#........... or its someone who is actually being friendly and trying to just have a conversation with me idk idk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notiddygothgf · 13 days ago

Text

ii.

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're drunk. ❞ ❝ Not that drunk. ❞

★ c.w.: tension. drinking. reader embarrassing the hell out of herself omg. not beta'd

★ a/n: oh my god i was so excited after the amount of love i got on the last chapter that i absolutely had to rush this one out!!! i was literally ripping my shirt off bc of the tension i just want them to fuck omg. (Jk... not rlly tho stay tuned). anyway if you couldnt tell im super aki hungry lately. this chapter is the result of that. we get to see a different side to the cold blooded captain.... i think yall r gonna like it just trust me ;)

again i apologize for the fast pacing, pls remember that this is a short story! (though shameless was supposed to be short too so who knows i may rewrite it into a longfic teehee). you know the drill! leave lots and lots of comments for me to read and ill make that next chapter come out stat! get ready... its a long one lol xx

★ w.c: .5.2k

pornstar ; chapter index

THE NIGHT – for the most part – had just started. Your drinks, on the other hand, hadn't waited up. You were three beers deep, head perched on your hand, peering at Himeno, who was telling some wild recount of the mission you had just had. Everyone else was listening, too, heads turned, eyes wide while she described the way you had "swooped in and saved the day" (something Hayakawa had chewed you out for).

"She blew a hole straight through the building," She was saying. "But there were no casualties. Talk about precision, am I right?"

And, eyelids droopy as all hell, you laughed, swirling the piss yellow liquid around in your beer mug. The pleasant buzz from the few drinks you'd had were beginning to seep into your skin, warmth washing over you in slow, comforting waves. You basked in it for a moment, tuning out of the conversation being had only a few feet away.

You tuned out and, instead, your attention shifted. You see, it was hard to stay focused when a certain someone you hadn't expected to show up actually wound up pulling through, now seated at the other end of the table looking far too uptight to be at a friendly gathering. He was wearing his Public Safety uniform – the one you had never seen him out of... not that you were thinking about what he looked like out of uniform, or anything like that – and he looked good enough to have you questioning your own sanity.

You swore it was the alcohol – you swore it was. Nothing else could explain the way your pulse thrummed a little harder in your veins when he looked up and caught your gaze, cobalt eyes tearing you apart at the seams. Hair pulled back perfectly into his signature ponytail, not a strand out of place. He hadn't taken off his suit, but you were suddenly rather conscious of how much larger than you he was – of the way he seemed that much taller than you, even when he was sitting down, of the way his suit accentuated his broad shoulders. His jawline was sharp and angular, just like the rest of him, and his eyes... fuck, his eyes...

Were staring right at you.

Biting back a shriek, you averted your gaze, glaring into your lap like that would make the situation any better. You had to take the situation at face value – you had invited your superior out to drinks and were now making a complete and utter fool out of yourself by spending the evening making goo-goo eyes at him.

Oh, and not to mention the fact that you were supposed to hate his fucking guts.

Shaking yourself out of it, you tuned back into Himeno's conversation, trying to latch onto her words like a lifeline.

"So then, this asshole pops out of nowhere—like, I swear to God, he came out of thin air—and he goes for her throat. But!—" She punctuated her words with an exaggerated hand motion, nearly knocking over her beer in the process. "She dodges like it's nothing. I mean, I've never seen reflexes like that. It was unreal."

You managed a laugh, though it came out a little delayed, like your body had to remember how to react. The alcohol had made you sluggish, slow, and the warmth in your chest had turned sticky, clinging to your ribs. You weren't even sure what you were feeling anymore, but something about it didn't sit right.

Your gaze slid back to him—because of course it did. And this time, when you looked, he wasn't looking back.

Instead, Aki's attention was on something else entirely—on someone else. He was speaking to one of the girls from another division. Kobeni, you realized. She was nodding, awkward and stiff, while he spoke, his expression the same measured, unreadable one he always wore.

You let your head drop onto Himeno's shoulder, exhaling through your nose. What the hell is going on between us?

It wasn't like you. You weren't the type to get hung up on things like this. But tonight, the drinks had loosened something in you, and you could feel it unraveling, thread by thread. Aki was a pain in your ass. He was the one constantly calling you reckless, the one always tightening the reins when you stepped even a little out of line. You weren't supposed to care. You weren't supposed to notice how sharp his jaw looked under the dim bar lights or the way his hands moved when he spoke.

And yet.

Himeno, drunker than you were, said nothing about the way you leaned against her, only let her head tilt slightly against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You shut your eyes for a moment. Maybe if you pretended you weren't watching him, pretended you weren't thinking about this at all, it would stop feeling like something.

But it didn't work.

No, once more, your gaze drifted back to the damn captain. This time, when he spoke to Kobeni, she smiled – wide enough to crease the skin at the corners of her eyes. She was a pretty, young thing. She had pretty eyes and pretty, chestnut brown hair. She was shy and timid and took orders very well – everything you were not.

I wonder if he likes her, You couldn't help but wonder, smile dropping from your face while you observed the two of them in conversation.

A strange feeling clawed its way over your chest. Something you couldn't name. It was a horrible, rotten feeling. One you hadn't felt since you were a highschooler. It sat in your stomach like a brick, burning its way through your arteries, prying at your lips for escape.

It was jealousy.

Oh, what the fuck?

She definitely likes him, you thought. That much was evident by the way she leaned into her superior's space, eagerly taking in every word that left his mouth. Her eyes glimmered with something that made your stomach churn.

It was jealousy, you knew that, but... why? Why him? Why now?

Why the fuck did you even care?

Why did you feel jealous over a man you hated?

Himeno's hand on your shoulder shook you out of your drunken gaze. You perked up, lifting your head from the crook in her shoulder, turning your attention away from the scene in front of you so you could dedicate all of your attention to someone more deserving of it.

"You know, kohai," She giggled, face flushed with a drunken shade. "You're really pretty."

Am I in the twilight zone?

You smiled at her, "That's coming from you."

"Oh, shut up," The woman replied, batting you away with your hands, laughing up a storm. "I wanna ask you... ask you 'sumthin."

You knit your brows together, pursing your lips. "What's up?"

She looked at you, then, lashes fluttering over her one good eye, mischief written all over her face. You knew you shouldn't have asked, but you were even more shocked by her answer, "Would you kiss me?"

You laughed at that – you couldn't help it, truly. Himeno had kissed just about every person in the division (though you weren't sure if that excluded a certain stuck-up bastard, and you were even less sure that you wanted to ask). Still, it was because of that fact that you knew her request was harmless. It was... just her way of showing love while drunk. She couldn't help it.

"I didn't know you could swing that way, Himeno," You laughed.

"I've never tried– hic– tried," She shrugged, as if she was asking the easiest question in the entire world. "'M jussst... curious, aren't you?"

You answered back, "Not really."

And she pouted at that – like she was a child and not a drunk-ass, grown-ass woman, "Why not? Am I not your type?"

No, but apparently someone else is.

Peering down at the table, vision a little hazy, you polished off the rest of your beer. Then, you added, "You could say that."

Why do I feel drunker than I did a few minutes ago?

"Who's your type, then?" She asked, leaning forward, all up into your personal space, and it would have bothered you if it was anyone else, "Do you like girls? Guys?"

"Never really explored, but..." You hummed. The beer made its way down the back of your throat, warming your vocal chords, your stomach, your chest. "Guys, I guess."

Then that devilish little grin of hers was back on her face. "If you could fuck anyone here, then, who would it be?"

"Sober or drunk?" You laughed, setting your empty mug down with a soft clink.

Himeno cackled, tipping forward slightly in her seat. The alcohol had turned her loose, made her limbs sluggish and her voice louder than she probably realized. "A few shots, maybe. Not drunk."

You hummed, drumming your fingers against the table, pretending to give it some thought. But the answer was already there, sitting heavy in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment of weakness to slip through the cracks.

Captain Hayakawa.

The name surfaced so quickly, so naturally, that it startled you. And before you could stop yourself, before you could even pretend to fight it, your gaze flickered back to him.

Big mistake.

Because Himeno caught it immediately.

She gasped, sharp and dramatic, smacking a hand over her mouth like she had just witnessed a crime scene. It was so loud, so cartoonish, that a few people turned to look, and you had to resist the urge to sink into your seat.

"No fucking way," she whispered, but there was nothing subtle about the gleam in her eye. She practically vibrated with excitement, like she'd just stumbled upon the juiciest piece of gossip imaginable. Then, with a grin, she leaned in, voice hushed but not nearly hushed enough. "You're hot for captain?"

You snapped your head toward her so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "No—no, no," you hissed, gripping her forearm in a weak attempt to physically shut her up. "Shut up, Himeno."

She wasn't having it. She wiggled her brows at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. "No fucking way," she repeated, drawing out every syllable like she was savoring them. "I thought you hated his guts."

"I do," you shot back, a little too fast, a little too forceful. It was immediate. Instinctive. A reflex.

And she noticed.

The look on her face turned downright smug.

"I don't have the hots for him," you corrected, shaking your head, willing your face to cool down even as it burned. "Now would you keep it down?"

Himeno held up her hands in surrender, but there was something devious in the way she did it, like she was still holding onto the truth of the situation, just waiting for the right moment to pry it back open.

She sat back slightly, but then, after a beat—because of course she couldn't just leave it at that—she leaned in again, voice dipping lower, eyes gleaming. "If you were a little drunker, though..."

You groaned, slapping a hand over your face. "Enough," you hissed, dragging out the word, but your voice lacked bite.

She was full-on giggling now, shoulders shaking, thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

Then, her laughter faded—just a little—and she tilted her head, giving you a look that was too knowing, too amused. "Not even a kiss?"

"No," you said, firm. But somehow, it didn't feel quite as firm as it should have.

The night went smoothly after that. Drinks and conversation were flowing, you were sufficiently drunk, and the lot of you were laughing loud enough to disturb any of the other patrons who came to this poor izakaya to get moderately tipsy.

The drinks kept coming, conversation swelling louder with each round, the izakaya thick with smoke and the scent of grilled meat. You were properly drunk, the kind where your limbs felt loose, where laughter came too easily, where everything should've been fun, should've been easy.

Except it wasn't.

Because across the table, Aki was still talking to Kobeni.

And you didn't care. You didn't.

You had no reason to. You weren't friends. You weren't anything. If anything, you hated his guts—his quiet, know-it-all demeanor, his stupid pretty face, the way he always acted so fucking above it all. Like he was better than the rest of you just because he didn't get sloppy drunk, didn't fuck around, didn't let things get to him.

And yet—

Your drink was empty again. When had that happened? You barely remembered drinking it. You reached for the bottle to pour yourself more, but your hand wasn't as steady as you wanted it to be. Himeno laughed beside you, grabbing the bottle before you could knock it over.

"Take it easy," she teased, topping off your glass anyway.

You snorted. "I'm fine."

Himeno grinned, and for a moment, you let yourself focus on her instead. It was easier. She was warm, easy to be around, all teasing smiles and the kind of confidence that made everything feel simple.

But then—

Another laugh from across the table. Aki's.

You hadn't even known he could laugh like that, low and quiet, the kind that didn't come often. Your stomach twisted before you could stop it, your head snapping toward him on instinct.

Kobeni was leaning in, her hands curled in her lap, nodding at whatever he'd said. And Aki—he wasn't even looking at her anymore, just staring down at his drink, lips twitching like he wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

You clenched your jaw.

It wasn't like they were doing anything.

Aki wasn't flirting—he wasn't the type. You knew that. He wasn't the kind of guy to lean in too close, to lower his voice just enough to make someone's breath hitch, to toy with people the way Himeno did. He was the exact opposite—quiet, serious, all sharp edges and self-control.

And yet, there was something unbearable about the way he was sitting there, across the table, listening to Kobeni like she was worth listening to.

She was talking—some pointless, forgettable thing, probably about work—but her body language spoke louder than her words. The way she fidgeted with her glass, how she kept sneaking glances at him, how her voice wavered slightly before picking up again, like she was hesitating before every sentence. She was nervous. And that alone made you feel like something was pressing against your ribs, like a slow, smoldering ember was settling somewhere beneath your skin.

She was trying.

Trying to impress him. Trying to be seen by him.

And Aki—Aki, idiot that he was—just sat there, unreadable as ever, nodding along, responding just enough to keep the conversation going but not enough to give anything away. Not pushing her away. Not shutting her down.

Letting her talk. Letting her have his attention.

Your fingers tightened around your drink.

It was stupid.

You didn't even like him.

You weren't sure if you even respected him. Half the time, you couldn't stand him—his rules, his orders, the way he always acted so damn above it all. You'd seen him roll his eyes at you more times than you could count, seen the way he sighed when you got under his skin. You weren't his type, and he sure as hell wasn't yours.

So you had no reason—none at all—to feel that awful, simmering thing curling in your stomach.

Maybe it was just the alcohol.

Or maybe it was something uglier.

Maybe it was the fact that if Aki ever looked at you the way Kobeni looked at him, you wouldn't know what the fuck to do with it. Maybe it was the idea that he could like someone like her—quiet, nervous, too polite for her own good—when all he ever did with you was act like you were a fucking nuisance.

Maybe it was that, deep down, you had always assumed Aki didn't have the capacity to like anyone at all.

And now, watching him sit there, watching Kobeni work up the nerve to inch closer, to brush her fingers against the edge of his sleeve like she was testing the waters—you weren't so sure anymore.

You downed your drink, jaw tightening.

Himeno nudged you, her voice playful but perceptive. "You're awfully quiet," she mused, lips quirking.

You exhaled sharply, barely processing the words before your own were spilling out.

"I changed my mind."

Himeno blinked. "Huh?"

You didn't think.Didn't hesitate. Didn't second-guess yourself.

Your hand curled into the fabric of Himeno's collar, tugging her forward with more force than necessary. There was barely a beat of surprise before your lips crashed against hers, the alcohol burning hot in your veins, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The izakaya erupted around you. A chair scraping against the floor, a loud whistle, the sharp intake of breath from someone—Kobeni, probably. Laughter. Someone shouting something half-coherent in encouragement. The kind of scene that would normally make you self-conscious, make you want to shrink away from the attention.

But you didn't shrink away.

Because Himeno kissed you back.

And she kissed you like she meant it.

Her lips tasted like warm sake, sweet and sharp, the scent of cigarette smoke clinging faintly to her. Her fingers slid up your neck, slow and deliberate, curling at the base of your skull. She deepened the kiss, tilting her head just enough to press closer, her breath mingling with yours.

For a second, it was grounding.

