise. I'll leave you alone. I'll do anything to make up to you, I PROMISE! I PROMISE I WON'T HURT YOU- just don't think like that?"

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, James?" you furrowed your eyebrows at him, putting your own hands on his arms.

He sniffed one more time, pulling up the journal and putting it in your hands.

The realization hit strongly. "Oh.." you took it in your grasp. "So, you uhm-"

"I read sum of it." he let go of it, wiping his cheeks. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Are you joking?" you forced a laugh. "You can't be serious right now? Why didn't I tell you? Because it was obvious-"

"I wasn't that horrible?"

"You were terrorizing, James." you spoke completely serious. His eyes kept watching you in shock. He didn't believe it. "I'm scared of you, don't you get it? I avoided you since the first year and every year it got worse. I didn't come to eat unless I knew you weren't there. I asked my professors to not give me classes with you. I did everything I could to stay away from you because I was scared and terrorized by you. " you removed your hands from him and stepped back.

Why were you even holding him in the first place?

"I was really that bad?"

"Yes, and you still are."

"I made you hate yourself? " he asked, eyes guilty and ashamed, afraid of the answer.

"Yes, you did." you continued to watch him.

You were honest. It felt good saying these things to him.

"You think it's because of my mum?"

"You hate me just as much as she does. It's a clear explanation."

"But it's not true."

"well, whatever the explanation is, it surely wouldn't change anything you did. You're horrible, James." it just kept coming out and at some point, you knew this was dangerous but at the other, you couldn't stop. "You used to be so kind and so sweet when we were kids, neighbors even but I couldn't shake you off. Not home, not here. It was like living with a shadow. You always followed and I was always in such pit of darkness and loneliness because of you. I hated myself because of you. I tried to love me, something, anything but you never let me and this! "you shouted, lifting the journal in your hands." This was my safety. This was my listening ear. My healing. My only trustee but now I don't even have this. So thank you, James. For taking everything away from me. " you threw the journal in the lake and moved passed him. "Thank you for killing me."

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charmed-asylum · 4 years

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𝒩ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ ℰ𝓁𝓈ℯ ℳ𝒶𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇

𝒩ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ ℰ𝓁𝓈ℯ ℳ𝒶𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇 , Chapter 1

Summary: Rosary Woods used to spend her summers in Hawkins. Now years later with untimely death of her father, she sent to live with her grandparents. Coming back to a place that use to give her pleasant memories but now full with dark secrets she hopes never see daylight. Her plan was simple easy till one night she finds a drunk boy full of curls and after life never the same.

FYI: This is my 1st fanfic. I do have dyslexia so if something wrong let me know. If you like it let me know same if you don’t. #Foodie be out this week too. ** Side note I’m looking for some talent ** tag list open

𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐿𝒾𝓈𝓉

Tagged: @alagalaska @nottherightseason @alias-b @screensirenfic @linkispink1995 @staticscreenwriting

How the hell did all this happened. How the FUCK this happen. How did I end up alone on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere? Cold as hell with a runny nose from my tears and sharp pain of betrayal. I know now. It all started a couple of months ago. When I was tossed into this hickory town. Where one night find a stupid blue eyes boy drunk out his mind. With your stupid Mother, Mary's attitude had to help him. Now that drunk piece of shit made you fall for him to drop kick you in a small amount of a few months.

My brown eyes fill with glittery tears, tried to think back on every step that lead me here what was it? What did I do wrong? What I would do to go back to that night in October. Go back to that day I met that boy that came out of nowhere and changed my life

🍂🍂🍂

The fall air left a warm scent as I walk out the greyhound in my short denim overalls with a plain white short-sleeved shirt and black and white converses with black laces. My long midnight black wavy hair dancing with the wind with my red heart shades on, taking my around at my surroundings. Even though I have been here many times, this was the first time I came that wasn’t summer visits.

Those had an arrival and departure two way this time though was a one way. It was a lot different than home, Florida. It’s always sunny and things to do unlike here. Flipping my cassette player back on I walk over to the rusted metal benches and wait for my ride. I didn’t want to be here. However, when you have no other choice what can you do. My life stuffed in my dad's old beat-up army bag. I lend back hoping this was a dream and I wake up home with my dad not here. I didn’t hate here I just hate why I’m here. The two-day bus rides a dread and didn't help. Still, I’m stuck with nothing to do but cruise under the radar till graduation. Toss the cap in the air and by the time it's back in my hands I have another ticket to somewhere else.

