#I can probably stop tagging the angst thing for this series huh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaeichi · 9 months ago

Text

love is in the air.

. . . and maybe that's why mikage reo can view the world with such clouded, pink-hued vision, and why nagi seishiro cannot breathe at all.

series. nagi + reader + reo. no gendered terms, but some implications of m! reader. reader likes boys. bestfriend! nagi. valentines/white day. highschool setting. swearing. humor. fluff & angst.

a/n. repost bc it wasnt showing up in tags T-T i js want a shoujo anime w these two as the MLs...

prev ┊ next ┊ 01 … 02 … 03

⊹ 01 : my dear partner [wc: 4.7k]

TWO YEARS AGO

“…dude. you're scaring all the hoes away.”

nagi watches your lips move, though he barely registers anything you've been saying since he has stopped listening a while ago—which, honestly, comes as no surprise to anyone.

there’s no real reason to be so lethargic at this hour (it's already late noon, plus he surprisingly had a decent amount of sleep the previous night for once), nor the time to think about trivial things, but he can’t help but think about how exactly every single thing stopped being so bothersome like it used to.

he can't quite pinpoint what brought on this gradual change, but if he had to, then it’d probably be three springs ago—when he’d wake up a little earlier than usual to the gentle kiss of the sun through his window and the cherry blossoms were in perfect bloom. around that time is when he’d received his quiet companion choki, he’d finally scored top 1 in the leaderboards after months and months of grinding in his favorite mobile game, and… when you’d first sat next to him in middle school.

for as long as he remembers, you were simply just there. an unexpected oddity that has not only forced its way through, but has also wedged firmly into every aspect in his life. and somehow, he’d concluded that maybe some things weren't so bad—that some things weren't such a hassle to him after all.

“move, idiot. at this point you might as well hold my hand.” the snow-haired male barely hears your voice over his wandering thoughts, stumbling from the light shove you give him. he has now become acutely aware of your swinging hand, wary of the close proximity and the faint buzz of static that lingers on his skin. huh. maybe it is better to move away.

still, he’d rather not reposition himself. it’s too much work, he’d like to reason, and it's certainly not because of anything else… maybe. he doesn't really know for sure. what he does know though, is that the space beside him suddenly feels strangely empty.

when he looks at you to see a pout forming on your lips, he can't help but sigh. you're being unreasonable. there's something that's been nagging his curiosity for a while now, and it took him quite a bit to realize what it is.

“seishirooo,” you whined one day, allowing your head to sink against his mattress, taking up nearly the whole space while nagi sits at the corner of the bed. you came over to his place that day to bother him, stating that you needed some comfort because apparently, “no one ever looks at me. i feel so damn invisible.” he shrugged and offered you his controller, challenging you to a 1v1 with him as a distraction.

“…but i look at you all the time?” he replied.

“yeah, but that's different.” and he would've asked you to elaborate more, if not for the fact that you've been horribly vague about it when he does ask, and the perpetually sleepy gamer only has so much patience before he gives up and decides it's something not worth spending his energy on.

besides, you're always emotional like that. this was probably just another one of your fleeting phases.

it's not until he notices you've been longingly gazing at the couples on the campus, quietly seething under your breath that it finally clicks. now, he may not have the greatest understanding when it comes to feelings and all its complexities, but even he can tell you’re reeking with jealousy.

despite being pushed off only seconds ago, nagi shuffles closer again as he falls into step beside you. even if sparks prick his skin, it feels right in this way. “dunno why you ‘need’ hoes when you already have me.”

“just because i'm into guys doesn’t mean that i like you in that way,” you mutter, sending him an odd glance like you thought there’s something wrong with his head for even suggesting that. not knowing how to respond, he settles for staring right back without a word.

“what's with that look? you know what i mean, seishiro.” you continue, averting your gaze from him. what look? he asks internally. “it's just, well, literally everyone is getting into relationships. and i know we're still first years, but… it just feels like i’m missing out, y’know?

“do you really? sounds like a hassle to me,” he shrugs, and it truly does—he never saw the appeal of dumb crushes, of drama nearly every day, of possible unrequited “love,” or of wasting half your time and energy on someone just for it to not mean anything at all in the end. video games sound way more fun, and way less heartbreak inducing.

“you can't say that when you haven’t even experienced it,” you argue, still pouting.

“it’s overrated anyways. being single is better.”

“hah! of course you’d say that, you virgin.”

“you’re one to talk,” nagi boredly quips. “i’m celibate purely by choice, but you on the other hand… if you really think about it, you're basically an incel.”

nearly choking on your spit, you exclaim, “hah?!”

“you don't even really talk to other guys except for me, and on top of that, you're barely approached by anybody,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone, oblivious to the way his best friend’s confidence waning rapidly by the second the more he speaks.

“yeah? and who’s fault is it, you cockblocker!”

nagi simply sticks a tongue out as you flip him off.

right after that, the two of you ended up breaking into a sprint as you heard the clicking sound of heels walking on the tiles around the corner, not wanting to get caught for skipping classes. well, you ran, and just dragged him by the wrist. he felt the warmth of your fingers even through the thick barrier of his baggy sleeve.

PRESENT

you try not to trip and fall face first as a cold hand guides you through the crowded hallway.

it's embarrassing enough as it is to be rushing through the middle of the corridor and pushing past the bodies of random students like you're a main character or some sort, but even more so when the (apparently) most popular guy of the campus that you’ve (never) seen is walking right in front of you.

and it gets even more humiliating when said popular guy has taken hostage of your wrist, leading you away to a more secluded area. shocked, harsh whispers echo throughout nearly the whole floor, and multiple eyes shoot daggers at the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of your uniform, and you’ve never wanted to bury yourself alive more than this moment.

after rounding a corner into a miraculously empty hallway, you finally skid to a stop, yanking your hand away, ready to pounce at the culprit who made you go through all that unnecessary attention. however, before you can get a word in, the refined male bows his head low in front of you, and you find yourself face-to-face with sleek purple locks.

“i’m sorry, but i have no time for dating. i’m really flattered, though. i hope we can stay friends still.” he hurriedly says, hope gleaming in his matching purple eyes.

…what.

who is he again? and why is he rejecting you?

for some reason, you find the stranger’s gaze too bright that you have to look away; so you do exactly that, tilting your chin downwards instead and letting your hair mask your expression.

after a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “i'm really sorry, it hurts me to see you look so down… i’m sure we can put this behind us and—”

“nice shoes,” you interrupt, still not raising your head to meet his now confused stare. “i can tell you really love wearing them, judging by the busted, worn out stitches. hey, is it just me or is that prada logo kinda wonky too?”

the male's jaw drops down nearly all the way to the floor.

“pardon me?” he says through gritted teeth, keeping his composure by flashing his usual award-winning smile, albeit a lot more stiffer. “i know i just rejected you, but you don't have to be so hostile…”

when you finally raise your head, your expression can only be described as terribly and solemnly unamused, unimpressed beyond words.

then, you suddenly lean closer, peering closely into his violet irises with thoughtful hum. an unwilling flush of red creeps on the tips of the boy’s ears, his eyes widening comically at the sudden intrusion of space. “you’ll do,” nodding to yourself, you now grab his wrist and pull him away. “come.”

“w-wait, huh? where are we go—”

“you're the one who made me late. let's go!”

reo isn't quite sure why he's the one being dragged away now.

he has only initially planned to gently turn down the person who last confessed to him, whose family just so happened to be related to his father’s business partners—but now he somehow finds himself on a whole date with that person? (the same one who brazenly insulted him by implying his shoes are fake, by the way!)

“i have other plans today, you know…” the heir says, subtly trying to inch away from you.

you tug him back by his sleeve, with twice as much force than he had used on you earlier. “i can imagine, my dear partner.”

“w-what?” reo stutters, and he's cringes at himself for how he's acting at the moment. the usually composed and charming mikage reo, now reduced to a stuttering and blushing mess? how embarrassing.

“normally my best friend would do this with me, but he slept in today.” leave it to seishiro to leave me all alone on the day that actually matters, you irritatedly mutter under your breath. “well, whatever. come on.”

as you and him enter the packed bubble tea shop, the fingers that were wrapped around his sleeve slides down to interlace with reo’s own clammy ones. he realizes this a second too late, and before he has the chance to let go, the clerk by the entrance greets them with an enthusiastic “welcome, lovebirds!”

“huh?!” reo’s jaw slackens, dumbfounded. he’s really starting to hate himself now—it's unbecoming of him, really, but it's hard to process everything when you're so close to him that the scent of your shampoo keeps invading his senses and subsequently messing with his head.

“here’s your special tickets for today. thank you for participating, and happy valentines!” you drag him straight to the back, where the colorful claw machines are set up. reo catches a glimpse of the pink posters set up on the walls of the quaint shop, which reads: couples get free special tickets! today only! …ah. that's why he's here.

“aoi-san… you're gripping too tight,” he says, gritting his teeth together into a forced smile.

“aoi?” you repeat, your grip finally loosening until you let go entirely. “huh… i see. by the way, what's your name again?”

needless to say, the purple-haired male is beyond perplexed. “is this your unique attempt at a joke or something?”

“come on, rich boy. we've held hands and i don’t even know your name!”

“right… which i totally wasn't being forced to do…” he lets out an awkward laugh. sure, some admirers of his tend to get a tad excessive, but they were never able to get far with him, much less forcibly drag him out on a date—and it's not even because they want him to spend his unlimited budget on them and spoil them rotten, but just so they can get… a free special ticket for a claw machine. how did he end up getting in this bizarre situation? more importantly, how does he get out?

you simply shrug. “your fault, rich boy. you should try thinking about anyone other than yourself for once.”

“excuse me?” he narrows his eyes, slightly peeved. he's had enough of your rude attitude; potential business partner or not, he hopes that he never has to interact with you again in the future. “stop calling me that. i have a name, and it's mikage reo.”

the way your eyes widen doesn't go unnoticed by him. “and what did you even mean by that?” he presses defensively.

you plop down on the seat, with reo mirroring you as you insert the rouge ticket decorated with pink hearts into the slot of the claw machine. “well, mikage reo. i’m sure you're aware how aoi’s family is important, right?”

yeah, this person is definitely a weirdo, reo muses. who refers to themselves in third person?

“i heard they had connections everywhere… just like you. it's crucial to maintain a good relationship with someone like that, right?” you conclude—that would explain why reo had taken the time to personally talk to “aoi” one-on-one instead of just flat out rejecting them on the spot.

reo tilts his head to the side. “i’m not following…?”

“mikage.” you emphasize, looking at him straight in the eye before turning your attention back to playing. “i’m saying that the poor kid’s still waiting for an answer. your heartfelt and sincere rejection, to be exact.”

a few seconds of silence pass. well, as silent as it can be with the loud chattering of the crowd and the mechanical whirrs of the claw machine you're currently messing with resounding in the air.

“you mean, you're not…” reo trails off, all color draining from his face. “i’m so, so sorr—”

“aoi’s the one you should apologize to, not me. oh, i got a double! how lucky.” you eagerly grab the prize, the limited edition valentine’s merch exclusive to this boba shop; a plushie collectible that comes with a redeemable code for your favorite video game. you want to collect all of them, but you’re broke as hell and you’re only here due to the free ticket. turning to reo, you shove the second plushie to his chest. “here, this is for you. since you did help me out with getting these.”

“ah, thank you…” reo absentmindedly accepts the small toy, still reeling on how he could make such a careless mistake. “listen, i do apologize—”

“i wonder how'd you even mix us up. is it ‘cause we have the same hair color?” you ask, slightly amused because aside from that, you and aoi look nothing alike. your fingers tap on the surface of the control panel, observing reo’s shame-stricken visage. “or maybe… is it because everyone just looks the same to you?”

at that moment, mikage reo realizes two things: (1) maybe he's more transparent and vulnerable than he thinks, and (2) you're dangerous, and it's better to stay far, far away from you. how could you see right through him so quickly? what if that's something you'll use against him?

he doesn't like to admit it, but it's true—in his perspective, everyone's the same. they're just after him for money and status, and at some point, they've all just become faceless, superficial pawns vying for his attention.

and of course, you’re no exemption.

noticing he’s gone quiet, you continue, “but i guess if my world was as vast as yours, i couldn't possibly keep up with everything either, so i get it. i’m not saying i’m in the same situation as you, but i can kind of relate, i guess. i only keep the ones who's important to me close, and the rest just exist and do whatever. i’m selective, but in that way, at least i can give my all to the ones that really matter.”

reo closes his mouth shut. here you are casually saying that you don't matter to him, and while that isn't a lie in the slightest, he still can't help but feel guilty. maybe it's just the people-pleaser in him, or maybe it’s the way the corners of your lips are slightly quirked up and to form a miniscule, accepting smile, but he wants to reassure you, “still, i’m sure you feel that—”

“i don’t.” you don't mind that he didn't know you, because you didn't even know him either—there’s no reason for you to take it personal. you’d be a hypocrite otherwise. “i really don’t.”

you smile at him. he thinks it's out of understanding, but unbeknownst to him you're actually just entertained by how his inner turmoil is so clearly reflected on his expression. “so don’t worry about it. plus, we’re even now.” you add, gesturing towards the prize.

hopping off the stool, you wave at him as you start to walk away. “...happy valentines. i'll see you around, mikage. maybe. er, probably not.”

“wait!” he hurriedly jumps off the stool as well, clutching the plushie in his hand as he follows after you. “i… let me drive you home.” the words stumble out before he even realizes what he's saying. you're probably just using him, and you're dangerous, and you see right through him, and he should stop wasting his time because his actual valentine's date is probably three seconds away from storming out the restaurant he's booked at—

so why is he doing this?

“drive?” you repeat, because of course he’d have a driver. damn rich people, you think internally. “nuh uh. it's like a ten minute walk, and i’d rather save the environment.”

“then i’ll walk with you.”

“you do realize i’m done dragging you for the day, right?” you quirk a brow up, amused; you could've sworn he was itching to get the hell away half an hour ago. “you're free. you can go home if you want.”

reo smiles, a more genial one this time. “i know.”

“so, you into popular guys now?”

“hell no.”

nagi narrows his eyes at you. “you’re just into reo, then?”

while you expected to be grilled first thing in the morning by random people about your apparent relationship with mikage reo (to which you simply replied, “i don’t know who that is, sorry,” and proceeded to run away), you didn't expect to be interrogated by your apathetic best friend as well.

usually, nagi prefers to be completely silent during the 1st period (and actually all the way through lunch), not bothering to utter more than a few words, but today, he seems uncharacteristically on edge, waiting for you at the corner of the gym with a wrinkle between his brows.

“why are you on a first name basis with him?”

“everyone calls him reo.” he shrugs. “why him?”

“i never said i was into him.”

“then what's all that partner thing about?” he asks, which confuses you a bit. you doubt that reo would go around announcing to everyone how you teasingly called him ‘partner’ and practically dragged him to a date against his will, but it's not like him and nagi are close either, so you wonder where nagi has heard this information from. then, you suddenly recall back to yesterday, where you saw the curtain of your neighbor’s bedroom window swinging side-to-side, as if it was drawn close a mere second before you looked up.

it seems that your mind wasn't playing tricks with you after all, and that a certain someone was eavesdropping on your conversation with reo as he walked you to your door.

“fake partners, you mean? and it was a just a joke—i met him that day.”

“that day? why are you acting so close if you've just met that day?”

“you're awfully talkative today, seishiro.”

“i know. it's making me exhausted, and it's all your fault.” he then presses his weight against you, leaning his forehead on your shoulder—as he always does when he's tired and you're within reach. your eyes widen immediately, darting around the gymnasium to see if any of your classmates has noticed.

you don't want people to get the wrong idea about you two. it's not because it kills your chances with anyone due to the assumption that you aren't single (which you still very much are, by the way), or even because of potential issues of being a two-timer due to a certain rich boy—it's just that whenever you get asked if you and your best friend are together, you can't help but flinch from the idea, like ice is being poured inside the back of your shirt. you don’t really know what to call it, but you do know that you've answered the question a hundred times and you're positively sick of it.

“i told you to stop doing this in public,” you hiss, trying to push the giant, clingy sloth off you. “and stop whining, nagi. i’m not going anywhere. besides, i’m not even looking for a relationship or anything like that. not after… you know, what happened during our first year.”

he lifts his head up, frowning at you. “don’t call me nagi. just ‘cause you met a new guy doesn't mean you get to call me nagi.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. what’s his problem? “only if you stop whining.”

“…‘m not.” he slurs his words together, only proving your point.

“yes you are!”

“why do you have to be so annoying? you're such a pain,” he sighs, now walking away from you.

“i'm the annoying one?! and don't call me a pain, you—!” without hesitation, you promptly snatch a red ball from the steel ball cart beside you before swinging your arm at him, slamming the dodgeball right to his head. well, you tried to, at least; even with his back facing towards you, nagi only takes one step to the side to avoid it.

“your shitty aim sucks balls,” the tall male comments unenthusiastically, his white fringe falling over his eyes as he gazes at you over his shoulder. his nonchalance only spurs you on, now hauling multiple dodgeballs at him.

“how about you suck my ba—”

“give it up already. you're never gonna hit me.” and nagi actually has the audacity to yawn mid-dodge. of course, it only fuels your irritation even more. you eventually run out of balls to throw, so you mindlessly grab the nearest object to your right and chuck that as well.

…which unfortunately, happens to be nagi’s phone that he's snuck inside the gym, peeking under a face towel on the bench.

“oh, fu—”

because of your (rightfully) so-called shitty aim, it swung way up high to the left, a few steps away from nagi. in less than a second, he realizes what you have flung at him, and his body moves instinctively; he throws himself towards it, swinging his leg upward and trapping it with his foot with perfect ease before it has the chance to plummet down on the floor.

“why are you making me move so much…” he sighs. “what a pain.”

“you’re supposed to move anyways, we're in PE. you're welcome,” you smugly reason out. and then not even a second later you fold, shoulders curling inwards as you glance toward his phone; if it weren't for his godly reflexes, you would've broken it. with a small voice, you meekly add, “sorry.”

nagi shrugs in response.

when he saunters over to place his phone on the bench again, a silver glint catches your eye. a small charm swings lightly, small beads of white and black strung haphazardly together attached to the side of his phone case.

“wait, this is…” a phone charm crafted by hand, which is your birthday present for him four years ago. “i didnt know you still had that.”

“why wouldn't i?”

“where was it this whole time? this wasn't here a few days ago.”

“i just kept it in my drawer ‘cause i don’t wanna lose it.”

tilting your head to the side, you ask, “so why'd you suddenly decide to attach it to your phone now?”

he looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “…dunno.”

eyes dropping into slits, you mutter, “you know, that kinda sounds sus—”

“hey! that was amazing! nagi, right? you should play soccer with me!”

nagi and yourself both turn to the direction of the sudden voice, seeing a familiar figure running towards you, vivid purple eyes gleaming under the gymnasium’s stark white lights.

“mikage?” you exclaim.

ever so slightly, nagi sharpens his usual droopy eyes. “nah.” he immediately says, turning on his heel.

“seishiro? wait, weren't you supposed to be looking for a club?”

“don’t really care.” you follow him, lightly jogging to keep up. as soon as you catch up by his side, the taller male glances at you as he asks, “will you join too?”

is he seriously asking you that… “no?”

“then i won't.” nagi concludes as he continues to walk away from reo.

“hey, wait up!” reo calls out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “ah, i was completely shut down… say, will you help me convince him?”

your brows shoot up as your gaze flicks down where he's casually touching you. after your initial confusion of who he is yesterday, you then recognize him after learning his name—the most popular boy in school, known for his good looks, charisma, and most especially, his wealth. he gets along well with literally everyone, and acts genuinely close with them even if they aren't.

“uh, why should i?”

“remember that limited edition merch you like? i can get you the rest of the collection. in fact, i’ll even buy out the whole place just for you.”

“wha– seriously?” you feel your eye twitch. damn rich people. “it was limited edition. they all ran out of stock already.”

“i have my ways.” well, that's not shady at all. he flashes a grin at your skepticism, winking at you, “anything for my partner.”

and you now understand why he's earned his title. this is probably how he always gets what he wants—with a smile like that, anyone would drop to their knees and do whatever he’d ask. two years ago, you would've keeled over for attention like this, but now, you're nothing but indifferent.

he places his hands on both of your shoulders now, completely stopping you from taking off. wide violet eyes scrutinize your own, making you scrunch your nose at the close proximity. “shouldn't you be begging him and not me?”

“yeah, but...” reo swears he feels an air of animosity radiating from the white-haired male, and that's why he has decided to turn you instead. “you wouldn't leave your partner hanging, right? as partners, we help each other out, riiiight?” he says, dragging his words out.

you lean as far as you physically can from his grip, but he doesn't seem to care, excitedly looking at you with stars evident in his eyes. “mikage, you—” he smiles at you, bright and blinding, and you find yourself withering under his intense gaze. “okay, fine, just—”

“well, that's settled then! they’re joining the club too, nagi seishiro. they can be our manager.” you briefly wonder why he didn't outright offer to have you join the team, but he probably saw how you threw the dodgeballs earlier… though it's not like you have to use your hands in soccer, so what the hell, this is kind of insulting.

“says who, mikage?”

“you're gonna come watch all our games?” he negotiates.

“why don’t you offer that i join the team?”

“ahahaha. haha. hah.” he laughs awkwardly, swinging an arm around your shoulder and ultimately evading your question.

because you were too busy trying to shrug him off, you miss the way nagi’s eyes zero on to reo’s arm around you, wordlessly observing the whole interaction with his lips pressed taut.

you still don’t know why reo hasn't moved away; he's so close that you can see the dark amethyst specks in his irises, the long strands that frame his face are lightly tickling your cheek, and if you lean in even just an inch, you can practically—

“you said anything i want, right?” your voice drops to a low whisper, and reo nods slowly, still seemingly oblivious to the lack of space between you.

“then... what if i said i wanted a kiss?”

reo’s smile drops immediately, recoiling away from you as if you've slapped him, his whole entire face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears. finally out of his grasp, you erupt into boisterous laughter, shaking your head as you leave the flustered boy alone and catching up to nagi.

likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated ♡

#blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you

215 notes · View notes

sixhours · 5 months ago

Text

i know you by heart - chapter 6

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, alcoholism behavior, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Chapter notes: Look ma, no smut! Sorry, things are still rough for a l'il bit. Shit's getting plottier. CW for some alcoholic-like behavior, so y'know, take care of yourself.

(Also, I recognize that technically Sarah died the day after Joel's birthday, but in my head, it's all one big, awful day for him.)

“Are you mad at me?”

Her voice is so small when she asks the question, seated at the kitchen table across from him as he changes the dressing on her burn. She’d stubbornly refused his help at first, but applying the gauze and tape one-handed was trickier than it looked, and she eventually caved, trudging downstairs to sit at the kitchen table while he goes over the burn care instructions from the clinic.

“Damn right I am,” he growls, narrowing his eyes as he dabs salve on the gauze to prevent it from sticking to the damaged skin before lightly recovering the wound. He finishes applying the last piece of tape, then he sighs and sinks back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. “No. That ain’t it. I’m not…mad, Ellie. I’m just worried about you.”

He swallows hard, choosing his next words carefully, always on thin ice.

“We can’t keep goin’ like this, kid,” he murmurs. “You gotta start talkin’ to me.”

“I know,” she whispers, biting at her lower lip. “Ezra said I should tell you.”

The name puts a lump in his throat. He pretends to be very interested in putting the first aid supplies away. “He did, huh?”

“But I knew you’d try to stop me.”

“Yeah, I woulda,” he snaps, then sighs when she winces. “I just…I don’t get what you were thinkin’, Ellie. But…I want to understand. I’m tryin’ to.”

He tucks everything back into the plastic box and latches it, shoving it aside before turning to meet her eyes, trying to keep his voice soft and level. “Can you help me understand?”

She flinches. “It’s just…every time I see that stupid scar, I remember…I remember them. Riley and Tess and Sam and Henry and…it’s like a big fucking flashing sign reminding me that they died for nothing–“

“That’s not–“

“No,” she cuts in. “You wanted to understand and I’m trying to fucking tell you so just let me talk.”

He sits back, stung. “Alright.”

“This stupid scar…it was supposed to mean something. But it didn’t work out, and now…it’s just a reminder of everything I couldn’t do. And I didn’t want to look at it anymore.”

“That wasn’t…Marlene should never have put that on you,” he says. “You’re just a–“

She scoffs. “I’m ‘just a kid’, right? Because that’s all I’ve ever been. Marlene didn’t ‘put that on me,’ Joel. She believed in me.”

Her fist clenches on the table, and all Joel can think is how much it must hurt, the way her forearm tightens, pulling at the damaged skin. His hand reflexively comes out to cover hers, but she yanks it back.

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up without anyone . You had your brother and Tess and…and Sarah. People who needed you. But all I had was Riley, and even she fucking left.

“But Marlene saw me and it was like…like I was more than just another dumb FEDRA kid. She knew my mom, she…knew me before anyone else. And she gave me a purpose. And every time I look at that stupid scar, I…I’m just…it’s like I lose that all over again.”

His hands twitch with the effort it takes to restrain himself from pulling her into his arms. The only thing that stops him is shame, the knowledge that he’d been the one to put a bullet between Marlene’s eyes, and what Ellie would think of him if she knew.

“Baby girl,” he begins slowly. “ I believe in you. Tommy an’ Maria an’…an’ Ezra. We’re all here for you . We need you . Not your immunity, not some…some fairytale cure. Just you, Ellie.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah…I know.”

He shakes his head, takes her face in his hands as she’s trying to look away. “No, I don’t think you do. And you need to get it through that stubborn head of yours before you hurt yourself again, y’hear me?”

She looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. She just nods, eyes shining. And then he can’t resist, leaning in to place a kiss on her forehead, standing so he can pull her into a hug.

“C’mere.”

And she does, wrapping her good arm around his waist, pressing her face to his chest.

“You…are the only thing that matters here, Ellie,” he says softly. “You. Just you, kid.”

Summer bleeds into fall and Ellie goes back to school. Her arm heals, the old scar covered by a new one that doesn’t betray her immunity. For all Joel’s reservations, the burn seems to have helped put something right in her, and she comes back to him in increments.

She’s eating again, sneaking her portion of venison steak onto his plate and stealing his dinner roll when she thinks he’s not looking. She even suggests they set up a weekly dinner around the new fire pit while the weather holds. She meets him at the stables after patrol so they can walk home together. The light slowly comes back into her eyes.

She’s still seeing Ezra. Joel is not.

They sit on the back porch together at night and he shows her the basics on her guitar, but he can’t bring himself to play. When thoughts of Ezra surface, he pushes them roughly aside and turns back to her. This is what he knows, this is what he’s made for. It’s for the best, he tells himself, and it’s even easier to believe when Ellie smiles.

But sometimes at night, when his body aches from a long day’s work and his mind refuses to still, he misses him.

And then it’s the worst day of the year.

They have an understanding–no presents, no parties, there’s nothing to celebrate. But he compromises because it’s Ellie and because she’s warming up to him again. They’ll have dinner at home, just the two of them. He thinks he overhears something about a cake. Maybe they’ll eat outside and look at the stars.

It’s a plan, but it doesn’t stop him from counting down the late September days with dread and wishing he could sleep through it. Ellie’s presence soothes the ache, but at times like this it’s a band-aid over a gunshot wound.

Tommy doesn’t question it when he asks for an overnight patrol shift the night before, a double, returning in the late morning. He intends to wear himself out, come home, and sleep until dinner.

When the sleep part doesn’t pan out and he has nothing better to do, he drinks. He drinks until his personal stash is depleted, desperate to kill the hours. The Bison doesn’t open until four, but he can’t stare at the ceiling for another second, so he puts on his boots and goes for a walk.

And then he’s standing in front of Ezra’s house. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks this is probably the post-apocalyptic equivalent of drunk-dialing his ex, but his judgment is too far gone by the time he finds himself on the porch, knuckles tingling from the knock.

Ezra looks him up and down, forgoing the greeting.

“How far down the rabbit hole are you, songbird?”

“Not far enough,” he mutters. “Can I come in?”

There’s a moment where he’s sure he’ll be turned away. Hell, if the roles were reversed, Joel would probably tell him to fuck off. But Ezra opens the door.

“I have a prior engagement,” he says, clipped, nodding at the closed office door. “Twenty minutes. You can wait in the kitchen.”

Joel nods mutely, aims his steps down the hall. After only a fleeting hesitation, he helps himself to the liquor that Ezra keeps in the cupboard. For strictly medicinal purposes, he’d once said with a coy little smirk, and Joel had rolled his eyes. Now he thinks this is exactly the kind of medicine he needs, and he doesn’t have to show his face at the Bison to get it.

He’s two more drinks in by the time he hears the front door open and close, then Ezra’s footsteps in the hall.

“Ez,” Joel nods, already feeling the effects. He’s been generous with his pours.

“Songbird,” he murmurs, eyeing the half-full glass on the table, the bottle looking leaner.

“I ran out,” Joel mutters, holding up his drink. “Figured it’s a commune. We share.”

Ezra grabs a glass from the cupboard, slides it across the table, and lets Joel pour. He tops up his drink as Ezra takes a seat.

Somehow he’s both too drunk and not drunk enough for whatever comes next.

“To what foul fortune are we drinking at,” Ezra pauses, squints at the clock, “two in the afternoon?”

“Forgetting,” Joel says after a pause.

“To the dissolution of memory,” Ezra murmurs, touching their glasses and downing his portion with a grimace. Joel doesn’t flinch. The smack of the empty tumbler on the tabletop is overloud in the tiny kitchen.

“Let us put our cards on the proverbial table. If you’ve come here after having partaken for the purposes of an errant fuck,” he says, spitting out the last consonant with emphasis, “you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed.”

Joel winces, feels the words hit like a well-deserved slap. “S’not why I’m here.”

“Ah. Then do you intend to tell me why you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again. Maybe it’s the alcohol slowing his tongue, but he doesn’t think it’s just that.

“I jus’…”

I miss her.

I miss you.

Ezra studies him, something sharp and curious in his gaze. If Joel weren’t so deep in his melancholy he’d be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, but Ezra doesn’t look put out, only resigned. Concerned.

He’s too damn quiet either way.

Joel blinks, tries to shake off the sadness that’s taken root, tendrils of sorrow twining around his ribs, making his chest tight. He can’t, of course. It never goes away, just loosens its grip enough for him to keep breathing.

“She, uh…she died today,” he whispers. “Sarah. My…my daughter.”

Ezra eases back in his chair, tilts his head. Joel faintly recognizes it as his counseling pose. Open. Waiting. But his tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth and the world has gone fuzzy and he thinks he might be crying but his face is numb.

“Never saw her fifteenth birthday. She’d be thirty-six now…if she’d made it. Thirty-fuckin’-six. That’s…shit,” he laughs humorlessly. “Same age I was when she died.”

Ezra is kind enough not to point out that you could throw a stone anywhere in the town of Jackson and chances are good you’d hit someone who lost a loved one on Outbreak Day. Tonight the Bison will be busier than usual, most of its patrons trying to numb the day away in the same fashion. It wasn’t a revelation.

But it always seemed like a pretty big “fuck you” to Joel to be forced to reckon with his birthday on top of all that.