For a second, the heat of it, the weight of her hands, the press of her body against yours—it was enough to drown out the gnawing, ugly feeling twisting in your stomach.

You could feel her smirk against your mouth. Himeno had always been good at this—at teasing, at making things feel light, easy. Like none of it had to mean anything.

When she pulled back, her grin was lazy, her eyes lidded and amused. Her fingers stayed in your hair, playing absently with the strands.

"Damn," she murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear, "You kiss like a man. I like it."

The words should've embarrassed you.

Should've made you regret it.

But you just laughed, breathless. It felt a little hollow.

Because when you glanced toward Aki's seat—

He was gone.

Your stomach dropped, the lightness of the moment collapsing in on itself.

And just like that, the heat you'd felt seconds ago twisted into something unbearable.

The room was too loud. Too warm. The laughter too sharp, the smell of alcohol suddenly cloying. Himeno was still watching you, her teasing smile lingering, but you couldn't focus on any of it.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

It shouldn't have mattered. It didn't matter. But your heart was pounding anyway, and suddenly the room felt too loud, the heat of it unbearable. Himeno was still looking at you, a teasing remark likely on the tip of her tongue, but you couldn't focus on any of it.

That asshole, you thought – ideas ruminating in your mind. I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind, leaving with no excuse like that.

You pushed your chair back, barely hearing the legs scrape against the floor.

"Where are you—?" Himeno started, but you were already moving, shoving past the press of bodies, stepping outside.

The night air hit you immediately, a sharp contrast to the stifling warmth of the izakaya. The street was damp from earlier rain, neon lights from nearby signs reflecting off the slick pavement. The noise from inside was muffled now, like it belonged to a different world.

You didn't stop until you came face-to-face with an intimidating figure. You exhaled slowly, breath curling in the cold. And then—

Aki.

He stood a few steps away, his back against the wall, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He wasn't smoking it, not yet—just twirling it absently, gaze fixed on some distant point down the street. His expression was unreadable, the way it always was.

And he was devastatingly handsome, even now – fucking asshole.

Biting back a drunk little grin – and realizing that you knew damn well you would never, ever have done this sober – you approached him, hips swaying from side to side. Whether the motion was due to your trying to come off as enticing or due to the copious amounts of sake and beer you had ingested, you weren't sure. Hell, you weren't sure about anything anymore.

And, the moment those baby blues of his flicked up to meet your gaze, you immediately regretted coming out to find him. The fact that he was perceiving you now in such a drunken state was enough to have your heart beating against your ribs like an animal at the zoo (but not enough to make you back down now that you had him alone). You knew it was stupid, fuck, you should have turned back on your heel and gone back the way you had come, but you couldn't stop yourself.

No, I have to give him a piece of my mind.

His eyes dropped down to your outfit – the little black dress you definitely hadn't picked out with him in mind, making sure that it revealed just the right amount of cleavage, hugged you in all of the right places – and then back up to your face. The movement was small, almost perceptible, but in your wasted state, you were hyperconscious of his every move, of the way his eyes widened when they saw you, the way you could smell the scent of him from where you were standing, masculine, woody, ambery cologne mingled in with the faintest hint of smoke.

You were so drunk that you were practically seeing two of him until you refocused your eyes. So drunk that, for a moment, you couldn't say anything – realizing that you had forgotten to come up with an excuse to see him at that moment – and neither could he.

You were the first one to break the silence. "You're such an asshole."

He didn't look the slightest bit phased by your words. Instead, he reached into his pocket and searched for his lighter, holding it up to the end of the cigarette and striking the wheel until the flame took.

"You just... left," You swallowed, throat suddenly very dry.

He held the cigarette up to his lips, popping it between them like it was the most natural thing in the world, taking a deep breath. You watched the tension melt away from his shoulders, smelled the nicotine as it wafted up into the air around you.

Then, finally, he glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah."

Your pulse jumped at the sound of his voice for no reason whatsoever. Pouting, you crossed your arms, damn near stumbling as you did so, "You didn't even say anything. No goodbye, no nothing."

"I was stepping out for a smoke," He breathed smoke out into the air. "Didn't think I needed to."

God, he pissed you off. Him and... his... his beautiful, blue eyes, and... fuck.

"You could at least pretend to be fun sometimes," You muttered – you thought it was beneath your breath, but when you caught the way his head tilted at your words, you knew that wasn't the case. So, instead of apologizing for insubordination like you probably should have done, you decided to dig your grave a little deeper. "You just sit in there– hic– all stiff, barely... barely drinkin', actin' like– like you're... too good for the rest of us."

"I'm tipsy enough," He hummed. "Not that that's any of your business, and I wasn't acting like anything."

Now, this was the point where any sane person would have dropped to their knees and apologized to him.

Not you, though.

No, the liquid courage coursing through your veins deluded you into thinking that you could talk some sense into him.

Actually, what came out was something entirely different.

"You were all over Kobeni," You narrowed your eyes. The words left your lips before you could even stop them. Immediately, regret settled in your chest, washing over you in waves – making your face burn.

There's no way I just said that to him, you chastised yourself internally, Fuck, I'm gonna be fired.

Aki didn't react at first. Just stared at you. Then, after a beat, he let out a short, dry sigh.

"You're drunk."

You pouted, "Not that drunk." (Which was a total lie. You were practically smelling colors).

He studied you again with those fucking... hawk eyes of his, gaze sharp in a way that made your skin crawl with anxiety. He wasn't looking at you the way Kobeni had looked at him – wasn't waiting for something, hoping for something. But he was looking at you.

Finally looking at you. And somehow, that was worse.

"She was asking me about an upcoming assignment," He commented, voice flat. You should have been grateful that he had even decided to humor you and your drunk interrogation, realistically. "That's it."

He's... surprisingly patient today.

I wonder how far I can push him until he snaps, you thought, not really knowing why – or, for that matter, what the hell had crawled into your brain to control you and make all of these stupid decisions.

You huffed, "Oh."

"Yeah," He pulled another hit from his cigarette, and this time, you observed him – the sinful way his lips wrapped around the end of it, cherry glowing orange while he took another deep breath. Then, you watched him breathe the smoke out through his nose. "You're a real pain in my ass. You know that?"

You didn't know why – the same way you didn't know why everything was happening, but you laughed. It was more like a giggle, really, a bubbly, drunken noise that you practically choked out. Either way, it was enough to have him looking at you like you had two heads.

You stumbled a little closer to him and, to your surprise, he didn't inch away. Instead, his gaze followed your sluggish movements, different, this time – like a cat eyeing up a naive little mouse. Like you were prey.

"What the hell's gotten into you tonight?" He asked.

Stumbling over your feet, you braced your hands on the wall in front of you, dropping your head and laughing a little harder. Truthfully, you didn't know why you were laughing. Nothing was funny. None of this was funny.

Even more truthfully – as you peeled your gaze up from the ground, from Aki's shoes, you realized that you weren't leaning on a wall at all.

You were leaning on him.

I'm fucking dead, you thought. If I wake up tomorrow, I'll be handed a letter of termination.

You met his gaze head-on, half-lidded eyes peering up at him through your lashes. He didn't break eye-contact this time. No, he was looking at you the same way you were looking at him – like neither of you knew why any of this was happening, like you weren't quite sure if you wanted it to stop, either, even though you knew it should.

You could see it again – the faint shift in his expression, in the way he looked at you. Something had definitely changed. There was an unreadable glint in his eyes. Maybe if you were sober, you would have been able to tell what it was.

Then again, if you were sober, you would have done the right thing tonight and stayed inside. You certainly wouldn't have been there, leaning on his shoulder, looking up at him and realizing that everything was different.

It wasn't just the alcohol. No, he was different.

"I hope you're not driving home," He commented, though his voice lacked its usual tenor, its usual confidence. "Not like this."

Why's he actin' so weird?

"Since when did you care?" You pouted. When he said nothing, you answered. "Okay, I walked here."

"Good," He sighed.

"You wanna walk me home?"

The words slurred out before you could even process them, and you immediately regretted asking. Aki, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching you from the corner of his eye, but his gaze didn't soften.

"No."

His response was quick, firm, and just a little too cold. But the way his gaze flickered over you, almost a little too long, made you wonder if he wasn't as unaffected as he wanted you to think.

You blinked, not entirely sure what you were expecting but not that. "Why not?" you asked, and your voice came out more whiny than you'd intended.

Aki didn't immediately answer, flicking the cigarette ash onto the ground, the ember glowing brighter for a brief second. He looked at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his voice was low and tired. "Because I don't feel like it."

You frowned, feeling the weight of his words tug at your chest, though you couldn't fully explain why. "Lame," you muttered. You weren't sure what you were even getting at anymore, but the thought of being alone tonight felt worse than anything else.

He eyed you for a second, but there was something softer in his expression now. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in for him, too. "You're drunk," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you weren't sure was out of discomfort or something else.

You smiled—more like a crooked grin, but you couldn't help it. "I'm not that drunk," you protested, but you swayed on your feet as you said it, and he didn't look convinced.

Aki's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. Sure, you're not." His eyes flicked to yours again, a little too keen for someone who was supposed to be this dismissive.

"I just... don't wanna be alone," you muttered, the words coming out before you even realized you were saying them.

Aki stared at you for a long moment, and you swore there was a flicker of something in his gaze—annoyance? Amusement? But it passed just as quickly. "Well, that's your problem," he said with a dry chuckle, his tone flat, as though he were trying to make it clear he didn't want to hear it. "Not mine."

You stumbled slightly, both from the alcohol and the sting of his words. "Right," you muttered, trying to steady yourself, feeling the warm rush of liquid courage running through you. But as you stood there, looking up at him, something started to sink in. This was Aki. You knew him. Knew his moods. His indifference. But this, tonight—something was different.

"I... just," you began, trying to find the right words, but they came out jumbled. "Just... help me, okay?" The desperation was there, but you weren't sure if he saw it.

His eyes softened slightly, the sharpness in them dulling just a little as his cigarette burned down to a stub. "Help you? What, do you expect me to just babysit you?"

You winced at the word, the thought stinging more than it should have. "No," you murmured, taking a step closer to him. "I just..." You trailed off, biting your lip. The alcohol was starting to cloud your thoughts even more, but you couldn't shake the feeling that if you didn't convince him now, you'd really be on your own. And you couldn't handle that tonight.

Aki raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unsure of what you were getting at. "What?" he asked, a little too bluntly for your liking.

You stared up at him, breath a little shaky. "Please," you repeated, but this time, there was something more vulnerable in your tone. "Pleeeeeeeasee."

The words felt like a weight that had to be lifted, but they also made you feel foolish. You weren't that drunk. You weren't. But the world felt like it was spinning out of control, and you didn't know where to place your feet anymore.

Aki took a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to process everything you'd just said. There was no edge in his voice anymore, just a weariness that made you wonder if you weren't the only one who'd had too much to drink.

"You're really something," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't even know why I'm putting up with this."

"I'll cry," you said, half-laughing, half-serious. The words felt ridiculous, but they slipped out anyway, desperate in their simplicity.

Aki's gaze softened a little, though the smirk that tugged at his lips was almost imperceptible. "Go ahead," he said, voice flat, but his eyes held something deeper.

The silence stretched between you as you waited for him to backpedal, to somehow take back that easy dismissal. But instead, his shoulders sagged, and he sighed, long and loud. He took a last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and ground it out beneath his heel.

"Fine," he muttered, and the words caught you off guard. "I'll walk you home."

For a moment, you didn't believe him, like the weight of what he was agreeing to was still sinking in. You blinked, slightly stunned. "Wait, really?"

He shot you an incredulous look, though his eyes softened just a little, like he was too tired to argue anymore. "Yeah, really. Can we go now, before you start actually crying?"

You blinked, a small, unsteady laugh slipping from your lips. You hadn't expected him to cave so easily, and it made you feel like you'd gotten away with something. But then, the weight of what you'd just gotten him to agree to settled in. You didn't want to push your luck any further.

Aki took a step back and gestured toward the door of the izakaya, his voice dropping lower. "We can't leave together. Not like this. If people see us leaving at the same time, it'll look weird."

The realization hit you. Of course. Everyone had been watching you all night, and there was no way you could just stroll out of there with him without someone noticing. "Right," you mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed at how quickly you'd forgotten about that. "Okay. You go first."

He nodded, his expression softening just a touch. "I'll wait a few minutes, make it look like I'm staying." He gave you a dry look, his lips curling into that familiar smirk. "Try not to make a scene on your way out. Himeno's gonna wonder what's going on."

You winced, the reminder of Himeno's playful teasing still fresh in your mind. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. You were still trying to process the fact that Aki—Aki—had actually agreed to walk you home.

He gave you a brief nod before turning to head toward the back of the bar, disappearing behind a row of drunken patrons and laughter, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the noise inside.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, trying to ignore the swirl of thoughts that followed you like a second layer of fog. You'd barely had enough time to process everything that had happened between you two tonight, let alone now have to pretend like nothing was different.

You swayed a little as you turned back toward the group, feeling that odd combination of exhilaration and dread settling in your chest. When you reached Himeno's side, she was already watching you with that sly little grin of hers. She could probably read you like a book, even if you were still half-drunk.

You straightened your shoulders, trying to force a smile. "I'm heading out," you told her, your voice still a little shaky. "Long day tomorrow."

Himeno raised an eyebrow but said nothing for a moment, like she was trying to make sense of something you weren't telling her. "Uh-huh. Sure," she replied, her voice a little too casual for your liking. "Alright. Be careful. You arewalking home, right?"

You nodded quickly, swallowing down a lump in your throat. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Himeno eyed you for a beat longer before shrugging. "Okay. Have a good night," she said, her smile unreadable.

With that, you gave her a brief wave and turned to walk out of the izakaya. The door swung open, the chilly night air rushing in and hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You paused just outside, feeling the weight of the night settle around you.

Aki had said he'd wait a few minutes, and you weren't sure whether to be nervous or relieved.

Your feet shifted restlessly, the cold air biting at your skin as you leaned against the brick of the building, trying to look casual—like you weren't waiting for him at all.

You glanced around. The street was quieter now, with fewer people out and about, but still, the idea of walking home with Aki felt... strange. The thought of him so close to you, especially after everything that had happened, was almost more than you could handle.

Just when you thought maybe it'd be better to leave and get it over with, you heard footsteps behind you. Aki's figure appeared through the dim light, moving with the usual purposeful strides that somehow felt different tonight.

Without saying anything, he walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as he headed down the street. He didn't stop, didn't turn around, and you could feel the shift in the air. The tension between you was undeniable now.