I gentle tap took me out from my inner monologue into reality. An older woman in her 60s with short curly golden frost hair bright red lipstick that got bit on her front tooth in a flower print long dress. In all, she was the fifth unseen golden girl or what I know her as grams.

“‘HELLO ROSARY. You hear me call for you over there by the car” Grams shouts into my ear. Looking up at her I smile and move my bag out the way to hug her tight.

“ Sorry, the meds got me all out of it. Hi, grams it good to see you” I said holding onto the strap of my bag. She gave me a nod and kiss my cheek leaving an imprint.

“ Oh shut I forgot. Sorry, we couldn’t get your flights no airport close by. Sweetie. Grab your bag we can go home” Grams says walking and talking to the car. Tucking my shades in my pocket I follow her music still playing in my ears.

“ Where Papa at,” I asked looking out the window.

“ Oh, he at the diner checking on things. But he will be back by dinner. I sign you up for school. You start tomorrow. Your car will be ship here in two weeks so the bus to school till then” Grams said pulling up to the house. “ Look, honey. I know things have been hard the last few months but coming here can be your fresh start. So it’s up to you what you do. Stay sane try to be different better you dear” Grams said getting out of the car. Simply put it don’t fuck up this time.

“ Yes. Ma’am. I’m gonna the perfect granddaughter” I said with a eat shit grin.

“Don’t do that it’s tacky. I did not mean what I said that way sweetie. Huh lord, I need my soaps. Drop your stuff in your room” Grams said walking into the house.

My room more like a guest room. They tried though I give them that the last time I been here was years ago when I was 11. Then after that was with my dad across seas. By then the damage was done. Walls were eggshell white with a few pictures of me by dad and them that set on the wall by the window. The bed was against the wall with a small glass nightstand with a trunk in front. Probably the same one my dad had when he was my age. The small closet across the bed and an old oakwood dresser. This will do I’m sure in no time she can make it homie. I push my hand on the bed testing out the string a bit. This is my life now. Better just get used to it. Anger bubble deep in my chest as it slowly starts to hit me. This is a life I don't want. I wanted the life I had before one that was far from perfect but he was there. I toss my bag beside me with a bit of force and scream into my hands.

It took no time till I was done. I change up the pictures and some more on my dresser. A few things on the nightstand then to top it off my mint condition organized record collection in a purple crat that sat beside my dad's 1960s Gibson Hummingbird Fixed Bridge acoustic guitar.

“ So you all done. It’s not much but we go somewhere someday. Sorry, papa wasn’t here. After Benny passed away our place been the hot spot. Back to the glory days, he says” Grams said with a chuckle. I sat down beside her legs cross under me and started to flip through Good Housekeeping

“ So Benny no more. Anything else happens since I have been here last” I asked getting comfortable.

“Let's see. That Will kid you babysit a few times went miss for a week or so. Last year. And that’s about it. I don’t pay much attention to those things. Papa and I are going to bible study tonight. I know you not up to it this week. So you don’t have to go but I am looking forward to next week” Grams said. I ruffled my hand into my deep chocolate hair and nod yes.

“ I would love that. Thank you. That reminds me. I have to fill up on my pain killers. If it’s not much to ask can you please take me one day this week? Or may I go into town myself” I asked taking out my pill bottle?

Still, months later the pain reminds the same. Even the memories still were in tack as if it happened minutes ago. A tear rolled down my face just reliving it. Grams hold me tight smoothing me and rubbing my back as I let out a heavy cry. My dainty finger claw into her shoulder blade as tight as possible. I didn’t hate that I was here I just hate the why.

🌙🌙🌙

DADDY!!” I shout out. My body was soaked with a cold sweat and tears still running down my cheeks. Too weak to even move, I bend over cup my hands into my face, and scream.

Always the nightmares. Always the same two each night. Back home I would find a party or smoke or wave to ride but here. NOTHING. I promise a new me I remind myself. One that is not set to explode any second. One that took all their demons and bury it in the deepest hole. This me doesn’t let them loose but keep them hidden tight. That won’t break and burn everything she touches. This me be gentle, kind, and read the Bible instead of throwing my fist. I promise my father that even my estranged grandparents will be better.

After a good pity party, I decided to stay wasn’t gonna help me. I needed to out. I toss on some navy blue gym shorts pull down my Scooby-Doo t-shirt, which was getting a little bit smaller than last time I warn it years ago, decided for a walk.