“Gunshot,” he says evenly. “Couldn’t even bury her. Jus’ left her in a field south’a Austin an’ went on our way.”

His words are slow, fat and syrupy in his mouth.

Ezra leans forward, rests his arm on one knee, peering into Joel’s face. His eyes have gone soft, and it’s too much like pity.

“Prob’ly still there,” he whispers.

Time begins to slide sideways. His eyelids feel heavy, his head filled with sand. He’s on his knees and her blood is drying tacky on his shirt and Tommy is screaming at him to get up, get up, we gotta go , but he’s weighted down, his little girl has never felt so heavy in his arms, cold and still as stone. He’s pinned in place like a butterfly under glass, his baby is gone and he might as well be dead, too.

And then Ezra is standing, taking Joel’s hand, leading him upstairs. He slouches in the bedroom doorway, vaguely aware of the sounds of a shower starting as he tries to shake off the vision of her hand lying limp against his arm. There’s a light touch on his waist, asking permission with the lift of an eyebrow before he’s stripped down methodically and pushed gently toward the bathroom with a hand between his shoulder blades.

Forehead pressed to the tile as the water rolls off his back. Blood, so much blood, the water should run red, but it’s clear. The creak of the faucet turning, the warm rush of water gone, a towel being scrubbed over his shoulders. A hand herding him back into the bedroom, pulling back the covers. The bed is soft, softer than he deserves. The harsh scrape of curtains being closed and the room dims.

Joel flops onto his back, feels the bed spin underneath him, watching through slitted eyes as Ezra moves around the room. Focusing on him, him, him so he doesn’t slip back out of time.

There’s the clunk of a glass of water being placed on the nightstand and Joel reaches out blindly, finding Ezra’s fingers with his.

“Stay.”

A sigh. “Sleep.”

“Can’t…can’t do it,” he mumbles. “Can’t do it again.”

“I know, cher .”

“Mmm. Stay,” he tries again, but the hand is gone.

Ezra whispers something about a gentleman, taking advantage, sleep now . The words barely find him through a thick haze of exhaustion.

“Since when’re you a gentleman?” Joel slurs, rolling over so his words are muffled by the pillow.

A low chuckle as fingers card through his towel-damp hair.

“Sleep, songbird.”

He wakes and the light is all wrong. It’s too dark, for one. It’s not his room, for another.

“Shit,” he hisses, mouth dry as sandpaper. He makes it upright, still a little woozy, caught somewhere between inebriation and a hangover, and stumbles into the bathroom to put on his clothes.

Downstairs, the only light comes from Ezra’s office as music plays low on the record player. Ezra gets up from the couch as Joel squints into the lamplight.

“He lives,” Ezra says drily.

Joel swallows hard, fighting the sudden urge to vomit, and leans against the door frame. When he opens his eyes, Ezra is standing in front of him, brow arched.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon.”

“I, uh…m’alright…”

“You crashed spectacularly,” Ezra says. “Do you recall any of it?”

He wracks his brain. “I…had a few ‘fore I came over, an’…think we…we talked…”

“Indeed. Then you sang, you danced, got down on one knee…”

Joel’s heart is suddenly beating too fast. “I–what?”

“I’m pulling your leg, songbird,” Ezra says, lips curling in a smirk. “No, you did nothing untoward, save for interrupting my last session of the day a few minutes early. And drinking half my liquor, I’ll add.”

“S’pose I deserve that,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. Then another thought occurs to him, one that sends a hot flush up the back of his neck. “We didn’t, uh…y’know. Did we?”

A dry huff of laughter. “No, we didn’t.”

“Good…I mean, not…I mean…I, uh, wanted…wanted to…not that I wanted–fuckin’ hell,” he groans, stomach roiling again.

Ezra quirks his lips but doesn’t speak, waiting for Joel to recover.

“Look, I, uh… I know you…were just lookin’ out for Ellie before. I stuck m’foot in it. I’m real sorry for that. I just…it’s just, uh Ellie, she’s, uh…she’s doin’ better, an’…that’s...”

He trails off.

…Ellie…something about Ellie…oh…

“Fuck,” he groans. “What time is it?”

“Not quite ten.”

Dinner. He was supposed to be back for dinner.

“Fuck, I gotta…I gotta go.”

“Well. I suppose I should be glad I could be of use ,” Ezra says, lacking his former levity. “Any port in a storm, is that it?”

“No, no, that’s not…shit,” Joel growls, turning to grab his boots, making for the door. “I didn’t mean to…I promised her I’d…I just gotta go.”

“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Ezra sighs, his disappointment palpable. “Crystal, in fact.”

“M’sorry, Ez, but…I’ll…tomorrow? Can we just–”

“I think we’ve drawn this out quite enough,” he says flatly. “Goodnight, Joel.”

The door slams behind him, leaving him little choice but to go home. Home, where his kid has been waiting for hours while he’s been sleeping off a bender at his…at Ezra’s.

Fucking fuck.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table with her journal. He suspects there are some choice words in that book for him now, but anger would be preferable to the look in her eyes.

If Ezra’s disappointment stings, Ellie’s is a knife to the heart.

“M’sorry…I’m late,” he says, feeling every bit the asshole he knows he is. “We can still eat if you–”

“Ate already. There’s leftovers in the fridge,” she says flatly. “And a cake. Maria helped me make it. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he says roughly.

She bites her lip, chewing it, fighting some internal battle before sighing and asking the question.

“Were you with Ezra?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but she snorts. “Don’t bother. You’re shit at hiding things, y’know.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course she’d known. Hadn’t Ezra told him as much?

A knack for seeing things exactly as they are.

“How long?” he whispers.

“Saw you in the greenhouse once. And that first night…he never took the album back. It’s still in your bedroom. Didn’t mean to snoop, but it’s, like, right there.”

He closes his eyes. The room seems to sway around him, nausea gripping his insides.

“Figured you’d tell me when you were ready,” she shrugs, picking at her nails. “But you never did, so…”

“El–”

“Is it me? ‘Cause I wouldn’t have cared, y’know,” she says, and the waver in her voice nearly brings him to his knees. “I don’t…I don’t know why you don’t…trust me.”

“I do, kiddo, I’m–”

“You said I matter but you can’t even be honest with me about this one stupid thing, and that…that makes me think…”

She’s crying, angry tears that she swipes away with her sleeve before they can fall. Should’ve known , he thinks dully, should have known she’d turn this on herself .

“Fuck it, never mind,” she says with a groan.

He steps forward but she’s out of the chair and already moving toward the stairs.

“It’s not…not gonna happen again,” he tries shakily. “We’re…not…anymore.”

This only seems to make it worse. He wishes she would scream at him, yell and stomp and storm around the way she used to, but now she just looks defeated.

“You’re such an asshole,” she sighs with none of her usual fondness. Then she’s gone, soft footsteps on the stairs and a door that doesn’t slam and the quiet is louder than anything.

He climbs the stairs to his bedroom. The album is still sitting on his dresser. She’s right; he never bothered to hide it. He’s a fucking idiot.

He traces his fingers over the cover and feels the tears he’s been holding back all day slipping down his cheeks.

Worst damn day of the year.

Joel wakes up to an empty house and a raging bitch of a hangover, and that sets the tone for the rest of the week.

He barely sees Ellie after that. When she’s not at school or work or training, she locks herself in her room. She misses her curfew and he lets it slide once, then twice, reasoning she needs the space. But eventually he has to put his foot down. She’s his kid and she can’t avoid him forever.

He hopes.

When she comes home past curfew the next time, he’s waiting up on the porch.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the spot next to him on the swing.

She rolls her eyes and moves to go in the house instead, wheeling on him when she jiggles the handle and realizes he’s locked the door. He dangles the key in one hand, cocks an eyebrow, one step ahead of her.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Pretty fucking rich coming from you.”

“Alright, that’s…that’s not the same thing, kid. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, but you can’t keep doin’ this.”

“It would appear I fucking can.”

Christ, the attitude . There’s a familiar headache forming behind his eyes and he’s fast losing control of his temper. It’s been a long fucking week.

“You can be pissed at me all you want, but I’m still responsible for you. Curfew’s eleven.”

“What was it you said? I’m not your daughter and you’re not my dad. So I think I’m done listening to you.”

His jaw tightens as he tries not to show how much that particular remark stings. He stands and glares at her.

“As long as you live under this roof, you will be home before curfew. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” she says. “Then I don’t have to live here.”

And she turns on her heel and stomps back down the porch steps.

“Ellie! Damnit–”

She flips her middle finger up, waving it over her head like a flag, and doesn’t look back.

He has half a mind to follow her, but he knows if he does, he’ll say some shit he doesn’t mean. And so will she. And they’ll just keep circling around the same awful truth, the one he can’t speak aloud, the one she can’t admit to herself.

Instead, he goes into the house and punches a dent in the kitchen wall.

She’ll come back , he tells himself, pacing the floor and clutching his throbbing fist. She’ll come back, and they’ll patch things up and smooth it over the same way he’ll patch up the drywall tomorrow. They’ll figure it out. They always do.

But then she doesn’t come home.

He’s on Tommy and Maria’s doorstep early the next morning, when his imagination has cycled through all the worst case scenarios and won’t let him wait any longer.

“Y’all seen Ellie? She took off last night. Thought maybe she might’ve stayed here.”

Tommy’s bouncing Izzy on his hip. He shakes his head.

“Nope. Been up most of the night with this one, definitely would've seen her.”

Joel frowns, flexes his aching hand.

“But she can’t have gone far,” Tommy adds quickly. “I’ll radio the folks on the wall, let ‘em know to keep an eye out.”

“Alright…”

“Should we be worried?”

Joel bites his lip, shakes his head. “Nah. Just, uh, let me know if you hear anythin’. I’ll go ask around.”

Tommy nods. “‘Course. We’ll keep you posted.”

He waits by the school until half past eight, but she doesn’t show. Every minute she’s unaccounted for ratchets his anxiety up another notch until he’s grinding his teeth and pacing a trail between the stables, the house, and the main street in hopes of catching her.

Tommy flags him down on his way back to the house, his third such trip in the last hour.

“Hey, just got word on the radio. She’s fine. Ezra’s got her. Says she showed up last night an’ crashed with Cee.”

Joel runs a hand through his hair. “That's…somethin’, I guess.”

Tommy gives him a look that’s too close to pity for comfort. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“S’nothin’ serious,” he mutters. “Had a rough day, that’s all.”

Tommy smirks. “If she’s anythin’ like you at sixteen–”

“Jesus, don’t start,” he groans.

“Just sayin’, big brother. You’re in for it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on. An’…thanks, Tommy.”

He waits until his brother is out of sight before heading to Ezra’s.

Ezra doesn’t invite Joel in this time, just steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him.

“Hey. I, uh…heard she’s here.”

“Your young prodigy made her illustrious appearance in the wee hours. Fortunately for her I’m a light sleeper…as you well know,” he adds coolly.

Joel crosses his arms, can’t meet his eyes. “Look, I, uh…I don’t want her puttin’ you or your girl out–”

Ezra ducks his head, softening a little. “It’s no trouble. I got the distinct impression at our last session that the two of you were not exactly…simpatico at the moment.”

“You could say that.”

He lowers his voice. “In fairness, she’s been equally reticent with me as of late. I speculated that she might have felt I betrayed her trust in my conversations with you–”

Joel shakes his head. “She, uh, figured us out. Wasn’t too happy about it. Or…she wasn’t happy about bein’ left in the dark, more like.”

“Ah. Well…I suppose I am just as much to blame, then.”

“No,” Joel says quickly. “It’s on me. I shoulda…should have told her. Got too in my head an’…well, guess it doesn’t matter now.”

He shifts on his feet, rubs at the back of his neck.

“Don’t think she’d be here if she blamed you,” he murmurs. “I dunno. Maybe you can get through to her. Think I’ve done enough.”

“I’ll do my level best. The couch is hers until she’s had enough of me. Perhaps a few days of my loquacious ramblings will set her to rights,” he adds drily. “If she’s anything like Cee, she’ll be begging for peace and mercy at your door.”

“Doubt that,” he says thickly. “I guess I’ll…I’ll bring by some of her stuff. Clothes an’ whatnot.”

Ezra nods.

“Tell her…tell her I love her,” he says. “An’ I’m sorry. I, uh…yeah. I’m sorry.”

“I suspect the apology would be more effective coming from you…but I’ll pass the message along.”

“Thanks, Ez.”

He walks away. It feels too much like giving up, and the ugly bloom of failure unfurls in his gut like a poison.

Joel packs a small duffel bag with enough clean clothes for three days. After a week with zero contact, he can only assume she’s doing laundry, or she snuck back to the house while he was out and grabbed more of her stuff.

By day five, he’s making a regular stop at the Bison after his shifts when it’s clear his usual late-September blues aren’t going away. There’s a two-drink maximum, and Joel gets his daily share before going home, pulling out his flask, and crashing on the couch. Sleeping pills are hard to come by but booze will do in a pinch. He’s keenly aware this is partly what got him into trouble in the first place, but in Ellie’s absence, he’s lost his anchor and his reason to care.

Tommy sidelines him at the bar on day seven, sliding onto the stool next to him just as he’s started his first drink.

“So you gonna pull the stick outta your ass and tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Joel rolls his eyes, grunts. “Dunno what you’re gettin’ at.”

“C’mon, Joel. I got eyes. Ellie ain’t talkin’ and you’re shufflin’ around here like a fuckin’ mushroom head,” he says, eyeing the drink in Joel’s hand.

“Your wife put you up to this?”

Tommy snorts. “She’s got her hands full. I’m askin’ as your brother…and your friend. Now talk.”

“She’s mad,” he mutters, taking a long drink. “Not much to tell.”

“The fuck did you do?”

Indignance flares. “What makes you think I did anythin’? She’s sixteen. She’s gonna hate me sometimes.”

“Bullshit. That girl thinks you hung the moon. An’ you wouldn’t be out here drinkin’ yourself stupid if you didn’t feel bad about somethin’.”

It’s an uncomfortable role reversal; Joel in the hot seat, Tommy doing the grilling. He wonders when his little brother grew up.

It’s really fuckin’ annoying.

“Whatever you did, just…fix it, Joel.”

“Not that simple.”

“Yeah, it really is, big brother.”

“Tommy, I–you don’t know,” Joel growls. “You don’t know what happened out there.”

“You’re right about that. Been holdin’ your cards pretty close to the chest. But I know you, and I know when you’re lettin’ your foolish pride get the better of you.”

“If you’re so fuckin’ smart then you go figure it out. ‘Cause I’ve tried, and it ain’t workin’.”

Tommy considers him, taps his fingers on the counter before leaning in. “And Ezra?”

He stiffens. “What about Ezra?”

“Thought maybe you two were…y’know. Seemed pretty close for a while there.”

Joel glares at his brother. “What’d Ellie tell you?”

He whistles. “She didn’t have to tell me nothin’. Like I said, I have eyes. An’ you’re shit at hidin’ things.”

Christ, that’s exactly what she said. That stokes the flames of Joel’s ire even further. He's as transparent as the amber liquid he’s drinking.

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’–”

“Good.”

“An’ it’s none of my business–”

“Sure as shit it ain’t.”

“But as your brother…I only wanna see you happy. An’ the only person capable of makin’ you this miserable is you. So quit fuckin’ around and make it right.”

“Did you come here to drink or just to get on my ass?”

“Naw, I gotta go. I owe Maria a week’s worth of diaper duty for the whole Ezra thing,” he winks, hopping off the stool. “‘Sides, I’ve got early patrol tomorrow. Gotta get my beauty rest.”

Joel grunts, considers tossing his drink in his brother’s stupid, smug face, decides it would be a waste of a good sleep aid.

“Fix it, Joel,” Tommy says, clapping him on the back as he takes his leave. “S’what you do best.”

Eight days.

It’s been eight days since Ellie left him. He hasn’t been apart from her for this long in their entire history together, and it’s breaking something inside him, cracking his heart in places he didn’t know could crack. Somehow it’s worse than Sarah, because Sarah has been dead and gone for years, while he is painfully aware of Ellie’s proximity. Alive, but impossible to reach.

It’s late. He’s sprawled on the couch trying to drink himself to sleep when there’s a knock.

Hope, sudden and fleeting. Maybe she’s come home . It’s foolish to think she’d knock at her own door, but he’s just lucid enough for it to hurt when he sees Maria on the porch instead.

“Joel,” she says, an unusual tremor in her voice. His heart leaps into his throat.

“S’it Ellie? What happened?”

“Ellie’s fine, as far as I know. But we have a problem.”

He sags against the door, the emotional whiplash making him surly. “Find someone else.“

“Tommy’s patrol shift got back half an hour ago. They were attacked. They sent Peterson and James home with gunshot wounds.”

“Yeah? Not sure what you want me to do about it, seein’ as I’m not a fuckin’ doctor.”

“They have Tommy, Joel.”

The words don’t make sense.

“The fuck does that mean? Who has Tommy?”

“I need you to tell me what happened out there. With Ellie. They said–”

He draws back, some dim internal alarm beginning to sound. “Where’s Tommy?”

“They took him and they’re asking about a girl, Joel. I need to know what happened with Ellie–”

“S’none of your–”

“It is my damn business,” she snaps. “Patrollers get attacked and taken and then it’s my goddamned business.”

He closes his eyes, feels like he’s in a dream.

“Peterson said they’re holding him hostage, said something about wanting a girl in exchange. Tommy…told me about Ellie’s immunity.”

“He what ?”

“No one else knows,” she says quickly. “But Tommy said something happened with Ellie while you were gone over the winter, something with the Fireflies. And now we’ve got people out there who made a coordinated attack, and they’re looking for a kid, and they…they have my husband.”

It’s here that her voice breaks, her careful mask of competence cracking.

“I need to know what happened out there, Joel,” she continues, composing herself. “If these people have some kind of vendetta, I need to know what we’re up against.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I can’t–”

“You can catch me up on the way to the clinic,” she snaps, offering him no other choice. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the clinic in the cool night air is enough to sober him up. It takes all of five minutes, but Joel doesn’t need that much time to explain.

He left a lot of dead Fireflies in a hospital in Salt Lake City, including one of their leaders.

No, there were no survivors.

No, Ellie doesn’t know.

Maria remains neutral, offering only grunts and nods in response. When they arrive at the clinic, he takes her by the arm and turns her before they go inside.

“Ellie had nothin’ to do with it, y’hear? I don’t want her payin’ for what I did.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m just sayin’…if this is happenin’ because of the shit I pulled—”

“We’re prepared to deal with them.”

“Does ‘deal with them’ mean turnin’ her over to the Fireflies? Because I ain’t about to let that happen,” he growls.

She draws back. “What? She’s my niece , Joel.”

“Yeah, an’ now Tommy’s in trouble ‘cause of me ,” he hisses. “An’ we both know you didn’t want me here.”

“No, I didn’t at first,” she sighs. “But I was wrong. And we don’t know for sure that we’re dealing with Fireflies. For all we know they could be raiders trying to take us for supplies. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Look, I’ll do whatever you want as long as Ellie is safe. She stays in Jackson. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course,” Maria says, then shakes her head in disbelief. “Did you really think I’d turn over a child, Joel?”

“You an’ I both know, times like these, worse shit has gone down.”

“Not on my watch, it doesn’t,” she says. “That’s not how we do things. And you sure as hell better plan on sticking around because if this shit goes south, I’m not raising two girls on my own.”

He swallows hard. “Alright. Tell me…tell me what to do.”

“Peterson just got patched up. I want you to hear what she has to say while it’s still fresh.”

Joan Peterson is sitting on the hospital cot, one arm bandaged with gauze. Joel knows her as a fellow patroller, a short, level-headed woman who knows her way around outside the walls.

“Just a graze,” she says, nodding at the bandage. “James is still in surgery, he got the worst of it.”

“How’d they get Tommy?” Joel asks.

“They fired and missed. Horse got spooked and threw him. They had us surrounded and he was the first one they grabbed. Held him at gunpoint.”

“You think they were Fireflies?”

“I don’t know. They could have been, but…it was getting dark. I couldn’t see much, and it’s not like they carry a flag or anything.”

“You’d know,” Joel mutters. “The Fireflies weren’t great about keepin’ a low profile.”

“They looked pretty ragged,” she offers. “So probably far from home, not locals. None of ‘em looked familiar.”

“How many?” Maria asks.

“At least six that I saw, but there coulda been more hanging back. Like I said, it was getting dark. We didn’t have the manpower and they had Miller, we couldn’t risk it. That’s protocol,” she adds, glancing at Maria for confirmation.

“And they said somethin’ about a kid?”

“Yeah, they said they’d trade Miller for ‘the girl’. Didn’t give us a name or anything. They said we’d know what they meant.”

“Was there anything else?” Maria prompts.

“No. Just…we need to get our people back out there.”

“They’ll have the advantage in the dark,” Maria bites her lip. “The council will put a group together tonight…we’ll ride out at first light.”

“I’ll be there,” Peterson says seriously.

“You’re hurt–”

“Just a scratch. I want to get those sons of bitches,” she scowls. “We won’t let them get away with this.”

“Thanks, Joan,” Maria says more softly.

They leave the exam room and step into the hall.

“Does that sound like Fireflies to you?” she asks, turning to Joel.

“S’not common for ‘em to take hostages, far as I know…but it’s not unheard of. If they’ve been keeping an eye on this place they know they can’t bomb their way in. We’re too well-guarded for that. But if it’s the Fireflies I knew…they ain’t stupid. We don’t wanna underestimate ‘em.”

Maria nods pensively. “They’re convinced we have someone they want, so we have to assume they’re watching. I’ll go to the council about putting extra folks on shift at the dam and the outposts, just in case.”

“If it ain’t the Fireflies…what then?”

“The same. We get Tommy back,” she says, eyes going dark. “And we don’t give them a chance to do worse.”

They agree to meet in a couple hours with the rest of the patrol group to go over the plan. Maria tells him to rest up and he gives her a look.

“I will if you will,” he says.

“Fair enough,” she says. “See you soon, Joel.”

He returns to the house. He almost goes to check on Ellie first, to let her know where he’ll be in the unlikely event she decides to come home, but stops himself. He has to focus on getting Tommy back, and there’s no sense in worrying her.

There’s a knock at the door while he’s laying out his gear on the kitchen table. Joel prepares himself for another conversation with Maria, maybe something she forgot to ask, but then Ezra is standing in front of him.

The expression on Joel’s face must give him away, because Ezra holds up a hand.

“Your young prodigy is copacetic, all things considered,” he says before Joel can ask. “May I come in?”

“Uh…sure.”

“I heard there was an attack.”

Joel swallows hard. “Yeah…I’m headin’ out in a couple hours. They, uh…they got Tommy.”

His eyes widen. “Your brother…”

“Yeah,” he says, then his stomach sinks. “Shit…does Ellie know?”

“No, I specifically–”

“Good,” he cuts in. “Keep in that way. Last thing I need’s her goin’ off on some harebrained mission to get herself killed.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he says softly.

“No,” Joel shoots back, returning to his backpack, tugging at the straps of the bag to loosen them. “Maria’s got the council on it. We’ll take care of it.”

“I suspected you would be called up, as it were. I suggested she might want to join me…reconcile with you before you leave. She was unresponsive to my counsel, so unfortunately…I’ve come alone.”

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing his disappointment with a measure of relief. “Prob’ly for the best.”

“I haven’t darkened your doorstep on behalf of your young prodigy, though,” he hesitates. “I came to warn you…I fear you and your compatriots are walking into an ambush.”

“Yeah? Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he sighs, checking the batteries in his flashlight.

“I told you before about Damon and the group we escaped. And my concern is…I suspect he’s not stopped looking for us. For Cee.”

“You think he wants his kid back?”

Ezra nods. “I do believe that is the case, yes.”

“Why?”

“I…suspect it does not sit right with his massive ego to have been…bested by a cripple and a little girl. He is more than capable of holding a grudge. And though I am loath to think of what might happen to her if she were to be returned to him…he is, within the bounds of the old laws, her rightful caretaker.”

“Well…what does Cee want?”

“She doesn’t have an opinion on the matter because she believes her father to be dead.”

Joel stops, turns back to him, meets his eyes. “An’ why would she think that?”

Ezra doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

“Christ,” Joel mutters.

“I told her what she needed to hear to…encourage her to leave with me.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Ez–”

“The mere fact of my deception changes nothing, Joel. Every utterance, every word on the matter stands true. Cee was in grave danger–”

“How do I know you’re not holdin’ that girl hostage or somethin’?” Joel spits through gritted teeth.

Ezra scoffs.

“No, you tell me right now why I shouldn’t go tell Maria and the rest of the council that we’re harborin’ a kidnapper?”

“Because you know me, Joel,” he says softly. “You know I could not fathom harming a hair on that little bird’s golden head, let alone actually committing such a heinous crime. You’ve entrusted me with your own girl’s care and you know in your heart of hearts that I have no desire to do anything untoward. More than that…you know what treachery lies beyond these walls. You’ve known that life, and you know her place of safety was tenuous at best.

“Trust that I would have happily taken Damon’s life myself if granted the opportunity. And I came here to tell you that if you get the chance…I’d suggest you take it.”

Joel considers him, breathes an angry sigh, then turns back to his bag and unceremoniously stuffs the rest of his supplies in, cinching the top buckle tight.

“Could be anyone. Raiders, Fireflies. No way to know ‘til we’re out there,” he bites out. “Seems we both have shit to answer for. Just have to see who’s doin’ the callin’.”

Ezra ducks his head, frowns. “I’ll owe you a great debt if–”

“Don’t,” Joel snaps, then bites his lip, softening. “Look, if anythin’ happens out there…Ellie…she, uh…she’s better with Maria now but she’s not–they’re not–”

Ezra puts his hand on his shoulder, the touch startling him into silence.

“You’ll come home. And we–she–will be here when you do.”

#the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #ellie williams #prospect fanfic #tlou fanfic #joel x ezra

25 notes · View notes

millersdjarin · 2 years ago

Text

Some Invisible String

Chapter IV: When You're Young, You Just Run

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E (eventually)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn't know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he's too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Chapter length: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: injury recovery, light angst

Chapter III

Series Masterlist

notes: second to last chapter ahhh! thank u for reading and enjoying this fic with me, you're all just great humans!

Joel takes me up a nearby hill outside of the town’s walls, through old trails, over fallen trees and across the crunchy snow. I wrap my arms around him, pressing the side of my face into the back of his jacket, and I tell myself that it’s to shelter my face from the oncoming icy wind.

The view up here is incredible, stretching across the entire town and all the way to the hydro-plant beyond. Mountains surround us, covered in white, with light grey clouds hanging low over them and blue skies higher up. I can see birds of prey soaring up above us; could probably hear them if I listened closely enough. Despite the wind and the gentle crunch of Felix’s hooves on the snow, it’s so silent out here.

These days, silence isn’t necessarily the same thing as safe, but Joel tells me that this is one of his regular patrol routes, and he knows it well. If anything’s hiding somewhere, he knows where they’ll be.

So I just enjoy it.

Eventually we find our way to a building that looks half-snowed under. It’s not entirely covered, though; it’s a lookout post, probably used for fire watch way back when. A decent size, but only a square, the windows are mostly boarded up, except for one on each wall. Joel unlocks the door and the five padlocks that hold it shut. Before leading Felix inside, he helps me down, holding my weight until I’m stable.

Once we’re all in, and Felix is munching happily on the net of hay that’s already strung up in here, I take a moment to look around. There’s a hunting rifle propped up in the corner, along with some ammunition, and a bow sitting next to it with a few arrows strewn across the floor. A wicker bench, like something from a garden furniture set, is in front of one of the windows, complete with a pillow and a blanket. In the other corner there’s a fold-up chair beside a locked case, presumably full of more supplies.

“We keep it stocked for an emergency,” Joel explains, leading me over to the bench. I can manage without my crutches now, but the cold makes it harder, so he supports me around my waist until I’m sitting down. “People’ve got stuck here in blizzards before.”

“Thought you said this place was safe?” I joke.

He chuckles and grabs the blanket, wrapping it carefully around my shoulders. “It is. I promise. Here, put your leg up.” He gestures for me to turn in my place, taking a gentle hold of my ankle. Following his guidance, I lift up my leg and grimace at the discomfort. It feels better for having it up, though.

“Warm enough?” Joel asks.

“For now,” I say. “Depends how long you keep me here.”

“You make it sound like I’m holding you prisoner,” he pulls across the fold-out chair, takes off his backpack before sitting down opposite me.

“I mean, I can’t exactly leave on my own right now,” I smirk, gesturing to my leg.

He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his canteen. “How’s it feeling?”

“Better. A lot better.”

“Amazing what a little rest can do, huh?”

“Yeah. You’d know.”

He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Really, with the sarcasm?”

“We all know you don’t know how to just stop and rest,” I say. “Don’t think I’ve seen you chill out since…well, ever.”

He holds up his flask like it’s proving a point, and gestures to the room around him. “What does it look like I’m doin’ now?”

The light from the windows surrounds us, casting shadows over his face. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, his lips just a little blue. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts enough to respond, but before I can, he reaches into his pack and pulls out two…whisky glasses?

When he opens his flask and pours it, I expect to see water. But, nope. A golden amber liquid flows out into the glasses, and the smell hits me in an instant.

Yup, that’s whisky alright.

“Joel,” I gasp teasingly, “are you usually such a rebel on patrol?”

Grinning lopsidedly, he hands me one of the glasses. “This ain’t a patrol,” he says. I take it from him, and our fingers brush together for a second. “And it’s good for warmth.”

“Ah. And here I thought you were finally going to chill out.”

“Alright, alright,” he shakes his head and uses his own glass to gesture to mine. “Drink.”

“What are we drinking to?”

He doesn’t answer. He looks up and takes a good sip, smacking his lips after he’s swallowed. I watch the movement in his throat; his Adam’s apple bobbing down then up again. His eyes follow the glass as he lowers it again.

I wait for him to speak. Nervous, I lift my own glass to my lips and take a sip. It’s good. The best I’ve had in years, actually. The warmth goes all the way down my throat and to my insides, spreading through me in an instant. It makes me shiver in the best way. “Damn,” I say into the quiet. “That’s good shit. Strong, though.”

Joel nods in agreement. “Best in my collection.”

“Collection, huh? You’re living it up here in Jackson.”

“Sure am,” he smiles, wry. Tips his glass at me, then takes another sip. A small moment of quiet passes. “What brought you to Wyoming?” He asks then, surprising me. “Were you comin’ to Jackson?”

“No,” I almost laugh. “How would I have known about it? And besides, if I’d known there were so many people here I’d have stayed well away.”

“People find us in all sorts of ways. You’d be surprised how fast news travels.”

I shrug a shoulder and take another drink.

“So where’d you go?” He asks. Then, as if he wanted to word it differently, “I mean—where’ve you been? Since you…since we parted ways?”

“Here and there. I wanted to go South for the winter, but my plans went South instead, I guess.”

“You were alone when we found you,” he says, glancing up at me. “Have there been…any other groups since the old days? Friends…partners?”