For a moment, you just stood there, your feet feeling rooted to the spot. You weren't sure what to do. You didn't want to make it obvious that you were waiting for him, but at the same time, you couldn't shake the odd sense of unease creeping over you. What was happening? What wasn't happening?

Finally, you exhaled, pushing yourself off the wall and walking slowly toward him. You didn't call out; it wasn't like you had to. It was clear that he wasn't planning on walking that far away from you.

Aki moved at a steady pace, hands shoved into his pockets as he walked ahead, the cool breeze tugging at the collar of his jacket. You felt a weird, unfamiliar pressure building in your chest as you matched his steps, not sure if you were keeping your distance on purpose or if it was because you didn't know where to start.

When you reached his side, you glanced at him briefly. He didn't acknowledge you, not really. It was like you were walking side-by-side by accident, like this was just some strange, unspoken part of the night that neither of you could quite comprehend.

You couldn't help yourself. "So," you started, your voice a little wobbly. "I didn't think you'd actually do it."

Aki turned his head, those sharp eyes of his flicking over you. "What? Walk you home?" he asked, voice rough around the edges. He didn't look at you like he normally did. There was something more distant about it, almost like the alcohol had drawn a line between you.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his presence beside you. "Yeah. Didn't think you were... I don't know, the type."

He snorted softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm not," he muttered, as if it was obvious. "But you were whining enough to make me reconsider."

Your stomach twisted at the thought of how easily he gave in to you tonight, like it was no big deal. But then again, you weren't sure if that was comforting or more uncomfortable.

You walked a little further before speaking again, your voice barely above a whisper. "So, what now?" You were almost afraid to ask, but at the same time, you had to know. Was this just a one-off thing? Was he going to pretend none of this had happened?

Aki didn't answer right away. Instead, he kicked a small rock out of the way, his eyes focused straight ahead. "We're going to your place," he said, his tone back to its usual flatness. "Wherever that is."

You didn't know why, but you couldn't shake the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Before you could process it, Aki's voice broke through your thoughts again, low and dry.

"You good, or you gonna keep asking me questions?"

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of your drunken haze. "I'm good."

A moment passed. You paid close attention to the sound of your heels on the pavement, the sound of his sneakers touching the same surface.

"I just realized I don't even know your address," He added, almost like he felt bad about shutting you up.

"I live at the– uh... you know where the post office is?" You rattled off the top of your head. He seemed like a man with a good sense of direction.

He nodded.

"Okay, well, I live right across from it. At the apartment complex," You finished.

His eyes narrowed, "That's only three blocks away."

"Yup," You nodded.

"You really couldn't walk that on your own?" He reiterated.

"Nope."

The cold air against your skin had sobered you just enough to think more clearly, but you still couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol still buzzing through your system or the strange tension between the two of you, but the air felt heavy.

Aki was walking beside you, as stoic as ever, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He hadn't said much since you left the izakaya, and you weren't sure if that was his usual silence or if something else was bothering him. Either way, it had you on edge, and you couldn't resist breaking the silence.

"So... tonight's been pretty weird, huh?" you said, glancing sideways at him as you tried to read his expression. You needed something from him, but you weren't sure what.

Aki didn't respond right away. He just gave you a quick glance, his sharp eyes flickering over you before he answered. "Weird how?"

You shrugged, feeling the alcohol's effects still lingering on your tongue. "I don't know. You've been quieter than usual."

Aki didn't seem particularly moved by that observation. "I'm not in the mood for small talk."

You exhaled in frustration, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. "I guess not. But it's just... I've been acting weird tonight. Doing things I wouldn't normally do."

"Like what?" Aki asked, his voice flat but with a slight hint of curiosity.

"I kissed Himeno," you blurted, half-smiling to yourself at how ridiculous it sounded coming out of your mouth. You almost regretted saying it. But it had to be said, right?

Aki's head turned just slightly, but his face didn't change. "Yeah, and?"

You blinked, a little caught off guard by how quickly he dismissed it. "You know... it was a kiss. Just... fun, I guess."

"Fun," Aki repeated, though his voice was laced with a certain dryness. "Right."

You kept walking, feeling an odd twist in your stomach at how unbothered he was. You'd expected more of a reaction—something. Maybe you were wrong about trying to make him jealous. Maybe he didn't care at all.

But you didn't want to admit that. Instead, you pressed on. "She's a good kisser, though. Didn't think she had it in her."

Aki shot you another glance, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You could see the faintest shift in his expression, but it was gone so quickly you weren't sure if you imagined it. "Himeno, huh? You really go for the easy ones, don't you?"

It was a subtle jab, but it still managed to hit something inside of you. "I wouldn't say 'easy,'" you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "But yeah, I guess I've got a thing for—what?—fun, spontaneous stuff. You know, the kind of thing you wouldn't normally do."

Aki didn't answer right away, and the silence stretched between you. You could feel his eyes on you, but it wasn't the usual detached kind of look. No, this time, it felt like something more. Something that tugged at you, made your chest tighten in a way that was impossible to ignore.

"I've heard she's kissed just about everyone in the division. Wanted to see what the hype is all about," You tried again, "Have you tried it?"

Finally, Aki spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't kiss my coworkers. If it was just fun, then why are you still talking about it?"

You stumbled in your step, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice a little unsteady. "Maybe I just wanted to see if it would get a rise out of you."

What the fuck.

Why did I just say that?

Aki didn't look at you, but you could feel the slight shift in his posture. His shoulders tensed, just a little, as if he were trying to suppress something. "And what would you do if it did?"

"I don't know," you said, a little too quickly. "I just wanted to see if I could get you to show some... something. You know? Anything. You're always so cold towards me."

Aki was quiet for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back. "You're a pain in the ass."

You almost laughed at that, a little breathless. "Yeah, I know."

But there was still something there. Something in the way he'd said it—something just beneath the surface. You weren't sure if it was jealousy, but it was definitely something. Aki wasn't being completely himself, and it was enough to make your heart beat just a little faster. But you weren't sure if it was what you thought it was.

"Did it work?"

Aki suddenly stopped walking, and you nearly collided with him. He turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that made your breath catch. "Don't start up again. You're drunk."

You smiled, a little too wide, too tipsy to care. "I'm not that drunk," you said, though the slur in your words gave you away.

Aki's eyes narrowed just slightly, his expression unreadable. "You're still making me walk you home."

You shrugged, too giddy to care. "Yeah, guess so. I'm... not really in any shape to walk by myself."

He muttered something under his breath, a faint exhale through his nose that could have been a laugh, but it wasn't. It was something else. "You're lucky I'm not putting you in a cab."

You grinned at that, though you felt a twinge of something you couldn't quite explain. "You're just saying that 'cause you're being nice tonight."

Aki shot you a quick glance. For a moment, the playful banter fell away, and there was an unexpected quiet between you. You both kept walking, the sound of your footsteps the only thing filling the space between you. It was hard to tell if anything had changed, but it felt different somehow. The weight of the night was still there, but there was something new, too—a strange kind of closeness.

You turned to look at him again, but this time, the words caught in your throat. You didn't want to ask him, not now, not when you didn't know if it was a mistake.

But then, in a flash, you tripped.

Your heel caught on the uneven pavement, and you felt your body lurch forward. Before you could even react, Aki was there, his hand gripping your waist with surprising gentleness, steadying you before you could fall.

"Careful," he muttered, though his tone was almost... softer than usual.

He's so hot.

He's so hot and I'm tired of hiding it, you thought. Why do I want him?

Fuck! He's such an asshole.

"I'm fine," you said, shaking it off with a breathless laugh. "I'm just a mess tonight."

Aki didn't respond, but you felt his hand tighten around you just a little. The next thing you knew, he had shifted, his arm going around your waist and lifting you effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Hey!" you protested, half-laughing, half-protesting. "Put me down, asshat!"

Aki didn't even glance at you as he started walking again, his tone dry but with a hint of something else beneath it. "You can barely walk straight."

You grinned, a little more giddy than you should have been. "You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"Relax," He sighed. Still, he handled you with a dizzying ease. Like you didn't weigh anything at all.

I knew he was strong, but...

"Do you work out?" You spat out.

He didn't respond, his steps measured and steady, though there was something... different.

"Of course I do," He answered, like that should have been obvious. "Never know when I'll have to carry a drunk idiot back to their apartment."

His posture was firmer than usual, and for a split second, you could have sworn there was a small, satisfied edge to his voice. Maybe you weren't imagining it.

The night was still strange, but as Aki carried you through the darkened streets, you couldn't help but wonder just how much of this was real—and how much was a game you both were playing without even realizing it.

Aki carried you up the three blocks with the same steady pace, his grip around your waist unwavering as the night air nipped at your skin. Each step he took was deliberate, his posture firm, almost casual as though carrying you wasn't the slightest bit out of the ordinary. But you could feel his muscles shift under the weight of you, his body solid against yours, and it was hard to ignore how easy he made it look.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world had faded out—just you, him, and the soft thud of his footsteps on the pavement.

The dark streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as you glanced at the city around you. Aki's pace didn't falter as he walked, but you were still aware of how close you were to him, how warm the space between you had become. It was like there was an invisible tension that grew the further you got to your building, one that neither of you could shake, no matter how casual the night seemed.

You shifted on his shoulder, trying to adjust, but the dizzying sway made you a little unsteady. "You really don't have to carry me, you know," you muttered, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. "I'm not a child."

Aki didn't respond immediately. His fingers tightened just a little, a firm grip that told you he wasn't letting go until you were safely where you needed to be. Finally, he let out a quiet breath and murmured, "You're acting like one."

You rolled your eyes, but it wasn't like you could do anything about it. You were too comfortable in his hold, too grateful for how effortlessly he was handling the situation. "Okay, Dad, fff-fuck you."

You really needed to learn how to hold your own liquor.

"Not my fault you need someone to take care of you when you drink," Aki muttered, but the words held a different meaning. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or just your imagination, but there was something softer, almost protective in his tone. The walls he usually kept up were still there, but they were cracked just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something else.

Before you knew it, the three blocks had passed, and Aki had stopped right in front of your apartment building. He gently set you down on your feet, but you wobbled as soon as your heels hit the ground.

"Careful," Aki said, his voice low but with an undercurrent of concern.

You gave a half-hearted attempt at standing straight, but it was futile. "I'm fine," you muttered, your fingers fumbling for your keys in your purse. The alcohol was still buzzing in your head, making it hard to concentrate, but you finally felt the familiar cool metal of the key between your fingers. "Just—just give me a second."

Then, you dropped the damn thing. It fell to the floor with a frustrating clatter. With a groan, you bent over, plucking them off the ground and–

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw his eyes lingering on your backside.

No, it's just a trick of the light, you thought, I'm fucking plastered.

Still, it made you straighten up a little faster than you probably should have, locking eyes with him as you regained your balance. His expression was unreadable, but you didn't miss the way his lips tightened slightly, like he was keeping himself in check. Or maybe it was just his usual lack of interest. Either way, the tension between you two wasn't lost on you.

"Thanks for walking me, Captain," you said, trying to brush it off and make light of the moment. You threw in a sloppy salute, the gesture clumsy and half-hearted. You weren't even sure why you'd done it. Maybe to break the silence. Maybe because you needed to be something other than nervous.

Aki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You really trying to salute me now?"

You just grinned, more out of awkwardness than anything else, and straightened yourself up again. "It's the least I can do. I'm lucky I didn't trip over my own feet the whole way."

He rolled his eyes at your antics, but there was something softer in his gaze as it met yours. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the way the moment had lingered, but something felt a little different, like the usual distance between you both was starting to shrink.

Neither of you spoke for a beat, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You couldn't help but feel the weight of it. You knew you were both trying to act like this was just another night—nothing special, just a little drunk and out of place—but there was something in the quiet. Maybe it was the way Aki was standing a little closer, or how his usual guarded expression had softened, just a little, in a way you weren't used to.

You finally broke the stillness, desperate to fill the void. "You know," you started, your voice just a little slurred, "You're not as bad as you act."

Aki's eyes flicked over to you, his gaze narrowing in that familiar, assessing way. But you could've sworn there was a slight glimmer in his eye, something you couldn't quite read. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You grinned, not entirely sure what you were saying, but the words felt right. "You're actually kind of... cool, under all that grumpy, 'I hate everyone' thing you have going on."

Aki didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stared at you for a moment, like he was weighing the meaning of your words. You weren't sure if you meant it or not, but there was a certain honesty in the moment that you couldn't ignore.

"You don't know what you're saying," he finally muttered, his voice lower than usual, but not in the usual sarcastic way. He was almost... mellow, in a way you hadn't expected.

For a split second, you considered what he said—how he didn't shrug it off immediately, how his expression hadn't closed back up. It wasn't a compliment, not really, but it was something that almost felt like one.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. "No, really. You're really cute when you're not being an asshole."

Why did I say that? Why did I say that? Why did I say that?

Oh, my god, You winced the moment the words left your lips. You were astronomically fumbling tonight – a feeling that made your whole face flush when you realized what you had said.

Aki said nothing at first. Instead, he just stared at you, his gaze a little too intense, like he was trying to read you, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your head. You could feel the weight of his silence, his eyes on you, steady but unreadable.

Your heart was pounding, and all you could think about was how stupid you must have looked. You needed to get away from this, away from him, before you embarrassed yourself even more.

But before you could come up with an excuse to leave, Aki spoke again, voice slow and calculated, the usual bite of sarcasm absent. "Fuck you."

It didn't sound like a harsh retort. It didn't even sound annoyed. It sounded almost... amused. Like he wasn't angry, just a little perplexed by you. And you hated how that single, simple phrase made your heart race. You wanted to get away from the tension building between you two, but the magnetic pull only seemed to draw you closer.

"You'd be a hell of a lot cuter if you just... shut the hell up once in a while," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was no filter, no hesitation this time, just the raw honesty that came from being tipsy and irritated by how much you'd been holding in all night.

Aki didn't respond at first. His lips barely moved, but you noticed the subtle shift in his expression. Something in his eyes changed, a flicker of something almost... warm? Maybe it was just the alcohol messing with your mind, but you swore you saw it—his usual guardedness faltering, just a little.

You were standing there, staring at him, feeling that rush of warmth in your chest. There was something in the air, something electric and charged. The proximity between you two felt suddenly so close—and it wasn't just the alcohol making your head spin anymore. It was something else, something real.

You wanted to say something else, something to break the silence, but the words got caught in your throat. You could smell him now, that subtle, comforting scent of him that had always been there, but tonight it felt sharper, more intoxicating. His cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin, and it made your thoughts scatter, dizzy and disoriented.