Grams and Papa came back from church just after 11. Just missing the kids trick or treating. I stay back gave an empty smile say hello few folks who came by or heard over the rumor mill I was back. None who I really care about. The clock blink, 3:00. The cool breeze comforts me like a blanket over my shoulders. Music played close to mute. I thought about it all. If he at peace would I see him again. Could I make it to June in this town?

Far ahead of me on my way back, I saw a figure laying on the crisp grass. After the stories, Grams told me I wonder if it was anything important. As I got closer I saw an outline of a person. I stop and slow my walking this time with caution. Till I was right beside him. He was rocking back and forth humming some song no shirt tight-ass pants and hair messy with no shoes. This boy diffidently was fucking or having a good time. Part of me envies him and that freedom. Another knew it was because even if I don’t say it out loud he beautiful mess. Totally my type and that what it got tricky he was a reminder of the past I was hoping to leave behind. Flipping my hair out my face I got down to eye level and gently touch him.

“ Hey Hey you alright, “ I asked shaking him a bit.

He looks up and grins at me with a sleepy doozy grin. His eyes sparkle in the night sky and for a second I forgot he was drunk. My stomach did this thing I only ever felt a few times before. Back when I was happy. I shook my head and look around for help or at less to see if he drove or had friends. No luck. Part of me thought it be best to leave but then I saw it. Right below his eyes the old bruise and cuts. My jaw tightened till it clicks.

“ Mommy. Mommy” he said touching my face. I felt the cold touch of his ring against my lips. I tap it to the side and wrap his arm around me to get him up. Praying to God he, not a psycho, or I will regret this. He started to kiss my neck all while calling me mommy. Kinky mother fucker

“ Yeah Hot Wheels, not your mommy come on almost there,” I said helping him back home. He giggles and tried to be a handy hand reaching my hip and butt.

“ Holy shit your you are your a doll baby” he slurred into my ear.

Praying any god’s that my grandparents don’t wake up to him almost knocking everything down. I put my hand to his mouth and a finger to mine so he shut up. On the first day of this new me, I’m playing babysitting to a drunk man child. With ease, I toss him on my bed. He cuddles with one of my pillows squeezing my old grumpy carebear and drifts to sleep. I waited a second before I went and made my own special hangover shake and a bucket for the morning. Taking more time time to clean his face a bit and hand as gentle as I could. Time blink at 3:58, I sat on the floor against my dresser and watch him sleep. Wondering if a boy like that had nightmares too.

I woke up two hours later. Still on the floor face left with a carpet imprint. The boy from this morning now turns over to the other side against the wall sound asleep. I got up from my spot on wobbly legs grab some things and head to the bathroom.

As the cold water hit my face I kept thinking about before till the face of baby blue came into mine. His eyes look like way mine when I look into the mirror and it puzzles me. Never have I found someone else that had the same eyes as mine. Apart from me wonder what was behind those eyes. I shack it off as I dry my hair. If the boy's eyes look like mine then that means on things, his demons were just as bad. I change into tacky stuck in time uniform and walk back deep in thoughts when I stop. The boy was gone. I rush out of my room almost tripping over my own foot, empty. Nothing change in my room just the note. It wasn’t till I sat and smell the faint scent of cologne and cigarettes. It wasn’t a dream he was real. I laugh at myself there no way I will be seeing him again.

🍂🍂🍂

He couldn’t remember much just that her face was half cover by her loose curly hair that shines against the streetlight. The innocent big brown eyes that went with a sugar-sweet smile. Even though she was nowhere close to his mom. He couldn’t help but think about her. He never saw someone that beautiful before. Holding on to her tight sniff her in, honey and vanilla. He wanted to stare at her as long as he could but as soon as he hit the twin size bed he was out.

“Fuck am I” he hissed holding his head trying to think what happened last night. Last he remembered was making out with some blonde at the Halloween party or was it sex. His eyes look at the cup and bucket. Brown eye. He slowly picks up the note and read it:

Sleepy Head, First off we did not have sex and no I don’t know you. What I can tell you is this you were drunk and laying on someone's lawn alone. I live on Church street and Maple Lane. If it’s before 6 and your reading this back door

He laughs at the note and put it back where he found it. It was still early Neil wouldn’t be awake if he left now. He thought maybe he leave a thank you but it decided against it. He promised himself no attachment just to graduate, save up, and leave. No room for nothing else. Before he left he heard noises from the bathroom. Sound like a peaceful lullaby. Inching close he peaks in to see a figure from behind the curtain. Shaking his head he slips out and all his Mary way her black and white Adidas flip flops whistling her lullaby.

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