I shake my head. For a moment, my thoughts are too bleak to say anything. I think of what it was like to be a hunter. It was hell. Carnage every day and night. Tommy and I used to talk of leaving; Joel was always reluctant, saying that we were safer staying put. He was probably right—that is, if my feelings hadn’t gotten in the way.

After that, it seemed better to be alone.

“No,” I answer eventually, staring solemnly down at my nearly-empty drink. It’s giving my head a nice buzz. A little burn in the back of my throat. If I really let myself, I could believe that we're in a cabin in the mountains during normal life, on vacation, sitting and enjoying a drink on the stoop before heading to bed.

“You…you’ve been alone this whole time?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

He’s surprised into silence, it seems.

I glance up at him and catch him staring. He looks away straight away, but I see something on his face. Something sad. A slight crease in his brow, his mouth open a little like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing; like what he’s hearing devastates him.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses eventually, just a breath. Staring at nothing, he shakes his head. “You survived on your own all this time.…”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t have survived this,” I motion to my leg, “if I’d been alone last week. But other than that…yeah. Just me. Sometimes it’s easier like that. Easier to slip past people unnoticed.”

He still looks upset. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again. I want him to look at me so badly that it hurts. I want him to turn to me and let the morning sunlight shine on his face and make all the coldness around me fade away.

I never thought I’d see him again. I thought I was dying, I thought I was hearing things when his voice came to me.

“Joel…” I start, finding a lump in my throat I hadn’t noticed before.

“You didn’t have to leave,” he says before I can say any more. Finally, he looks at me, and there is so much sadness and regret in his eyes that it actually hurts. “You hear me?” He asks. “You never had to leave. Back then. You could’ve stayed.”

“Joel…I already told you, I couldn’t let myself…”

He sighs. Looks away again, down at his glass, shaking his head over and over so much that he must be getting dizzy.

“Joel,” I say again. It feels like the only thing I can say that makes sense. “You don’t…we don’t have to talk about this…”

“Yes, we do.”

“…Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”

“I need you to hear me,” he says. Then his eyes meet mine, and it’s different. More intense, purposeful. I couldn’t look away even if I tried—even if I wanted to. “You didn’t have to leave. You told me why you left, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t…you didn’t need to.”

I shake my head. “I did,” my voice comes out as nothing but a whisper. “I did, Joel. I couldn’t—I couldn’t keep how I felt to myself, I couldn’t keep it in check…”

“Goddamit, you’re not—you didn’t have to keep it in check!” He raises his voice just slightly. “I’m trying to tell you that I…I had those feelings, too. Okay? It—it wasn’t just you.”

Oh.

I freeze.

Oh.

“…Oh,” because suddenly the racing chaos of my mind is silenced to just that one syllable.

He holds my eyes for another long, piercing moment, then looks away. Briefly he seems to consider something, his jaw working away as he thinks, and then he puts his glass on the floor and runs a hand over his hair. Jesus. The silver flecks in it are shining in the sunlight.

“I get why you thought you had to leave,” he says, quiet again. “I do. And honestly, I’m not sure I could say I wouldn’t’ve done the same thing if I were you. But I…if you’d just told me back then, if I’d known…”

Somehow, I manage to swallow the emotion in my throat enough to say, “Would it have made a difference?”

“It would have made every difference.” He says, with a tone that says Are you kidding me?

“Oh,” again. Dumbly. “But…it’s not like we could’ve…we could never have been…” I know what I’m trying to say, but it won’t come out. How do I express that I just never saw a way for a relationship to work? That I never saw how we could possibly fall in love and be together and act like everything was normal, like there wasn’t enough blood on our hands to fill a bathtub?

I close my mouth and regroup for a second. Or, try to.

“I just,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I’d expected, “I thought I was protecting you.”

Resting his elbow on his knee, he runs his hand over his mouth, rubs it across his beard. He does it a few times as he stares ahead at nothing again, deep in thought.

I watch him, silent. Waiting.

Then, he takes a breath. “Do you still feel that way now?” He drags his eyes to me, and holds them.

I swallow heavily. Wide-eyed, I stare at him. “I…” yes. Of fucking course I do, Joel. I loved you then, and I love you now. I will always fucking love you. “Yeah,” I admit. I can’t lie to him, and really, there’s no point now, anyway. “I do. I never stopped.”

For so long, he just stares at me. Nervous, I fiddle with the fabric of my gloves, pulling at loose threads, unsure how much damage I’m causing to them because I can’t fucking tear my eyes away from Joel’s, despite the fact his gaze is making me lose my mind. I decide to take the gloves off, suddenly feeling closed-in by them.

I keep trying to speak, to fill the silence somehow, to try and mend a wound that I’m not sure is even still open anymore. It feels like it’s closed: the chasm of questions and pain between us is different now. Lighter. Like how Joel looks lighter these days, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, that’s how it feels in the air between us.

When he speaks again, I’m not expecting it, despite the fact I’ve been waiting with bated breath. “I missed you,” he says.

Oh, God.

“I missed you so goddam much, you know that?” His eyes flick to the space on the bench beside me. Without thinking I shift my leg, moving it off so there’s space for him if he wants.

“I missed you,” I say, my voice cracking a little from the truth of it. The gut wrenching, undeniable truth in just those three words. “Joel, I…” As I’m shaking my head, lost for words that better convey what I’m trying to say, Joel gets up and comes to sit beside me. I turn to face him, finding the backs of my eyes stinging with tears.

(I swallow them down so hard that it hurts. I’ve cried enough. I’ve cried enough over him.)

“Hey…” he says, dipping his head to catch my eyes that have somehow fallen from his. He puts his finger under my chin, holding it up and propping his thumb on the point. He took his gloves off when he came inside, so his bare skin is against mine, his fingertips cold and calloused but fuck, so perfect. Catching my gaze again, he looks so deeply into my eyes that it’s like he’s searching my fucking soul. “Don’t look away,” he says.

I shake my head. My hands are trembling in my lap. Heat is blooming from my stomach to my chest, threatening to burst out of me at any moment because fucking fuck, I never thought Joel would touch me like this. Holding me tenderly, not because he’s patching a wound or inspecting one, not to get me to look in his eyes to stop me from passing out from pain; no, holding me because he wants to, because he wants to be close to me, wants to feel me like I want to feel him.

At least, I hope that’s what he wants.

The way his eyes flick down to my lips gives me a little more confidence.

“Joel…” I whisper into the inches of empty space between us. I can feel his hot breath brushing against my face. “Joel, you don’t have to…you don’t have to forgive me, you know that, right?”

Surprising me, he laughs. Shakes his head a little, smiling at me with crow’s feet around his eyes, the sunlight glinting into the flecks of grey in his beard. Could I reach out and do what I’ve always wanted to? Touch him there, run my hands through the coarse hairs, maybe even feel them on my face?

“I know I don’t have to,” he says, still chuckling. “But I do. Even though I wish you’d have made a different call, or at least told me you were leavin’…”

“Joel…”

“—I’d say we got pretty lucky, findin’ ourselves here again.”

He’s so close to me now that I have to look between each of his eyes in turn. I could do it forever. He’s so close. I’ve wanted this for so long.

I never thought I’d see him again.

Let alone have this.

“Yeah,” I manage to whisper. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Now, if you don’t mind,” he shifts his hand from under my chin to my cheek, pressing his palm against my jaw and smoothing his thumb over my skin, “I’d like to do what I’ve wanted to do for a damn long time.”

I nod before he even clarifies. I’d let him do anything. Fucking anything.

He sighs before closing the distance between us, like he’s relieved. Like he’s saying, Finally.

My agreement doesn’t make it out of my lips because he’s pressing his to mine, capturing my top one between both of his, and—

Holy shit.

It’s the softest kiss I’ve ever had.

So tender. Like he’s just testing the waters. Asking me a question. He barely even lingers for a few seconds.

But, Jesus Christ.

I find myself letting out an embarrassing whine when he pulls away and tries to meet my eyes, his eyebrows raising, checking it’s okay; but I can’t wait, I can’t fucking wait or hold back any longer—

I pull him in by the lapels of his coat and push my lips back into his, barely even having time to open my mouth. He groans against me and I feel the vibrations of his voice in my fucking mouth.

It’s crazed at first, finding a rhythm; messy and uncoordinated but all I can hear is his lips sucking at mine and him trying to find his breath amongst the mess of our mouths. It doesn’t take long for it to flow, to work, to understand the push and pull of each other and I lean into it with everything I have. He’s breathing into my mouth, his breath hot and sweet, and his lips have gone from cold to hot in the blink of an eye.

He’s got two hands on me now, grasping at the back of my neck with his fingers pushing up into my hair from the roots. My hat slips from my head. He uses the extra space in an instant, gasping happily against my mouth when he can get his fingers up the entirety of the back of my head, threading them into my hair. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and not from the cold.

At last, my hands are where they’ve always dreamed of being. On either side of his face, fingers running through his beard. I can hear it; the hairs brushing across my skin and under my nails. Lightly, I curl my fingers so my nails scratch his jaw. He likes it; moaning softly as he tilts his head to the other side, barely pulling off of me before our mouths are together again.

Alas, though, as much as my hands have found their home, there is so much more of him to discover. One of them slides back into his hair and I swear to God he fucking whispers my name against my tongue as I take a handful and tug.

Soon I’m shrugging him out of his jacket after pulling on the zip, and he’s doing the same, undoing each of the buttons on my coat while I suck kisses to his cheek, his beard, wherever I can get to him.

As soon as our coats are on the floor, he unwinds my scarf and throws it on the floor, and makes the most of having new access to my neck. Hungry, he dives in, his mouth already open as he mouths at the expanse of my neck in long—but not long enough—kisses.

“Joel, oh, my God,” I gasp when he sucks particularly hard on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My hands are in his hair again, anchoring him to me. A bolt of pleasure comes from my neck to my brain, goes straight between my legs.

It’s as he kisses me again and I start to fumble with the buttons on his flannel that he makes a different noise in the back of his throat. A soft protest, I think.

“Hey,” he pants, breaking off from my lips and taking a gentle hold of my wrists, stopping them in their work.

I’m completely out of breath. I’ve not been this out of breath from something good in fuck knows how long. My lips are swollen, I’m sure they’re bright red, and I can feel wet patches on my neck. “You okay?” I ask with my hands settling on his chest.

He laughs, breathy, “Never better. I just…want to make sure that we…” he has to swallow and catch his breath for a moment. As he does so, he lowers his head and kisses up my forearm, all the way to my elbow. His hands caress the underside of my arm like it’s something he treasures. “God, I want this to go further, but I said we’d be back in an hour and I know Ellie’ll come lookin’ if we’re not…”

Still panting, I laugh a little. All I can do is press my forehead against his.

He lifts up my hand and puts it over his heart. Even through the flannel of his shirt I can feel it pounding. A gasp pulls into my throat at the feeling.

“Besides, it’s cold as hell, and I’d really like you to be warm and comfortable before we…”

He’s right. Goddamit, he’s right.

Resigned, I nod. We sit like that for a minute, just coming down, catching our breath. His lips are pinker than I think I’ve ever seen them. I think I was sucking at them even more than I thought I was; the pink colour fades gradually into his skin like smudged lipstick. I wish now that I’d had chance to suck at his neck, to mark him like I’m sure he’s marked me already.

Then, it hits me.

That I never even thought I’d get to touch his fucking beard.

Let alone suck his neck.

“God,” I whisper, mostly to myself. My voice cracks a little, and I’m not sure it’s just from the blinding desire still throbbing between my legs.

“You okay?”

“I just…yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m really fucking good.”

He laughs. Keeping one hand over mine where it stays on his chest, he brings the other up to cup the side of my face. Our foreheads are still resting on each other and his palm is so warm against my cheek.

I’ve wanted this for so long.

I have to tell him. He knows, but I have to tell him. “I’ve wanted this for…forever,” I confess, probably only finding my confidence because we’re too close for him to look at me. With my spare hand I hold the side of his neck, the tips of my fingers brushing into his beard.

“Since the moment I saw you,” Joel’s voice is gravelly as he nuzzles his nose into my wrist, “I wanted this.”

I can’t help it.

I lean in and kiss him again. Close-mouthed and quick, but just because I can.

He takes a deep breath. Holds it a minute, then lets it out, his sweet breath brushing against me once more. I want to taste it again. Feel it going into my lungs. Feel it on my neck, on every inch of me.

“We should head back,” he says, reluctance coming from his very core. “You’re gettin’ cold.” He squeezes my cold hand.

“You’re the one who took off all my winter gear,” I retort with a happy smirk.

“Yeah, alright. You started it, though.”

“Um, you pushed my hat off as soon as we got started…”

“The hat thing was a mistake.”

I remember how it felt to have his hands spread out over every inch of my head, and shudder. “Oh, no, it was no mistake, Joel.”

He laughs. “Come on. Let’s wrap back up. I’d love to say we can pick up where we left off as soon as we get back, but I’ve got patrols today, and Ellie wanted me to take her riding…”

I hold the back of his neck. As much as I absolutely would let him take me right here on this freezing wooden floor, I don’t mind waiting. For the first time in decades, I feel like we might just have time for it. Like everything doesn’t have to be a rush. “It’s alright,” I say, meaning it.

“I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mm. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good.”

After another—very restrained—kiss, we start wrapping up again and pack up to head back. In the back of my mind as we potter around each other, I feel the horrible tendrils of doubt try to creep in around me. Wondering: what if this is all too good to be true? What if there’s no way we can make this work? I was never even going to stay here, but does he want me to now? Is that where this is going?

But then Joel takes me in his arms before we step back outside, and holds me like it’s the first time.

And it is, really. He’s only ever done this before when I’ve been hurt or sick.

And for that moment as his hands press into my back, my mind is quiet.

{chapter 4/5}

notes: thank u for all the support and love on this fic, it means the world to me, i'm so glad you're enjoying it! there's more where this came from and i'm just so grateful to y'all for reading this <3 ps: the next chapter will have smut (YAY)! also, if you're reading this the weekend i post it (21st jan 2023) then please send me smut requests for joel miller or din djarin <3 love u xo

taglist: @rosymythologies @lover1307 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @pinkrose1422 @lavenderhhze @abbyhaslongshorts @trippoverrt @emilianamason

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #my fics #my fic: joel #my fic #some invisible string

194 notes · View notes

sesamestreep · 1 year ago

Text

damned to pining through the windowpanes

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: Foggy and Matt have a rare chance to catch up while Foggy's in New York for work. Unfortunately, this also means they have to talk about what happened at Rosslyn... [ AKA - The West Wing AU circa season 2 ] A/N: It's time for part 3 of The West Wing AU, baby! This time we're dealing with the aftermath of 'In the Shadow of Two Gunmen' and 'Noel' (though "dealing with" is putting it a bit strong...), which means there's a little angst and the slightest hint of hurt/comfort (??) ahead. But mostly it's just banter and ambiguously reciprocated flirting. I continue my trend of only letting romantic things happen in the rain. Foggy does math in his head and pretends to be Cary Grant. Matt gives his professional opinion and refuses to whistle. Other stuff also happens. Please enjoy. [Full content warnings and tags can be found on AO3 as always!]

The bar that Matt chose for them is not precisely what Foggy imagined it would be. It’s a mildly swanky Midtown bar with leather chairs and couches everywhere and iron light fixtures drenching everything in an amber light that manages to be warm in name only. He doesn’t know Matt that well, but this still doesn’t feel like his vibe. It feels like a place you take a client, impressive but ultimately impersonal, which is not insulting exactly, but somewhat surprising. It’s not a business meeting after all. At least, Foggy didn’t think so when they arranged it.

Matt is there when he arrives, looking simultaneously like he doesn’t belong and like he owns the damn place. That, he realizes, is Matt’s vibe; he always sticks out in a crowd but in a good way. He’s impossible to miss.

Foggy calls out before he gets to him, on the assumption that Matt, like all people, appreciates a heads up more than a surprise arrival but doesn’t always get one, on account of being blind. He's gratified in this choice when Matt surges to his feet with a wide, delighted smile in response and wraps Foggy in a hug once he’s within range. It had been raining outside, just lightly, but Matt is warm and dry in his arms. Foggy has to remind himself to pull back before it gets weird.

“Matt,” he says, too eagerly, but he can’t stop himself. He is happy to seem him, after all. “You look great.”

“Thank you,” he replies, sincerely. “I’m sure you do too.”

Foggy laughs. “Yes, my full Gandalf beard is coming in nicely.”

Matt’s hand immediately comes up to caress his chin and investigate this claim, making Foggy’s breath hitch in a way that is probably obvious to the bartender across the room, let alone Matt himself.

“Liar,” Matt says, feigning disappointment. “Are my hands cold?”

“A little,” Foggy lies. Matt is always so warm.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Let’s sit,” he adds, gesturing to the other chair across from his.

“Yes, of course. Nice place.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ve honestly never been here before. A client recommended it, when I said I needed to meet a friend in the neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, over his heart attempting to beat straight out of his chest. He’d just called them ‘friends’ for God’s sake. It’s not a marriage proposal. “Well, thanks for arranging everything.”

“It’s no trouble,” Matt says, waving a hand to dismiss the praise. “I always look forward to seeing you when you’re in town.”

“Yeah, it’s been a minute, huh?”

“A long minute,” Matt replies, pointedly mild in a way that Foggy recognizes immediately. “In your case.”

“Right,” Foggy says, awkwardly. He’s spared from having to come up with an intelligent response by a waitress appearing with a glass of water for him and asking if they’re ready to order. Foggy asks about their beer selection, as a stalling tactic, even though this is a fancy enough place that he should order something more grown-up. He chooses a Guinness anyway, and is so nervous he doesn’t hear Matt’s order.

Once she departs, Matt tips his head in Foggy’s direction. “So, how are you holding up?” he asks, as neutrally as possible.

“Oh, you know,” he replies, even though Matt doesn’t. He wouldn’t have asked otherwise. “I’m doing alright.”

He leaves out the part where he goes to therapy twice a week now and the fact that he’s got someone from ATVA on speed dial and so does Karen. He can feel his pulse racing in his palm, where he cut his hand putting it through a window around Christmas after having what was later identified for him as a panic attack fueled by his PTSD from being shot. His hand is fully healed now but there’s a scar that he touches instinctively with the fingers of his opposite hand the moment he thinks of it. As if Matt will notice that and know he’s lying somehow. Matt probably doesn’t want to talk about that, or his astronomical medical bills, right now, though.

Matt nods profusely, and Foggy gets the distinct impression that he’s both disappointed and not surprised to be getting the smoothed out, small talk version of Foggy’s answer to that question. He’d feel worse about it, but Foggy’s had some iteration of this conversation about 80 million times in the last ten months. Nobody wants him to just word vomit about the stress of getting shot for twenty minutes, he’s found. He doesn’t even want that.

“I meant to call,” Matt says suddenly, with more force than Foggy suspects it warrants. It sounds like he only just managed to get the words out against their will. “I’m sure you’ve gotten that a lot lately, but I did. I wanted to reach out sooner.”

“That’s fine—”

“It isn’t,” Matt interjects, looking truly miserable, like he's the one who shot Foggy or something. “When I saw it on the news, I almost called. But there was so much going on, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach you directly because—well, you know.”

“Yes. I do.”

“And I thought of calling Karen, but I figured she was probably busy with…everything. And honestly, the news didn’t mention her but I worried she was hurt too.”

“Karen wasn’t at the event,” Foggy says, gently. “She stayed late at the White House to meet with someone for me, and I told her to take the night off when she was finished. It’s just about the only smart thing I’ve ever done in my life, and she absolutely read me the riot act for it when I woke up from surgery.”

“Good,” Matt says, with feeling, though Foggy’s not sure which part he's addressing. “And she’s okay?”

“She’s a pain in the ass, as always, but yeah. She’s good.”

Their waitress appears with their drinks at this stunningly awkward moment, which is a mild relief in its own way. She refers all her further questions hopefully in Matt’s direction, which is almost enough to make Foggy laugh but he manages to rein himself in. After she’s been pleasantly dismissed, they’re back to the stilted silence.

“I know it’s not the same as calling, or—I don’t know—sending something, but, for what it’s worth, I prayed for you,” Matt says, in the direction of the floor. Judging from his posture, he could be praying now.

No one has ever said that phrase to Foggy in a positive context before, so he doesn’t immediately know how to respond. “I appreciate that, Matt,” he eventually says, which is not something he’d ever say to the evangelicals who often claim they pray for him to change his mind on gay marriage, abortion, and school prayer.

“I don’t think you’re religious or anything like that, so maybe it doesn’t mean that much…”

“I’m not,” Foggy says carefully. He’s never seen Matt look this uncomfortable before, so he figures he should tread lightly. “But you are. That’s what makes it meaningful. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I couldn’t stop,” he says, and it’s not the context in which Foggy wants to hear that a hot guy was thinking of him, but it still makes his heart race nonetheless. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Foggy.”

“You and the entire Democratic party, my friend.”

Matt laughs in a way that suggests he tried to fight it. “Glad to see your humility is still intact.”

“The neo-nazis are going to have to wake up much earlier if they want to take my oversized ego away,” Foggy says, lightly.

“And your sense of humor,” Matt says, wryly, which is as close as he’ll get to calling Foggy out for deflecting.

“Yes, you got me there. I’m obviously kidding. The DNC is actually terribly sad I survived. The President’s approval numbers would have skyrocketed while mourning a member of the senior staff.”

“Christ, Foggy. Don’t…talk like that. You’re not just some senior aide, you’re a full person. And you almost died.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so macabre, really. But you spend enough time in professional politics and you get very comfortable with your own replaceability.”

Matt looks like he wants to say something to that, if the way his mouth twists is any indication, but he just ends up glowering in the direction of his drink instead. Foggy fights the instinct to apologize for the way he’s chosen to cope. He’s working on healthier mechanisms in therapy but he’s also been instructed to not let other people’s expectations of how he should feel dictate how he does feel. He likes Matt a lot, but they’re nowhere near close enough that he owes him anything.

Still, he can’t help but add, “You gotta laugh at this kind of stuff. The only other alternative is to take it seriously and how can you? These morons took aim at the President because they felt the administration was too ‘diverse’ with too many women and minorities in positions of power and the only guy they really hurt was a WASP-y little nobody. Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“That He does,” Matt says, bleakly. “Though I imagine there’s quite a few things you stand for that the white supremacists could find it in their hearts to object to.”

Foggy feels his heart drop like a stone into his stomach, but he manages to keep his tone light in spite of it. “Ah, so the rumors have reached you.”

“I was speaking ideologically,” Matt replies, but doesn’t actually deny the thing Foggy accused him of.

“Yes, that’s true. Me and the neo-nazis are, blessedly, on opposite ends of the political spectrum. But even if we weren’t, shooting a queer man would probably still count as a victory to them.”

“You don’t think—?”

“No,” Foggy says, crossing his legs as effetely as possible for what he imagines is dramatic effect. “I think they would have been happy with anyone they hit. And, despite how careless I am with my reputation, I’m not out out, you know?”

Matt nods, again directing the gesture towards his drink. Foggy takes a long pull of his beer, and decides to do nothing to alleviate his discomfort. As much as he instinctively wants to, it’s not his job to make another grown man comfortable around him because he had the audacity to say the word 'queer' out loud.

“I hope you don’t think so poorly of me that you’d imagine that’s how I would choose to broach the subject with you,” Matt says, eventually.

That certainly gives Foggy pause. “What do you mean?”

“If I wanted to ask if you were gay, I wouldn’t use ‘so, do you think you were the victim of a hate crime or just a regular crime?’ as my opener. I really hope you know that.”

Foggy laughs, unexpectedly. “You’re right. You are absolutely better than that. I apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology.”

“Well, too bad,” he says, amiably belligerent. He probably shouldn't find Matt's extremely careful handling of this topic so endearing and amusing, but he does. That probably says something about him, and likely it's nothing good, but this isn't therapy. He doesn't need to psychoanalyze himself to death about it right here and right now.

Matt spreads his hands out wide in a defensive gesture that Foggy also finds cute. “I'm serious. It's not—I wasn’t chastising you.”

“No, you were fishing for praise. And now you can have it: you’re far too nice to behave the way I implied you were behaving. I’m used to people wanting to speak in code on this subject, unfortunately, which is why I jumped to conclusions. Sorry about that.” Foggy exhales noisily, preparing himself, before he adds, “And, for what it’s worth, I’m not gay.”

Matt’s brow furrows in confusion. “You’re not?”

Foggy lets himself read way too much into Matt’s tone, as a little treat. It’s probably pure confusion, but since he’s treating himself to some delusion, he lets himself hear some disappointment in there too, in the moment before he corrects him. “I’m bisexual. It means I date people of the same gender and other genders too. I’ve had significant relationships with men and women and—”

“I know what bisexual means,” Matt interrupts, though he still appears to be thinking hard.

“Some people don’t,” he replies, casual. “They think it means ‘gay, but too precious to say so.’”

“That’s not what I think.”

“You don’t think I’m precious?” Foggy asks, faux offended.

“Oh, you’re precious alright,” Matt replies, with a stupidly sweet smile. “Adorable, even.”

Foggy blushes and thanks whatever deities he can remember that this extremely hot, straight guy that he can’t stop himself from flirting with is blind. “Good, I was worried for a second there.”

“Another toast to your deeply debilitating injury not having any negative effects on your ego.”

“Hear, hear!” Foggy says, and takes a long drink of his beer. Afterwards, he pauses and gathers his courage to say the thing that’s been on his mind all this time. “Listen, Matt, I don’t know what you had in mind when you invited me here tonight, but—”

Matt looks perplexed by this when he cuts him off. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression…”

“No! God, no!” Foggy has to laugh. For all it’s the first thing on his mind, he knows it’s the farthest thing from Matt’s. “Sorry, that was the wrong time for a conversational segue. I was not trying to implying that at all! I know you’re not hitting on me. Relax.”

“I am…? Relaxed, that is,” Matt says, though he doesn’t look it. He doesn’t look tense in a homophobic way, though, just a regular 'this is awkward' way, which, yes, there is a difference and Foggy is an expert in its discernment.

“I just meant, maybe you have some business to discuss, or maybe you just want to catch up, but I—I have something I want your advice on, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just that, you and I, we’re friends, but we don’t see each other all the time, and I need someone with a little distance, for the sake of perspective. You know?”

“Foggy,” Matt says, as he places his hand on Foggy's elbow gently, “did you hear the part where I already said ‘okay’?”

Foggy laughs, tension flooding out of him. “Right, yeah. I steamrolled right over that, didn’t I?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Well, as you know, I was shot.”

“Yes.”

“Uh, by the KKK.”

“Yes, Foggy, I knew all this.”

“God, this all sounds so absurd,” Foggy says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “How is this my life?”

“Politics,” Matt says, with a humorless smile.

“Yeah. Well, so the situation is this: Marci wants me to sue them.”

“She wants you to sue the Klan?”

“Well, her and the Southern Poverty Law Center want me to sue the Klan.”

“God, you weren’t kidding,” Matt says, looking a little green. “Your life is…unreal.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the perfect way to describe it. Anyway, she thinks this is a good idea. Some people over there think we have a case. I…”

“You don’t?”

“Hey, I’m a lawyer by training, same as her, same as you, same as…well, everybody. I’m sure there’s a case there. They wouldn’t push me to do it if there was no chance. It’s just…she says it’s up to me, whatever I choose to do, but…”

“You don’t want to do this,” Matt says, without even having the good grace to pretend it’s a question.

“I don’t,” Foggy admits for the first time out loud. “I really, really don’t. God, that makes me feel like a coward, but you’re right; I don’t.”

“You’re not a coward, Foggy. You took a bullet for the president.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says, nearly choking on his drink in his effort to not laugh—or cry—at that description. “I did no such thing. I was standing around, like a moron, when someone tried to shoot the president and missed. I didn’t dive in front of anyone. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Matt tips his head to the side, considering this. “You took a bullet while serving the president, then. Still not cowardly.”

“I don’t really know that much about your life, Matt, and I don’t want to assume, so here’s an insane question: have you ever been shot before?”

“Mercifully, no,” he says, gamely. “I’ve gotten into some scrapes in my life before, but that’s one I’ve never had to deal with.”

Foggy leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, bracing himself to explain this thing—this huge, terrifying thing that's been living in his brain for months—to another person, and risk it meaning nothing to them. “Well, then I’ll let you in on a secret about taking a bullet: you don’t have to be brave to do it. It’s just a thing that happens to you or it doesn’t. And if it does, it’s a split second and then you’ve done it. If that bullet had been a few inches over in any direction, I might have died, or it would have hit someone else entirely. Nothing I did or did not do contributed to my survival at all. It’s just…a thing that happened.”

Matt takes this all in with an outward appearance of calm and looks thoughtfully into the middle distance. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, after a few moments, his voice decidedly not calm.

“I don’t want you to feel bad for me, Matt. And I don’t want you making me into a hero, when I’m not. I just—”

“You want to move on,” he says, nodding. “And a lawsuit wouldn’t allow you to do that. You’d have to live and relive that night over and over again, in court, in the press, everywhere. I imagine you'd also have to step down from your position at the White House in order to do this and I'm guessing you don’t want to do that either. None of that sounds like what you want to be doing, if that's not too presumptuous of me to say."

Foggy swallows with great effort, because his throat has gone completely dry at having someone read his mind like that. “Yes.”

"It is presumptuous?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I meant, yes, you're right. That's—none of that is what I want to do."

“Then, that’s okay.”

“Is it?” Foggy asks, suddenly aware that this is a crazy conversation to have in a bar. “I mean, what if this lawsuit could help people?”

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Matt replies, touching his arm again. “Not this time.”

He snorts. “And what if I never get shot by a white nationalist ever again, Matt? What then?”

“It’ll be too soon,” Matt says, smiling and squeezing his arm.

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant, Foggy. Give me some credit.”

“I’m saying, what if this is one of those ‘make lemonades out of lemons’ type situations?”

“It’s your life, though," Matt replies, with a shrug. "Yes, it would be brave to do this. Important, even. But you work for the White House. Most of the stuff that crosses your desk is important. Most of it has the power to change people’s lives in some way or other. For some people, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make a difference. That’s not true for you. And it’s okay to admit that you’re tired of this fight. You got shot. You survived. And then you did the truly brave thing of continuing to wake up in the morning. You kept going to work, even though that’s the thing that nearly killed you. You didn’t resign or back down. You’re still showing up. So, no, you don’t need to sue anybody to prove you’re brave. You did that already. You can say no. I’m giving you permission, if that’s what you need.”

It is, startlingly, exactly what Foggy needed. It's nothing he would have been able to ask for, because he certainly couldn't have put it into words even a minute ago, but it is somehow the precise thing he needed someone to say to him for days now. Something that’s been tightening and hardening in his chest for a long time finally loosens and he takes his first unrestricted, unencumbered deep breath in what might be months. He has to take a drink to hide how shaky he suddenly feels.

“I can put that in writing, if you’d like,” Matt adds, when Foggy doesn’t immediately say anything in response. “I’m not sure how you foresee breaking the news to Marci going, but if it would help...”

Foggy waves a hand, pretending to be more calm than he actually is. “Marci won’t give me grief about it,” he says. “I mean, she will, but no more than usual. She’s used to me disappointing her, being my ex and all.”

“Marci is your ex?!”