Before you could stop yourself, your body was moving. You weren't sure why, but it was like something inside of you had completely snapped. You wanted him closer, wanted that distance between you erased.

You didn't think. You just acted.

You stumbled toward him, your hand reaching up without hesitation. In one swift movement, you grabbed him by the tie, yanking him down toward you. He was caught off guard for just a second, but his eyes never left yours. You could feel the tension radiating between you as you pulled him closer, your heart pounding in your chest like it was about to break free.

His breath hitched just barely, his body stiffening for the slightest moment, before he relaxed. The shift was subtle, but it was enough for you to notice. The air around you both thickened, the silence stretching between you until it felt suffocating.

Aki didn't speak. He didn't even try to stop you. He just stood there, still and silent, waiting for whatever you were about to do next.

And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could think of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, you kissed him.

a/n: muaaahahaha.... MUAUAAAAAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!! OH MY GODDD AGRHJDSBG i fucking loved writing that last part. i know, hate me all u want for blue balling you. yall know i wont keep u waiting too long tho xx. (jk its a slow burn so i will). (at least the romance aspect is. the smutty aspect? maybe not). please please please let me know what yall thought in the comments, i love love love reading everything you guys have to say. seriously. yall have made my whole entire week LMFAOAOAO. im so glad u love this story as much as i do!! new update should be out soon (not as soon as this one was but who knows we'll see bc im an attention whore and u guys fw this story). ily all xx

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut #aki fluff

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leeneir · 1 year ago

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Hehy! If you are writing Yandere can I request canons for Iso?

Look at Me Please; Shy Yandere!Iso x Reader Headcanons P.1

I'm working on another req fic as we speak, but I'm taking breaks to do this one bc him being "Mine all mine" is very appealing🥰🫶

And yes, part 1. This prompt just got my Iso loving brain rolling.

Pre Relationship

I want you to think of these like its u and him progressing, as if its a timeline of ur relationship.

- A shy possesive yandere. You are his, no questions. But he doesn't have the courage to show it enough (for now.)

- Iso was always forced to cut off his connections due to the organization, but the Valorant Protocol was different. He found someone there worth going against everything he's known all his life.

- The moment his eyes set on you, he had an overwhelming urge to always be near you and always wanted to know where you were and who you were with.

- He spots you and Jett having flirty banter in the hallway and later during training 'accidentally' shot a bullet which shoots through the wall right next to her head. He barely glances at the wind radiant and mutter a half-hearted apology, but that glance was enough to give Jett the creeps.

- You notice how he's always near or around you and you decide to befriend him like the friendly person you were, you'll notice how his eyes fixate on you as if you were a precious jewel in the muddy dirt but don't pay it any mind.

- While you were chatting, he suddenly blurts out "You're beautiful," and immediately goes red in the face and stammering out apology after apology while he pulls his collar up to cover his face.

- You laugh as you try to calm him down, saying that you were flattered that he thought so. You place your hand on his shoulder while his back is turned to you and he freezes for a good 3 seconds before he looks back at you, his eyes had such intensity as they met yours. You pat and reassure him again, telling him that you thought he was handsome too.

- He decided something that day. Killing Omen wouldn't be worth it because it meant he'd have to cut off the valorant protocol, meaning he'd never see you again. Being with you was better than having to deal with his employers anyway.

- You, and your voice he couldn't get enough of, and your amazing skill and talent both in and off the battlefield, and your pretty face, and your pretty body, and your enchanting self that he wants all for himself.

- Back to actual headcanons. He's always very desperate to get your attention but he's too shy to actually ask for it. Which is why he'll always make sure to outperform everyone during training so that he can receive sweet praises from you that he'll repeat in his head for weeks.

- When you get injured out on the field on the same mission, Iso will go berserk. Even if it's just a graze. All you can do is hope that he'll be ok when he goes silent on the comms.

- Iso does NOT listent to reason and destroys his earpiece as he slowy digs his knife deeper into the enemies throat. How DARE they ruin your perfect body.

- He's always watching. Always in the darkest shadows where you never even know he's there. He has his eyes on you more than Cypher.

- Speaking of him, Iso has threatened Cypher to keep his prying eyes and ear aeay from you. He doesn't deserve to even be on the same world as you. His arena has space for a new corpse if need be.

- He doesn't take snacks offered to him by other agents. If you offer though, he wouldn't even eat it. He'd place it in his room with all the other memoirs he's collected from you.

- As time goes on, he gets braver. He starts putting his hands on your back, he initiates conversations, he offers you private training sessions and more. But that doesn't stop the ever growing urge to hold you, touch you, and keep you all to himself and not let anyone else even look at you.

- No one will get in the way. And I mean no one.

- If you get hurt again, he'll insist he'll patch you up himself. There's no need to go to Sage when he has an excuse to touch you can fix you up too.

- One day, you shoot your shot. You ask him out on a boba tea date, and he has to take a moment to compose himself. YOU were asking HIM out on a date? Was this a dream? Was this a prank by you and the others?

- Either way, he agrees with a soft smile, saying how he's been interested in you for a while and also wanted to ask you out but never knew how to. You laugh, your sweet, sweet, deliciously beautiful laugh he wants to hear more of and you joke about how you beat him to it, before setting up a time and meetup location before going off to your room to get ready.

- You don't notice the way his eyes are eating up the sight of you, and you don't notice how his soft smile turned into one of pure ecstasy and hunger. His face completely red at the idea of going on a date with you and is just so happy that he almost forgot about his plan to cause a minor life-threatening injury to Yoru for being such an asshole to you earlier that week. Almost.

#iso valorant #valorant #valorant iso #li zhao yu #iso #i love iso #valorant iso x reader #iso x reader #iso x reader hcs #valorant x reader #reader x valorant

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a-aexotic · 2 years ago

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request for rafe:

rafe is being oddly quiet when everyone in his friend group is pestering him about getting a one night stand. Reader walks in and he just goes all starry eyed, but he doesn’t wanna admit he loves her even though… its so obvious. (grumpy x sunshine)

(love your work, i hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻)

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings. fluff!!!, ooc rafe, mention of weed + alcohol, one kiss at the end, lmk if i missed anything!

summary. rafe has the biggest crush on y/n, when topper finds out he decides to help his best friend get with the girl of his dreams.

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Rafe had just about enough of his friends. It'd been months since he'd had a girl over and they were starting to worry. Why had he suddenly just stopped liking girls?

Topper was worrying maybe Rafe was about to just end it all. He knew Rafe wouldn't actually but they hadn't seen Rafe this sober in years.

"Dude, she's checking you out." Topper whispered to Rafe. He looked over at the girl and she was indeed checking him but he immediately gave her the cold shoulder and turned away.

Topper was confused. She was pretty; nice bathing suit, pretty eyes, a big ass. What more could Rafe want?

"Nah, I'm good, man." Rafe sighed as leaned back into his chair. He had eyes for one girl and one girl only, and she wasn't there yet. Topper furrowed his brows.

"Dude, what? She's a total catch, I mean, look at that-"

Rafe cut him off with a glare making Topper scoff and turn away. Was something wrong? He was getting more and more worried about Rafe.

"Dude, you okay?" Topper mumbled. They were at this fun party, hot girls everywhere, weed everywhere and he doesn't want anything at all. That wasn't like Rafe at all.

Rafe rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance. Topper's nagging was really getting on his nerves. "Yes. I am. I just don't want to fuck every single girl I see, okay?"

"What about smoking?"

"I don't want to anymore, okay? That shit's bad for your lungs." He remembers you telling one of your friends that you hated smoking because of how bad it was for your health.

Hearing Rafe say that made Topper fully think he had somehow shifted into a different parallel universe. This was not the Rafe he'd known since third grade. This was a doppelganger because no way in hell that Rafe Cameron just insisted that smoking was bad for your health. Topper's jaw was on the floor.

Rafe looked back at Topper with an annoyed expression but quickly shifted his gaze to someone behind him. His expression morphed into a delighted one.

There you were, with all your glory. Pink tube top, light blue jean shorts with your iconic white high-top converse. His cheeks had begun to turn pink as Topper had to where he was looking and suddenly it clicked. Rafe had a crush.

You were greeting your friends and Rafe caught your eye. You sent a happy wave his way and he gratefully answered with another wave.

Topper smirked and then looked back at Rafe. "Oh, I see what's going on here."

Rafe's expression dropped as he turned to Topper. "What?"

"You like Y/N."

Rafe rolled his eyes. "You just realized that, dude?"

Topper was again, shocked, by Rafe for the second time tonight. Rafe admitting his feelings? Where was Rafe and what was this imposter doing in his place?

"I mean, who wouldn't. She's gorgeous and smart. I just wish she wasn't so nice, it's making it harder to bond with her." Rafe mumbled the last part, making Topper nod along.

Topper had known Rafe essentially all his life and he's never been whipped for any girl. He wanted to know why she was so special. "Can I help?"

"No." Rafe said simply, making Topper scoff.

"I'm really friendly, man. I can like, help you, trust me." Topper put his hand on Rafe's shoulder and squeezed it. "Do you have her number?"

"No, I don't. I've been trying to send her an dm but I feel like that's not classy enough. Plus she probably has like 100 other guys in her dm's, I wanna stand out." Rafe ranted, genuinely perplexed.

Topper sighed, "you're making it way too hard. Just go up to her."

Rafe turned to Rafe, glaring daggers his way. "It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is. It's really not that hard. She's just a girl." Topper spoke, like it was the easiest thing ever.

"Just a girl?!-"

"Shh, Rafe. Get up and talk to her, be a man." Topper pushed Rafe up and away from the chair, making Rafe grumble. He noted to make sure to punch Topper for that later.

He looked for you at the party, Topper's voice echoing in his mind. Be a man, be a man, be a man. Rafe turned a corner and then there you were, sitting with your friends. He felt his heart drop and Topper's voice was fading. He was just standing there, like an idiot.

You turned and you saw him standing there and you had a big smile on your face. You excused yourself from your friends and walked over to him.

He immediately whipped his gaze to the seat next to him and sat there immediately, trying to look like he was doing something. He wanted to face palm himself; when did he become such an awkward guy? He was usually so smooth, especially with girls.

"Hey." He recognized your voice and his heart skipped a beat as he turned to face you. How could someone be so pretty?

Rafe cleared his throat as he smiled. "Hi."

You took a seat next to him. "Noticed you just standing there, I was wondering where Topper was? He's usually always with you."

He groaned subconsciously at the mention of Topper. "He's clingy."

You laughed at that. "Yeah, but that's okay. That's kinda cute."

"Topper? Cute?" Rafe stumbled out. Did you like Topper? He made a disgusted face at that; how could a 10 like you, end up with a 3 like Topper?

"No, he's..." You tried to find the right wording. "He's okay." You tried not be mean, he was attractive - but not you.

Rafe relaxed at that. "Yeah, he is. He's just okay, I don't know how anyone could find him attractive."

You laughed but instantly stopped yourself, "that's mean." You still had a smile on your face. Rafe smiled at that.

"Why are you just sitting here alone?"

Rafe shrugged, "Topper was getting on my nerves. He, uh... wanted me to smoke."

You furrowed your brows in disgust. "Wow, did you?"

He shook his head in slight delight. "Nope. Smoking isn't for me."

"Wow, I'm glad to see someone not succumb to peer pressure, good for you." You smiled knowingly.

You've known Rafe since middle school; you know he loves smoking, you've seen him scream and break a chair in half then jump into the pool: no sober person would do that. You weren't mad that he lied to you, you found it sort of endearing.

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's just like, really bad for your lungs."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words: he was literally you quoting word for word, not deliberately. It's so cute. "God, you're so cute."

You both stopped at stared at each other for a few seconds. A blush rose from Rafe as you felt your heart literally stop.

"You think I'm cute?" Rafe spoke quietly, an octave above a whisper. You could barely hear him.

You couldn't get yourself out this one. You couldn't just lie, might as well just rip the band-aid off. You nodded. "Yeah, well you are."

"I am?"

You laughed at that, trying not to turn red from embarrassment. "Yes, Rafe. You're cute."

"You're cute, too." Rafe felt like a little kid confessing to his crush and he was scared of rejection, he was avoiding your gaze. I mean, you already had confessed.

You found it adoring how shy he was. Like mentioned, you'd known him since he was a kid and you've watched him grow. He was always confident and it was a sweet how shy he was all because of you.

You grabbed his hand and his skin began feeling hot as he looked back up you. Your hand was just as soft as he imagined it would be. You both made eye contact. Rafe's eyes kept wandering down to your lips, then back to your eyes. It was a silent gesture of saying 'kiss me.' As you were leaning in, you heard a shout from behind.

You both turned to see Kelce and Topper. They walked towards you both, a huge smile on their faces. Rafe's anger was radiating from his body; he could not believe his jackass friends just ruined his almost kiss with you.

"Wow! My plan worked, Rafe. You guys are holding hands now, see! Told ya being a man worked." Topper was obviously drunk and oblivious to the awkwardness he was causing. Kelce nodded.

"I didn't know you liked Y/N, man. The more you know." Kelce talked to Rafe. He turned to you with a smile. "I don't blame you, dude, you are gorgeous."

You nodded and smiled at that. "Thank you, Kelce. I appreciate it." You know he didn't mean it in a weird or creepy way, so you found it endearing.

He cleared his throat. "You dumbasses are ruining my moment. Can you guys fucking leave?" He whispered to them, trying to make sure that you didn't hear it. But you were pretty close to him so you could.

Kelce and Topper looked at each other, then you, then back at Rafe. They nodded. "Okay, bye Y/N."

They both left and Rafe turned his attention back to you. "See what I'm dealing with? They act like fucking children, I swear."

"Rafe."

"What?" He turned to you and you put your hand on his face, leaning in to plant a single kiss on his lips. He was so caught off guard but when you pulled away, he instantly wanted more.

You smiled. "Let me give you my number."

"Y-Yeah, sure." He was still in shock, stumbling over his words, the taste of your lipgloss still on your lips. He handed you his phone.

You looked down at in and smiled. "You have to unlock it." You held in your laugh at how out of order he was just because of one kiss. He took his phone back, opening it with Face ID. He gave it back to you.

You put in your number and then put in your name. You then opened his camera, snapping a quick picture then putting it as your contact picture.

You gave it back with a grin as you stood up. "Text me, okay?"

He nodded, "Sure. Yeah." As you walked away, he couldn't help but lick his lips and the taste of your lipgloss was still on it. He couldn't believe that just happened.

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l223m0nade · 3 months ago

Text

Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

#at some point they bone and there are like snapshots of that written #just sayin #snz fic #stucky snz fic #sneeze kink fanfiction #cute sick bucky #snzfic #lots of not-snz plot but the story is still basically Bucky Has The Sneezies You Must Save Him Steve

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vvickydisc · 3 months ago

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Ribbun brainrot from latest episode: Jax was so submissive to Gangle haha haha haha service top frfr foaming at the mouth um do u think the training video will show its effects in the future episode and its just him hyperfocusing on Gangle haha haha haha

"no one will see this, right?" WHY DID HE SAY THAT U FREAK U FREAK U FREAK anyway he so gets softer and more uncharacteristic around Gangle and so he was probably himself in the room where supposedly only Gangle will see him haha haha haha im going crazy they drive me crazy man also also YOU drive me crazy AUGH i love ur ribbun aus your ribbun videos AUUGGHH

ignore me im literally going crazy 🤪🥰

ASDFHK you know im not sure but i would assume the training video between jax/gangle worked?? on him? at least during the adventure, it definitely made him a bit more submissive, and he actually tried to strike up a friendly conversation with pomni right after it (either due to boredom, trying to find a connection to someone who he hasn't bullied/messed with alot)

just makes me also think what would happen if gangle was a worker. Instead, despite having the credentials of being a shift manager, poor girl would overextend herself and probably do a bit of micromanaging...? OKAY uuh i strayed off from what we're talking about um

like my friend said, he could've just said that as a little 4th-wall break joke or towards the video gangle (which I totally think is just gangle, but she was teleported into the video somehow? but maybe you're aren't supposed to think about it too much LOL)

BUT if i am being more ribbun-biased..... i think he'll try to pick on gangle more which means more interactions.. guhahah AND THANK YOU!!!

#ask #I'm super rambly.. ramble-y? i forget.. BUT i just woke up so heres all my thoughts #oh ribbunny ribbunny ribbun #i love ribbun..

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deluxewhump · 1 month ago

Text

The Fundraiser

Cameron takes Zee to a fundraiser and someone from Zee’s home state recognizes him. Middle of frathouse arc timeline.

CW: bbu, previous identity

On an overcast Saturday morning in October, Cameron told Zee to shower and get dressed. He obeyed, and when he came down the stairs a grey windbreaker was thrust into his arms. He followed Cam out the door of their off-campus house and ducked into the passenger seat of his car. The door was stiff with the cold. He had to pull it firmly in order to get it to shut again. It slammed louder than he’d intended and he winced, waiting for a reprimand. None came.

“Cam?” he asked, trying to gauge his mood by his reaction to his name alone.

Cameron turned his eyes to his passenger as he turned the key and his 88’ Mustang growled to life. He was wearing khakis with a navy university hoodie and his green eyes were sleepy but not stoned. “What.”

A what with no inflection was a good response from Cameron. It was neutral, not fake-friendly but not tinged with warning, either.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh.” He actually laughed as he checked his dash’s gas gauge and rpm’s. The needle jumped and dipped as the Mustang idled in the unseasonably chilly air. “Nobody told you, huh?”

Zee shook his head. A few months ago, Cam would have let him ride in mystery or said something cryptic to make him nervous. Something like questions are above your rank, aren’t they? Or why spoil my fun, Z2?

But lately Cam had been more tolerable. Zee didn’t know if this was because he’d finally figured out what it is Cam wanted, which was not a perfect WRU product but a self aware, would-be equal demoted to the rank of subordinate— someone a little afraid of him but not too much, someone who would give him pushback if he went too far, but submit if he persisted. The other explanation was that it could be some strange change of heart after the time he’d come into Alex’s room and hung out with them. Maybe he just got sick of the performative bullying he’d spent so much of his hard earned money on for laughs, and was moving on. Either way, Zee was just glad moving on looked like more eye contact and conversation between them, and not being locked in a room somewhere forgotten, or abandoned to the brothers he considered even worse.

“Chapter fundraiser,” Cam answered mildly as he reversed out of the overcrowded driveway and onto the street. Zee could smell the car’s exhaust, and something like drifting smoke from a backyard brushfire in the dry air.

“A color run. You know, like a 5k but they dump a bunch of colored powder on everyone as they run? I’m manning a photo-slash-donation booth at the finish line today.” He pulled into a Dunkin Donuts half a mile from their street, on a divided highway dotted with office parks and medical buildings, ENT’s and orthopedic clinics with meticulously maintained black mulch landscaping.

The Dunkin had cream siding and tan trim, like it was trying to blend in with a more sophisticated neighborhood than its bright pink and orange colors warranted. Cam parked out front and absently told him “sit.” A few minutes later he returned with two cardboard gallon-boxes in each hand.

“Coffee and hot chocolate,” he said, setting one by Zee’s feet and the other in Zee’s lap. The warmth of its sides felt delicious on his hands. The Mustang’s heat was touch and go. “How anyone goes straight from a 5k to hot chocolate is beyond me, but I do what I’m told.”

Zee didn’t think it would be that hard, for people used to running in all sorts of weather. He’d seen Dominic mainline back to back tuna melts not ten minutes after a practice that had him as soaked in sweat as if he’d been swimming. Cameron was discerning and catlike in comparison— economical with his movements, apt to go a full day without eating and not even notice.

The thought of food made him hungry, but he was with Cam today, which meant he was on a Cam schedule. If Cam happened to eat, he might be offered food. More than likely though, Cam would have nicotine for lunch and not eat until much later when he was high. He put the thought from his mind.

The event site was already packed with people. Zee carried the gallon containers like dumbbells while Cameron got a backpack out of the trunk and led the way to the finish line. Their booth was already assembled. Anthony Shorey, always in shorts even if there was snow on the ground, was there with his hands crossed over his chest and tucked under his armpits for warmth, talking to a couple of girls wearing white hoodies and pastel leggings.

One of the girls saw Cameron and did what was meant to be a cutesy whine of his name, dragging out the N at the end. She saw Zee and her eyes slid to the boxes he carried. “Ohh, what’d you bring?” she asked, ignoring Zee entirely.

“Coffee and cocoa,” Cam answered, lifting his arm as she tucked herself under him into a hug. “Help yourself.”

There were two races scheduled, he learned. One started at eleven and the second at one. Sunlight was breaking weakly through the clouds as Cam set up their gear— a scannable QR code he taped to the table, a card reader, a cash tip jar with their Greek letters taped to the front of it. A cardboard box that had been left under the booth contained color run event lanyards and t shirts, which he set up tabletop in neat rows.

Zee set up the drinks on his end of the table, closest to the photo booth. He sat back in one of the plastic chairs and startled like an idiot when something touched his legs. It was a blanket, and Cam was holding the other end of it. A quick scan of his surroundings told him neither Tony Shorey nor the girls in running clothes from the next booth had noticed his flinch, but Cam had. He gave Zee a centimeter’s tilt of the head that Zee had begun to understand was an olive branch, a momentary reassurance of truce. Zee tucked the blanket around his legs and torso. “Thanks,” he said softly.

The first run brought waves of color-spattered participants past their booth, with many stopping in to take post-race photos together with their magenta, indigo and canary-yellow faces, hair, and clothes. Cam chatted and sold t-shirts. Zee spent most of his energy on just trying to look normal, glad he wasn’t covered in colored powder and made to run with his ankles tied closely together or something equally stupid. They would’ve if it was a frat backyard event. This was too big, too public. For all anyone knew he was a brother.

As the waves of completionists came through following the second race, he was more comfortable. David Shoaf brought new Dunkin containers and paper cups and replaced the nearly empty ones on the table. He took Cam’s place and Cam disappeared to a nearby booth where Zee kept glancing over his shoulder for him, uneasy being left without him in the way he used to be uneasy without Alex or Dominic. He was talking to a group of guys, two of which were covered in powder, and one girl, a ponytailed Amber Malloy who was not.

“Jamey?!”

Zee’s attention snapped back to the booth. In front of him was a twenty-one year old named Marshall Sains. His brain knew it immediately— provided the name with the face that was looking into his with a mixture of surprise and the specific delight that comes with encountering the deeply unlikely. Though Zee knew him immediately, it took a moment to place him. He rarely thought of anyone from before, except for the judge and his own mother, though he tried very hard to block those thoughts, banish them to his subconscious. There was discomfort in his life that he could control and discomfort that he couldn’t. Thoughts of before— of who he really was, belonged to the former category.

Marshall Sains belonged to before, he realized slowly. Not a brother, or a friend of theirs, or a guy someone knew who came around sometimes. Not a teammate of Dominic’s he recognized or one of Alex’s siblings. Marshall Sains was his friend in highschool. They had biology together, and B lunch. He drove a Toyota Camry, and his star athlete older brother had died in a car accident in 2010. People still stopped him and offered condolences when he was a junior in 2014, Zee had witnessed it more than once.

“N-no,” he muttered weakly. Absurdly. Adrenaline flooded his gut like a writhing pile of snakes. A group came out of the photo booth covered head to toe in garish colors like warpaint. Marshall Sains studied him, his smile freezing and dying on his familiar face, a few years older now but not much changed.

He was looking at him like he couldn’t believe it, like he was looking for something that might indicate he’d made a mistake— a cluster of freckles or the bridge of a nose that was not quite right. Zee knew he wouldn’t find it. He was right, of course, he was two feet away from his friend Jamey who’d disappeared from the face of the earth with nothing but rumors of where he’d gone and why.

He’d rather they all thought he was in prison. Or dead, really. Less humiliating that way.

In his peripheral vision he saw Cameron break away from the group he’d been talking to and come slowly back over to the booth, hands in the front pocket of his university hoodie, not inserting himself in the situation but hanging casually back as if to survey the runners as they completed their race. But Zee knew he was listening.

“Jamey. Oh my God. Dude. It’s Marshall Sains?” he laughed uncomfortably, like he was waiting for Zee to admit he was just messing with him and stand up to hug him and clap him on the back. “How the fuck are ya?”

“I’m sorry man,” Zee managed in his most offhanded, who-is-this-weirdo voice. “I guess I have a twin. But I don’t know a Jamey and I don’t know you.”

Marshall grew flustered then. The group that had come out of the photo booth were trying to pour themselves cups of coffee and he was in the way. Anthony Shorey was watching the exchange now with faintly raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” Marshall said. “I could swear…” he looked into Zee’s face one more time, reluctant to accept that his own eyes would lie to him so boldly. Zee stared back, fully committed to his story now that the initial shock and panic of seeing someone from before had subsided. His ears still rang like someone had boxed them from the word Jamey tossed out in proximity to Cameron Byrne and Anthony Shorey and all these people who belonged firmly to after.

“You gonna buy a shirt or something?” Zee asked with a little more sting behind it than he would have liked. Marshall was a good guy. But it did the trick. He gave an awkward hands-up gesture and backed off. Zee watched his friend’s back disappear into the colorful crowd.

Cam offered to take back his post behind the card reader and Anthony gladly gave it up. Cam said nothing at first, blowing warm air into his big-knuckled hands and rubbing them together near his lips. Finally he turned to Zee, which spiked his adrenaline all over again and made his teeth clench in his skull.

“He was right, wasn’t he?”

Lying to Marshall Sains and the rest of the world was one thing. Lying to Cameron was pointless, and it would only irritate him. Zee nodded.

“Who is he?”

“A guy I knew in highschool.”

“Where was highschool?”

Zee swallowed. They’d never talked about any of it, and he didn’t want to get into it here, in the middle of a crowd of people. Cam didn’t like when he acted too much like a mindless boxie, but he didn’t think he’d like him talking about his life before either.

“Kentucky,” he answered flatly.

Cameron scanned the crowd absently. “Mm.”

Zee stared at the fine print on the back of one of the Dunkin boxes, too small to read from where he sat and therefore too small to set off the needling discomfort that reading larger font brought onto his vision like a migraine.

Cam’s hand was chilly but not unpleasant on the back of his neck. It was a gentle weight, and he squeezed lightly with only the pads of his fingers. Zee turned in surprise, wondering what he would find in Cam’s eyes. They met his intently.

“I can call someone to come pick you up,” he said. “Alex is around I think.”

“No,” Zee shook his head. “I’m good.”

Cam gave him a questioning look, and now the pads of his fingers were almost petting the back of his neck, a touch that could be controlling or casual— certainly common among fraternity brothers to clasp each other by the back of the neck like it was a scruff— and turning it into something intimate. His skin tingled.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink something.” He nodded towards the boxes. “Either one, just get a drink.”

Zee reached for a paper cup and fumbled with the lever of the coffee box til steaming black liquid poured out. He hadn’t run the 5k at all but he felt like he’d sprinted it— his legs were shaky and his mouth was thick with saliva. He thought sweet cocoa might make him feel sick, and hoped caffeine would snap him out of his daze.

“Atta boy,” Cameron said under his breath, sliding the hand away from his neck. It wasn’t as condescending as it ought to be, or fake, or even really meant to be heard. It sounded something like simple camaraderie, even bordering on affection.

He sipped black coffee and felt the cold air on his neck where Cameron’s hand had been.

#frathouse boxboy #Cam and Zee #bbu #this one reminds me of Game Day which I think was the last thing I wrote for them back in August

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xmoonlitxdreamx · 8 months ago

Text

OW2 Junkrat & Roadhog Relationship (part 1)

Part 2: [click] Part 3: [click] Part 4: [click] Part 5: [click]

Hello! I’ve been curious to try to better understand what Junkrat and Roadhog’s relationship characterization is intended to be in OW2, so I’m gonna take the time to look at various voice lines and other media & try to provide various interpretations of these things.

I'll try to provide both positive and negative interpretations where I see fit, but be aware that I do ship roadrat so I have a bias for interpreting their relationship positively rather than negatively. Overwatch to me though is a franchise that is very loose with its characterization & allows for multiple interpretations of the same characters simultaneously, so I’ll try to be open-minded in the way that I interpret things. Some of these interpretations may also be based on stuff I’ve read in passing from other people here and on twitter, too, so if something looks familiar to what someone else said that’s why. (Apologies for the lack of citations;;)

This first post is looking at Junkrat's OW2 voice lines sourced from this wikia page. (These voice lines may not be up-to-date, and the page does not include many event-specific voice lines) Again, I’ll only be talking about lines that I think give insight into Junkrat and Roadhog’s relationship and how they think of each other.

Anyway! that's that. Interpretations/etc are under the cut!

“So, I was like, Roadhog, mate, just 'cause that's how you see it, doesn't mean that's how she sees it, right? But enough of my earbashing. Let's get out there.”