“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”

“No, how would I—" Matt looks utterly perplexed by this revelation, for whatever reason. "I—where was I supposed to get that information from?”

“That’s a good point,” Foggy allows. “It was when we were in law school, so it’s basically ancient history. She just makes a point of telling everyone I got to where I am because I slept my way to the top, which is why I assumed you knew.”

“That’s just—” Matt shakes his head. “So hard to imagine.”

“You did claim to understand what bisexuality was earlier…”

“Yeah, it’s not the woman part that’s throwing me,” he says, sarcastically. “It’s the Marci part.”

“Despite the reputation she cultivates, she really doesn’t bite,” Foggy says, amused, “unless you ask nicely.”

Matt pulls a face. “Thank you for that.”

“Speaking of too much information…”

“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that segue.”

“Can I ask you another insane, possibly impertinent question?”

“No,” Matt says, but then immediately continues with, “I wasn’t always blind.”

“God,” Foggy says, burying his face in his hand, “everyone asks, don’t they?”

He shrugs. “It’s a reasonable question.”

“I’m still sorry. I just—I don’t know if this makes it better—but we talked a lot about me tonight and I feel like you know me better now, and I wanted to…I don’t know, reciprocate somehow? Does that make sense?”

Matt cocks his head to the side, as if considering him. It’s a funny little gesture—cute, too—but Foggy definitely feels like he’s being evaluated. It’s strange to feel that way when he knows Matt can’t actually see him.

“It does, make sense and make it better,” he finally says. “There was an accident when I was a kid. A complete freak accident.”

“How old were you?”

He seems surprised by this question, of all things. “I was eight.”

“Is that a weird thing to ask?”

“Not really, no.”

“I just—you look confused…”

“Yeah,” Matt says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it’s just not people’s usual first follow up question. They tend to ask me what happened.”

Foggy winces. His own recent medical issues should have cured him of this, but he remains stubbornly squeamish. He’s not sure he wants to hear about an eight year old getting into a horrifying accident, especially when that kid grew up to be this person he likes so much.

“Do you want to tell me about that?” he asks, hesitantly.

Matt's laugh is just a surprised huff, but it’s a comforting sound. “No, I actually don’t, if I’m being honest.”

“Then feel free to tell me anything else about yourself, instead.”

Matt takes this to heart and tells him instead about other parts of his childhood—growing up with a single dad who ran a boxing gym, splitting his time in school between the debate club and the wrestling team. Foggy controls himself enough during that portion of the conversation not to ask if all that wrestling didn’t make him even a little bi-curious, which he considers a major victory, and talks about doing high school theater himself (which did make him a little bi-curious, a fact he does mention, because once he’s out with someone, he’s out) and breaking his dad’s heart by never making the varsity hockey team.

“Ice hockey?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. I was just okay, so I’m not surprised it didn’t work out for me in high school,” Foggy says. “I always wished there was field hockey for boys. I feel like I would have crushed that.”

Matt seems delighted by this answer. The rest of their conversation for the evening revolves around how they both grew up in the city and somehow their lives never intersected until that meeting almost two years ago now in D.C. They both applied and got into Columbia, but Matt ended up at Fordham because they offered him better financial aid. Same with law school, where Foggy continued at Columbia but Matt went on to St. John’s in Queens. Matt’s dad taught classes at the same YMCA where Foggy and his siblings learned to swim when they were little. Foggy mentions the diner his aunt and uncle own in Hell’s Kitchen and Matt’s certain he and his dad got lunch there a few times. If he asked his mom, Foggy is certain she’d know somebody who knows somebody who knew Jack Murdock back in the day.

“How long has he been gone?” Foggy asks gently, once he clocks the fact that Matt only refers to his dad in the past tense. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is. Which you’re allowed to, by the way. Mind, I mean. You don’t have to answer.”

Matt smiles. “Wait, I’m sorry, can you explain that more clearly? Do I have to answer, even if I don’t want to?”

“Okay. Dick.”

That just makes him laugh. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he says, and he’s still somehow smiling when he continues. “My dad died when I was sixteen.”

“Man, that is rough.”

“Yeah.”

“You and multiples of eight just do not get along, do you?”

Matt actually throws his head back and laughs at that one, which just makes Foggy wish they knew each other when they were kids even more. Nobody laughed at his math jokes back then, either. “I guess not. Although, I graduated law school and passed the bar when I was 24. And 32 wasn’t half bad either, so maybe I’ve grown out of it.”

“You’re what, 34, now?”

“Yeah, 35 next month.”

“Hey, happy early birthday,” Foggy says, clinking the glass of his nearly-empty second drink against Matt’s where it’s sitting on the table, and definitely not trying to figure out if that means he’s an Aries or a Taurus. “We’ll have to check back in when you turn 40.”

“Somebody knows their times tables,” Matt says, appreciatively, and Foggy is for sure in love with two-drink Matt.

“I can do long division too,” he replies, way flirtier than that sentence warrants, but he can’t help himself.

“In your head?!”

“Sometimes, baby,” Foggy says, with a wink that Matt can’t appreciate.

“And you’ve got a steady job?” Matt exclaims, finishing his drink. “How are you single?”

“I could ask you the same thing, my man. Wait, you still have a job, right?”

“Yeah, but I cannot do long division for the life of me.”

“Oh, yeah. That’ll do it.”

“So, what’s your excuse?”

“Well," Foggy says, gesturing with his glass, "I work at the White House, which means I basically live at the White House and even when I’m not at the White House, it’s all I talk about, so dating is not something I have a ton of time for or much success with, when I get around to, uh, doing it.”

Matt makes an unimpressed face at that. “We just spent the last, I don’t know, forty-five minutes talking about everything but the White House, Foggy, so I’m having trouble believing you.”

Foggy drains his glass, and tries to think of a response that isn’t just asking Matt on a date already, since they apparently have such an easy time talking to each other. “Maybe the eligible singles of Washington D.C. are just less interesting than you,” he says, which isn’t asking him out but it’s only barely better.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Foggy, I—”

“Or they’re afraid of inheriting my mountain of medical bills when things get serious,” Foggy interrupts, trying to get them back on solid ground. He definitely put them to close to the sun with that last comment.

“Well, that’s…valid,” Matt replies, fixing his jacket's cuff in what might be a nervous gesture. “The healthcare system in our country—”

“Oh, do not get me started,” Foggy interjects. “Hey, there’s another reason I’m single!”

Matt laughs. “Well, we have that one in common, then.”

“You’re really not seeing anyone?”

“Oh, I mean, I meet people,” he says, in a way that implies he’s getting laid regularly. Foggy kind of hates him for a second before he gets a hold of himself. “But I’m not dating anyone.”

“Right,” Foggy says. He might actually be a little relieved they didn’t know each other when they were younger. At least Matt knows him now as Foggy-who-works-at-the-White-House. There’s at least some cache to that. Foggy-who-understudied-for-the-role-of-Tevye-in-Fiddler-on-the-Roof was maybe less impressive. “Well, unfortunately for you, my friend, this is where our magical evening together must end. I’ve got to catch the train back to D.C. out of Penn Station in—” he checks his watch—“an hour, so I’d better get going.”

Matt frowns. “You have to go back tonight?”

Foggy tells himself he’s projecting an air of disappointment onto Matt in this moment, because it’s definitely not actually there. “Yeah, unfortunately. I’ll probably go straight from Union Station to the West Wing.”

“I guess working for the White House really does put a pretty serious damper on your personal life, huh?”

“Oh, god," Foggy laughs, "is this the first time you’ve had drinks with someone and they haven’t gone home with you afterwards? Is this a new experience for you, Matt?”

He ducks his head, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hey,” Foggy says, putting his hand on Matt’s shoulder comfortingly, “it happens to the best of us. Don’t beat yourself up, champ!”

“Seriously, you’re the actual worst,” Matt says, laughing. “I’m glad you’re leaving.”

“Aw, don’t be like that!”

“Believe it or not, I was actually trying to imply it’d be nice if you could stick around so you could see your family, or maybe a Broadway show, or something.”

“Nah, I’m not allowed to have any fun until they vote us out of office.”

“Bite your tongue!" Matt objects. "I like having you guys in the Oval office!”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Foggy says, standing to put on his coat. “But I appreciate the concern for my social life, and I’m sure my mother would appreciate that someone out there is trying to get me to visit, since I can’t be trusted to do it myself.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly an unbiased observer here. I’ve got a horse in this race too.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” Matt says, using the arms of his chair to push himself up to standing, “I like it when you visit too.”

Foggy ignores the way that stupid, minor admission makes his heart thump in his chest like it wants to break free and land directly in Matt’s hands and stay there forever. “Keep talking like that and you’ll never be rid of me,” he quips, weakly.

“Oh, no,” Matt replies, without a hint of inflection. “What a terrible fate.”

“Alright, enough getting my hopes up,” Foggy grumbles, as he picks up his scarf from the chair and loops it around his neck. “I’m going to miss my train, so…”

“I’ll walk you out,” Matt says, nodding in the general vicinity of the door as he shrugs into his own coat.

“You don’t have to!”

“I’m going home after this, so I'm headed in that direction myself,” he says, with a smile that suggests he thinks Foggy’s being unnecessarily demure about all this.

“Well, fine, then.”

There’s the typical cluster of people by the front door, waiting for the rest of their group to arrive or bothering the hostess about something, so Foggy needs to gently and politely push his way through the throng to get out. Somewhere in there, he angles his arm back until it makes contact with Matt’s, a sort of invitation that he can always plausibly deny later, but he feels Matt’s hand settle on his elbow after a second. Foggy offers a friendly apology to the person he nudges out of their way and pushes the paneled door to the outside world with his free hand, letting in a gust of damp air. He drags Matt after him and tows them to a protected corner of the entryway, where there’s enough of an overhang to shield them from the rain for a moment without putting them directly in the way of the door.

“I should hire you as a bodyguard,” Matt says, cheerfully, as they crowd together in the corner. “That was very smooth.”

“Spend enough time with Secret Service agents around and you start to get a knack for crowd control,” Foggy says, and then regrets it, because it brings the specter of the shooting back into the conversation. He tries to fob it off with a joke. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

“True enough,” Matt replies, with a soft smile. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but the door behind him opens suddenly and swings wide, which he feels as quickly as Foggy sees it and he’s forced to step closer to Foggy to avoid it.

Foggy’s hand comes up protectively and almost settles on Matt’s neck before he gets a hold of himself and puts it on his shoulder instead. It looks, more or less, like they’re hugging goodbye, he imagines, but it’s still an awkward position and it forces him to reckon, once again, with how good and warm Matt feels in his arms. It’s functionally torture. A group of well-dressed, attractive women—getting drinks after work, if he had to guess—emerge from the bar and the first one out gets the brunt of Foggy’s glare and glares right back.

“You really shouldn’t stand there,” she says, probably more harshly than she meant to with the defensiveness of someone who narrowly avoided doing something wrong by a very slim margin. “It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Foggy replies, not particularly interested in getting into an argument here and now.

Matt steps away from him, then, and clears his throat like he’s going to say something but doesn’t actually follow it up with anything. He shifts enough that his face is no longer hidden from the light over the door and the woman sees him properly for the first time. Her face clears of some of its annoyance and the fight goes out of her immediately.

“Sorry about that,” she says, much more kindly, though her eyes land on Foggy’s hand, still clutching Matt’s shoulder, and her expression remains somewhat wary. Foggy takes his hand away guiltily.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt says, politely but disinterestedly, as he adjusts his jacket. After the woman and her group have swanned off into night, he clears his throat and adds, just to Foggy, “At least she didn’t do the whole ‘What are you? Blind?’ routine. That always ends awkwardly for everyone.”

“Yeah, I imagine it would,” Foggy says, mildly, even though he's feeling what's likely a very inappropriate surge of protective feeling towards Matt right now. “You okay?”

Matt nods. “Fine. Yeah.”

“Do you think people generally feel worse in those situations because you’re blind and they almost injured you, or because they’ve clearly ruined their shot with someone so handsome?”

“Shut up, Foggy,” Matt says, but his thoughtful expression has been disrupted by his embarrassed smile.

“What? It really could go either way!”

“Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“Weren’t you just saying you like it when I visit?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says, smiling wider.

“Yeah, I figured that might happen,” Foggy mutters and then surveys the scene. The rain is coming down heavily now, and this is a busy street populated with bars and restaurants that are full of young professionals meeting clients or blowing off steam after work. Getting a cab is going to be a nightmare. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

He steps out onto the sidewalk from under the shelter of the overhang in front of the bar, and opens his umbrella. Matt steps forward with him, presumably recognizing the sound and knowing it means he’ll stay dry. Without thinking, Foggy hands off the umbrella to Matt, whom he realizes doesn’t have one of his own, and lifts his free hand to try to hail a taxi. As predicted, many of the cabs he can see further down the street are being claimed before they can get to him by other people as anxious to get out of the rain as he is.

“You don’t know how to do that really loud whistle that people do in the movies to get cabs, by any chance?” Foggy asks, turning back towards Matt.

Matt shrugs. “It doesn’t actually work in real life, I don’t think.”

“But you can do it?” he asks, impressed.

“It’s not going to get you a cab!”

Foggy shakes his head, disappointed. “Fine, deprive me of my movie moment. Taxi!”

Finally, after several more attempts, a taxi pulls to a stop in front of him and a few people get out, presumably to go to the bar they just left. Matt steps forward to hand over the umbrella.

“It was nice seeing you,” Matt says, as Foggy grabs the door.

“Yeah, you too,” Foggy says, before turning to the driver. “He’s going to Hell’s Kitchen. What’s your address?”

Matt looks at him like he’s grown a spare head. “I thought this was for you.”

“I’ll get another. It’s fine.”

“Foggy, your train…”

“I’ve got time and you haven’t got your own umbrella. That’s easy math to me, so get in the damn cab.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind the rain. I can get my own cab, or walk. Really!”

“Or you could take this cab right here and stop arguing with me.”

“But you’ve got to get to Penn Station!”

Foggy sighs, feeling silly as he lingers by the door of the cab, having an argument with Matt while the cabbie eavesdrops and rain soaks through the sleeve of his jacket. “I grew up here, remember? It's not that far, and besides, I could get to 34th Street with my eyes closed.”

“So could I,” Matt points out, amused, which is fair.

“Just let me be a gentleman and take the cab, please,” Foggy says, exasperated. “I’ll feel a lot better knowing you got home safely.”

“You’re really…” Matt pauses, like he’s searching for the right word and can’t find it, which means Foggy is left there to consider what exactly Matt thinks he is while rain drops tap melodically on the fabric of the umbrella above their heads and the barrier gives the erroneous impression that they’re separate from the rest of the world for a moment. He gets a second to watch the amber and white lights of the city freckle across the bridge of Matt’s nose as he thinks too hard about whatever it is he’s trying to say, and Foggy gets his movie moment after all, because there’s a split second there where he feels like Carey Grant or something close, standing on one side of a rain soaked taxicab door with the object of his affections on the other, arguing about who should take the cab. He thinks about the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which doesn’t star Carey Grant but a similar type of handsome mid-century man, and wishes he didn’t have a five-hour train ride to a different city and a lonely trek back to the office ahead of him. He wishes very suddenly that he and Matt were headed to the same place, or maybe just that he’d never left New York and that he was only a quick cab ride away from home on a rainy night like this. It’s all foolishness, of course, but he wishes for it, nonetheless.

“In or out, gentlemen,” the cab driver calls from the front seat.

Foggy’s about to say something to him, asking for another minute to finish this argument, when Matt surges forward to hug him. It’s awkward, of course, because there’s the matter of the car door between them, but his arms wrap around Foggy’s neck and they end up pressed cheek-to-cheek. It feels so stupidly nice that Foggy’s brain stops working momentarily. He can’t even imagine what anything more would feel like; it would probably kill him.

“I’ll see you around, Matt,” he says, awkwardly, after a moment. He even pats him on the back, like they're estranged cousins who only see each other at Christmas or something.

“Yeah,” Matt says, faintly, as he lets go of Foggy and steps back. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Sure,” Foggy replies, trying to sound light and easy, but feeling every inch of distance between them like a personal affront right now. It’s like there’s an alternate universe breaking off from this one right here in this moment, one where he and Matt don’t go their separate ways at all, one where they share the cab with only one stop in mind, and he’s not too terrified of rejection to ask Matt a simple and inoffensive question once and for all. But he told Matt earlier tonight and he meant it: he’s not brave. The fiction of maybe someday in his mind is better than knowing for sure what he cannot have. He’ll take delusion over disappointment any day.

“And don’t get shot again,” Matt says, interrupting his thoughts.

Foggy laughs, unwillingly. “Okay. I promise.”

“I’m serious,” Matt replies, with a smile that might even be fond. “If it happens again, I’ll come down there and kick your ass myself.”

“Well, now I’m going to get shot just to see you again!”

“You’re impossible,” Matt says, as he ducks into the cab. Foggy moves to shut the door behind him, but Matt stops it with a hand. “I’m serious, though. Take care of yourself, Foggy.”

“I will,” he says, feeling like Deborah Kerr or Audrey Hepburn or whoever now. “Just for you, I will. I promise.”

Matt laughs, which is a good sound to be left with until they see each other again. “Good. See you around.”

“Goodnight, Matt,” Foggy says, far too wistfully, and closes the door. He hears Matt give the driver his address as the car pulls away from the curb with the slushy noise of tires over wet pavement. He stands there, stupidly, watching the cab disappear down the street and around a corner, letting more rain soak into his jacket and drum against his umbrella for a long moment before he’s ready to return to reality and set about hailing another taxi for himself.

#NOBODY HERE HAS ANY COUTH WHATSOEVER BABYGIRL #THEY ARE LOUD SO LOUD ABOUT EVERYTHING #okay now that that's dispensed with #mattfoggy #mattfoggy fic #the west wing au #daredevil fic #daredevil #mcu fanfiction #matt murdock #foggy nelson #we are in our itsotg and noel eras be advised #it be stressful out here #homelywenchsociety #that's my writing tag! don't worry about it!#series: a more perfect union

17 notes · View notes

snzunii · 3 years ago

Text

— SEE YOU AGAIN. [24]

+ summary. in which you and sanzu are in a very chaotic marriage.

+ tags. romance, fluff, heavy (?) angst, modern au, smau, arrange marriage au, college setting, use of profanities, eventual smut, 18+

+ note. hi, ik it's been two months since i last updated this i'm sorry shshjsshjasj but here it is aaaaaa and i thank u if you're still here to read this ilysm <3 anyway, reblogs are always appreciated muwah ><

+ status. on-going

+ series masterlist.

“Haru. I can’t breathe.”

But instead of letting go of you, your husband squeezed you even more. Well, you had no choice but to hug him back though you don’t even have any idea why you’re complaining when you’ve been longing to do this for a week—a week or so that felt like eternity.

After days of not talking to each other, you’re not really in the place to complain now, do you?

“I missed you too.” you surrendered and whispered. Haruchiyo couldn't begin to explain what he felt. He is or was mad at you, he felt betrayed for what you did (or he still feels that way) but when he saw you—he can't help but to give in to this idea of being close to you, that he wanted to touch you. This feeling that he just wanted to embrace you in his arms, disregard all what happened and just be by your side—just live happily with you. But he can't really ignore that, right?

It’s not a small thing to set aside but for now, he just wanted to be right where you are.

On the other hand—you’re happy, ecstatic, euphoric—you can pull every word and definition from the dictionary. You feel like you’ll melt any second, even if he’s just looking at you.

However, you are aware that you still have things to talk about but it does feel good to see him close again, to feel that everything is going back to normal, that he’s embracing you in his arms—which you probably shouldn’t be doing in your university’s hallway.

“Haruchiyo, for real now. I cannot breathe.” you said a bit muffled, you giggled on his chest once you heard him chuckle. You looked up to him when he lets you go. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” he whispered and was about to lean in his lips against yours when you stopped him with your index finger.

“Not here. We’re at the campus.” he sighed and pursed his lips, you can't help but smile—you certainly missed him, his whining and his doting that gets irritating sometimes but you know you couldn't live without it. Without him.

…

“So, uhm…” you started, you looked at him as you both walked side by side, “How have you been?”

You see a subtle smile forming on Haruchiyo’s lips as he looks away—he may be smiling but the look on his eyes didn’t escape you, you were no magician or fortune teller but you know when he’s hurting. You have been with him since you were kids, of course you know him.

“It was hell.” he answered in a gentle yet pained voice, he looked at you and reached for your hand. “It’s not easy. Everything’s just fucked.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” your heart couldn’t bear to listen to him while he’s hurting like this but you know you have to, you know that you have a big part as to why he was feeling this way and you promised that you’d do everything just to make him feel better.

And when you mean everything, you really mean everything.

“It’s…”

He wanted to say that it was okay but he couldn’t lie. He had enough of that—though, he doesn’t want to make you feel any more than what you’re feeling right now. He knows that you have been beating yourself up about all this fucked up situation.

He steered clear of the conversation and gave you a big smile. “Do you want to get away on the weekend? Just the two of us. I just want to make up for that ruined trip.”

You stopped walking and frowned at him,you sensed that he was avoiding the topic but didn’t say anything because he may not be comfortable talking about it. “You do know that we have classes on the weekend?”

He squeezed your hand, “Uh-huh. Then we don’t attend. C’mon. I miss you and I want to spend some time together.”

And being the nuisance that your husband is—and you meant that lovingly, you know that he would just bug you until you give in. But you know that taking this trip might be good for your relationship since you would get to talk about the thing that happened. Or not, you just hope so. You don’t want to think of something worse given that the worst has already happened.

You sighed, giving in. And an even wider smile was visible on your husband’s face once you agreed to him, “You’re lucky I love you.”

��

“Wow. Still looks the same.” you said in awe while staring at the vacation house that his family owns—this is one of the places that you usually went to when you were kids. “You really didn’t change one bit in this place, huh?”

Haruchiyo chuckled as he carried both of your bags out of the trunk, “They wanted to renovate it and change a lot of things but I asked them not to.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause…” you noticed the slight tint of red in your husband’s ears. “Some important stuff happened here.”

And just like that you know what he was talking about. This is the place where you first kissed him when he wouldn’t stop crying.

You remembered it was the time when he tripped and scraped his knee—it wasn’t the fact that he scraped his knee that made him cry. It was the time when his older brother teased him for tripping that made him cry and being his best friend, you wanted to make him feel better—you gave him a sweet innocent kiss.

“Yeah, stuff like you being stupid and tripping. Is that it?”

“Ha-ha. That’s it, you know you’re so funny—”

You cupped his cheek and pressed your lips on his, giving him a smile once you pulled away. “Uh-huh, then I kissed you like that because you were stupid.”

Haruchiyo didn’t answer and walked ahead, avoiding your gaze because well, that kiss kind of left him dumbfounded—he didn’t want you to see him lose his shit over a kiss.

“Haru! Wait for me!”

“No!”

…

Silence fills the atmosphere as you both look at the night sky—you’re both sitting on the swing that your fathers built before while his arms are around you and you’re leaning on his shoulders—there isn’t any doubt that you were both comfortable with this silence, it was familiar and it felt like home but there’s something. You can’t exactly explain what the other feeling was, to be honest, it was bothering you.

You don’t know if you’re just reading too much into it but you know something’s changed about your husband, you figure that what happened is still plaguing his mind and you just wished that he would say anything on his mind—even if it hurts you.

“Haru.”

However, you don’t want to ruin this beautiful moment.

“Hm?”

“Are you happy right now?” you looked up to him and at the same moment he looked at you with a comforting smile.

He placed a small kiss on top of your head, “I am. You’re with me.”

Haruchiyo doesn’t want this moment to end. If he could stay in here forever then he would—he’s aware that every single day isn’t a promise, that it isn’t every day that something good would happen. But this moment feels like there’s no trouble that needs to be fixed. He doesn’t want to think about the things that might happen in the future, all that was important to him was to be close to you—to deluge himself in the solace of being close to the woman that he loves.

...

+ see you again taglist. @hanmascult @ryouhoe @fl4mepillar @meena-in-a-nutshell @haruphilia @hxked @xxrwzy @sophiesuna @douraken @kawaii-desv @eriskaitto @smolaf-filipino @hanmasgf @mitsuika @lustiel-winchester @cryszus @sseorin @bbloblobb @gulfkfl @manjiroscum

+ tokyo revengers taglist. @cosmiclvsh @tojisqueen @r-xochitl @bekky06 @toshiswifey @litle-crow @n-nara @hollowpurpl @iiclal @miyuuuuuposts @haitanilove @aclairysm @awkcasted @yukie35 @chronic-claire-universe @chosoisbaby @marixxi @spaceemeeat @amaejiki @parca-de-destinos @missysimpy @a-astxr @fr00g1es @gwynsapphire @kookie-my-little-sunshine @kqtsukisgf @angtsumu @cakenchill @madarasgf

#sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #sanzu x y/n #bonten sanzu #bonten smau #tokrev smau #sanzu fluff #sanzu angst #sanzu haruchiyo #kakucho hitto #kakucho x reader #kakucho x you #kakucho x y/n #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x you

195 notes · View notes

toukatan · 3 years ago

Note

You read every gojohime fic???? That's amazing!!! What are your favourites?

hello anonie! i guess i can say i’ve read at least a good 80% of all the fics, at least. probably. most likely because the fic tag at the start of the year was tiny and now the community’s grown so much there’s almost 600 of them. that’s insane to me. like hello?

i have a lotta fics that come to mind, that i should honestly make a master post on because i love them all. so here are a few many that came to mind immediately as i typed this up.

gojohime fic recommendations!

multichapter

limitations by ohmytheon

“Parenthood chooses you," her mother used to tell her, but Utahime never understood that saying more than the moment she realized she was pregnant with Gojo Satoru's child. They were never meant to be something serious - never meant to be more than they were - and yet they both suddenly find themselves in a world that doesn't care about their desires - and that brings them closer in a way that no one else can understand. It won't be easy and it won't be kind to either of them, but it appears as if the universe has other plans for them

no one is what they were before by ohmytheon

The world broke when Gojo Satoru turned on jujutsu society. It's not the hopeful place it was before, but Utahime has never been one to give up. Until she's placed in a dangerous position directly in his path, and she finds herself trapped in a web that doesn't seem intent on ever letting her go.

and touch me like you never by ohmytheon

In public, Gojo is a special grade bastard, especially to Utahime, and has been all their lives. He knows exactly what insults to throw and what buttons to push to drive her up a wall. In private, however, he's got quite a few other things to tell and show her, which only makes things more confusing. It would be easier if she could avoid him entirely, but for some reason, he won't let her go entirely.

gravity by aerfei

This is Utahime, fierce and indomitable, and this is Satoru, who despite holding the world’s regard, still craves something that Utahime has had all her life. Coming together is sometimes an act of desperation, and sometimes a deliberate choice. Or: An Iori Utahime character study, through the lens of her relationship with Gojo Satoru, starting from the beginning and ending at the Goodwill Event arc. Manga spoilers and (at least 95%) canon-compliant through (at least) chapter 135.

count every single leaf in autumn by florieneofthesea

“I told my family we’re dating.” Utahime’s hand hovers over the door. “What?!” (or: Gojo tells his family that he's dating Utahime to get them off his back, so of course they invite her to the dreaded family dinner™)

favourite colour by otherthingsonhold

At 28, Satoru Gojo's responsibilities only start to multiply. With his clan looking to him to lead the family, and the balance of the universe in his hands, Gojo isn't thinking of much else. But when his mother brings something to his attention, the only thing Gojo can do is follow through. But how is Utahime Iori part of all of this?

gojo catoru by ashittywriter

Utahime is tasked to catsit a suspiciously large Persian dollface cat with pristine white hair, the most boop-able nose, and to top it off the cutest cerulean eyes. Too bad the cat also happens to be her idiotic colleague Gojo Satoru.

at the tail-end of spring by florieneofthesea

Utahime doesn't expect to remember her ex's number off by heart but it comes in handy when she's a little less than sober outside a club in a city she's not familiar with and her battery on three percent. She just wishes things turned out differently for them. (Or, post-break up exploration where outer forces refuse to let them have their happy ending.)

a second chance by onewordmore

In another world, it wasn't Geto who sneered down at humanity, regarding them to be worthless monkeys that deserved to die. In another world, it wasn't Geto who openly defied the Jujutsu Council and brought down terror and fear to all. In another world, it wasn't just Amanai Riko who died that day, amidst the cheers and delighted cries of the insane. And Utahime was going to learn, first hand, the consequences of her own death.

from you to me by onewordmore

A drabble series regarding Gojo and Utahime. From fluff to smut to angst to love. This is going to have it all.

oneshots

oceansize by aerfei

The marriage is arranged by their families, small clans both, with all their hopes and traditions laid gently upon the shoulders of their only heirs -- and yet, this distance is impassable.

under the cover of darkness by ohmytheon

It takes a little alcohol, early morning hours, and a game of truth or dare for Gojo and Utahime to admit some difficult truths to each other.

risk/reward by ohmytheon

No punishment had ever been more effective in making Gojo do his actual job than receiving praise from his secretary - or more grueling than when Utahime withheld it.

like a good roommate by ohmytheon

Utahime has a problem: her bed wasn't delivered to the new apartment. Her ridiculous roommate, Gojo, has a solution - but he's kind of panicking on the inside.

aware of us by halspur

“We did alright, didn’t we?” Gojo put his phone down after taking several dozen photos of Tsumiki walking across the stage, his eyes soft. “I mean, we were just kids, too.”

love song by halspur

“Because you’re weak.” Gojo said, muffled into the thin skin of her throat. “I can’t leave you alone.”

tear you apart by halspur

“I don’t want to be mean to you,” Utahime’s cheek was pressed into his spine, her voice muffled. “I like you.”

cuddles are for clean boyfriends by just_trying_my_best_everyday

Utahime finds Gojo Satoru sitting right behind the door, blindfold hanging on his neck, completely soaked in blood and petting her cat with both hands. And he stinks.

honey by florieneofthesea

Gojo Satoru experiences love a decade before he fully realises it.

roots by florieneofthesea

At the start of winter, Utahime starts to cough up blood. She thinks maybe its just the lingering damage from her last mission, but the coughing persists and it starts to scratch her throat, and itch at her lungs and when she finally makes the trip to Tokyo to ask Shoko for her help, she doesn't even get the first word out. Shoko welcomes her at the entrance to Tokyo Metropolitan Technical School and Utahime hacks up a single, pale blue petal, smattered with blood. She stares down at the flora on the ground and wonders if she's been cursed. Utahime looks up, and Shoko's eyes are wide.

to have and to hold by ashittywriter

“M’sorry," Gojo said his voice slurring at the end. "But please go away, I have a girlfriend." Utahime blinked in confusion. What the fuck?

souvenir by PrettyKittyLuvsU

“Aha!” Gojo tugged something out of his pocket, his long fingers curled around it as he held his hand behind his back. His other hand waved before him, a cheeky grin splitting his lips. “Ora, ora! Hold out your hand.” Utahime stared flatly. “Ora, ora!” Gojo persisted, continuing to wave his hand as he grinned. “Hold out your hand already!” Utahime scowled at the hand swaying infront of her face. She had half a mind to slap the man instead, but her students were closely watching. Even Gojo’s students, the second years mainly—for Sukuna’s vessel was apologizing profusely as the brown haired girl continued kicking him while the quiet one made no effort to stop her— looked in fascination at whatever ridiculous souvenir Gojo wanted to hand her. Utahime slowly lifted her arm, already planning on throwing the thing back in Gojo’s annoying face. Gojo gets Utahime a very special kind of souvenir. Set during the start of the Goodwill arc.

dayum this exposes me huh? i do be reading a lot but what can i say i love to see it. all these fics are amazing, to the writers y’all are doing fantastically like my goodness you be really putting ya girl in a loop with some of these fics with your plot-lines and doing it flawlessly. can’t thank them enough for them, their hard work and time!

be sure to show the writers some love and support with comments, bookmarks and fight that dayum kudos button when it smiles at you because lemme leave more—

i think they’d really really appreciate it when they hear the bing and be sure to check out all of their stories including the ones in the pairing tag! happy readings 😙✨

#there’s so much more. i gotta make a master post but yeah send your love to the writers #they’re amazing and deserve all the love and support #🤍💫✨#gojohime #fic rec #anon #asks #replies #nitatalks

470 notes · View notes

streetlight11 · 3 years ago

Text

Till I Met You Again

Summary: Everyone is born with a life already planned out for them. Including their soulmates. Except, every person walking this earth has been given a specific soulmate marking that was similar to a tattoo to match their soulmate’s. The ink is invisible when one is born. To activate the soulmate marking, one has to be at least in a 20 feet radius to their designated soulmate. But of course, they wouldn’t know it until they start to notice the ink slowly appearing on their skin.