If taken as truthful: Roadhog goes to Junkrat for romantic advice

If taken as unreliable: Junkrat considers himself as someone who gives good romantic advice, and decided to use Roadhog in his made-up example

In either interpretation: Junkrat considers Roadhog a close enough friend that he talks about Roadhog to other people, and allegedly has personal conversations with Roadhog at some points. (Whether or not Junkrat and Roadhog actually had this conversation isn’t certain since imo Junkrat seems the type to talk out of his ass, but it shows that Junkrat thinks he and Roadhog are close enough that they could have this conversation.)

Unrelated to Junkrat and Roadhog's dynamic, but if taken as truthful this could suggest Roadhog has an interest in women; but if taken as unreliable, it doesn't suggest anything about Roadhog's sexuality

“I feel a sweet verse coming on. Roadhog, give me a beat. …Roadhog?”

Junkrat instinctively commands Roadhog to do things; suggestive of him perceiving himself as “leader” in their relationship.

Roadhog doesn’t listen to him here, so Roadhog likely doesn’t think of himself as subordinate to Junkrat.

This is also a very playful command, so to me it comes from a friendly/playful place that Junkrat wants to sing (rap?) with Roadhog. Could be taken further that Junkrat uses the guise of “I’m Roadhog’s boss and he’s my subordinate” as an excuse to do regular friend stuff with Roadhog.

“Things always go well when you’re working with Junkrat and Roadhog”

Junkrat thinks positively of his partnership with Roadhog, seems to trust him and have confidence when they’re together

“Such perfidy cannot go unanswered!” (respawn line when eliminated by Roadhog)

Perfidy definition from Google: deceitfulness, untrustworthiness

Basically he feels Roadhog is being disloyal to him, indicating that he thinks of Roadhog as someone who’s supposed to be his loyal partner in crime

Possibly suggests that he would seek revenge if Roadhog is disloyal to him, but as usual the delivery is kind of playful, so it might just be more indicative of him acting out this sort of “leader role” for fun

“Guess we know who’s really on top, don’t we?” (eliminating Roadhog)

Suggests that even Junkrat thinks that Roadhog is the one with the power in their partnership, but when push comes to shove Junkrat is the real leader between the two of them

this is innuendo, so this could also suggest that they have sex with each other

not an interpretation, but I actually thought they got rid of this voice line for OW2 so I was surprised to see it on this list lol

“Sorry, old friend..,” (eliminating Roadhog)

straightforward, Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as an old friend

“Bet you never thought you’d see pigs fly! *laughs*” (eliminating Roadhog with concussion mine)

uses pig-related nicknames/etc for Roadhog casually

“Another hogfight for the Cerulean Chancellor!” (eliminating Sigma using Gravitic Flux)

Thb I have no idea what’s going on here, I just thought it was weird he says hogfight. I googled hogfight to see if it’s a common idiom and nothing really came up. No idea if this actually has anything to do with Roadhog, feel free to enlighten me. (idk much abt Sigma)

“That’s what happens when you cross Junkrat and Roadhog!” (to ally Roadhog eliminating an enemy)

Again, suggests he thinks positive of their relationship, indicative that he sees the two of them as partners in crime

“Don’t die on me, you big lug!” (Roadhog downed in PVE)

Worries about Roadhog when he’s hurt; uses affectionate names for him

“They got Hoggie!” (Roadhog downed in PVE)

Same as above, though this nickname is specifically cutesy/endearing compared to the previous

“Who’s gonna revive the roadkill?” (Roadhog yet to be revived in PVE)

Along with affectionate nicknames, Junkrat also uses rude nicknames to refer to Roadhog

Taken in isolation I guess this could suggest that he thinks negatively of Roadhog, but given all the other voice lines where he seems to think positively of Roadhog this is more likely a teasing/playful way of referring to Roadhog

“At least I’m not a hog.” (along with “At least I’m not a rat.” from Roadhog)

Taken in isolation, could suggest that Junkrat doesn’t like Roadhog

Could suggest a sort of competitiveness between the two of them, or possibly that the two of them bicker a lot and don’t always see eye-to-eye

Junkrat: Me mate Roadhog says there's a fetching price on your noggin. Not as high as the one on ours, mind you...

Lifeweaver: He said all that?

Junkrat: It was more like, "Gonna turn that bloke in. Worth a heap, hurrrrrrr..."

Lifeweaver: Thank you for the warning. And the convincing impression.

Junkrat talks about Roadhog to other people

Junkrat hears Roadhog talk enough that he can do a pretty good impression of him—this is potentially indicative of how close they are considering Roadhog is known to not talk often.

Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as his friend (“My mate Roadhog”)

It’s kinda unclear if Roadhog said this stuff about Lifeweaver directly to Junkrat, or if it’s just something Roadhog was saying to himself. If it’s the latter, it’s possible to interpret that Roadhog mutters things to himself & Junkrat pays attention to it. This might suggest that Junkrat isn’t so self-centered when it comes to Roadhog and remembers things that Roadhog says. (kind of a stretch of an interpretation, but hey)

Unrelated but mysteriously, Roadhog seems to speak Australian English in Junkrat’s impression of him (he says “bloke,” which isn’t used in American English). This makes me think Roadhog is supposed to speaking Australian English (which makes sense given that he’s Australian) but in the game he just. Doesn’t. for some reason.

Lifeweaver: Are you and Roadhog together?

Junkrat: Do you ever see us apart?

Lifeweaver: No. I mean, are you a couple?

Junkrat: Yes! A couple of dashing rogues! Not sure what you're missing here...

From an outsider’s perspective (Lifeweaver), Junkrat and Roadhog seem like a couple.

Junkrat and Roadhog are always together (“Do you ever see us apart?” implies they’re never apart)

Tbh there’s a lot of ways to interpret Junkrat’s last line, but I think the most straightforward interpretation is just that he’s oblivious to what Lifeweaver is asking, possibly because of the phrasing. Other possible interpretations:

He doesn’t think of himself and Roadhog as a couple and likewise is oblivious to the fact that they seem like a couple to other people.

Junkrat doesn’t know what couples are (though I think this can be disproven by the fact that he’s “giving” Roadhog relationship advice in one of the voice lines I mentioned earlier)

Junkrat isn’t interested in Roadhog and is deliberately friend-zoning him here

Junkrat and Roadhog are a couple (since he answers “yes,”), but he backpedals because it’s supposed to be a secret

Junkrat’s just messing with Lifeweaver and being intentionally obtuse (unlikely imo, he seems earnest here)

Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as a “dashing rogue”

Roadhog: Say “bacon” one more time.

Junkrat: “Bacon, one more time.”

Junkrat likes to annoy Roadhog

Junkrat isn’t scared of annoying Roadhog

Reaper: You got a problem, Junker?

Roadhog: *chuckle*

Junkrat: I don’t do problems—just solutions!

Roadhog: *laughs* Yeah!

I can’t find the audio for this interaction on the wikia, so I’m not sure what the inflection is. Seems likely that Roadhog is sarcastically agreeing with Junkrat here, but I can’t tell.

Edit: I was told that Roadhog's "Yeah" sounds genuine in-game, so this could be an indication of Roadhog actually following along with Junkrat & engaging in their partners-in-crime dynamic

Edit 2: Roadhog's quotes page indicated that only one of the three dialogue options are triggered by Reaper's line, so Roadhog's "yeah" is most likely not in response to Junkrat's potential line

Summary of this section: It seems like Junkrat thinks positively of Roadhog, thinks of him as a friend, and considers the two of them to be partners in crime. He sometimes uses affectionate pet names for Roadhog, but also uses some crass nicknames with him. There may be a sense of competitiveness between the two of them, where Junkrat thinks of himself as leader while Roadhog thinks otherwise. Junkrat occasionally uses this imagined “superior/subordinate” status playfully as a way to engage in regular friendship activities with Roadhog.

The next section will be me looking at Roadhog's OW2 voicelines. iirc he doesn't mention Junkrat as much as Junkrat mentions him, so I anticipate it'll be shorter and probably less positive lol but anyway! Thanks for reading!

Part 2: [click] Part 3: [click] Part 4: [click] Part 5: [click]

#blab #junkrat #roadhog #overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #ovw #info

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hollow-lime-green · 4 days ago

Note

hi, anon from "t/b discourse is dumb" ask here 👋 this conversation actually is really interesting and i wanna add a little more if thats okay. (how long is the average anon ask? im not new to fandom but i am relatively new to tumblr and its etiquette... so sorry if this is too long. ive done my best to condense it 😭 there's just too much to say and im a rambler)

i hope i didn't come off as blaming anybody for their response to harassment and such, i don't want to contribute to that. my ire is only pointed toward people who make it their business to hurt others over innocuous fandom happenings, those people who leave dickish comments on fics and send anonhate and mass qrt on twitter. but like i said, expecting those kinds of people to go away any time soon is not really something i have hope for at this point. you put it well: people get so emotionally invested --- and i too Love getting emotionally invested when it comes to fiction --- that logic stops being a factor. people all over the internet also tend to struggle with simply disliking something and leaving it there. you're allowed to dislike/disagree with something without turning it into a moral failure when it's all down to preference and the characters involved are not Real

i just wish more people saw the value in Healthy™ discourse. hell, even if someone's opinion ticks you off, that doesn't mean you can't engage in an open minded discussion with them, if you want to. but people can't do that even outside of niche online fanbases.

i would love to share my own opinions on t/b dynamics for satosugu and to learn why others may feel differently. actually, stsg is the first yaoi ship ive been this invested in, though it's been a while now, and reading fics for them has opened up a Lot of doors of thought for me that i wanna talk to someone about. but there's such hostility around the topic that opening that discussion up to the general fandom public hardly feels worth the risk, as much as i want to. that kinda leaves one floating out at sea here. so i have these conversations where i can, but i'll also block people over simple things. not because i think they're evil or their opinions are invalid, but because i really do just want to have fun, and previous fandom experiences have exhausted me with how much of the same repetitive venom i can personally handle at once

welcome back anon, and feel free to ramble away. honestly this has been a nice side quest for me during the thesis-ing, believe it or not.

if you want to have discussions/share takes on stsg (or fandom meta), then feel free to keep sending them anon, and i am happy to host that discussion in our friendly little corner. i haven't gotten anything nasty in my inbox, and i think everyone commenting and engaging with the posts on my blog is pretty friendly and level headed :)

i think it's possible that some people could get offended by your previous ask? but it's very obvious, to me, anyway, that what you are saying with "t/b discourse is dumb" is "this drama is dumb why are we doing this why can't we just have fun". you can twist the words, but that's the clear sentiment that I think 99% of us are trying to get across here.

and that also does not conflict with empathizing with and supporting people who have been targeted by this harassment. in fact, i would say out of anyone, they are probably most securely in the camp of "this drama is dumb please let's stop".

as @fushiglow pointed out, part of the reason fandom can get so vicious is due to depersonalization. none of these people would be acting so fuckin foolish in person. but across the screen, it is a lot safer and easier to be an absolute asshole than when you have to look someone in the face as you tell them that they are literal scum for your opinions on dick in ass, or something.

over the past few months i have been struggling with this in reverse, actually. one of my gaming group members almost definitely voted for trump (white women... we need to talk). i get so worked up when i think about it, because i hate her for it, especially her reasons for it (she is antichoice). and yet, when I see her in person, when we hang out, it is so easy to remember that she is my friend and she held my hair back when I was puking after my other gamer friends gave me too many free beers (blue moon isn't worth it guys).

one other thing i would like to add, and part of why i'm so happy to post this ask, is that conversations are not sentences. you get to clarify. you get to add. you get to change your mind. real 'discourse' (note: this word has lost all meaning in the year of our lord 2025) or debate is an exchange of ideas, whether it's about dick in ass or how we react socially in the situation of being attacked for dick in ass. keeping the conversation going to clarify these things, like your intent with the last ask, is important and necessary! it's what keeps us from being xitter/bluesky. we don't need to live as zingers and soundbytes on a text-based forum. we have the space to express ourselves fully, as many times as that takes. and i think that helps build back the empathy that is lost with the lack of face-to-face, voice-to-voice communication in online spaces.

so in the words of the great philosophers re: t/b discourse:

any hole's a goal

#ask #fanfic writing #smut writing #satosugu #jjk fanfic

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thisisxli · 8 months ago

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Can you do Suna x gender-netrual(afab)!reader who is austic and have same personality as Mina from mha?

REQUEST - 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑. 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫(𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛)

Rs: Suna Rintarou x autistic GN!Reader(afab)

Warnings: ableism, small angst, realistic depictions, bullying, small self-harm, unrequited love, fights, Atsumu is a shitty person

Tags: fluff, reader is a sweet person, Suna is protective, childhood friends to lovers?, Small slow burn, sweet, not for the weak, author's self projection, different sexualities implied

Summary: Reader who stands out and is not always liked by everybody, is childhood friend with Suna Rintarou. Suna truly realizes his feelings when an oddly close friend of his start to berate you.

wc: 1.9k

To say Suna didn't like you was.. wrong. If anything, it wasn't that he liked you either. You were very bubbly and kind but there were times where you couldn't do simple tasks or do exactly as you were told. His parents were friends with yours so as a kid he was constantly at your place. Every time you tried to speak, you always got yelled at or scolded at by your parents. To them, they would always say you couldn't speak properly; as they would say, 'you're not using your tongue.'

Sure, you paid attention in school. But were you at the bottom in your classes? Yes. A lot of people always made fun of you in some type away or found some kind of antic to provoke you, yet Suna stuck around. He mostly felt bad. And his parents would force him to stick around.

Now, you were a honor-roll student, all A's and zero F's, and super friendly. You were able to talk but sometimes stuttering got to the best of you or it was just a jumble of words, but Suna never said anything. Sometimes he would catch you voluntarily sputtering things in a conversation but embarrassingly, it goes silent after that and everyone gets awkward. He would get second-hand embarrassment.

Sometimes he would catch you picking at your uneven set of nails, digging into the sides and create hangnails. Or he would catch you constantly picking at your face ridden with a few acne. He shakes his head at that.

No one really bullied you now, thankfully. You actually became really pretty and makeup would top it all off. Now of course you lured in many people, especially guys. But did any one of them that you got with stayed with you? No, they didn't. But you were so naive, you thought being loved by someone would fix all your problems or that you were constantly the problem. Suna had to watch it all and stick by your side. He was sick of it.

"Suna! Wanna come over my place after school?" You chirp and come up from behind, holding your hands behind your back. He sighs, clutching his school bag, "I don't know, (Y/N). I have volleyball practice." Your smile drops and you think to yourself for a moment, crossing your arms over each other.

"Soo.. Can I watch you play? I could probably try to text my mom-" "She'll just get mad at you for making a last minute plan," he deadpans, glancing down at you from the side. Your cheeks were a little too pink, he thinks. He thinks its' the blush. "Well that's why I said I could try! And now that I'm thinking about it.. I'm starting to get a little nervous- where do I sit? There might be a bunch of eyes on me," you complain, moving your foot in front of the other every time you cross a line on the marble floor. Suna rolls his eyes and waves you off, turning to a room. "This is my class, see ya," he murmurs, earning a cheery 'bye' from you.

You felt your palms sweating, frantically wiping them at your school uniform. Shit, you didn't really think much of this through. You needed permission and for that you needed to ask. You didn't really know why but talking to adults was really scary to you.

You almost groan when you open the gym doors, a low screech coming from the doors' screws. Heads turn to look towards you. Quickly, you scurry over to the coaches.

You blink at them, your voice turned into a sweet facade, "I'm sorry to intrude but can I?- am I able to watch this practice? On the behalf of Suna Rintarou? I have a ride so.." You dig your nails into the hem of your shirt. Suna notices it in the corner of his eye. The coach quite literally stares at you down before responding, "sure, but I don't know if you'll be able to the next time. If you really want to, apply for manager," he shrugs. "You can go sit over there," the coach points to the wall with a cart of volleyballs standing beside it. You lightly bow before scurrying over, letting out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

Suna wasn't one to show off but now that you were here, he suddenly really felt the need to.

His eyes follow and switch between Kita and Aran, who both seemed like they were ready to spike. Much to his predicament, he was correct for choosing Aran; hitting the volleyball straight into Suna's hands. He hissed at the sting, getting a pat in the back from Atsumu. "Great work! But I could already tell yer just showing off to that girl ova' there. I heard she was autistic-" Suna cuts him off with a glare, rubbing his hands together. "So what?" They all fetched their water bottles, standing by the walls and bench to rest for a few. "I always see 'ya hangin' around her. You got sum'in going on with the artistics, am I right 'Samu?" Assume nudges at Osamu's side who just nods and doesn't pay attention, gulping down his water bottle down in one go.

"Don't be mean guys, she can't help it-" Aran gets shushed by Akari who also has a mutual understanding with the Miya twin, "oh yeah, for sure. I think it might be a little obvious, Suna."

Suna rolls his eyes and just scrolls through his phone, "shut up. You don't know anything." Atsumu practically cackles at Suna's response just as he walks away, walking towards you. You take the opportunity to finally speak up, "Suna! You were amazing out there! I- you're really good at this stuff- I really- fuck, sorry- you- never mind." Suna snickers and you playfully pout, your makeup unable to hide the embarrassed blush. Suna's lips twitch upward a bit, bringing a hand on top of your head to pet it a little while taking a sip from his water bottle, "it's fine. Thank you though."

You nod and smile. All Suna could feel at that moment was his neck starting to get hot.

Suna lands a fist against Atsumu's cheek, startling their other teammates around them. They couldn't even react when Suna climbs atop of Atsumu, landing multiple punches. Suna had never got into a fight before, so this was new. And it must've been serious because of the way Atsumu was shit-talking behind your back? He had it coming. "Alright, hands to yourselves," Aran carefully finds his way under Suna's arms, trying not to get elbowed as Suna's legs jolted and kicked at Atsumu. "You think that shit's funny now?! I'll beat yer ass again if you keep talkin' shit!" Atsumu just scoffs, pulling his shirt up to wipe his nose that was starting to leak some blood. Kita looms over Atsumu with a grim look, his other team members standing beside him as one of them shook their head in disappointment.

"What?" Atsumu pouts, averting his gaze. "Go apologize to Suna. I want you to apologize to (Y/N) too, if you see her," Kita sighs, pulling Atsumu to his feet. "Fine," he spits.

The next time Atsumu sees you, he asks you to meet up outside during lunch period but once you do, you're confused and hurt.

"I'm sorry for.. saying some stuff about you. I don't know if you've ever heard me or sum'in but I did and now I have to apologize.. But I'm also so pissed," Atsumu stares daggers into your eyes, stepping closer to your faltering form. "How could he like someone like you? Yer actually hard to speak to and yer weird- the only thing I feel sorry for is how stupid you can get. Yer actually so fuckin' weird," he mutters, staring down at you with disgust.

"Okay..?" You can hear your voice waver, bearing a weak attempt to hide what you felt, "what's your point? Why do I piss you off? I don't- that's beyond my comprehension, I don't understand-" he cuts you off when he bucks at you, stomping a foot onto the ground that makes you flinch.

"Suna! He likes you and I don't-" he laughs midway in disbelief, small heat rising to his cheeks in embarrassment, "he likes you! I don't understand. I'm better in every way that you aren't. Yer autistic for gods sake- Yer just someone who he has to hang around with 'cause he's forced to, you-"

"Atsumu!" Atsumu twists his head to see a very angry Suna. You stare up at Atsumu in shock and hurt. Did Suna really feel that way? Did Atsumu really feel that way? You didn't even know he was like that. And why was he so mean? What could you have possibly done wrong to be yourself?

"Get the fuck out of here," Suna mutters, shoving his way past Atsumu and towards you. Atsumu stares at him for a few seconds before scoffing, shoving his hands into his pockets when he walks away. Suna stares at you with worry. "I am so so sorry he's said all of that to you, are you okay?" Suna lightly grasps onto your forearms, his head following wherever your eyes followed so he could be in your direct vision. You look down at his school uniform, frowning when you say, "was that true? You stick around because you're forced?"

Suna's lips curve downward, his fingers sliding down to your wrists and squeezes, "well... yes.."

You hang your head low when you start to feel your face muscles moving on its' own, furrowed brows and crinkled eyes matching with your wrinkling frown. "But, it's only my parents that force me to, no one else. Not me. If I really wanted to stop hanging with you even with my parents forcing me, I would've done so already. My parents don't really count," he murmurs, gently pulling you into an embrace. "What the other part 'Tsumu said was true too though," he whispers in your ear, moving a few inches back so he could move your hair behind your ear.

"What..?" You blink away your tears, making your way to look up into his eyes, "I like you, (Y/N). I'm sorry if I didn't realize that sooner. I don't care if we're complete polar opposites or if you have autism. I like you and all of that is what makes you, you." Suna rubs his thumb across your cheek, eyes slightly widening, "or!- Or it's completely okay if you don't reciprocate. I'm completely fine with that."

Your face felt really hot and all the wrong places on your body were sweating. You suck in your bottom lip, digging your nails into your palm, "I..." Suna looks at you expectantly. You just stare at him until you couldn't, moving your eyes everywhere around him. You wanted to say something but it was almost like your body was compelling you not to. You felt scared. "I like you- you too," you mutter with a strain, slurring and almost spitting when saliva builds up too much in your mouth. You quickly shut your mouth and swallow it down. Suna smiles down at you, his hand moving to the back of your head and leans in.

You frown warily and squeeze your eyes shut but you don't feel anything on your lips. You feel his peck onto your cheek bone, something as so soft and gentle.

You open your eyes to look at him. Suna looks back at you so lovingly, his cheeks slightly tinted pink. "This period is about to end soon, so let's go," he smiles, extending a hand towards you. "Okay," you breathe, sliding your hand into his calloused ones.

a/n: sorry if I took a bit posting this. I've been a little busy :). This fic hit a little close to home because I know what it's like to be standing out in certain places, people, or time and you can never understand why. It's either really hard to speak up or a lot to say or be said. I really am sorry for those who struggle with this or any type of disorder; but then again, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

Please check out my other works if you haven't, please enjoy.

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petrichor-idyllic · 2 years ago

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Hi Petri <3, I have a request for a Minho x fem!reader where they're still in the glade. It's the middle of the night and everyone's sleeping, Minho and reader are together on his tent (because here they're already dating), she hears a little cry so she goes outside to see what's happening and find Chuck sitting on the ground and crying next to a tree, he's sad cause he thinks he's not good at anything and is just bothering and annoying everyone around, so she talks to him and explains that he's new and its normal to not know what to do or how to help properly, she tells a story about when she wanted to be a runner just to impress someone and prove her worth, even though she was really bad at it, and how she discovered that actually she was really good at something else, gardening. They have one beautiful conversation and hug it out, after that she put him back to sleep and goes back to the tent, just to be surprised by Minho who was awake and heard the whole conversation and begins to tease her about the little crush she had on him, the ending can have a bit of spice if your comfortable with that.

That was it, love you :)

This is an adorable idea and I have been itching to get around to it.

Your ideas are always so good, man. I'm always honoured to write your work.

EXPOSURE

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas, but not by much. Established relationship.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, spice, Chuck being sad, you getting bullied by your boyfriend.

You've been dating Minho for a while now.

And you couldn't be happier.

You love him. He's your favourite person in the Glade by far, for multiple reasons. Being the only girl is no easy feat, but Minho was always respectful and any flirting was always jovial and friendly.

Unlike some other people.

He always defended you and was sure you were always comfortable, and if he came back from his job and found out someone had upset you - well, good luck to them.

In your eyes, Minho is the perfect man, even if he is a bit too cocky.

And is never fucking there.

The most contentious point in your relationship is definitely Minho's line of work. He's always busy out in the Maze, and whilst a lot of the other Runners work on a cycle so they're not bleeding themselves dry - Minho doesn't get that luxury. Day in, day out, Minho goes out into that Maze. He's Keeper, so he has to.

Which sucks for you because that means the only time you get to see your boyfriend is in the evenings. When he's exhausted. Well, Minho is a stronger man than you, for sure. You doubt you'd have any stamina if you had to do what he does every day. And he still manages to come back to the Glade and not pass out.

So, that's something, at least.

Though, this means the most time you spend with him is at night.

No - not like that.

At least not most of the time.

The man is tired, okay?

The Builders made you a hut the first week you arrived by Alby's orders. Mainly for privacy reasons, but also Gally thought it might get him on your good side.

Gally wasn't very happy when Minho started sleeping in your hut.

So, whilst Minho sleeps through the night, you often spend some time watching him.

Sometimes, it scares you how much you care about him. Especially since he risks his life literally every day.

Every night, you admire him and appreciate that he's still here and that he's asleep; safe and sound - next to you.

Your fingers trace the scars littering his bare back as he faces away from you, the blanket loosely covering his lower half. You and Minho are comfortable enough around each other that you normally just sleep in your underwear.

His soft breaths reminding you how lucky you are to have him, you lay on your back.

You should probably get some sleep, too. Zart will have you doing heavy lifting in the morning, no doubt.

You sigh. Going to grab the blanket, you freeze when you hear what sounds like someone sobbing, and then trying to stop themself. You sit up straight, listening for the sound again.

And after a couple of seconds, it returns.

You swing your legs over the side of your creaky, makeshift bed, grabbing Minho's trademark blue button-up and slipping it on.

Being careful not to wake your boyfriend, you open the door and peer out. It's hard to make out since the Glade is quiet and dim at this hour.

But, with your hut being pretty close to the Deadheads, it doesn't take you long to spot Chuck, sitting in front of a tree. His knees are pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his knees.

Chuck is the latest Greenie - and the youngest Glader here. He's about twelve, definitely no older than thirteen.

You walk the couple of yards away from your hut to the crying boy.

"Chuck?" You ask after a second, standing in front of him. "Are you okay?"

He sniffs, not even bothering to look up from his self-cradling. "Go away."

You sigh.

Looking back at your hut, you almost want to go back and cherish your precious time with your boyfriend. But you can't leave Chuck crying here - you promised you'd look after him when he first got here.

You take a seat in front of him, crossing your legs and adjusting Minho's shirt to make sure it keeps you decent.

"Chuck," you say, your voice low and reassuring, "what's going on? It's me; you know you can talk to me."

He peaks up at you, thinking for a second before shaking his head and returning to his hiding.

"Chuck-" you huff, "I'm not leaving you here."

"I'm not gonna tell you."

"Guess I'm staying here all night then, hm?"

Chuck glares at you, his eyes appearing above his knees, and you grin at him. He rolls his eyes, but moves his legs so he's sitting how you are. Legs crossed, sitting opposite each other, you raise your eyebrows, promoting him to speak.

"It's just... ugh, it's dumb," he rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide any remaining tears.

"I'm sure it's not - if it's upsetting you this much, then that means it's important to you. Come on, what's wrong?"

He hesitates. "I'm just... I'm just sick of being useless."

You furrow your brows. Chuck's been here for two weeks; he can't be sick of anything yet.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm- I'm just bad at everything. And no one likes me. I just piss everyone off and get in the way and everything thinks I'm useless - and what's the point? Why is everyone else so good at it all and I... suck."

"Hey," you shuffle forward, reaching for his hand. "You're not useless at all, Chuck." You rub his hand, offering some comfort. "You're just new, dude. Everyone feels useless and annoying when they're new because you don't know anything yet. We were all the same - we've all gone through the same klunk."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, clearly not believing you.

You think for a second, recalling your own first couple of months here and smiling to yourself. You let go of Chuck and let your hand fall into your lap.

"It's the truth."

"Uh huh."

"You don't believe me?"

He shakes his head.

"Alright, you wanna hear a story? Something I've never told anyone?" This gets his attention. You smirk. "It's embarrassing."

"Yeah, okay." He crosses his arms. "This better be good."

"Well, did Newt ever tell you that I wanted to be a Runner?"

Chuck tilts his head, his mood already lifting. "No? You wanted to be a Runner?"

"Mhm," you nod, chuckling to yourself. "My first few weeks here, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I tried everything and nothing really fit - and then I suddenly decided I wanted to be a Runner."

"So? What's embarrassing about that?"

"Well, I'm not sure if you've noticed Chuckie-boy; but I am no Runner."

"So, what happened?"

"Well, I uh," you scratch the back of your neck, "I actually wanted to become a Runner because I... well, because I had a crush."

Chuck blinks, and you look away, sheepishly. You've never actually told anyone how long you've had a thing for Minho - but it started way before you started dating, and probably way before he had a thing for you.

"Shuck off," Chuck snorts, "you wanted to be a Runner 'cause you wanted to screw Minho?"

"Ew - don't say it like that!" You warn him, but he simply raises his eyebrows, giving you a knowing look. "Well, yeah - but that's not the point."

You clear your throat before continuing. "Anyway, I didn't really have any other motivation to do a job. So, being a Runner seemed like a good bet. I convinced Alby to get Minho to trail me - and I was shit." You snort, mainly out of embarrassment. "All I did was embarrass myself in front of the hottest guy I'd ever seen. I'm not fast, and I have a klunky memory and no sense of direction. So, I made a complete fool of myself."