Theme: soulmate au, university au, enemies to lovers

Genre: angst, fluff

Warning: mild cursing

WC: 10k

Pairing: Soulmate!Yoongi x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hello! I kinda got too carried away in writing this one the other day, hence the word count for this is... woah. Hehe. But anyways, here's a soulmate au for you Min Yoongi lovers <3

Every person who was born into this earth has their life journey already written out for them in which it unfortunately remains a secret from them. And these living souls have been entitled to a soulmate that would potentially cross their path in the near future. Everyone is made for someone and the tattoo on their skin otherwise known as a ‘soulmate marking’ determines it for them.

The soulmate marking is nothing far from a tattoo as it imprints on your skin for eternity.

However, these markings will already be on you the minute you were born. Except, the ink will be invisible to the human eye.

But it’s definitely there. The only way to activate the marking is when one happens to be of 20 foot radius with their designated soulmate. This will cause the ink to start slowly appearing on one’s skin. Even so, these markings will start only when one has reached the age of 14. Only then will the ink start to be visible to one’s eye.

Unfortunately, until now when you’re already past 20 years of age, not a single tinge of ink was displayed on your skin. You’ve checked everywhere on your body. From your fingertips to your toes.

Nothing.

You weren’t really one who purely believed in this whole soulmate thing simply because you felt that there’s no such thing as a fixed soulmate. You should be free to choose who you want as your partner purely through interactions and chemistry you shared with the other, not by some marking on your skin. Your parents had a matching mark on their right wrists which was a simple rose in a glass jar.

No doubt you admired their love story and how they met, but you couldn’t see it for yourself. You really don’t want to fully depend on this supposed marking. Even when you went off to college, you’ve made it a point to try and go on dates no matter what their soulmate markings would be.

But it all turned out with the same ending. Either the guy dumps you for not having the same mark or they ghost you after the first date, saying you’re too good for them. All these never led to a heartbreak on your end because you were never in love to begin with.

You were simply trying your luck, trying to see if you’d find a single soul who was just as sceptical as you on this whole soulmate thing.

And so far, you’ve met none.

It was the start of university life for you as you’ve managed to enrol yourself for a Computer Science major in Hangang University. You took the same course during college, having interest in web design and computer technologies. You could only hope that the study load this time would give you a mental break every once in a while despite knowing the content is definitely heavier than college content.

But you still told yourself to persevere and never leave your knowledge hanging while you’re still young. With this mentality, you brought yourself to campus today for day one of university classes.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door to the specific lecture room for the first lesson.

Immediately, you were greeted by a room that had the majority of the students’ gender being males. But it wasn’t a surprise to you because CS majors tend to lean more towards males instead of females. This doesn’t bother you since you were here solely to study and perhaps make friends along the way.

You found an empty seat in the top last few rows. With careful steps, you climbed the stairs to make your way to the spot you had your eyes locked on. After you’ve settled down, you noted how the room was fairly quiet.

Probably because it was the first day of classes and nobody really knows each other yet. That was all pushed to the back of your mind when you heard chatting coming from the front door and you saw 2 friends walk in. It was pretty obvious they knew each other considering how they were laughing and talking freely to one another.

As you kept your curious gaze on them discreetly, you could only realise how good looking they were.

The taller one sported beautiful dark brown locks that were long enough to cover his eyes, his smile so charming you were sure anyone who crossed his path would fall for his smile in less than a second. And then there was the other one who sported a more edgy look with his shorter dark purple, undercut hair that was parted near the centre to show his forehead, a right eyebrow piercing to compliment his face.

You quickly diverted your gaze to your laptop screen, not wanting them to think you’re a creep. You were busy searching for the e-books for this lesson in your online school portal when you heard a gentle voice calling to you from your right.

“Hey, are these seats taken?”

You looked up to see the one with the eyebrow piercing staring at you with the softest smile on his face.

In response to his question, you simply mimicked his facial expression and shook your head at him. He thanked you quietly before the 2 of them settled down beside you down the row. They resumed their conversation for the next 3 minutes before the lecturer walked in to start the class.

Two hours later, you don’t even know how you managed to absorb the things your lecturer said but you did. You were typing out the notes he shared on the projector screen when you heard his voice through the speakers.

“I will let you go for your lunch break. Be back by 1pm, here. You can leave your bags behind since I will be locking the room once everyone leaves.”

With that, your classmates replied with a series of yes before they got up one by one ready to head for lunch. You were just typing out the last of your notes when the boy beside you spoke up. At first you thought he was talking to his friend. You completely missed the way he was turned to you.

Until he gently taps onto your forearm to tell you that his question was directed to you. With a turn of your head, you locked eyes with him for the second time that day. “H-Huh?” You stuttered, earning a stifled chuckle from him.

“I was saying, do you wanna join me and my friends for lunch? We’re already sharing classes, might as well get to know each other to prepare for future projects or assignments.” He kindly repeated himself for you, making you whisper a soft ‘oh’ under your breath.

It wasn’t like you to approach someone first when it comes to striking a conversation with a complete stranger. So when he did it for you, it surprised you that he even thought of letting you tag along with them to lunch. For this alone, you decided to accept his offer knowing he does have a point for that last statement.

With that being said, the three of you left the lecture room after bringing your wallets with you. You quietly followed beside the brown haired one as they immediately opened a topic for their conversation.

You were just checking your phone for the texts sent from your mom in your family group chat when a voice spoke up, addressing you directly.

“What’s your name?” You glance up to catch the one who asked the question was the brown haired one, as the purple haired one was already looking at you but it wasn’t intimidating in any way. So you found it easy to reply to them.

“Y/N.” You said as they all nodded only for the boy beside you to speak up. “Nice to meet you Y/N. I’m Taehyung. This is Jungkook.”

And so you know.

After almost 10 minutes of walking, you finally arrived at the cafeteria located on the other side of campus from where you originally were. The cafeteria was filled with hungry students and occupied tables. This wasn’t something new but at times like these, you’d rather bring your own food and sit somewhere that’s less crowded and bustling.

Just when you were about to excuse yourself and get a take out instead, Taehyung’s voice sounded from beside you, “Hyung said he found a table for us. They’re at the side near the drink stall.” He addressed it to the Jungkook in particular.

Hyung? Found a table? Did their other friends go to this same campus too?

You thought to yourself as Taehyung soon led the three of you around the cafeteria with you following behind them like a lost puppy.

You were busy looking at the available food stalls around when you were stopped by the voices that called out to the 2 boys’ names. Curious eyes wandered over their figures to see just who their other friends were and you were met with a table filled with relatively handsome guys.

There were 3 guys seated at that table, happily welcoming Taehyung and Jungkook. Just when you thought they had forgotten you, Jungkook turns around to show you to his friends.

“If you guys don’t mind, we made a new friend this morning and we invited her to join us for lunch. Her name is Y/N.” Jungkook announced as the three boys smiled at you warmly.

“Hey Y/N. I’m Namjoon, this is Seokjin and Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.” Namjoon said as he stretched his hand out for you to shake in which you obliged. You definitely didn’t miss the intricate design of a floral arrow lining his inner forearm. That must’ve been his soulmate marking. You soon found yourself seated next to Hoseok and Jungkook after buying your meal.

You were chewing your noodles when Taehyung spoke up to catch everyone at that table’s attention, “Where are they? Shouldn’t their class be over already?”

“Apparently they just ended 5 minutes ago. Minie told me they’re on their way now.” Seokjin replied.

Who were the ‘they’ Taehyung was referring to?

Were there more of their friends?

Oh great.

You refocused on your food, taking a bite out of the chicken meat as you listened to their ‘first day of university’ story. You found out that Namjoon was a Psychology major, Hoseok was a Dance major and Seokjin was a Culinary major.

You were currently staring at the pile of vegetables that Taehyung so kindly transfers into your bowl, after he asked around on who wants the boiled carrots and broccoli to which you said yes.

Taehyung was passing you every last bit of vegetable to your bowl when a sweet voice spoke up from the end of the table nearest to Namjoon and Seokjin.

“Finally! I thought you’d never make it for lunch.” Namjoon laughed as you heard a much raspier voice speak up from the same spot.

“I wouldn’t miss lunch for the world.” You heard the others laugh when Taehyung finally finished clearing his plate off the vegetables before turning to the newcomers to say his hellos.

“Oh, by the way, we have a new addition to our circle. She’s in Taehyung and Jungkook’s class so they tagged her along for lunch.” Seokjin announced as he reached his arm behind Taehyung to place a soft hand on the top of your right shoulder. You finally looked up from your bowl to see who the newcomers were.

The first guy you locked eyes with had cute puffy cheeks, sporting a pretty dark blue hair colour as his bangs framed his face nicely.

“Oh hello. I’m Jimin.”

You smiled shyly at him before your eyes naturally travelled to the other individual standing right beside Jimin and that’s when you frowned.

Unsurprisingly, the male did too.

His hair was an ash grey colour that parted at the side to show his forehead instead of letting it cover his eyebrows like Hoseok’s did. He had a few piercings on each ear. If his physique was unrecognizable to you, at least his face was. You knew exactly who he was without having to ask him for confirmation.

“Yoongi?” His name rolled off your tongue effortlessly in a whisper, stirring reactions from the rest of them.

“Wait, you know each other?” Jimin asked in confusion as his eyes travelled back and forth between you and Yoongi. That’s when you heard the other scoff before locking his eyes with you.

“Never thought I’d see you again after all these years.” His expression was dry and almost unwelcoming unlike the smiles his other friends gave you upon your first meeting. “Never wished for this day to come either but here we are…” You said sarcastically.

The tension was so thick, you were sure you would have to cut it with a knife instead of a scissors.

You broke the gaze by standing up, claiming you’ve lost your appetite.

“I’ll see you guys in class.” You said, directing your words to your classmates before you snatched your phone and wallet off the table top along with your tray of food to return. With a quick glance to Yoongi, you ignored his burning glare as you shoved past him by the shoulders causing him to stumble back a little.

The table fell quiet as Seokjin was the first to break the awkward silence, “Well, that was unexpected.” Yoongi scoffed as he left the table to go buy his food, not bothering to wait for Jimin as his mind was clouded with the thought of you being in his circle of friends.

The history of you two goes way back when you were in both pre and high school. Your first ever dispute with him was in preschool, all because you were both fighting over the crayon box. And then gradually, more fights would happen over silly little things. It came to a point where your teacher would have to separate you from each other.

Your disputes continued after you found out that he just so happened to join the same high school as you, let alone the same class. It only made things worse. You two would bicker and fight almost everyday like a married couple.

Your friends teased you often with him for the amount of fights you got into with him. They’ve even grown accustomed to the harsh comments you had thrown to each other on a daily basis.

Not a day goes by without either him stepping on your tail or you having a payback for all the pranks he did on you to get you worked up. And yet, just when you thought you were free from seeing the devil himself again, life has its way with you and it bothers you to the core at this very instant.

Your lecturer arrived back at the lecture room 15 minutes before 1pm and it seemed like everyone else was still having lunch. All except you. “You’re here early? Have you had your lunch?” He asked as he proceeded to unlock the room while you lingered behind him, standing up after you saw him approaching from afar.

“Yeah, I did.” You smiled, stepping back into the room after he pushed the door open. You climbed the stairs again to where your belongings were, taking out your air pods to bury yourself in music.

Shutting out the world around as you rested your head in your arms on the table. You didn’t notice the people strolling into the lecture room, too busy drowning yourself in your own little bubble. All of it soon came crumbling when you felt a soft tap on your shoulder.

That’s when you look up to see the 2 of them back in their seats.

You glanced ahead to see that the lecturer had already flashed the new slides onto the projector screen which indicates the start of class again. So you took out your air pods and kept them in its case before tossing it into your bag.

Class resumed and your messy thoughts were shoved to the back of your mind, far away from your main focus right now which was your class.

After a dreadful 4 hours of lessons, your lecturer finally calls it a day. He reminded all of you to be punctual for class tomorrow, saying that he has some group discussions for the topic he would be teaching. Once everyone was dismissed, you kept your stuff back into your bag quietly.

You could tell the two boys were waiting for you since they hadn't moved a muscle from beside you despite already standing up and were just leaning against the table while they chatted. The minute you stood up, they pushed themselves off the table and only then did they start walking down the steps.

The three of you made it to ground level thanks to the operating lift, making your way to the parking lot that was right beside the campus entrance.

You were just talking to Jungkook about your hobbies when you noticed a group of 5 guys gathered at the steps of the campus grounds through your peripheral vision. You could only guess it was their friends due to the voice that calls out to those walking with you. They led you towards the bunch as you glanced over to everyone but him.

“Hey Y/N, how did you come here this morning?” Namjoon asked, his voice nothing but sincere.

“Public transport.” You said simply with a smile directed towards him, only for Seokjin to speak up, “Do you need a ride home? I can drive you?”

With that being said, you kindly shook your head with a smile, not wanting to offend him in any way for turning his offer down. “It’s fine, I can manage on my own. Thanks for the offer though. Maybe next time.” You said as you bid the rest of them goodbye, not bothering to look at the very person you’ve held your grudge on for years.

They watched as you turned in your heels and left, deadpanning your way to the front gates. Jimin sighed lightly before turning to Yoongi and asked for answers on why you and him weren’t on good terms.

But the latter only brushed Jimin off, saying he would explain some other time.

The rest of them soon dispersed to their own vehicles to head home after a long and tiring first day of university.

As more days began to pass, you were sometimes dragged by either one of your 2 classmates to hang out with their friends and girlfriends. If you weren’t mistaken, half of them already found their soulmates and were currently in a relationship with them. While the remaining half were still finding for theirs because it was either their soulmate markings had appeared on their skin but very faintly, or there was none at all.

But the amount of times you’ve recalled hanging out with them during the past three months were countable with your fingers. You avoided having lunch with them often ever since you found out Yoongi was in their circle. You didn’t want to seem petty but it seems like he too hated having you around.

Which means that the feelings were mutual on both ends.

It was a pretty warm day so right after you arrived back at your apartment, you headed straight for the showers. Slipping into the shower stream the minute your clothes were discarded.

The cold stream coating your shoulder down with it’s nice, cooling temperature to ease out the warmth in your body.

After you finished your shower, you took your towel from the rack and proceeded to wipe yourself dry. Stepping out of the cubicle, you walked over to the sink counter where your large mirror was glued onto the wall. As you were ruffling your hair with the towel to rid the excess water, you noticed something on your left rib through the reflection.

Is that…?

You glanced down at your skin to see a very faint outline of something on your skin. You blinked twice, not believing this.

When did it start showing?

Your mind was going feral at the thought of seeing your soulmate marking finally make its appearance onto your skin. Who was the cause of this? Why did it only appear now after all these years? If that’s the case then it means that your soulmate is someone from school.

“What am I thinking? This is all a load of crap. I can date whoever I want no matter what marking they have.” You said to no one in particular as you changed into your home attire.

A few days later, you were just in class alone in the morning. Taehyung and Jungkook had yet to arrive when a sudden voice from beside you made you jump. A soft curse emitted from your throat as you clutched to your chest from the minor heart attack. You turned to find one of your classmates whom you recalled his name to be Hanbin, towering over you to your left.

“Hey, I’m Hanbin.” He smiled at you, feeling your stomach get warm upon seeing him up close for the first time.

“Hey… I’m Y/N.”

“I don’t mean to be creepy or weird, but I’ve kind of noticed you going for lunch alone these days instead of with your friends?” He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. You somehow knew where this was going.

“Right… Well, that is true I suppose.” You chuckled awkwardly, looking away from him briefly before turning your attention back to him.

“I see. Well, if you’re looking for company, you can go for lunch with me?” He said it more like a statement instead of a question and that in itself made you smile. You had just accepted his kind offer when you heard familiar voices approaching to where you were seated.

Hanbin’s eyes glanced past your shoulder only to flicker back to you, setting a reminder before he left.

“Lunch with me later, yeah?”

You gave him a soft nod as a smile crept onto your lips. At the same time, you felt the soft nudge to your right elbow. You already knew who’s the culprit. “Wasn’t that Hanbin? What did he say to you?” Taehyung asked as he took a seat beside you.

“He asked me to go for lunch with him.”

“So you agreed?”

“Mhm.”

“You wanna go for lunch with him but not us?” Taehyung asked with a pout, only for Jungkook to lean over and ask what was going on. You could only roll your eyes at them, not actually annoyed or anything. Just a reflex whenever someone tried to get your sympathy over something stupid.

“Give me a break. I’m not sharing a table with ‘you know who’. Wouldn’t wanna accidentally break the table with our arguments.” You flashed him a sarcastic smile that made him click his tongue at you in disbelief.

It has been two months since you first went to lunch with Hanbin and you have been doing that ever since. You noticed that his demeanour was starting to change too around you, maybe there was a mutual feeling settling in between the two of you after all.

It was a Saturday afternoon and you already made plans with Hanbin a week prior. He wanted to bring you out on a date to the amusement park and then maybe grab some supper before heading home. He picked you up at your apartment that evening in his jeep, looking quite handsome if you say so yourself.

The two of you spent the evening together, adrenaline rushing through you thanks to the rides you took. After enjoying yourselves at the amusement park, you were both tired from having fun so he offered to stop by and grab supper with you before sending you home.

You ended up getting fast food at the diner downtown. You were happy. You were grateful that he was nothing but sweet to you. But for some reason, deep down there was that voice in you that was screaming, “He’s not the one” and you hated it. You didn’t want to rely on the marking to determine your happiness.

What if you belonged to someone who has a different marking than you?

That’s possible right?

So when he finally parked right outside your apartment complex, he turned off the engine leaving his key in the ignition. The car fell silent for a moment before you decided to be brave and spoke up.

“Do you… wanna come up for a bit? We can talk for a while longer?”

With that, Hanbin frowned as he wondered if he should. He didn’t want to ruin a first date and he most definitely did not want you to have a bad impression on him.

“Are… Are you sure?” He asked quietly, to which you nodded.

When you didn’t get a proper response, you simply let out a soft giggle followed by, “come on” before you opened his jeep door to board off the vehicle. You left him no choice but to follow after you. Once you’ve made it to your apartment, you unlocked your front door and stepped inside allowing him to enter.

It took him a while as his eyes travelled all over your cosy apartment, admiring the minimalist interior. You told him to take a seat while you went to get him a drink.

A few minutes passed and you were both just talking freely on your couch when you noticed how his eyes always flickered down to your lips constantly as you spoke. This made you stifle a giggle and he caught on. He apologized for it but you brushed it off.

Just then, the room felt quiet all of a sudden as it was your turn to glance down to his lips.

Hanbin softly smiled as he began to lean closer.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you could feel his warmth radiating off his body from how close he was to you.

Right when you felt your head get dizzy from the close proximity, you unconsciously whispered against his lips something that you would never normally do.

“Kiss me.”

With that being said, he pressed his plump lips on yours.

Immediately intoxicating you with how sweet he tasted. The kiss slowly got heated as he carefully guided your body back to lay on the couch while he hovered over you. His hands slid past the hem of your shirt, resting on your waist as he caressed your skin.

You slide your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. He slowly pushed your shirt up using his wrists. Right when he’d just pulled away for a breather, his eyes travelled down to your bare torso beneath him.

His gaze seemed stuck on whatever he was looking at. When you realized he stopped and was staring at something on your body, you knew exactly what he saw.

“Is that…?” His voice was soft, almost sounding as though he was upset.

“Yeap…”

With this confession, he slowly pulled away from you, tugging your shirt back down and bringing you to a sitting position.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He began but you were quick to hush him.

“It’s okay… Besides, I should be the one saying sorry. I already saw your marking the other day when you wore a tank top to class. I just thought you’d be okay with dating someone who doesn’t share the same mark as you. I guess I was being selfish…” You said.

Hanbin remained quiet as he listened to your reasoning. Suddenly feeling bad for stopping whatever you two were sharing, so abruptly like that. With that, he reached out to hold your hand, telling him that he was still sorry for reacting that way and for hurting your feelings by doing so.

But he told you he didn’t regret taking you out on a date today, that he genuinely had a good time with you and that he would love to still be friends with you if you allowed him.

You smiled at him before turning your attention to the flower pot sitting on your coffee table only for him to continue, “I just hope that you’ll find someone who will love you for who you are, doesn’t matter the mark.” For that, you smiled again. Thanking him for being sweet and thoughtful.

After he left, you couldn’t help but sigh. This was already the umpteenth time this happened to you.

But you couldn’t stay mad at Hanbin for turning you down simply because he didn’t reject you the way your other ex dates did. That was the reason why you let him go without holding a grudge.

The next few weeks, you’ve gone to lunch on an alternate basis between Hanbin and the guys. And every time you went with the guys, you could only prepare yourself for the constant bickering with the one and only, Min Yoongi and today was no different.

You were sitting next to Namjoon at the end of the table with the only space left empty being beside you. And it was as though luck wasn’t on your side, the only human left to arrive for lunch was none other than Yoongi himself.

You were just sipping your green tea when you heard his voice approaching towards your side of the table.

“Sorry hyung, that’s the only seat left.” Jungkook smiled sympathetically to the elder as you made it a point to not spare a glance over to him. You could hear his grunt of disapproval but nonetheless plopped his bag down on the chair before disappearing to buy his food.

When he did come back, you had just gotten a whole chunk of chocolate fudge cake shoved into your mouth by Taehyung who was seated opposite you.

You were unable to pull the dangling piece of cake into your mouth so you tilted your head back. But instead of the cake entering your mouth, it ended up falling into your hands when you felt your head crash into something behind you.

And the hiss just told you who it was.

“Watch it before I spill hot soup on you.” Yoongi said as he placed the bowl of steaming noodle soup on the table top beside your tray.

“Don’t worry because I’ll make sure it spills on you too.” You challenged him back, earning a glare from him.

You heard a few sighs coming from some of the guys but you couldn’t care less. You busied yourself by scrolling through your social media in hopes that the time would just pass by quicker so that you can be away from him after lunch ends.

A few days later, you had just finished your shower when you noticed your mark slowly growing more and more opaque. To which you could finally see the design of it.

It was a dream catcher.

A pretty one at that. You softly traced your finger over the outline of the detail, keeping your eye on the reflection. Just then, a soft sigh left your lips.

This means that your designated soulmate has supposedly crossed your path more than once. But seeing how the ink is getting darker with each passing day, could only mean that if not often, this person is near you at least more than 3 times a week.

A week went by and Jungkook had invited you to his birthday slash pool party that weekend. He invited only the guys and some of their girlfriends. You’ve met the girlfriends a few times and they’ve all been pretty sweet to you so far. All of them are so down to earth. You told Jungkook you’ll be there, earning a happy soft clap from him when you said so.

On the day of the party, you had just finished your shower when you noticed the water droplets underneath you weren’t clear. You looked harder only to realize those weren’t water.

It was blood.

“Great… Thanks mother nature…” You huffed as you went to get your feminine item from your cupboard. After successfully changing into the attire you chose for the day, you tied your hair into a messy ponytail before leaving your bathroom.

You wore simple denim shorts and a loose shirt tucked into your jeans.

When you actually made it to Jungkook’s house, you were surprised to know that he was living in a one story house with a built-in pool ready when he moved in.

Apparently his parents were pretty wealthy people so they bought this house for him, saying it would give him the opportunity to take responsibility in keeping the house clean and tidy rather than his mother having to do it for him all the time.

You called Jungkook’s phone only for him to pick up on the second ring. You told him you were at his front gate so he hung up the call and rushed over to you.

Once you were inside his beautiful compound, he brought you towards the back through his side garden. Distinct voices gradually get louder the nearer you get to them. The minute you turned round the corner, you instantly saw more than half of them in the pool including the ladies.

Seokjin and Taehyung were over at the barbeque grill, cooking the meat for everyone. There was a table filled with all kinds of snacks and sweet drinks. It was a full on pool party.

Just then, a familiar voice rings in your ear already knowing it belonged to Hoseok.

“Y/N! You made it! Come join us!”

You stopped at one of the chairs only to put your sling bag down and apologized to him, “Sorry to burn the mood, but I can’t. Monthly calls.” You could hear some whines and sad pouts forming on some of their faces right after.

“Aww man, that’s a total bummer.” Jimin said, making you shrug.

However, you noticed a figure leaning against the wall on the other side of the pool just blankly staring at you. That’s when you glanced over to see Yoongi. You held your stare for a moment before you turned away. Missing the way he was still staring at you even when you were making your way to Seokjin and Taehyung.

A few minutes later, you were just talking to Jiyeon who was taking a break from being in the pool. You sat facing each other but from where you were seated, your back was facing the grilling pit.

Jiyeon was just talking to you about baking when you noticed someone swimming to the side that was aligned with where you were sitting.

Only to realize it was Yoongi.

He placed his hands on the edge of the pool and soon pushed himself upwards. You watched as water flowed down his body effortlessly. Cursing yourself for even staring at his shirtless form. He pushed his wet hair out of his face, resulting in him having sort of a slick back hairstyle.

He was too busy talking to Hoseok and Jungkook who were still in the pool, his head completely turned away from you.

Right when you were about to look away, your eyes caught sight of the imprinted ink on his left rib. You didn’t think much of it as you turned away from him. But then something in your brain ticked you off like a time bomb. So you carefully turned back to him just a few feet away from you.

That’s when you saw it.

The dream catcher on his left rib is so prominent and bold against his milky skin. Not to mention his toned abs. A soft gasp left your lips as he walked past you without sparing a single glance at you.

But you didn’t mind it. You were glad he didn’t see how shocked you were because if it did, he would have said something about it.

So instead, you just got up and left, entering Jungkook’s home through the glass doors frantically. You rushed in and went straight to the said destination. Once inside, you took a moment to steady your breathing as you brought your gaze up to the long mirror that laid upon you on the wall landscape.

You carefully pulled your shirt up to expose the ink on your own skin. You could only stare at it through the reflection before looking down at your own torso and gently tracing your finger over the outer rim of the dream catcher’s hoop.

You didn’t know how long you were gone for. It wasn’t until a voice broke your train of thoughts.

“Was it really necessary to rush into someone’s house like-”

However, his speech got stuck in his throat when his eyes flickered over to the reflection in the mirror. No it wasn’t your face he was staring at. It wasn’t the soap bottles lining Jungkook’s sink.

It was your mark on your left rib.

You swiftly pulled your shirt down to hide it from him from seeing any more details of it. With quick hasty steps, you turned to leave the bathroom and had barely taken a step out into the hallway when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to face him.

“Show me.” He said firmly.

“Show you what?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I- I don’t know what you mean-”

Without warning, Yoongi used his free hand to lift your shirt up to stop right below your bra line as his hands naturally cupped your sides to keep your shirt there. He finally caught a clear look of the inked design on you, seeing how familiar it looked to him.

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes flicked wider for just a millisecond before it went back to its original state.

For some reason, your lung felt restricted and your heart dropped upon seeing the same mark on his skin at the same exact spot as yourself. You wanted to run away. All you wanted to do now was to be as far away from him as you can.

So you slapped his hands away, making him lose his grip on you before you turned around to leave.

He grabbed your wrist again but this time, you mustered whatever strength you had left to yank your arm from him. Tears stinging your eyes as it threatens to fall, yet you don’t fully understand why.

“Don’t! J-Just… leave me alone… please.” Your voice falls into a whisper as you rush to the backyard, ignoring their worried calls as you simply told them you weren’t feeling well because of your monthly calls. When Yoongi did come back to the backyard, he was questioned as to what happened back in the house and why you looked like you were about to cry.

Yoongi couldn’t help but stare at your descending back just in time before you turned the corner and disappeared fully from sight. Only for him to lie to them despite knowing exactly why you left.

“She wasn’t feeling well.”

The week went by and you have been avoiding coming relatively close to the rest other than the 2 who were obviously unavoidable. But it’s not like you had anything against them. You just wanted to avoid Yoongi at all costs for now. It was a Friday and you had just finished your classes for the day when the two boys exchanged glances to each another before Jungkook spoke up.

“Hey, do you wanna grab something to eat with us after this?” You knew he was being nice. You knew he wasn’t to blame for Yoongi having the same exact soulmate mark as you. So for that, you chose not to lash out at him.

“It’s fine. I’ll pass.” You smiled half heartedly and they could tell. But thankfully, they chose not to question further.

The three of you were walking towards the main entrance as usual when you saw the rest of the group seeming to wait for you three. You glanced up to Jungkook beside you who gestured a small wave to the others, only for you to accidentally look over.

And the first thing you saw was Yoongi already looking at you.

Great.

Before you could get to close, you bid your goodbyes to your friends as you separated from them to head towards the gates. Nobody has yet to know why you were acting this way other than Yoongi himself. You were just halfway through the parking lot when a firm grip on your wrist made you turn after being tugged back gently.

You nearly crashed into the figure whom you weren’t surprised when you saw it was him.

“Stop acting like a child.” He said, his tone held something much more than just firmness. He sounded like he’s… hurt almost.

“So what? This marking thing is a load of bullshit. Why does it determine who we should be with? That’s unfair! I’ve seen couples who have different marks and yet they’re still happy together?!” You said, clearly letting your emotions take over your mind.

“If you think it’s bullshit then why are you ignoring me like I’ve just killed your pet?!” He asked, his voice now a tad louder than it was before.

“Because all the guys I’ve tried dating care too much about these marks! Every single one of them ditched me when they found out I didn’t have the same mark! And what are the odds that the one person who has the same exact mark as me, happens to be the one person that has been nothing but a daily source of fight with me?” You paused as his grip on you loosened, his glare suddenly softened.

“Of course I couldn’t believe it… I didn’t want to believe that of all people, it’s you… That’s why I ignore you.” Your voice grew soft as you saw the way his eyes flickered back and forth on your own brown pupils.

“So you’re saying you hate me? Is that it?” His question was simple but it held a thousand meanings and you knew it.

“I don’t even know anymore, Yoongi…” You whispered as you slowly pulled your hand out of his grip and quickly left before he could say anything else. Yoongi stood there trying to process everything. Still not entirely sure of what just happened. Just then, a gentle hand on his shoulder made him return back to reality.

“Hey man, you okay?” Namjoon’s calm voice spoke from beside Yoongi as the latter could only nod.

“We heard your conversation… Well, we didn’t intend to anyways… But, is it true? That you both have the same mark?” Namjoon continued.

He could hear the soft, quiet curse leaving Yoongi’s lips during his exhale before he spoke up, “Yeah… That was actually the reason why she abruptly left during Jungkook’s pool party.” Yoongi explained and it all began to fall into place for Namjoon. The younger could only nod as he finally put the pieces together.

“Mmm, and so I’m guessing she’s too overwhelmed with the fact that you have the mark out of a billion people to walk this planet?” Namjoon said.

“Bingo.” Yoongi sighed as the two began to walk back to their friends who were still gathered at the entrance despite hearing the commotion earlier. If space is what you need, then space is what he shall give. But of course, you can’t run from him forever.

It has been two weeks since your outburst with Yoongi and you have been keeping your distance from him again. The guys also didn’t try to tag you along knowing fully well that you needed space from Yoongi. For that, you silently thanked them. It was a Saturday night and you had made it a point to go for a quick grocery run to stock up your refrigerator with edible food.

After getting all the items you needed, you went to the queue. The lady at the counter scanned every item on the conveyor belt and went ahead to put it in the plastic bag before telling you the total cost.

You were about to reach into your jeans pocket when you noticed them being flat.

You felt around the pockets of your jeans and it was in fact empty. With that being said, you mentally cursed yourself for not bringing your wallet with you. Not only that, this store was the only one nearest to your apartment and it was closing in 10 minutes.

You wouldn’t make it back in time if you went home now to retrieve your wallet.

So you apologized to the lady who looked equally done with her job as you left the store empty handed. You were just walking down the partially empty street when you felt something drop onto your cheek. You stopped walking to feel what it was. Before you could touch your cheek, another drop hits the top of your head. And then another. And another.

“Fuck my life…”

You whispered to yourself as the sky suddenly began to downpour on you. Watching as some people ran across the road for shelter, some whips out their umbrella to shield them from the rain, some simply stayed indoors to avoid being caught in the rain.

However, you were too tired to even care about seeking shelter. Feeling as if today was the worst day of your life.

You continued to stroll down the street completely soaked under the rain.

You wrapped your arms around yourself in attempts to keep yourself warm but it clearly did no shit for you. Absent minded to notice your surroundings, you didn’t hear the calls for your name until the vehicle came to a gradual slow speed beside you on the street.

“Y/N!”

It was Yoongi.

“Leave me alone…”

“Y/N, why in the world are you walking in the heavy rain? You might fall sick, you dummy.”

“Who c-cares?” Your lips were starting to quiver from the cold.

“I do.”

You could’ve sworn your heart just skipped a beat at that response.

“Look, let me take you to my place and get you dry clothes while waiting for the rain to stop. I’ll send you home after.” He said.

“I d-don’t need your… h-help, Yoongi.”

He let out a soft groan in annoyance with your stubbornness, only to drive a little further down before bringing the car to a complete stop. You were about to carry on walking but your feet just came to a halt when you saw him running out of his car and coming to you.

“Come on and stop whining like a little kid.” Yoongi said as he grabbed your wrist and began jogging back to his car, pulling you into the passenger side before going back to the driver seat.

Once safely inside, he drove off into the night and made a left turn at the junction while your apartment building was to the right and probably about a 20 minutes walk. The car ride was quiet as neither of you said anything. You simply let him do what he said he would. When he finally brought the car to a park, he turned off the engine and soon climbed out of the vehicle.

You followed suit as he had already come over to your side to hold the door for you. After he’d locked the car, he led you to his apartment complex as you followed behind him. You took in the interior of his apartment complex, it looked slightly older than yours but still well maintained.

Apparently, he lived on the 14th floor unlike you who lived on the 5th floor.

He soon pulls out his house key and proceeds to unlock his front door. He opens the door for you, letting you step inside first. Once he had closed the door behind him, he told you to wait there as he excused himself to go get you a clean towel and new dry clothes for you to change into.

You took in the minimalist setting of his apartment, quite similar to yours except your walls are white and his is grey.

Yoongi came back with a handful, telling you where the bathroom was.

You followed his directions and soon closed the bathroom door once you’ve stepped inside. In the meantime, Yoongi had gone to change out of his own wet clothes into a clean pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie. He was boiling hot water to make hot chocolate for the two of you when you cleared your throat behind him.

He turned around at the sound, only for him to scheme through your outfit in which he had so specifically chosen for you. He had lent you one of his sleeping shorts and an oversized black hoodie that looked a little too big on you.

But for some reason, you looked good in them.

He almost had to pinch himself for staring too long before he finally spoke up, “Uhh, my dryer’s in the laundry room. Second door to the left.”

You nodded as you disappeared back down the hall, only for him to mentally curse himself for losing his composure. After 2 minutes or so, you came back having managed to turn the dryer on.

He handed you the cup of hot chocolate, not forgetting to thank him for it.

There was a short moment of peaceful silence before he gestured over to his living room. The both of you went over to the couch as you sat on either ends of the furniture. He turned his tv on and was busying himself with searching through Netflix when you mustered up the courage to ask him what was on your mind for the past half an hour.

“Why did you help me?”

Yoongi turned to you briefly, unsure if he should answer the question truthfully.

“As much as we fight, I’m not entirely heartless.”

Your eyes bore into him as you soon found yourself looking down at your hands when he turned to look at you. If it wasn’t for the tv, you knew for a fact that he could’ve heard the thumping of your heart. Silence fell over you two again but he broke it as soon as it started.

“Why were you walking in the rain?”

“I was on a grocery run.”

“But I don’t recall seeing you carry any bags of groceries?”

“That’s because I couldn’t pay for it without my wallet…”

He raised his eyebrows at you in disbelief, finding it ridiculous that you only realized it when you were checking out of the store.

“Shut up. This kind of stuff happens okay…” You scoffed, earning a quiet chuckle coming from him followed by an, “Okay, okay.” The room fell silent again and you were just playing with the strings of your hoodie.

Silently wishing for time to pass quicker but it seems like the rain only got heavier.

“Look, I think we should just forget about the whole marking thing and just… start over?” He said, causing you to look at him but he seemed like he was diligently avoiding your gaze.

“Start… over?” You dragged your words to show that you wanted a slightly more detailed explanation.

“What I mean is… let’s stop ignoring each other and stop fighting over the smallest little issues like we did when we were young. Back then we were still young and immature. But we’re not anymore, are we?” He ended with a question, making you huff.

You know he has a point but your ego is still higher than ever.

“Are you only saying this because I’m your soulmate?”

“No. I really am tired of fighting with you.”

“Why now? Why only want to call truce after you’ve seen my mark? Doesn’t that say a lot?” You were stubborn and he knows it. And yet, he still answers you to clear all your doubts.

Surprisingly patient with you.

“I know it might look like what you think, but it’s really not. I don’t care about the marking much like you. But after thinking about it, I feel like it’s actually childish to hold a grudge on each other for the things we’ve done years ago, don’t you think?” He explained, hoping it’ll get past that rock solid head of yours.

Your heart knows he’s right but your mind forces you to say otherwise.

With that, you huffed as you got up and excused yourself to go check on your clothes. Before you could make it past the first door on the left, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you back.

He pressed you against the wall with his other hand beside your head to trap you.

Your free hand hovered in between both yours and his chest as he was less than 4 inches away. Your faces were so close you could feel his breath hitting your lips. You would’ve slapped him if he did this years ago.

But now?

“Why are you so stubborn?”

He asked, his voice low as you kept your heated gaze on his eyes even though you saw the way his eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and lips.

Rising heat from both anger and his body temperature radiated off him, engulfing you like a cocoon. You could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate a few times now that he was this close to you. It was quiet in the hallway as he frowned, still waiting for an answer from you. But instead, you gently pressed your hand on his warm chest that was in between your bodies.

This was enough to make him flinch slightly. His crammed face relaxed for a moment when he looked down at your hand on his chest before looking back at you.

Even more confusion struck him.

Your heart was racing rapidly in your chest, and you were so sure he could hear it. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer so you looked down at your hand as you slid it up towards the necklace he was wearing. Playing with the pendant in between your fingers.

You didn’t realise this but his grip on your wrist was long gone and was now slowly snaking that arm around your waist.

Yoongi leaned in very subtly to let his lips brush against yours just to see your reaction. He closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of having you this close for the first time. You did the same as your other hand rested on his left bicep. Before you knew it, he closed whatever remaining gaps in between only to kiss you.

Your heart exploded in your chest as he used the hand beside your head to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch while you reciprocated the kiss. Yoongi’s grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you against him.

He felt both your hands now just holding onto his biceps for support, his lips tugging upwards against your mouth.

You could feel his muscles flexing under your fingertips as he pulled away from your mouth and was now trailing soft kisses down your neck. A soft sigh left your lips, feeling him give some love to the part that joins your neck and shoulder blade together.

“Yoongi…” Your voice came out as a mere whisper.

Just when you wanted to say something, your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his hands slip past your shirt only to rest them on your sides when your mark was.

His touch was gentle but it definitely did something to your poor heart.

“Answer me truthfully… Are you okay with… this?” Yoongi asked, gesturing between you and him. “With us? Because you can say no if you’re really against this. I would never force you.”

You stared at him for a while, rethinking your answer. You’ve been so firm about not caring who has the same soulmate mark as you because you thought it was all bullshit. But now, standing in front of him and knowing that he has the mark, not only that but he seemed like he really genuinely likes you is making it twice harder for you to say no.

But your silence was too long for him as he counted to 3 in his mind. When you didn’t respond, he slowly nodded. Pulling himself away to leave a space between you.

“It’s okay, I understand… I think your clothes are dry. Go change, I’ll wait outside.” His voice was quiet as if he’s too upset, he can’t even look you in the eye. You felt bad. You never wanted him to feel this way. So when he turned in his heels to walk away, you yearned for him to come back.

Yoongi was halfway down his living room when he felt a smaller hand slide into his right one. His step came to a halt as he kept his back to you.

He was about to ask if there's something wrong but all he got was a soft apology.

“I’m sorry…”

You watched as he remained still, his back still facing you. Doing nothing to turn and look at you. Yoongi wasn’t sure what he wanted to do at the moment so he kept quiet.

Just then, you used your other hand to cup his that you were already holding. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like this. But he definitely wasn’t prepared for what you were about to do next. You weren’t sure if you trust your voice so instead, you took a few steps closer before wrapping your arms around his waist.

Pressing your cheek against his back. You stayed like that for a few seconds, basking in the sweet vanilla scent of his.

You could feel him tense up when you first hugged him but he soon relaxed in your arms.

You didn’t dare to do anything else, all until you felt him softly caress your arms only to lock his fingers with yours over top of your hands. You only nuzzled your face deeper into his back, afraid to look at him.

But when you feel him slowly move around in your arms, that’s when you let him face you.

The minute he sees your face, he immediately cups your cheeks and wasted no time in kissing you ever so sweetly. The butterflies in your stomach erupted as you snaked your arms around his shoulders, feeling him pull you closer to him by your waist.

He held you securely against him all the while never leaving your lips. You were the first to pull away, keeping the distance small between you and him.

Your eyes were still closed so you depended on your senses.

That wasn’t until you felt him cup your face again, caressing your cheek with his thumbs. The room fell silent as he brushed his soft lips against yours and whispered to you quietly, “Can we start over?”

You opted for just a nod, unsure if you could trust your voice. You opened your eyes to see him staring at you so softly with his doe round eyes.

Yoongi smiled, whispering an ‘okay’ before he kissed you again. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you melted against his lips. He took his time with you, making sure you were comfortable and that you really wanted this. He never wanted to hurt you in any way. He kept asking for your permission before he did anything and you appreciated it.

You woke up the next morning to a warm feeling engulfing you from behind. You stirred in your sleep, trying to see what it was. But the squeeze around your waist made you look down to see the familiar arm draped over your waist, tucking his hands underneath you. The silver bracelet around his right wrist could never be mistaken for someone else.

Just when you were about to snuggle deeper into the warmth of his body, you felt him kiss the back of your head. Your heart pounded in your chest, stomach flipped in your belly.

“Mmm, good morning.” He whispered, his morning voice low and raspy.

You sighed in content as you turned around to face him, only to find that he still had his eyes closed but there was a smile that crept on his lips.

With that, you smiled as you planted a soft kiss on his lips. You could feel him smirk against your lips, earning a soft giggle from you. His arm that was supporting your head, bent at the elbows as he began to play with your soft hair.

The next day, you came to school feeling a little down in the weather. Maybe it was a late reaction to when you got drenched in the rain. You were sniffling in your seat when Taehyung and Jungkook immediately caught the sight of your red nose.

“Hey, are you sick? Your nose is red.” Jungkook said, his voice laced with full concern. You simply shook him off saying it was just light flu.

The other two weren’t buying it, they said they would go get medicine for you after class and you all but rejected them. The last thing you’d wanna do was to burden them.

So after your morning class has ended and you have been dismissed for lunch, the three of you made it to the cafeteria only to find the rest of the guys already seated. But you and Yoongi still haven’t told them about your resolve yet. So they thought you two were still ignoring each other.

“Hey guys! Y/N? Are you okay? You look kind of pale…” Namjoon asked, making you smile.

“It’s just a little flu, that’s all.” You said, completely missing the way Yoongi was staring at you with pure concern.

“Do you wanna go home and rest?” Hoseok asked in which you shook your head, before a squeaky sneeze left your lips not forgetting to cover your mouth while you did. “Sorry…” You whispered an apology, earning a few laughs from them. Just then, Yoongi got up without a word, leaving the table.

You watched as he disappeared down the aisle towards the drink stall. You wondered what he was doing but nevertheless shrugged, going to the empty seats beside him and Jimin.

You took a seat beside Yoongi’s empty chair, not really having the appetite to eat.

You were just rejecting Jimin’s offer to feed you some of his food when Yoongi came back with a glass of hot tea, a bottle of water and a strip of two panadol flu tablets. The rest of them watched quietly as he sat down beside you and handed you the drinks.

“Here, take this.” He said softly, pulling your hand up to push the two tablets out of the strip onto your open palms.

“Oh? Since when are you guys on good terms?” Taehyung asked in utter confusion.

“We’re not. We’re just acting.” Yoongi replied sarcastically before twisting the bottle cap open for you. He waited for you to throw your head back and let the tablets fall into your mouth before gulping down the water.

After you were done, you thanked him quietly. You didn’t miss the little smirk on his face.

“Okay…” Seokjin said as he gently slammed his hands onto the table top, making some of you flinch.

“What’s going on? Last week you were both ignoring each other and now you’re taking care of her like she means the world to you?” He asked as you turned to Yoongi for help.

“Don’t you know the saying ‘People change’?” Yoongi said.

“Of course, but it’s almost too drastic. Just over the weekend too.” Seokjin said in disbelief.

“Well, I guess it happens.” Yoongi shrugged as Jungkook directed his question to you.

“So I’m guessing you too?”

“No. I still hate him.” You lied.

“Is that so? Then why are you holding his pinkie?” Hoseok smirked, pointing to your intertwined pinkie on the table. With that, you quickly removed your hands from Yoongi.

“Hey... Why did you let go? I was about to play with your fingers.”

Yoongi said with a small pout, making you blush. Just then, Yoongi reached back over to lace his fingers with yours, resting your hands on his lap only to steal a quick kiss to your cheek.

This stirred a few dramatic gasps from your other friends. “Did you guys see that?! That was- omg!” Seokjin’s voice was too loud, making Jimin cover his mouth with his hands.