"How is this meant to make me feel better?"

"I'm getting there," you snap. "After that, Newt got me a second trail in the Gardens - and because I wasn't so hell bent on being a Runner anymore and accepted that was dumb, I actually tried and ended up being good at it. And now I'm a Track-hoe - and it's great."

"So, you've got a decent job? Congrats." The boy flops backwards, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"Jesus- Chuck," you try to level with him. "It all takes time. It took me months to even trial as a Runner; never mind, shuck it up. You can't expect to be brilliant straight away. It takes a lot of effort and patience, and you've only been here two weeks. And sometimes things don't go how you expect them to, but that's fine. You'll be fine. You're gonna find your place and settle in - you just have to be patient." You pause. "And shuck what everyone else has to say; I know you're capable, and so do you. That's all that matters."

He smiles at you, nodding. "Yeah, okay, you're probably right. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you will," you shift so you're on your knees, "now, gimme a hug and shuck off to bed, Chuckles."

Chuck sniffs, but grins at you, leaning forward and hugging you. He buries his face in your neck. "You're okay, yeah?" You ask as you rub his back and he nods.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he pulls away, "thanks, (Y/N)."

"Don't worry about it, kid, now - scram. Bed time." You stand up, offering a hand to him and yanking him to his feet before playfully pushing him away.

He laughs when you push him again. "Okay, okay, I'm shuckin' goin'."

You stand there for a moment, watching Chuck vanish off into the Glade and to his hammock. Shaking your head, you scoff, turning around and returning to your hut.

Though, when you open the door, you did not expect to find Minho sitting up straight. His legs hang over the bed, the blankets bundled around his crotch, a grin plastered across his face.

You freeze.

He's meant to be asleep.

"You should wear my shirt more often," he hums, "it suits you."

"Shut up, shank," you roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you.

"Hey, that's no way to talk to your long-term crush, is it?" You pause again.

Oh God.

He's never going to let you live this down.

"You're eavesdropping on my conversations now?" You cross your arms defensively, trying to ignore the heat coming to your face.

"Kinda hard not to when you talk so loud. Ain't my fault the walls are thin," he leans forward, tilting his head slightly and a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Dammit.

He's hard to resist.

"So, how long were you crushing on me for, exactly? 'Cause I don't think we've had that conversation." He's enjoying this new power. You are not.

You sigh, walking towards him and standing in front of him. You touch his hands, which he gladly reciprocates. You look at the floor and his looks at you.

"You're cute when you're flustered."

"Shut up, Minho," you hiss, making him let out a chuckle.

"You became a Runner because you wanted my attention?"

You look at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. "Yeah," you say reluctantly.

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much did you want my attention?"

"Minho, seriously-?"

"And for how long?"

You throw your head back, groaning. "Minho-"

"No, no," he cuts you off, "I wanna hear it."

You hate it when he's like this. Well, no, you don't - but you do. He knows exactly how to get you to talk and how to turn you into putty at his touch.

You huff, dropping your head again. "I... I always wanted your attention." You murmur, the words being barely audible.

"What was that?"

"I always wanted your attention," your eyes meet his as you raise your voice. "From the first time I saw you jogging back into the Glade, gross and sweaty." You fiddle with his fingers, avoiding his gaze once again. "I was never attracted to anyone else." You press your lips together. "I was immediately attracted to you - there."

Your face burns, and your hands are sweaty. It's not like you can't tell Minho everything - it's just that this is going to be a teasing point for the rest of your life, and Minho doesn't need the ego boost.

"Is that so?" His voice is heavy and silky as his hands come to your waist. He slips them under your (his) shirt, resting them on the skin just above your underwear. He draws small circles into your hips.

You look at him, already getting drunk off of his touch. "You gonna show me how much you want me, then?" He mutters, leaning up.

Caving in, you press your lips against his, allowing him to guide you with his hands. He frees one hand and tosses the blankets to the side, leading you to sit on his lap. Your hands come to the back of his neck, brushing against his hair and deepening the kiss.

The thin amount of fabric between your bodies and the energy in the room is enough to get friction going. You hum into his mouth, grinding against him as you feel him harden against you.

Your hands go to the bottom of the shirt, about to lift it over your head when Minho stops you.

You pull away, puzzled and he grins. "Keep it on, it suits you, remember?"

You roll your eyes, kissing him again, your hands coming down his back, digging your nails in as you roll your hips.

"Shit," he mumbles pulling away for a moment, panting into your mouth. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling gently. "I shucking love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too." You look at him for a second before shoving him back.

"Shuck!" He exclaims just before you kiss him again, you lips trailing down his jaw and littering his neck. You leave deep purple marks on his chest, making the boy hiss and pull on your hair.

You keep going further down, peppering his abs with your affection as Minho's eyes roll back into his head.

"Shit," he repeats, his forearm coming to cover his eyes as his brain completely short-circuits. "What are you doing to me?"

His skin is flushed, his chest rises and falls, his hair is a mess, and you don't have to see his face to know his pupils are blown wide.

Sure, Minho holds a lot of power over you, but it goes both ways. You're the only person that gets to see him like this; dishevelled, whimpering, needy - weak.

You fiddle with the waistband of his boxers, feeling his grip tighten.

You look up at him, admiring him once again before you speak.

Whoop whoop, another Minho piece done.

"I'm showing you how much I want you."

The Glade pieces are so fun to write, and it's not very often I get to involve Chuck, so this was a nice change.

I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri tmr minho #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho maze runner #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner

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outromoony · 10 months ago

Text

Forgive me, Peter (is it something I did?)

Marauders microfic from Peter's POV | 2.2k words

ao3 link here

James was Peter's whole world when they were young.

The moment they met, Peter knew James was different from any other kid he'd ever met. He was kind, and didn't make fun of Peter because he didn't know how to play certain games or was in bad shape for sports. James was always so kind to him, so patient. They will spend hours and hours playing by themselves in James's garden because the other kids didn't want to play with Peter, but James said he preferred to play with him anyway.

They lived very close to each other; in fact, they were technically neighbors. Peter only took a six-minute walk from his house to James's, and they will see each other every day. James would show him everything he knew about Quidditch and discuss his favorite teams, and in return, Peter would teach him how to play chess and vent about his older siblings at home. And James will listen, he will always listen; and for the first time in his life, Peter felt like his voice deserved to be heard, that his opinions and feelings mattered to someone other than just himself and his own shadow.

That was, until they got on that train.

The Hogwarts Express was everyone's dream. Peter could remember his brother and sister talking about it nonstop when they came back from Hogwarts for their first break. Peter was excited about it, but it also made him anxious. When he received his letter, he couldn’t actually believe it at first. He knew he had magic since he was nine, but still, his aunts and brother loved to point out that it was weak, that even if he wasn't a squib, his magic would never be strong enough to even do anything relevant with it. Peter could not avoid feeling as if there had been a mistake, as if he didn't belong there. But just three feet away from him, there was James, smiling at him reassuringly and fondly as he awkwardly walked towards the train.

James had always been his anchor, the one and only person who could keep him grounded when he felt too low about himself. James would assure him he was wonderful, and that being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And James might have been Peter's anchor, but perhaps Peter had always been James's shackles.

The moment James met Sirius Black, Peter knew his relationship with James was never meant to last.

They were still friends, of course. James never wanted Peter to leave his side, and tried to get him into conversations. But Peter knew since the beginning of their Hogwarts journey, that Sirius was everything James wanted Peter to be, even if he never said it out loud.

Sirius was loud, that was the word that described him the best. He was loud, and so, so alive. And for Peter, who had always felt a little bit dead inside, that was like looking directly at the sun and getting a little blinded by its light. He tried, he really bloody tried, but he couldn't change who he was, how he felt, how he acted. No attempt was enough to get James to talk or look at him the way he did with Sirius Black.

When he was sorted into Gryffindor, he was so surprised that he tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table. Everyone clapped, and amidst all the loud noise, he could hear Sirius whistling and James shouting his name. Peter smiled nervously and sat between James and Remus. James gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Remus just gave him a quiet nod. Peter didn't even look at Sirius when he called his name.

Peter Pettigrew had never been brave. He never felt like it, and his family reminded him every day how much of a coward he was. Since he could remember, he had always been afraid of making friends, and his parents needed to talk to the other kids for him to be able to have someone to play with. His siblings needed to force him to do new things like flying a broom, and his aunts scolded him when he refused to try new food. When he became friends with James, he became that force he needed to start opening up a little. James never forced anything into him, always respected his boundaries and tried showing him the light of life. He succeeded, of course, James always did; but when Sirius came into his life, that light started to banish little by little, wound by wound.

He knew from the beginning of his life that he would never be anyone's first choice. He knew it and accepted it. At least, he thought he did. His parents will always choose any of his siblings, just never him. His siblings will always choose each other, and James... oh, James. He really thought, for a period of time, that he was James's first choice, but now he realized that would never be the case, not while Sirius Black was still breathing.

He even tried getting close to Remus. The boy was quiet and liked reading. Peter initially thought that perhaps he was reserved with everyone, not just with Peter. But, fast enough, he realized that wasn't the case. Sirius, somehow, had broken that shield Remus always carried with him, cracked his mask, and got him into his most vulnerable human form. Remus loved Sirius, he loved him in a way Peter quite never understood, but again, he really never understood what was so special about Sirius Black that was leaving him completely alone, what was so special about him that he could just take everyone and everything away from him, even James.

He never intended to hurt him, to hurt any of them. Even after seven years of feeling like he was just something less than a sidekick for his friends, he still was something to them, at least he wasn't alone, at least James hadn't given up on him after everything. He never intended to do any harm, but Peter had always been weak, manipulable. The Dark Lord gave him what he had been craving his entire life, an opportunity to be someone, to do something important, to be someone's choice.

So he did it, he started working as a spy for the dark side. At first, it was alright— great, even. Voldemort chose him as one of his most loyal followers, he even sat next to him in the meetings with the rest of the Death Eaters. He felt like he was important, like he had done something right for the first time in his life, and for the look in Voldemort's eyes when he looked at him, he had.

The first time it actually hit him was when the news of the McKinnons reached his ears.

He had never been close to Marlene, not like Remus or James were, but he knew her; he knew her more than any of the people that had died in the war. He knew that her laugh was the loudest out of everyone in the Gryffindor tower, he knew she loved playing Quidditch just as much as James did, and that she loved reading some weird muggle books, which she would later recommend to Remus. He knew she loved music, especially rock, and she and Sirius would annoy everyone in the common room by singing and shouting lyrics left and right from their favorite rock bands. He may not have actually known her that well, but he saw her breathing and living for so many years, and because of him, she was dead.

He tried swallowing the feeling of guilt, tried pretending as if nothing had happened, and continued doing what the Dark Lord asked him to. That was the first time Peter actually realized how badly he had fucked up, and he was now trapped. He couldn’t back off now, but still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was always meant to end up like this.

When the prophecy came, Peter was the first person Voldemort asked for information.

He wanted every possible location of the Potters, their schedules, any piece of information that could help him get to them. And for the first time since he had joined the Death Eaters, he lied to the Dark Lord.

That was probably the bravest thing Peter Pettigrew ever did in all his pathetic and miserable life. He lied, he lied about everything he knew, about every piece of information he had. He lied as much as he could, until he couldn’t anymore.

James and Lily now knew about the prophecy, and Dumbledore had sent them into hiding. Those were the exact same words he told Voldemort when he asked again about the whereabouts of the Potters, but when the Dark Lord asked about the type of magic they were using to hide, Peter couldn't even think of a good enough lie, so he told the truth.

He knew that if the Potters or Sirius were suddenly found dead, it would be his fault, but none of that happened. Voldemort didn't know who the secret keeper was, Peter had had enough decency to keep that piece of information to himself, but he knew that the first suspect would be Sirius Black, James's best friend and Harry's godfather.

Sirius apparently had the same thoughts, because one night after a meeting, after everyone was already gone, Sirius asked him to be the new secret keeper.

He apparently had already told James and Lily about it, and both of them agreed. Sirius was the most obvious option, and nobody will ever suspect him.

"Is it because I look weak?" Peter wanted to ask him desperately. "Because I look incapable?" But he didn't say it out loud, because maybe he was; maybe he was weak and incapable and a coward, and maybe he'd always been.

After he became secret keeper, Voldemor knew. Peter wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did. Maybe he could read his mind, or maybe he'd never been really good at pretending, but in that moment, when Voldemort asked him the location of the Potters, Peter knew it was over.

Because he was a coward, after all.

He could have begged for James's life, just like Snape did for Lily's. Perhaps, that would have been the last decent thing he could have done for him. But deep inside, Peter knew that it was in vain. Snape never knew Lily the way he knew James, or even Lily herself. They both loved so hard, so intensely, so deeply, and they were so brave, something Peter never had been. They loved so much, and Harry was just the person they loved the most in the world. They wouldn't let their child die without a fight, and then Voldemort would kill them all three.

The moment it happened, Peter felt it in his bones, in every cell of his body, in every beat of his heart.

James was dead.

Peter never thought it was possible to feel absence so deeply in your soul you felt like your own shadow had been torn away from you. He felt it all, but at the same time he felt nothing at all—not when the Dark Lord was gone, and he had lost everything.

Sirius Black gave him a new reason to run: he was going to kill him, he had promised. With every single step he took, he could feel Sirius's breath on his neck like a sharp knife threatening to cut him open, and he deserved it; he knew he did.

But he didn't want to die.

So he ran and ran, until his lungs were full of memories, and regrets, and fear—oh, so much fear. He was terrified of dying.

It was just a matter of time until Sirius found him, he knew he didn't have much time. He had promised to kill him, and if he knew something about Sirius Black, was that he was always true to his threats.

So he did the only thing that crossed his mind—the only thing that gave him an actual shot to survive. He hid among the Muggles, even though he knew Sirius would find him anywhere, and when he inevitably did, Peter was ready.

He caused an explosion that killed probably hundreds of muggles; he wasn't sure, but he didn't care that much. Sirius was there in the explosion, but he didn't die; Peter's plan had never been to kill him.

He held his breath, and without thinking too much, because if he did, he might never be able to do it, he cut one of his fingers. The pain was terrible, the blood was everywhere, but when he transformed into his rat form once again, the pain was already gone, so was Peter.

And he ran once again—he ran away from the life he used to have, the life he would never have again. He ran from his guilt, from his bad decisions, and from every time he betrayed himself.

He ran and never looked back; that was the one thing he always did the best.

He was a coward, after all.

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