“Oh hush your pie hole dust. Just let me be happy for once.” Yoongi smirked as you felt him caress the back of your hand. He’s definitely going to be a handful but you’re more than happy to entertain his crap.

~~~

#bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts x reader #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi scenario #suga scenarios #yoongi fluff #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts suga scenarios #bts suga imagines #suga fluff

589 notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years ago

Text

BnHA Chapter 314: ...Or You Live Long Enough to See Yourself Become the Villain

Previously on BnHA: Some random assholes were all “let’s throw exploding spears at All Might and see if it activates his Conqueror’s Haki” and SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS, IT DID!! Elsewhere, Lady Nagant confusingly tried to capture Deku alive by shooting him in the stomach, but to be fair I guess that’s what happens when you send an assassin to do a bounty hunter’s job, so yeah. Deku was all “ouch”, and then because this is a shounen he basically just straight up forgot about it, and did a big fancy Smokescreen thing, and then activated his mildly incomprehensible new ki-blasting quirk which he got from the Third. En and the Third were all “hey Deku maybe let’s not just impulsively activate all this shit in the heat of battle when you don’t know how to use it yet and you’re already injured,” and Deku was all “thanks for the quirks guys but I’ll take it from here” and snuck up on Nagant and grabbed her arm and so now what’s going to happen I wonder.

Today on BnHA: Nagant is all “[shoots Deku again]” because of course she is lol. Deku is all “tell me about AFO!” and Nagant is all “why would I tell you anything?” and then proceeds to tell him her entire life story which is FILLED WITH SO MUCH MURDER, YOU GUYS. Holy shit. So basically she was an assassin for the HPSC, which we already knew, but somehow it’s one thing to know that, and another to actually see her running around capping dudes in the forehead and being covered in more blood than the elevator from The Shining. Anyway, so you’ll never believe it, but all that murder had a negative impact on her psychologically, and eventually led her to question everything she believed about hero society, and so she killed her creepy boss and was promptly sent to Tartarus. This extremely fun chapter ends with Overhaul showing up all “HI, HELLO, I’M STILL HERE”, because for some reason he is still here. Why are you still here, Overhaul.

“the beautiful Lady Nagant” oh you know your audience don’t you Horikoshi

well all right then! so I’m guessing this means that she is not, in fact, going to roll over and die just because Deku’s out here all “GOT YA!” like they’re playing a game or tag or something. ffff may the manga gods have mercy on our young suicidal protagonist

lmao so Deku is all “GOD I’M SO SMART, WHAT A GOOD STRATEGY I HAD, CAPITOL JOB THERE OL’ CHAP, CAPITOL” and lol, okay. I mean, it was a good plan though. but I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop here

“I’ll make you give me information on All for One” well there you go, lol. Deku Angst arc still fully engaged. still no light in his eyes either of course. just a lil chaotic ball of sleep deprivation and rage

lol, fucking THANK YOU though

oh my god what the hell did she do to him lol

did she shoot him with her elbow??? fucking look at this?? THIS IS WHY WE LISTEN TO HAWKS oh my god Deku are you dead

WHAT’S HAPPENING, IS THIS GOOD OR BAD, WHO’S WINNING

things that I wish I could tell from this panel which I unfortunately cannot tell

did she stab him or shoot him?? can you imagine if it was the former lol. why does Horikoshi keep stabbing all my kids. look Kacchan now the two of you can match

did she actually hit him or did he get away??

or did she hit him and then he jumped away?? just, what

well anyway, so now Deku is asking her why she sided with AFO, but he seems a lot more pissed off than when he was interrogating Muscular, though. probably because she shot him three times. fair enough

oh my god

does Lady have a blog here on tumblr dot com?? -- does Horikoshi have a blog here on tumblr motherfucking dot com?? why do I suddenly feel like this man is out here sneakily reading up on all our discourse

oh my god Deku it’s almost like getting up close and personal with someone who can shoot custom bullets from any distance and any position with deadly accuracy was a terrible fucking idea

IF ONLY SOMEONE HAD WARNED YOU NOT TO ENGAGE WITH HER AT ALL COSTS. IF ONLY SOMEONE HAD HAD THE FORESIGHT TO DO THAT sob. can you imagine how much shorter this series would be if characters actually listened to Hawks. Hawks, and Momo. why do we even let anyone else run the show ever

OH MY GOD

DEKU, RUN

OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING

this looks a lot like what happens to me whenever I play One’s Justice. those fucking combo attacks that you can’t fucking escape from and so your character just has to stand there getting their ass whalloped repeatedly while you wonder why you paid $40 for this

but anyways though. so Lady who did you kill?? I bet they deserved it, don’t worry I forgive you

(ETA: ANYWAY SO FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT LADY NAGANT DID NOTHING WRONG EVER IN HER ENTIRE LIFE. aside from murdering all those innocent people and shit. but there were CIRCUMSTANCES, and THEY WERE EXTENUATING, OKAY.)

-- holy shit

looks like the HPSC arc is back on the menu boys

so are we about to learn that the HPSC was going full Hydra on people’s asses? secretly dispatching anyone they deemed a threat to society?? “taken care of” as in you fucking shot them??

so then was the “hero” she killed actually one of the guys who was giving or carrying out these orders?? holy shit Lady, up until now I’ve mainly just been stanning you for your flawless eyebrow game and metal af quirk, but this shit could actually get real very quickly, and I am prepared to genuinely and sincerely love the shit out of you depending on what we learn next about your backstory

oh my god?!?

so wait, hold up. am I reading this right?? basically the HPSC started murdering vigilantes because they were worried they were gaining too much of the public’s favor?? holy fucking shit???

oh my GOD oh my god

“it’s been a while since I scarred you all with the dead dog and the graphic slaughter of an entire innocent family, huh,” Horikoshi says thoughtfully. “anyway so what do you all think of my new creation, the Spaghetti Bullet.” well, Horikoshi, so you know that squished-up face that Kermit the Frog makes sometimes? yeah. that’s what I think, if you must know lol

holy hell the juxtaposition

I’m actually kind of surprised to learn she had a lot of fans? what with her M.O., I was expecting her to have been an underground hero like Aizawa, but apparently not? then again I still have absolutely no idea how any of that works. I really need to read Vigilantes already

oh snap

nothing like a sweet dose of assassin trauma to finally round out our BnHA Trauma Bingo!! well done guys, we finally collected all of the traumas! hooray!

noooo Ladyyyyyyy

holy shit what a fucking chapter. like, this man promised us an assassin, and went and fucking delivered. I was not expecting it to be this dark, lol, but holy shit I am here for it

you know, at some point you have to start questioning the logistics of this, though

I mean, how do I put this... her quirk isn’t exactly subtle. that murder scene from a few pages back looked like the first season of Dexter for fuck’s sake, that’s not exactly “disappearing” people now is it?? and I mean, her bullets are literally made from her own fucking hair; it seems like it would be impossible not to leave any evidence behind. did no one start to wonder who the fuck was going around murdering all these people? or did the people who asked too many questions wind up getting conveniently “disappeared” themselves??

and hey, speaking of asking too many questions

holy shit is he blackmailing her??!? or no, wait -- what the hell is he reaching for in his pocket boy you better not

(ETA: what exactly was this man expecting fdslkjd. “uh oh my unstoppable hair trigger assassin who is literally always armed is asking questions, better announce that I am going to shoot her and then reach into my pocket veeeeeery slowly while she stands there all of two feet away.” how did this guy ever function as the head of a shadow government with these decision-making skills, I’m genuinely baffled.)

OH MY GOD LADY YES

this. right here. is why “run the fuck away” was damn good solid fucking advice. oh shit. but my god did this dude have it coming

so wait lol has she just been narrating all of this out loud to Deku this entire time

okay but can we just stop for a moment and appreciate the fact that they’re having this deep conversation about the dark secrets of hero society right in the middle of their intense mid-air sniper free-for-all lol

holy shit you guys, Nagant’s the one that should have made the tell-all video. I mean, no offense to you, Dabi, I’m sure you worked very hard on your video and did a ton of crunches every day so that you would look good with your shirt off while you told the world all about how your dad was a jerk. but seriously...

this is already like 100x more convincing than what he put out. also, gasp, is it another flashback

yes it is oh my gosh

so the HPSC Chairladyperson whom ReDestro killed used to be this guy’s direct subordinate, huh? I wonder if she kept the whole assassin program going after she took over. can’t say I was feeling any particular kind of grieving way about her death before, but certainly not now lol

but unfortunately Nagant has finally lost me at the same place where all of the villains inevitably do, which is to say when they somehow make the dubious mental leap from “society sucks and is bad” to “let’s just be openly fucking evil lol, worth a shot.” because when heroes murder innocent people and cover it up, that’s obviously bad (and I mean, it absolutely fucking is lol, don’t get me wrong); but when villains murder innocent people straight up out in the open without giving a fuck, they’re righteous revolutionaries? just -- is there really no non-murdery middle ground here?? I guess that’s what Deku and co. are for, hopefully

anyways oh shit Deku seems to have spotted something?? and he’s doing something weird with Blackwhip what

oh, he spotted her, I guess

lmaooooo

new favorite Deku panel right here. a masterpiece

oh my god you guys our little boy is starting to grow up before our eyes

you love to see it. and you can tell with those elipses that he’s gearing up to say something really cool and determined and badass like the shounen protag he is, yes please, Deku ilu so much please do your thing

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

IS THAT A TEENY TINY LIL EYE SPARKLE THERE OMG. still not anywhere close to his usual standard, but that’s some clear resolve there in his eyes there at long last! it always shines the most clearly when he’s being true to himself and his ideals, so I love that it finally shows up again here, when he’s reaffirming his resolve to help others no matter what

uh oh so what’s Lady going to do now

is it time for a trump card?? kinda sounding like it’s time for a trump card

???

I lied btw, this is my new favorite Deku panel. but anyways what is she up to now lol

ohhhhhh, lol

why does she seem shocked, lol. here I thought this was part of her plan, but apparently she forgot all about ol’ “Look Ma, No Hands” back up there

and so I guess that’s it for this week! so we’ve learned basically everything now about Lady and her quirk and her history with the HPSC and why she agreed to work for AFO. pretty much the only question that still remains is why the hell she decided to drag this asshole along for the ride! because I still cannot figure that out dsklkjlkf

(ETA: actually now I’m kind of wondering if they maybe have some past connection we don’t know about yet. when exactly was Nagant sent to Tartarus? is it possible she was ordered to track down and kill Overhaul at some point before that, but never got around to it? or something else along those lines? idk but now I’m curious.)

anyways Deku, I know that your empathy has no bounds and that you’re on a “saving villains” kick right now, and good on you... but also, if you decide to just like, skip all of that shit just this once, absolutely no one will hold it against you, I’m just saying. just, all I’m asking here is maybe let’s think twice before we start trying to reform guys who imprison and torture little girls for profit. I think maybe that’s a good place to draw the line. next week is going to be a very interesting chapter lol

#bnha 314 #lady nagant #midoriya izuku #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

256 notes · View notes

gamerwoo · 4 years ago

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part One)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, possible character death, a little bit of fluff but it’s like angsty fluff

Word count: 1,837

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

Next | Second Chance Masterlist

a/n: things in bold are in english. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY!!!! hi i know everyone has been awaiting this series from tftp in particular. and while i wish i could say im updating this regularly,,,,,i cannot. there’s no definite update schedule, im just doing it when i can. i wanted to wait until i had all the parts written but im impatient. but i hope you’ll enjoy this series even with the slow updates, and i hope it lives up to expectations 💜

“Where’re we going?” Joshua grumbled as he followed slightly behind Hansol and Kyung, the younger boy’s hand wrapped around hers.

Joshua was going with them to the doctor without actually knowing. Kyung knew better than to tell him before they left because she figured the grumpy werewolf would just tell her no, not really caring whether he was unable to heal or not -- even though that was very clearly a bad sign that he had overexerted himself.

Kyung thought maybe Joshua would be a little less...angry all the time once she got to know him, but Joshua was stubborn well before he’d even met her -- he was just bad at shoving his stubbornness and anger down.

“I promised I’d get my back fixed if Kyung decided to stay, and you said you’d go if I went, didn’t you?” Hansol reminded his brother with a smirk over his shoulder. “We’re gonna go see that doctor we were told about. What was her name again?”

“Minjee,” Kyung replied. “Not to sound rude but...Josh, why don’t you want to see a doctor?”

“I don’t really care if I can heal or not either way,” he replied flatly, “but I said I’d get help if Hansol did. So...here we are.”

“Here we are...” she repeated in a mumble.

Joshua simply followed the mated couple in silence as the alpha led them to Minjee’s, being the first to knock on the door. It was a girl -- as expected -- that opened the door, bowing politely to the group before smiling brightly at the darker skinned girl in front of them.

“Kyung!” she exclaimed as she gestured the three of them in. “I haven’t seen you in so long -- I suppose that’s a good thing, though. How’ve you been? Your pack hasn’t mentioned you.”

“I’m not actually in that pack anymore,” Kyung told her with a shrug, her ‘cool’ exterior coming back in the presence of an old friend. “I’m an alpha of my mate’s pack now.”

Minjee seemed impressed, eyebrows raising with a smile, “Wow, look at you. How’d the sudden change happen? Jiung must be proud.”

“He’s actually...passed away.”

The doctor’s face fell, placing a comforting hand on your upper arm, “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother.”

Kyung nodded, “I’ve been grieving, but it’s been easier with my mate. Minjee, this is Hansol, and his brother -- er, our brother, I guess -- Joshua.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hansol said as he nodded to her. “Our brother, Soonyoung came in before with a human girl to talk about fixing us -- I’ve got silver burned into my back, and Joshua’s the healer that can’t heal anymore.”

“Ah, yes, the healer!” Minjee’s eyes lit up as she nodded excitedly. She looked to Joshua now. “Your power still hasn’t come back?”

“No,” he replied. “I thought just resting would help but...nothing.”

“I see,” she hummed, eyeing him over before looking back at Kyung like she was their mother that took them to the doctor’s office. “I’ll do a quick look over and then see what I can do. It’s almost time for me to close up, and I have to go out of town for a few days. I won’t be able to do anything until about a week from now, but they’ll be fine until then if they’ve been fine this long.”

“That’s okay,” Hansol shrugged as Joshua replied, “No worries.”

“Alright,” Minjee breathed with a warm smile, grabbing some gloves from nearby, “then let’s get started and see what’s going on.”

Even though you were never careful, you wanted to blame this on shitty luck. You were too carefree and excitable, so you ran and ran and didn’t see the trap. So with you trapped under a net with little prickles that you were sure were laced with wolfsbane from how fucking awful you felt -- that was an understatement -- all you could do was wait for hunters to come find you before death took you itself. Honestly, you hoped the latter would come first.

You faintly heard footsteps coming toward you as your vision went out of focus, your eyelids becoming too heavy to keep up. You sensed a presence beside you, the body crouching down to get a better look at you.

“What do we have here?” a female-sounding voice asked, but it sounded far away and muffled to you. “Is this another werewolf?”

“I can’t tell,” another female voice replied in a sigh. “Sura, do you have any ideas?”

“Doesn’t smell like werewolf to me,” a male voice said. “It definitely is some kind of were-creature, though. This thing wreaks of wolfsbane and it’s clearly affecting her. I’d say...coyote, maybe?”

One of the women sucked in a breath between their teeth before saying, “Prajya, help me get this net off of her -- it’ll be heavy but I’m afraid to let Sura touch it.”

Slowly, you felt the weight of the net being lifted off of you. You could also feel every little barb stuck in you being pulled out, and you whimpered softly from the stinging pain that covered your body.

“Minjee, will she make it?” the second girl asked as you were lifted into warm arms.

“No,” the male replied, “probably not.”

“The house isn’t far from here,” the first girl insisted. “We just have to hurry.”

But you were out cold before they even took the first step.

Josh and Hansol weren’t really sure why so many people wanted to go with them into town that night for them to finally get fixed. Suvi was understandable since she just enjoyed going into town, and Soomin made sense since she was basically their resident know-it-all when it came to werewolves. However, Wonwoo wanting to tag along was weird because Wonwoo didn’t like leaving the house, much less going into town. They figured maybe it was because he wanted to make sure Soomin would be alright, but she was already going to be with two werewolves and a girl who had gone into town plenty of times. She was in good hands, but whatever made Wonwoo happy.

“Are you nervous?” Suvi wondered, looking up between Hansol and Joshua as she walked.

“I don’t know how they’re going to fix my back, so that’s a little concerning,” Hansol decided, “but I’m more excited.”

Joshua just shrugged, “Eh, not really.”

“Try not to be so excited, huh,” Wonwoo commented.

Joshua did like his power. He liked that he was able to help people with it. However, it didn’t benefit him -- as in, it didn’t make his own personal healing any better than anybody else’s in the pack -- and it wouldn’t be needed if his pack wasn’t so stupid and got themselves hurt. It wasn’t fun like Seokmin’s or Chan’s or Kyung’s, and it wasn’t interesting like Jihoon’s or Soonyoung’s or Hansol’s or Minghao’s. It was boring -- kind of like Wonwoo’s or Seungcheol’s.

Suvi was the first up to the door, knocking before she took a step back to wait. The door was answered by Minjee -- as always -- who greeted them with an almost pained smile.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “Before you come in, I’d like to apologize. My partners and I have just gotten home, and one of our patients... Well, she won’t make it.”

Now that she’d mentioned it, the wolves could just barely hear the faint, slowing heartbeat from inside the house. But they could also smell that it wasn’t the typical werewolf. It was something they’d never smelled before, but it still wasn’t completely human.

Joshua also picked up on a scent that was very familiar but also so very different from anything he’d smelled before.

“We’re just trying to ease her pain until she passes,” Minjee continued, letting the small group into the house. She turned to look at somebody else who was helping with the aforementioned girl. “Sura, could you put a curtain up around her? Prajya, I’ll need you to help me with--”

Minjee stopped when she noticed Joshua stop in the doorway, his body going rigid. His golden eyes were spotting red and locked on you, hands balled into fists.

You were dying; his mate was dying. Again.

“Josh...?” Wonwoo spoke up, placing a hand on the older boy’s shoulder.

Joshua’s thoughts and opinions on re-imprinting were out the window when it registered that the girl quickly losing her life was his mate. The only thing he could focus on was you and saving you -- but he only knew one way how.

“She’s not dying,” he stated, walking straight through the small crowd and over to you where your pulse was just a moment away from completely dying out.

“What?” Minjee asked, watching him as he approached you with a set jaw and narrowed eyes.

“I’m not going to let her die,” he said louder, letting his hands hover above your body.

Joshua was too focused on trying to somehow get his powers to come back to him that he wasn’t paying any attention to Hansol and Wonwoo’s conversation over their surprise of their brother imprinting for a second time. Truthfully, nobody thought anybody would come after Lilly since Josh was so against it. But then again, imprinting wasn’t something any werewolf could control.

Joshua mumbled to himself as he tried to will his power back. He was concentrating so hard but nothing was happening. No faint glow from his palms, no color coming back to your face, and your heartbeat was still rapidly decreasing by the second. It wouldn’t be long until it was gone all together, and then there would be nothing he could do.

“C’mon...c’mon...” he grumbled, closing his eyes as his eyebrows creased together in concentration.

“Your powers won’t suddenly work,” Minjee spoke up, watching from where she stood by his pack, wanting to give the werewolf space -- especially since she was preparing for him to be grieving for the mate he’d lose before actually having her.

“They have to!” he snapped.

He refused to lose you. If he lost two mates -- even if he didn’t properly meet or know you -- he was sure he wouldn’t be able to take it.

With his last bit of energy he had in his body, his palms faintly glowed to life, spreading a tingling warmth across your body. His healing power was starting to cleanse the wolfsbane from your system, and your heartbeat was starting to become stronger and more stable. Hearing your heartbeat louder in his ears made Josh want to cry. But he didn’t have the energy for it.

As you let out a cough and a girl with brown skin rushed over to sit you up so you could empty your system, Joshua collapsed onto the floor, knowing you were alive and would hopefully stay alive. He put his everything into saving you, and he didn’t know if that would kill him, but he knew it was worth it.

442 notes · View notes

procrastinatingsapphictrash · 4 years ago

Text

Flirting with the intern (1)

Series masterlist

Word count: 1263

Genre: idk, probably a mix of angst of fluff

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: None (let me know if I need to add any)

Summary: You’re Tony’s new intern and Natasha seems to take an interest in you when you’re bartending at a party.

A/n: Hi so this wasn't a request but a lot of you seemed to like this blurb I wrote and I was bored and had writer's block so I came up with this series, hopefully you like it! I will try to update fairly often but no promises (I also have no idea where I’m going with this so feel free to give me ideas). Also if you aren’t on my regular taglist but would like to be tagged in this series, or you are on my regular taglist but wouldn’t like to be tagged in this series let me know, I will not be offended. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

She gets bored of the conversation, eyes wandering around the huge room until she spots you serving drinks to some of the older gentlemen over by the bar. You’re pretty and she admires the dress you’re wearing, noticing with disdain that the men at the bar are doing the same, not at all subtle in the way they leer. You look uncomfortable but handle the situation gracefully, handing over their drinks before walking away, rolling your eyes.

She doesn’t recognize you which is odd. She makes a point to be able to match everybody’s face to their name, a habit formed by years of not trusting others, and there’s no way she missed anyone, much less a cute girl.

“Who’s that?” she asks Steve suddenly, only noticing after she speaks that she interrupted his conversation with Bruce. Oh well, she muses, it’s not like talking about the differences of desserts now and when Steve was born is a particularly important topic over conversation.

Steve doesn’t frown but his forehead wrinkles a little. “I don’t know. You should ask Tony, he probably knows.” Steve pauses, thinking a second. “Or he has absolutely no clue. Either way you should ask him.”

Natasha nods and looks around the room to find Tony. Luckily he seems sober and is pretty close by, talking to Pepper and Rhodney.

“Hey,” she greets as she walks up.

“Hi red,” Tony responds and Natasha gives him a slight glare at the unwanted nickname, being slightly more lenient than usual because she needs something from him.

“Who is the girl working at the bar?” she asks, getting straight to the point.

Tony waggles his eyebrows. “Why? Do you think she’s cute?”

“No,” Natasha half lies (she does but that’s not the only reason she’s asking), “I like to know the names of everybody so if something goes wrong I know exactly who did it. She is obviously an employee of yours but I’ve never seen her before so I would like to know who she is.”

“Spies,” Tony mutters under his breath before speaking louder. “Her name is Y/n and she’s my new intern.”

“What happened to Sarah?” Natasha asks. Sarah wasn’t extraordinary in any sense but she worked hard and Natasha could admire that.

“Couldn’t handle the pressure and started crying in the labs a few days ago saying it was too hard and she wanted to quit, so I told her she no longer had an internship.” Tony explains.

“Which is why you are going to be more understanding and less hard on Y/n.” Pepper interjects, giving Tony a look. “This is your fourth intern in three months. It doesn’t look good for the press if none of your interns like the program or pass it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waves his hand around. Natasha has no doubt that if he is unsatisfied with your work he’ll take away your internship as well, without considering Pepper’s words.

“Well thank you for your help Tony, I’m going to go talk to her and see what I can find out now,” she tells him, starting to walk away.

“Spies,” Tony mutters again, shaking his head fondly as he watches her go.

---

“I’ll take a shot of vodka, neat,” a sultry voice says and you spin around to find yourself face to face with the feared assassin and possibly most beautiful woman to ever exist, Natasha Romanoff.

“I-um, er-” She lifts an eyebrow delicately and you fall silent.

“You do know how to do that right?” she asks sarcastically.

“Of course,” you tell her, more confident after taking a breath. You busy yourself with making the drink which doesn’t take long at all.

“Here you go, um-” you flounder, unsure of what to address her as.

“Agent Romanoff,” she says, sticking out her hand for you to shake.

You lean over the counter and shake it. “Y/n.”

She hums thoughtfully. The view as you leaned over the counter was not bad and she wonders if you were showing off on purpose before brushing that idea out of your head. You seemed nervous early and your body language didn’t suggest anything flirty. Still, she couldn’t help but try her luck.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl like you,” she says and you feel heat rise in your cheeks and turn your head away so she can’t see your reaction. It’s useless of course and barely hides you at all but she finds it adorable that you tried and also adorable how flustered you get at one generic pick up line.

“Um, thank you,” you tell her, trying not to stutter. She bites back a smile. Just when she thought you couldn't get any more adorable you do, all cute and shy.

She winks. “Just the truth sweetheart.”

You nearly choke on your own spit when you hear her words. If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was flirting with you. But that is impossible because she is so much better than you that the thought alone is completely ridiculous.

“So how are you finding Stark industries so far?” she asks, switching the subject. As much fun as it’s been flirting with you she can tell she needs to tone it down a little if she doesn’t want you to combust.

You blink a few times at the sudden change before speaking. “It’s been quite an experience so far even though I’ve only been here a few days. Tony is definitely as brilliant and eccentric as everyone says and I think I’ve learned a lot and I’m excited to learn more.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you want to hear more. “Tony definitely is eccentric, but as long as you go along with it he’ll love you. And if you get on Pepper’s good side Tony will be scared to fire you.”

“Thanks for the tips,” you say surprised, “Pepper is definitely scarier than Tony.”

“Oh for sure,” Natasha- Agent Romanoff agrees, “but don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Don’t let who let you say what?” Tony asks, standing beside Natasha and throwing his arm around her. She immediately steps away, brushing him off.

“I was just warning your intern about how utterly stupid you can be sometimes,” she tells him, “I want to prepare her properly so she doesn’t leave or get fired like the others.”

She walks off and you watch her go, not noticing how entranced you are until Tony clears his throat.

“So Natasha huh?” he asks and you look at him wide eyed.

“I’m sorry Mister Stark, I don’t know what you mean.” you play dumb.

He shakes his head. “You’re not the first and you definitely won’t be the last, I can’t say I don’t blame you.”

“Mister Stark?”

He sighs. “Just be careful around her kid, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

You nod as he leaves the bar as well. The rest of the night you think about the weird exchanges you had with both Tony and Natasha. Everything you had heard about the Black Widow was that she was cold and unfriendly but she seemed pretty nice to you, especially with the weird almost flirting thing she was doing. You know it wasn’t real, you watch as she makes the rounds of the room and has everyone practically falling over her feet, but it felt real and when she smiles in your direction from across the room and makes eye contact you know that you are way too close from catching feelings, which is always a bad idea.

---

next part >>>

Taglist: @fayhar@xxxtwilightaxelxxx@acertainredhead@madamevirgo@megaqueenmaeve@cherryblossomskye@aaron-despair@chickenhavewisdom@emril-osvigne@nyankitty987@agathaharkness-simp@midnight-lestrange@thewidowsghost@nyx-aira@stephanieromanoff@satxnsupreme@likefirenrain@wlwlovesreading@natashadeservedbetter@stop-drop-and-drumroll@peggycarter-steverogers@casperlikej@redswing@mochamoff@king-star@blackbat2020

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel fanfiction #x reader

346 notes · View notes

liz-allyn · 3 years ago

Text

shudder; part 4/6 [agent mobius x gn!reader]

An argument between you and Mobius nearly ends in tragedy, and you discover a secret he's been keeping.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 2.4k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Language, Violence, Angst, Whump (mild), Hurt/Comfort, Mobius x reader

IV.

The next time was on Titan, about 100 years before it’s civilization collapsed. You were there for another rogue variant, but not for Thanos, much to your dismay.

“I don’t get it,” you had argued, but Mobius was firm.

“We’re not here for him. We’re here for the variant.”

“But if we find Thanos and kill him then—”

“Something worse happens,” Mobius assured you exasperatedly.

You were treading past frustration towards fury. “So Thanos gets to dust half of existence and live out his retirement on Tom Nook’s island? And the TVA is just dandy with that?”

Mobius began with a sigh, “The Sacred Timeline—”

“It’s bullshit!” you spat. This got his attention, and he saw now that you were seething. “What does the Sacred Timeline say about me, huh? How is my meaningless existence supposed to end, since we’re all just playing our parts in this freak show?”

He took a moment to glance around as you ranted on. Thankfully it was just you two together as the rest of the team fanned out to search for the variant. You two were alone, but were anything but. This was a dangerous place and an equally dangerous target was on the loose. There was no time for this.

He kept his voice in hushed tones, stunned and irritated, “What are you saying right now? Where are you getting this?”

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” you pressed on. Your blood rushed, rage boiling in your core. “You’ve watched me die.”

“What?”

“Not me, the other me! The Sacred me! The way things are supposed to happen. Why won’t you tell me how I’m supposed to die when we both know you know?”

“We are not having this conversation right now—”

You were spewing venom with every word. “I’m supposed to die a killer, right? That was my destiny? To cause death and destruction?”

He snapped through gritted teeth, “Just.. will you stop this—”

“That’s what I’m doing here, right now. That’s probably the only way the Time Keepers would let me live. I have to be your killer. Your attack dog. Just so long as you can keep me on a leash.”

He swallowed bitterly, refusing to respond to that.

“What happens if I say no, huh?” The tone of your voice suddenly became thin and tight like a wire.

He looked stunned by your accusation.

“What if I quit?” you pressed on, sounding more hurt than angry. “Will the Time Keepers have any use for me then? Will you?”

“What—?”

Fire was rolling off your tongue now, and you wanted nothing more than to watch him burn.

“What are you going to do when you’re bored with me, Mobius?” you spat, your anger stirring into a frenzy. “When you’re done figuring out what makes me tick? Are you gonna delete me yourself?”

You violently shoved him back, and you saw something in him snap. He gripped your upper arms tight enough to bruise and yanked you closer to him.

“Enough!” he hissed, still in a whispered volume. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I heard you and Ravonna!” your voice cracked, and your body quaked. It was the anguish in your voice that made him freeze. The tension in his grip faltered. “I know you asked her to be reassigned,” you explained, rattling off your death sentence. “I know you want to send me to someone else—”

It was all laid out then. The air left your lungs and you were no longer able to speak. When did you start crying? Why did your voice sound so… little… and pathetic?

He just stared at you. Stunned wide eyes, gawking at you with that irritatingly-attractive, pitiful, stupid look. You watched his mouth open slowly, as if he were about to speak, but no words would come out.

It was then you saw the knife raised above his head. A second later, it was rushing down.

Some sort of feral noise left your lips. It was a desperately helpless cry, as useless as firing a bullet at a tsunami.

Everything slowed down.

You gripped Mobius' arms and twisted your body.

You tossed his weight to the side.

He hit the ground, still unaware of what was happening.

You felt a searing heat in the flesh of your back.

The next time you spoke, it was in his apartment, nearly a day after you’d been released from the infirmary. Everyone had to be debriefed, they stitched you up, B-15 signed off on your report. But you didn’t see Mobius once while you were there.

You winced as you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. The long gash that ripped down your shoulder blade was going to make moving out of his apartment difficult, but you didn’t care.

Mobius wore a solemn look, standing in the middle of his studio apartment, hands in his pockets and eyes cast to the floor.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” he asked politely.

“No,” you bit off, turning your back. “I’ll be out of your way—”

“You’re bleeding,” he noted urgently.

You paused and glanced back over your shoulder at his vantage point. A small spot of crimson was seeping through your white button-up. You sighed heavily.

“Here,” he was already moving towards you, hand extended. “Let me take a look at that.”

“I’ll live,” you sneered, rolling your eyes. You headed for the door.

How dare he—that fucking nerdy, doe-eyed prick.

He hadn’t spoken more than five sentences to you after you were technically stabbed in the field trying to rescue his stupid, dumb, sparkly-eyed ass, and he didn’t even have the nerve to show up to check on you while you were in medical.

There was no need to continue the earlier conversation. He wanted you gone, and you were happy to oblige.

You took another step towards the door before you felt his fingers snatch your wrist. You looked back at him, incredulously. You were met with charming chestnut eyes. “Please,” Mobius added, with that infuriatingly cocky smirk. “I insist.”

You felt his fingers squeeze gently - a double-squeeze. You peered down at his hand locked around your wrist, then glanced back up at him, brow furrowed. As he continued to gaze at you, you could spot a message hidden in his expression.

He wasn’t asking.

You clenched your jaw as you felt your stomach drop. You hated that he could still do that to you. You wrenched your wrist from his grip, but then dropped your bag to the floor, relenting to his orders. Satisfied, he pulled over one of the two chairs of his dinette set, dragging it into the middle of the sitting room.

“Sit,” he declared, with an outstretched hand.

As if it was a social call.

You glowered at him as you stepped to the chair and sat down.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

You froze. He was unusually cold in his tone, addressing you like a mechanic telling you to pop open the hood. You could hear him dragging a second chair over and bringing it to a stop behind you.

“I need to get a good look at that bandage in the light,” he said, with little notice or regard for how your body was reacting to his command.

Without fully processing it, your fingers were already undoing the top buttons of your shirt. You were on autopilot. He rummaged around his kitchen, mumbling to himself. Your treacherous brain was melting.

This was... confusing. You were used to following his directions when hunting variants. You trusted him completely. So much so, that compliance was more or less automatic.

Even if you’d only heard him utter this particular type of command in your darkest dreams.

“Okay...” he said coolly. The word rolled off his tongue as he approached the chair directly behind you. Your shirt was open from the front and you hesitantly pulled it down off your shoulders, revealing the skin of your back.

He plopped down in the chair and scooted closer to you with all the sexuality of a dentist about to perform an exam. Yet here you were, radiating with anticipation. You clenched the front of your shirt to your chest like a stuffed animal.

“Oops,” he said, hopping back to his feet. He reached into the pocket of his brown slacks. “Forgot about this guy,” he sheepishly explained, as he dug the TempPad out of his pants. “Hang onto this for me, will ya?”

He reached around and placed the tablet face-up on your thigh. You looked down to see handwritten words scrawled on the display. You recognized his handwriting immediately.

Don’t move. They’re watching us.

The display went black a few moments later, and you felt your jaw tighten. You did as you were told, keeping your head still and forward, but your eyes scanned the room for the camera.

“Yeah, looks like you pulled a stitch loose,” Mobius said, loudly and clearly. “Better patch that up before it gets any worse.” You heard him fumbling with a bottle of liquid solution, deftly working to sanitize and seal the wound. Fear settled into your heart.

When his hands returned to your body, they were cool and gentle. He placed one palm firmly on the middle of your back as if to steady you. You felt the heat of his breath ghost across your skin. Your reaction was unmistakable and uncontrollable.

“There’s that shiver again,” he remarked quietly, lips curved into a devilish smile. He peeled back the bandage gently. “Sorry if my hands are cold.”

Your lips were parted as you struggled to breathe normally. So many thoughts flooded your mind it was practically white noise. You felt a cold wet compress dabbing at the sensitive flesh around the wound. A hiss escaped your lips and he straightened his demeanor.

“Sorry,” he said with added volume, returning to his subdued state. “Infection’s no joke.”

Your mind turned its focus away from the pain in your cut and towards the way the fingers of his other hand danced across your ribcage. It was just a small brush of his fingers, but it was easily one of the most intimate experiences of your life. It made your eyes flutter shut and your heart ache.

“Hi,” you heard him softly whisper, causing you to open your eyes again. He leaned a little closer to your ear, much like he did in Nevada. “I’m... sorry about this. About everything.”

Sorry I misled you. Sorry I only needed you as a hunter. No, you thought. You can’t have this conversation. Not with him. Not while he touched you like this.

You began shaking your head unwillingly. “You don’t—.”

“Just listen,” he urged in a hushed tone. “Let me explain.” Your eyes were closed again, afraid that if tears began they wouldn’t stop.

You could hear him swallowing deeply, as if his tongue had gone dry. “There’s been... a complaint filed against me,” he explained. “From the top. By the Time Keepers.”

Your face twisted with confusion, but you kept your body straight.

“They say that I’ve—” he swallowed hard again, as if he was struggling himself to finish the sentence, “They claim that I’ve abused my power. That I’ve manipulated our... relationship into something... inappropriate.” You struggled to understand what he was saying, wishing that you could turn around and look at his expression. His tone went from embarrassed to disappointed very quickly. “That I’ve become distracted and it's a liability.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you blurted defensively, under your breath.

“Is it?” he said with a curt tone. “Because I’m staring at an 8-inch gash in your back that says otherwise.” He bit his tongue, quickly reeling his emotions back in. He was beating back the tide of self-loathing anger within him. All you could focus on was the heat of his lungs on the nape of your neck.

You were shaking your head no, quickly forgetting that you were supposed to remain neutral.

“I was distracted,” Mobius declared with resolve, weighed down by guilt. “That knife was meant for me. And I should’ve seen it coming.” His eyes dropped down. You could hear the slightest tremor buried in the thickness of his voice. “Another inch or two to either side—”

He let the words fall away. To the casual observer, he was lost in thought. But you knew him now. He was terrified. You wondered if he was even there anymore, or if he’d flashed back to that horrible scene on Titan. To the sight of your blood on his hands.

“I can’t,” he said, the desperate sound in his voice stunning you both. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, removing his hands. You were holding your breath waiting for his next words, feeling like your heart was going to burst.

“You’re too valuable of an asset to the TVA,” he declared.

He might as well have slapped you across the face. The tears were pooling in your eyes now. You could hear him cleaning up his first aid kit. You wanted to scream or throw up, or both.

“That’s all I am?” you squeaked out.

He glanced up at you briefly, but didn’t make eye contact.

“I’ve asked them to put you behind a desk in Records, but Ravonna wouldn’t hear it,” he added. “You’re being reassigned to another analyst.”

You wished that the knife had fallen just a few inches to the right or left.

“She was able to assure me that you’d stay in B-15’s unit,” he continued on. “She’ll watch your back. I trust her with my life.”

There was a hurricane threatening to burst out of your mouth. You wanted it to rip everything apart. The TVA. The Time Keepers. Time, Itself.

He was mumbling something else about filing the proper paperwork, resolving the investigation, and your new partner’s impressive reputation as a top notch analyst. You couldn’t hear him over the sirens in your brain.

You were visibly shaking. “Mobius—”

“If I don’t do this, they’ll reset you,” he blurted out, gravely.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes finally. He was in agony. And so were you, desperately holding onto your shirt like it was a raft.

You heard him breathe the word “sorry” as he turned his back on you with haste, rushing out the door.

Part 5

A/N: Thank you so much for the incredible response so far! Did you like this chapter? Reblog & let me know! If you're not tagged, it's because I couldn't tag you.

@generalhugzzz @isaxbella749 @yodaboo @aloyssia

#mobius x reader #agent mobius x reader #mobius m mobius x reader #mobius #agent mobius #mobius m mobius #mcu fanfiction #loki tv series #loki show #owen wilson #mobius fanfiction #mobius imagine #Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes!shudder.#mobius x you

172 notes · View notes

negans-lucille-tblr · 3 years ago

Text

Too Close (Absent Sequel) - Chapter Five

Summary: Dean and Y/N are finally happy and settled in Paris, but there’s something threatening to disturb their peace - and with them comes secrets and betrayal.

Rating: 18+ (Smut/Angst/Fluff - Dark scenes)

Chapter Tags: angst, smut, masturbation, manipulation, mention of drug use, dub-con mentioned

Chapter WC: 2839

A/Ns: Please send me an ask to be tagged in this series!

This fic is currently being posted four weeks (8 chapters) ahead on Discord.

Too Close Masterlist // Daughter!Reader Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

Chapter Five

Sam’s POV

“Everything okay?” Sam checks as they watch Y/N run into the bedroom. He holds Dean’s drink out as he watches her go, his eyes dropping to her ass in that pretty little dress she’s wearing. She’s not changed much since Christmas, and the memory already has his cock stirring.

“Yeah, man, it’s Tuesday. She has therapy Tuesday mornings, she’s probably just a bit out of it,” Dean explains. He accepts the drink he’s being offered, and Sam steps back.

“Therapy, huh?” he checks, slowly taking a seat on the couch opposite. Dean takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “Didn’t realise it was that bad,” Sam adds. He can’t help but feel a little concerned about just what Y/N is telling that therapist of hers. There’s so much that he’d rather she keep her mouth shut about.

“C’mon dude, she was kidnapped, she thought she was gonna die, that fucks you up,” Dean defends.

Sam purses his lips and nods his head, “didn’t think she’d still be affected by that.”

“Like I told you yesterday, ever since Christmas she’s been different, I don’t know,” Dean slumps back in his place and rubs his eyes.

Sam watches the way his brother’s body sags under the stress for a moment and takes a sip of drink. If Y/N is in therapy, running her mouth to someone about things that have happened - are happening - in her life that shouldn’t be, that could really come back to bite him on the ass. He can’t have that. Plus, if she’s got someone fucking with her mind, telling her everything she shouldn’t be hearing, it’s going to undo all his hard work. He needs a way to keep control.

“How much does she tell this therapist?” Sam asks carefully, worried about Dean’s answer. Dean purses his lips, and takes another swig of drink.

“Don’t worry, she knows not to talk about who I am, I think she just talks about the kidnapping,” Dean explains. But this isn’t a relief to Sam. That isn’t his main concern right now.

“Are you sure therapy is wise?” Sam presses, licking his lips nervously. Maybe if he can convince Dean to stop the therapy. Therapists just ruin everything anyway, they don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. She doesn’t need one. He can keep her safe and protect her — he can make her better, even if Dean can’t.

“Sammy, everything else aside, my little girl is suffering and I’ve gotta do everything I can to make her better, okay?” Dean’s tone is firm, and Sam bites back the words he wants to say because Dean can’t know the truth. Sam looks away, struggling to find the words to convince Dean otherwise. He notices Dean standing up out of the corner of his eye. “I’m gonna check on her,” Dean explains, “just make yourself at home.”

Sam finally turns his head, watching Dean disappear into the bedroom Y/N has locked herself in, before sighing heavily as he slumps back. Therapy is a real spanner in the works. If only Dean had come to him when he was thinking of sending Y/N to therapy in the first place, he could’ve talked him out of it. Sam just needs to make sure that Y/N isn’t going to say something stupid that’s gonna get someone into trouble. He has to make sure she doesn’t even consider saying anything about the two of them, or what happened at Christmas or before then. Sam had been fairly sure he covered his tracks with his involvement with the kidnapping, thought he’d gotten away with it. Y/N had been off since then - with him especially, he’d noticed - but he’d assumed it was post traumatic stress or something. Up until Christmas. It had been the day after Christmas that Y/N knocked on Sam’s office door. She’d been distant the entire trip, so Sam was pleasantly surprised to find himself alone in his office with her, the door closed and her Daddy nowhere to be found.

She was clearly a girl on a mission as she stood there in front of his desk with her arms crossed over her chest. She’d had one too many eggnogs, judging by the slight glassed over look in her eyes — and maybe that was the liquid courage she’d been waiting for.

“I know it was you.” She’d blurted out. Sam didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about what she knew, so he’d feigned ignorance for a while, trying to keep her sweet with his tone soft and his words gentle. Afterall, everyone that knew the truth about Jamie was dead, and he’d covered his tracks with the kidnapping. That was over two years ago by then - he’d gotten away with it. “I heard Nick talking to you on the phone when he held me hostage.”

Sam sighs as he rises to his feet and makes his way to the bar to pour himself a fresh drink. He stops outside the door to the bedroom Dean and Y/N are inside of, and listens for any talking, but it’s silent. He refills his glass and takes a long sip. He’d thought Y/N would be over that by now. He didn’t deny his involvement - how could he? He did try at first, but he soon found a way to use it to his advantage. Look at everything she’s got now, thanks to him. Everything she’s ever wanted — Dean doting on her, a life away from the business. He made it very clear how grateful she should be. But not everything is perfect in Paris. Trouble in paradise, apparently. Sam knew Y/N had been struggling without her crutch. Dean had adapted well to the sober life, apparently, and good for him. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever see the day where Dean didn’t get fucked up and fuck anything with a cunt. But Y/N is different. She’s clearly going through some shit that Dean’s out of his depth trying to control. Sam knows what she needs, and it’s something Dean’s not gonna give her. When will she realise that he’s the one she needs?

Sam finishes his drink and pours a third, not caring it’s early in the day. He can hear movement from the bedroom now and slowly steps up to the door and leans a little closer.

“Jesus fuck, baby girl, Daddy’s missed that mouth,” Dean grunts. Of course they’re gonna fuck. Sam’s grip on his glass tightens in frustration, and he can hear the way Y/N is gagging around him. Sam wonders what her mouth feels like. Wonders just how good she is at sucking cock. No doubt a pro by now - but he can remember the way her eyes widened when she saw some cheap blonde porn star giving some guy head for the first time and how she’d begged Sam to show her the ropes. Not a day goes by when Sam doesn’t think of the multiple times he’d rejected her, hoping to make her needy and desperate enough for Dean - and now look at her. She’s the perfect little slut for the wrong guy. Sam should never have pushed so hard - should’ve been smarter - should’ve got everything he wanted whilst he could take it.

And now she’s got therapy. Another kink in the chain that Sam hadn’t anticipated, and if Dean is insistent on her going, then Sam’s only going to have to work even harder to make sure he can get what he wants, but he knows he’s got ways in - he’s left doors open.

“Mhm, Daddy please, please Daddy fuck me,” Y/N’s voice sounds out and Sam huffs. That’s what I want baby, wanna fuck you. Sam can’t help it, he’s placing his glass down and tearing into his slacks right there in the middle of the living room. His cock is hard and throbbing as he reaches inside and fists it free. There’s a slap of skin on skin now, and heavy breathing. Clearly neither of them care he’s there, which is fine, because he can close his eyes and listen to the sounds of Dean fucking his little girl, helping Sam get close to the edge. Fuck he has missed that sound.

“Fuck Daddy, feels so good, oh god.”

Sam grunts, gripping his cock harder. “That’s what you want, huh?” he mutters out, watching his cock piston in and out of her tight little hole in his mind’s eye. “Look at you,” he hums.

“So much Daddy, best cock I’ve ever had,” he hears her say, “only one I want.”

“Damn right, Princess,” Sam growls, his eyes squeezed shut. He can feel his balls tightening, he’s so close now. He opens his eyes quickly, looking down to see the empty glass in his hand and he manages to bring it to his tip just in time for his climax to coat the inside of the glass. His hips stutter as he rides out his high, the sound of Dean and Y/N fucking in the background starts to become irritating, so Sam puts himself away and retreats to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’s made.

Sam can sense that Y/N’s tense at breakfast the next morning. Clearly the high she’d been riding at dinner the previous night has worn off now. Sam’s surprised Dean hadn’t picked up on the slightly blown pupils and the way she smiled a little lopsidedly. But at least he wasn’t asking questions; like where did she get it from? Sam knows Y/N is going to be keeping her little highs to herself for as long as Dean’s sober. She is painfully afraid of upsetting him, after all. Dean is a flight risk and always has been — Sam’s not surprised Y/N feels one step away from losing him for good. And that is Sam’s way in.

Y/N is arguing with Dean about going to his meeting with him, but Sam knows her fight is futile when Dean’s meeting is about London - and he’s trying to keep it a surprise.

“Baby you’ve barely seen Uncle Sam since he got here, spend some time together like you used to,” Dean encourages.

“C’mon, sweetheart, we’ll be fine here,” Sam adds with a soft smile. She glances at him and then back at Dean.

“Daddy,” she whimpers. Dean steps forward and kisses her forehead for a long moment.

“I’ll only be a few hours, I promise,” he reassures her. She clenches her jaw and turns around, storming into the bedroom. It does not look good for Sam that she’s so reluctant to spend time with him, and Sam can’t have Dean questioning that.

“She’s probably worried after how long you stayed in Kansas. Don’t worry dude, I’ll make sure she’s okay.” Dean looks at Sam and considers his words before nodding.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “All right, well I won’t be too long.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got this, me and Y/N need to have a bit of a talk anyway – mend some bridges.”

Sam smiles as Dean leaves, but the smile drops from his face the second the door is closed. His eyes fall on the bedroom door and he sighs, getting up and adjusting his rolled up shirt sleeves as he approaches the door. He knocks firmly and waits for a response, which he doesn’t get, so he twists the handle and lets himself in. Y/N is stepping out of the bathroom, rubbing at the underside of her nose. “What do you want?” she huffs, barely making eye contact.

“What? A man can’t check in with his favourite girl?” Sam asks, moving to sit on the end of the bed.

“Get out of here, this is mine and Dean’s room,” she snaps. Sam looks around the modest bedroom and pouts his lips.

“If I’d have told you three years ago that you’d have your own bedroom with your Daddy, a big bed to fuck him in whenver you want, you wouldn’t have believed me, would you Princess?” he presses.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

“Look how great it worked out for you,” he sighs, “except you’re not all that happy, are you, baby?”

“What gives you that impression?” she asks stiffly.

“You want a baby with Daddy, huh?” he pries. She glares a little and looks away, down at her feet.

“No,” she insists.

“You know that can’t happen, don’t you, angel? What’s the matter? Bored of Dean now? Need someone new to love?” “It’s not like that.” Sam stands up and steps towards her, but she doesn’t move. He reaches down to push the hair back over her shoulder, trailing his fingers along her jawline.

“Because if it’s more love you’re craving then I’m right here, you know I’m still more than happy being thanked for my part in all this,” he tells her quietly, ghosting his thumb over her bottom lip. It’s always been plump, like Dean’s.

“I’m fine,” she insists, stepping away. Sam drops his hand and scoffs.

“That why you’re getting high again?” he asks with a smirk. She frowns and shakes her head, scoffing herself.

“That’s got nothing to do with Dean and you know it,” she spits out. Sam licks his lips and dares to step closer again, reaching for her face once more.

“Must be getting low now,” he comments quietly, “you know it wasn’t much, only a sample I happened to have lying around. Do you need more, baby? Need me to give you more?” His hand skims over her throat and further down towards her breasts, and he watches her inhale sharply. “You know I can’t stop thinking about it,” he hums, his thumb swiping a semi circle over the top of her left breast over her clothes. “You were such a good girl for me when you thanked me at Christmas, made me feel so appreciated for all that hard work I put in helping you get to where you are now.”

Y/N swallows hard and she begins to tremble a little under his touch.

“Took me so long to give you what you wanted, you know how much I put on the line to make that kidnapping believable? How much it took to make sure you had your Daddy’s full attention for this long? And now you’ve got it, can’t help but wonder if you’ve thanked me enough. And if you need more blow too… I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.” He looks into her eyes and smirks, “it’s polite to show your gratitude, Y/N,” he reminds her. She swallows hard and purses her lips. “I don’t want to do it again,” she tells him shakily.

“Why not, baby girl? Didn’t I make you feel good?” he checks.

“Ye–” her voice breaks and she clears her throat. “Yes, but if Dean knew he’d be upset.”

“Well I won’t tell your Daddy if you don’t, I’m easy to persuade to keep quiet, you know?” he chuckles. She shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes.

“I don’t want to do it again,” she repeats. “I didn’t want to do it the first time.” Sam frowns and withdraws his hand slightly.

“Oh? But you never said no. You never told me to stop, did you, hm?” he asks her. “I just thought you were being my good girl, showing me how grateful you were. But if you want Dean to find out –”

“No!” Y/N shoots out, shaking her head. “No, please,” she begs. Sam smirks a little, but covers it as she looks up at him with wide fearful eyes.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to, Y/N,” Sam sighs, stepping back. “I’ll just tell Dean what’s been going on, maybe he can help you.”

“Sam wait,” she grumbles.

“No, it’s fine. Am I disappointed? Yeah, but it’s fine,” he tells her, rummaging in his pocket. He pulls out the small bag of coke he’d put in there and then his cell. “Look, you don’t wanna hang out with me, I get it, I’ll see if Dean needs me.”

“Wait,” she calls out, reaching to grip his arm. Her eyes are on the bag of white powder and she licks her lips. She has tears in her eyes that she sniffles away, and then she looks at him, “I am grateful for everything you’ve done. I am, and I –” she trails off as she looks at the drugs again. Her pupils are getting more and more blown-out by the minute and Sam takes the initiative to reach forward and hold the side of her face.

“Why don’t you remind me, baby girl?” he hums. She glances down to his crotch and then nods her head slowly.

“Okay, just – promise you won’t tell Dean anything,” she pleads.

“Of course not, sweetheart, our little secret like everything else, so long as you’re a good girl f’me.”

Next Chapter >

Always and Forevers: @stoneyggirl / @hoewkeye / @dandywinchesterbras / @foxyjwls007 / @kyjey / @spnbaby-67 / @waywardbabie / @phoenixblack89 / @miraclesoflove / @valisiofdauntless / @peaches007 / @xoxabs88xox / @sam-girl1998-blog / @linki-locks11 / @vulgar-library / @jades-bullshit / @dirty-pan-goblin / @little-diable / @waywardbaby / @tatted-trina6 / @lunarmoon8 / @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone / @warrior-angel / @impalaspixie

* * *

Supernatural Forevers: @moosekateer13 / @akshi8278 / @atc74 / @notyourtypicalrose / @angelofthetrenchcoats / @pyroqueen-k / @thecreatiivecorner / @collette04 / @lovealways-j / @noneedtoknow789 / @socalgem1124 / @impala1967dwinchester / @thoughts-and-funnies / @blueaura / @animegirlgeeky / @onethirstyunicorn / @zeppette / @lettersofwrittencollective / @beth-winchester21 / @laxe-chester67 / @nightsbite / @h0unds-of-h3ll / @squigglylinesdotthei / @an-unforgettable-place / @seawinggs / @krazykelly / @shelvierenablatt / @bobbie3939 / @sharp-cheekbones-locked / @jaydahlynne / @michellemxndes / @allys-creative-bubble / @squirrelnotsam / @lyarr24 / @deansbxtch / @pinkshenanigan / @beskaradberoya / @mikadwinchester / @chocolateheart / @cluz1babe / @musicalraven100 / @iceythelostwinchester / @cutiecowgirl

* * *

Too Close Tags: @deans-baby-momma / @lifeofrileyp / @smellingofpoetry / @sweetaspiesammy / @destiel-bridesmaid / @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x / @healpeony / @cemini-winchester / @destielstuffandthings / @moonlightandscarlet / @prettysourabbie / @bobbysxidgits / @brookelan / @xhannahbananax03 / @teresa-67 / @vikki240401 / @inkedaztec / @winchester27 / @cutebutnotinorcent / @cole22ann / @1800-bleach / @deangirldream / @ghostlygooppeanutwobbler / @deanscroissant / @jensenswinchester / @secretlovexo / @tremendouseggsmugpizza / @shawnie74

127 notes · View notes

todoscript · 4 years ago

Text

Love Capsule

anonymous requested: Can I request a Bakugou scenario where the reader and the Bakusquad drag him out on a shopping trip and they see a whole section of vending machines and decide to check them out to see what cute, tasty or weird things they can find and the reader and Bakugou either get lost/ditched or squeezed together in a tight row but they have a good time and maybe the reader got a rare all might mysery figure and Bakugou wants it, so they they he can have it in exchange for a date?

genre: fluff pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 4.8k+ warnings: bakusquad shenanigans. bakugou cursing. pining.

author’s note: My Bakugou angst fic isn’t done yet but I wrote this request on the side. I wanted to have something to publish after not posting any written work for awhile so I did my best to get this out asap. sorry if it seems rushed! (also reposting this because the post stopped showing up in the tags).

There are only a fair bit of things Bakugou loathes more than wasting his valuable time. And that includes wasting that time by getting dragged into public places he has no desire to be, alongside the four most senseless nitwits the boy has ever had the displeasure of befriending.

It feels less like a friend group to him and more of a gathering of idiots as he watches four out of the six huddle around the aisle of vending machines across the mall. Where’s the other one, you might ask? You’re standing right next to him, sipping a bottle of sweet lemon tea dispensed to you from those vending machines.

“Ooh, look at this one!” The other girl in his squad, styling unruly pink hair, pokes a finger toward a blue machine in particular. What she finds interesting about it is that it’s absent of all buttons except a single one above the coin slot.

“Says here that you only have to pay a hundred yen for a mystery item,” Sero reads the instructions printed boldly across the surface, his grin showing his pearly whites. “Can range from food to even toys and cheap plastic jewelry.”

Popping up behind his taller friend, Kaminari squints incredulously at the sign before his eyes brighten like he’s concocted a conspiracy. “No, dude, I’ve heard of these kinds of vending machines before! They want you to think it’s some ordinary convenience vending machine, but these things actually have some super-secret big prize hidden inside!”

“Uh, no, that’s how you get your money robbed from you, Kaminari,” Kirishima tells the blonde, and yet his warnings end up floating from one ear and flying out the other. Kaminari fishes out a small stash of coins taut in between the lint balls of his pockets.

“Yeah yeah, just wait until you eat those words when I come home with a Playstation 5!”

“Why would there be a Playstation 5 of all things in there?” Ashido asks skeptically. She notes the small slot near the bottom, appearing sizable to dispense a large water bottle at most.

“Okay, maybe not an actual PS5, but probably the voucher you take to the game store to retrieve one, of course!” He waves the doubt away as he kneels and begins his succession of slotting coins in the machine until agitation eventually ebbs his features. About five hundred yen down the drain and all he’s amounted with in exchange are two Gudetama keychains, two packets of off-brand oreo cookies, and one can of that cheap instant black coffee he dislikes. Though if it’s one thing, he and the drink have in common it’s that they’re both positively bitter.

Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido all snicker wryly behind him while he deadpans at the snotty series of prizes with the skin between his eyebrows crinkled in defeat. Ashido takes this as the time to move along the row, dragging her sullen blond friend by the elbow. “Moving on! I want to get to the one with the Yakult drinks already!” She points onward and leads her compadres down the treasure trove of intriguing automated food vendors. Two of the boys press forward enthusiastically. Kaminari has to be lugged out of his brooding in order to play along.

“God, please just take me out already,” Bakugou mutters while leering his signature miffed face behind them. According to the giggle he registers chiming to his left, it seems you heard his complaints.

“Hm, not having a good time, I’m guessing?” you ask. The metallic edge of your lemon tea creases into the cushion that is your plush bottom lip. Bakugou finds himself staring there longer than he should and immediately tears his eyes away before he’s caught.

Your playful tone throws him off a beat later than he should’ve taken to reply. “Of course. I didn’t even want to be here to begin with,” he sneers with a brisk click of his tongue, crossing his arms. In a sense, he’s only telling half of the truth.

It’s true Bakugou did not desire to be here on his own accord. The squad dared to call him at the dead of midnight, when he was already tucked into bed by nine o’clock sharp and indulging in a needed rest, only to be ruefully awoken by his phone blaring across the expanse of his dorm room. The four should’ve suffered an earful from him as they tried to arrange a shopping trip of all things at that hour. However, his disinterest in the subject withered at the bait of your name casted into the conversation. Which to them was hook, line, and sinker. The cunning group of friends reeled him in at the idea that his crush would tag along. So, in the end, they got the rowdy blond to yield to the stupid shopping trip.

Though could it count as a shopping trip when four out of the six in their group were so transfixed by the weird vending machines in the place? The same four that organized said gathering to begin with? They’ve yet to cross into a single store here for crying out loud.

“If all you morons are gonna do is waste your damn money on these things, then this is a complete waste of time.” Bakugou doesn’t sugarcoat his irritation in the slightest. You still try to quell the bitterness in his tone with the saccharine that saturates your own.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, lighten up,” you tease playfully, pinching a small bit of the fabric on his arm to lightly urge him forward.

“You should at least try and join in on the fun with everyone—” At the turn of your head, your sentence cuts off, astonished to come across an empty space where your quartet of friends should be.

“And they’re already gone…” you say in disbelief. Your finger initially pointed in that direction falls limp. With their speedy curiosity plowing down the line of machines, the four have effectively ditched you two, leaving no trace of where they could’ve taken off for next.

The sigh from your lips lingers in amusement. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, Bakugou.”

When your eyes meet him again, you witness the scowl he glares at the abandoned space in front of the vending machine. The leer is menacing enough that if the contraption were an actual person, they might have rattled in fear, dropping down the snacks and drinks contained inside to sate his anger.

“Um, Bakugou?” you attempt to call out to him, but he’s too fixated by the peeved thoughts strewn in his head to hear you properly.

What the fuck are those dunces thinking? They planned this, didn’t they? God, I’m going to fucking kill them all! He babbles a seething torrent in his mind. Each one is more unrelenting and harsher than the last while a vein blisters prominently on his forehead.

What were the odds that going on a little shopping trip would end up with him left behind with his crush? Well, Bakugou thinks it’s absolutely none, and that this shit had to be preordained. If not, then it was just his bad fucking luck he supposes.

“—llo, earth to Bakugou Katsuki? Please send back a reply when you receive this message.”

At last, your voice surfaces, no longer drowned in Bakugou’s turbulent sea of thoughts as the hand you wave in front of him swims its way to his attention. “Huh?” He shakes his head twice to grip himself back to the matter at hand, observing in time the playful smile that curls mischievously on your lips.

“All back together I see. Good.” You start pulling on his arm and lead him in tandem with your steps. “Now let’s get going!”

Though he quirks up an eyebrow, Bakugou, weirdly enough, does not reject the way you drag him along without waiting for his response. In fact, with the other four gone, he finds it compelling that you’re taking the reins and asks mildly, “What? Are we gonna be doing some actual shopping now?”

His joke earns him your laughter resonating in melodic lilts to his ears before you leave his side to toss your empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Nope, we’re gonna be doing something even more fun, of course!” Then you resume dragging Bakugou down the walkways of the mall.

It’s not long until he questions the consecutive twists and turns he’s forced to take, having only been answered by your pursed grin multiple times.

“Hey, no more questions! Just trust me!” you quip at his refusal to be quiet and just obediently follow. The blonde can’t help it, of course, given the circumstances he’s wound himself in. Not many boys his age can control themselves if the person they like is pulling them along with as much enthusiasm as you are right now. But Bakugou is different from those other simpletons, crafting a mask to cover the elation hidden beneath with usual displeasure. Nothing but his uncharacteristic lack of annoyance and the ample glances in your direction could truly give himself away to his affections for you.

So with that, he places a generous amount of hope that you guide him somewhere more entertaining than that borefest he witnessed from the squad earlier.

But the moment you two reach your destination, he wonders if he may have accidentally misplaced that same hope down a rabbit hole instead.

“What the…” Bakugou’s words drift in the air at the quizzical sight before him. Mouth hanging open, he’s unable to conjure any sensible thoughts in time before you step in front of him.

“Tada! The Capsule Toy Gacha Room!” You spread your hands outward to present him an unhindered view of the room. It’s teeming with small capsule toy machines that line the walls, stacked on top of each other not to waste a single space inside. His red eyes squint at the assortment of bright colors painted on each machine that assaults his vision.

“Why the hell are there so many of these things?” Bakugou asks, jabbing a finger at the machines. You reply as you walk inside, “It’s the Gacha Room, Bakugou. Of course this place is gonna be filled with them.” You impart him an answer he is not at all satisfied with.

“I used to come here all the time when I was a kid! Glad it hasn’t really changed,” you say, noting the only real difference between then and now were the new toys and characters updated with the current trends. He begrudgingly trails behind you into the narrow corridors sandwiched with the machines on each side. The modest little tune you hum between your lips is a stark contrast to his disgruntled huffs accompanying his dragging feet.

Bakugou thinks being here is not any different from what the other four are frolicking about outside. This might be the worse alternative, considering you give money to a machine that grants you an item at complete random. You have no way of knowing what or who you’re going to get until the colorful sphere pops out at the bottom. And then, in an instance, your anticipation fades away when you open it and receive the character no one particularly cares about—the little charm inevitably gathering dust, forgotten in the drawers of your desk. Overall, these toy capsule machines were just gluttons devouring the money of parents whose kids always whine about never getting what they wanted.

Still, because it’s you, he stays and watches you indulge in your little nostalgia trip.

As your eyes glide down the row of toy dispensers, trying your best to decipher the items contained behind the blurry glass, you chime in, “Say, Bakugou, don’t you have any memories of gacha machines?”

Bakugou’s brows furrow in contemplation. He racks through the nooks and crannies between the crevices of his mind and recalls some standout memories. “I guess. Few of ’em were stuck in front of the arcade place near my neighborhood,” he answers, but those memories immediately begin to sour the more he looks into the details.

You don’t see how his face slowly contorts with annoyance while he plays back a scene in his head.

At the time, Bakugou had only sprouted to the young age of five years old. He’s huddled around his posse in front of the arcade he mentioned, slotting a coin inside the capsule machine that was stocked full of charms of Pro Heroes, which housed a very special limited edition prize of All Might to honor their collaboration with the famous Number One of Japan.

The boy was positively giddy at what was to come out, remaining hopeful thanks to the giant poster of All Might gazing down upon him with his triumphant grin. Yet even when his squeaky little voice hollered out a “Plus Ultra!” to reinforce his luck, he was given dirt in response.

But you know who did get that mystery All Might prize?

Deku. Fucking Deku.

Right after he had his spin of the machine, the green-haired boy stepped up, gave it a go, and got All Might on his first fucking try. To say five-year-old Bakugou was bitter would only be putting it mildly. The unbridled emotions bundled in his tiny body were just waiting to burst in an explosion.

But in the end, did he fight Midoriya for it? No, he did not. For if he did, his mother would have scolded the hell out of him, and his young self reflected in the moment that avoiding parental wrath outweighed the limited edition Mystery All Might figure charm, as sad as that sounded. So since then, he’s tried to repress that memory in the far corners of his mind.

But it seems God just desires to spite him.

“Hey, look!” You pull lightly on his shirt to capture his attention, eyes trained forward at whatever piqued your interest. Bakugou peeks over your head, and what he’s met with does not please him.

“They have a gacha machine featuring Pro Heroes here!” you shout cheerfully, walking toward it with the hem of Bakugou’s shirt in hand, who begrudgingly follows along despite a groan nearly leaving his mouth.

“Isn’t this cool?” you ask. You squat down to peer into the peculiar machine located at the very bottom of the stack. Bakugou clicks his tongue as part of his reply, hands buried in the pockets of his trousers.

“No.”

“Hey, one day they’ll be making toys and charms of you as well, Mister ‘I’m Gonna Be The Number One Hero,’” you say with a giggle, and your comment sparks a bit of pink to dust his cheeks while he looks down at you from his standing position.

He attempts to join you and your fixation on the Pro Hero capsule machine. However, when he starts bending his knees, he finds this to be a bit difficult. The more he squats down, the more Bakugou realizes they truly made this place for children and not bulky teenagers like him training in hero school. His knees and bottoms almost brush up against the plastic sheen of the machines on each opposing side.

Though he has to fidget into a particular position to get somewhat comfortable, he eventually gets there and kneels next to you.

“Why don’t we give a go at this thing?” you suggest, and he tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

“No way, these are a fucking waste of money,” he rejects.

“Hey it only costs two hundred yen!” you counter, “And plus, you might get a certain hero you want, like say... All Might?” You attempt to lure him in using his idol’s very name, but Bakugou doesn’t take the bait so easily and remains rigid in his stance.

Even if he did want to try for All Might, he’s sure his capsule is long gone by now anyway.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, pleaseee?” you draw out your pleas in a cute little tone that takes the blond by complete surprise. Unaware of how much power you have over him, the doe eyes and pout that paint your features make it difficult for him to maintain his hardened facade. Feeling his walls begin to melt away at the endearing sight, he ultimately grits his teeth, eyes shut as his hands rummage down into his pockets.

“Fine,” he mutters in defeat, and that smile appears on your lips once again as you lift your arms in triumph.

Pulling out two separate hundred yen coins, he promptly slides them both into the coin silt. When he hears them clank against the other change inside, he goes for the handle and gives it a quick turn. One of the capsule balls begins its journey down the machine and quickly arrives at the hatch that Bakugou lifts to retrieve his prize.

Snapping the capsule open, he’s met with Endeavor’s ugly mug, seeming even more unsightly from the low-quality production of the charm. The paint job is beyond sloppy, with the colors on the costume not depicted accurately and the figure’s pupils drawn to make him appear cross-eyed.

“Hm, you got the number one hero,” you tease, lightheartedly nudging your elbow at his sides because you know full well it isn’t the number one hero he wanted. Bakugou ignores your taunts and shoves the flame hero’s plastic face down the depths of his pockets, making sure to give it to Todoroki later just to annoy him.

“Yeah yeah, your turn, princess.” He scooches a bit to his right to let you have your go. You gladly follow, taking out the two hundred yen from your money pouch.

Bakugou remains disinterested throughout the entire process but is still attentive enough to observe how you hum those casual tunes of yours despite doing something so mundane. He also starts absorbing the cute shape of your nose and the outline of your lips from this angle. It isn’t long until he realizes how close you are in this position, to the point where he could practically smell your fragrant scent, and soon that pink hue diffuses on his face again.

Fuck, I need to stop that, he urges.

By the time he turns away, the capsule machine has begun its machinations once again.

The sizable sphere descending the hatch this time has striped patterns of red, yellow, and blue, colors that remind him all too much of a certain Pro Hero— Wait. What the fuck—

“This one looks a bit bigger than the others, don’t you think? Wonder what... Oh, hey, it’s All Might!” You go through the emotions—curiosity, anticipation, and then finally, glee.

Bakugou feels like he’s reliving those horrible memories once again as he beholds the shiny, miniature figure nestling in your palms before you lift it to grant a better view of its glory. It twists around from how you pinch it by the attached string while it’s hovering in the air. When the Pro Hero’s face turns in the blond’s direction, it’s like the inanimate object is somehow taunting him.

Compared to Endeavor’s shitty charm, All Might’s is a proper representation of who he is. The better quality plastic molded accurately into the man’s figure, the crevices between his muscles delved into displaying his well-defined physique. The colors on his costume are all correctly painted in his signature red, white, yellow, and blue. They even got the broad grin and shadowy features on his face to the tee.

Whichever company created this toy indeed did All Might justice because it looks exactly like the one Midoriya unsealed right in front of his envious five-year-old eyes.

Bakugou’s body shakes with suppressed anger. His hands clench and then unclench themselves while in conflict with his thoughts. Then, he suddenly moves toward you, darting for the charm that you narrowly pull out from his grapples in time.

“L-Lemme see!” he demands, shifting his hand around to grab hold of it for some reason. The act has you befuddled while you continue to move the toy away to evade capture.

“Huh? Why?”

“I need... to fucking make sure— OOF—”

His sputters are the last things that escape his lips before he staggers off balance due to all those hasty movements. It sends his body toppling over yours onto the floor, where your head would’ve thumped against the hard ground had the boy’s well-trained instincts not maneuvered a hand beneath it in time to cushion your fall.

Your descent to the floor is not at all graceful, wincing slightly at the impact. It’s when the pain ebbs away that you and Bakugou finally realize the very awkward position you’re suddenly both in.

Bakugou is hovering over you, body between your legs as one of his hands is cradling your head. The other is situated next to your face against the ground to keep himself upright, letting his eyes stare down at your stricken expression.

Unknowingly, you had settled your hand on Bakugou’s shoulder out of impulse during fall. The other one is still grasping the All Might figure, which is unharmed despite the abrupt movements.

Bakugou can feel your even breaths caress his lips from how close in proximity both of your faces are in this position. If any of you so much as move the wrong way, your lips would undoubtedly collide into each other. Though Bakugou doesn’t mind the notion, he isn’t going to instigate it if you aren’t willing. But the way your eyes line toward his lips, giving him a similar enamored look to the one he has right now, it seems both of you are on the same page.

Taking your mutual fixations as the sign to continue, Bakugou draws himself forward to close the distance while you rise to meet him in the middle.

And finally, he gets to kiss those lips of yours. The lips that adorn your cute face he always snuck glances at. The lips so unhinged in their playful teasing toward him. The lips he’s been so mesmerized and bewitched by throughout this chaotic excuse of a shopping trip.

And when they meet, they’re as full and soft as he imagined them to be, melding perfectly against his.

The hand he’s nestled under your head allows him to press you further into the liplock. You’re nearly enveloped in his wistful machinations, wanting to drown in the sea of his affections as your arms find their way around him.

You would’ve allowed yourself to do so, if not for the unfortunate security camera you catch in the corner of your eye from where you laid.

Your eyes widen, staggering out of their half-liddedness. You pat your hand in rapid succession against his shoulder, getting the blond to stir and separate from the kiss—an act he detests as he doesn’t want the embrace to end.

“What?” he gruffs. You point up at the ceiling, and he turns in that direction. When he detects the security camera about to automatically shift toward this particular side of the Capsule Toy Gacha Room, his face grows full of panic. He lifts himself off your body immediately.

With the two of you remembering where you are, you rose from the ground and cleaned yourselves up. You try to appear pristine as possible, without letting any suspicion about what has happened get tossed in your direction. Still, the red faces plastering both of your features are already a dead giveaway.

“I… Uh…” Bakugou’s still lost in the haze of the heated moment, unsure of what words he should utter. Much to his relief, his burden lifts when two notifications from your phones ring in sync together, diverting your attention.

When you open your phone and slide across the notice, a text message from the Bakusquad ascends onto the screen.

Mina: heyyyy just finished going through all these vending machines! you wont believe how much money we spent!!

The message follows a selfie of the four holding a myriad of drinks and snacks together in the picture. You can’t suppress your giggle at the endearing sight. Another chime sounds when a new text pops up at the bottom.

Eijirou: let’s all meet up again at that blue mystery vending machine!

“Well, you heard them,” you say while clicking off your phone, “we better get a move on.”

Bakugou relays your words back in a slow nod, following through with a rough “yeah” that cleaves his throat. The two of you walk alongside each other once again while you leave the Capsule Toy Gacha Room. Only your steps padding against the mall’s confounds accompany the quiet atmosphere established between you two—awkward and a bit unnerving.

It’s when you’ve both made it to the meet-up spot in front of the blue vending machine that you alleviate yourselves of the strained tension.

“Soooo… was there any reason you wanted to get your hand on this thing so badly?” you question, drawing out the All Might charm that led those heated events to transpire. It dangles between your fingertips and glances at Bakugou along every rotation. The blonde bounces his eyes between you, All Might, and the ground, unsure if he should admit that he was acting out of childish jealousy and bitterness.

“I… Urgh… Fuck…”

You raise an eyebrow when he fumbles with his words. He mutters blatant obscenities between every possible resolve that crosses his mind.

“Look, forget it. It’s not important,” Bakugou concludes, but you think differently, not satisfied with his answer.

“No. Tell me.”

With that weight in your tone, Bakugou realizes he can’t avoid the subject any longer. He releases a long sigh as he leads you through the infamous tale, observing how your expression grows from concerned to downright amused.

“Really? You’ve held a grudge for that long?” The laughter you initially attempt to suppress ends up bubbling from your throat. Hearing it spurs Bakugou to clutch his hands together into shaky fists.

“Look. If you know me, then you should remember I never want to lose to fucking Deku. The fact he got the All Might charm right after I got garbage fucking pissed me off!” he exclaims loud enough for his harsh words to reach a couple walking by. They spare worried glances at the blonde when they stroll past him.

“Hmm…” you muse in thought. Bakugou can tell by the glint rising in your eyes and your tone that you’re up to something again. “I can give you mine if you want. But only for a very small price.”

He quirks an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what would that fucking price be?”

The smirk prominent on your pretty lips widens while you teeter your weight to your tippy-toes in front of him.

“A date. Just a single date will suffice,” you tell him, and Bakugou’s caught off guard by how simple the offer is. His delayed response has you leaning forward, appraising him for an answer.

“Well..?” You wave the charm before his eyes by the thin string as if to hypnotize him. But in all honesty, Bakugou knows that sweet smile of yours and luster in your eyes is all you need to have him wrapped around your finger.

His playful smirk surfaces his lips. He provides his answer by snatching the figure right from your dainty fingertips.

“You got yourself a deal, princess.”

You happily clap your hands together. “It’s settled then! We’ll have a date here at the mall next week!”

“Hah?! Why the fucking mall again?!”

“Because we didn’t do much here anyway, so I say we should give it another shot together next week!”

“What? And go shopping? I don’t wanna be your bellboy the entire time—”

“Mom! Mom! Look at that boy’s All Might toy!”

You and Bakugou are both surprised by the new, high-pitched voice that enters in the middle of your riffraff. Your eyes trail along to sound and come face-to-face with a young boy staring at the toy in Bakugou’s hand.

“I want one too!”

Unable to control his gloating, Bakugou dangles the charm next to his face.

“Yeah well, too bad, kid. It’s mine so f—”

“Bakugou,” you warn. You halt the obscene words from entering the boy’s ears and avoid giving his mom a hard time.

“Argh… I mean... scram!”

You almost smack yourself. You can’t believe Bakugou has the guile to argue with a child at this age.

Though he forgoes the curses, that doesn’t make Bakugou’s words sound any less harsh. As a result, the kid pouts. He pouts hard. His eyes start to become glassy, lining the edge of his lashes with droplets. Recognizing her child on the verge of breaking out into tears, the mom acts quickly. She’s by his side, patting his back.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go to that blue vending machine over there and see if you can get a toy too,” she cheers him up instantly, dropping a hundred yen coin down her son’s small palm.

“Okay, mom!” he responds, gleeful again.

He dawdles over to the machine with purpose in his steps, inserting the coin, and pressing the lone button on the mystery vending machine.

You and Bakugou don’t perceive any noise emitting from the machine, and yet the little boy is putting his hands into the slot to pull something out.

“Mom, why did the machine give me a paper that says PS5?”

Both of you go rigid. Kaminari is not going to be happy hearing about this.

#bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou scenarios

1K notes · View notes