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shotorozu · 4 years ago

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you like their hands

character(s) : shinsou hitoshi, kirishima eijirou, monoma neito (2/?)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns, quirk left unmentioned

post type : headcanons + small scenario [fluff, the mildest of spice] not even nsfw

note(s) : i was gonna put denki in this but i had a hard time thinking about what kinda hands he’d have, so i’m putting him in the next post

»»————-　♡　————-««

shinsou hitoshi

his hands are big, and his fingers are quite thick.

really likes wearing rings and bracelets, but he usually doesn’t wear them when he’s working (i’d say that bc wearing jewelry while doing physical activity HURTS)

regarding texture, his hands were initially soft— but due to transferring in the hero course, they roughened up over time

he’ll use hand cream if you want, but he doesn’t go the extra mile. and his nails are trimmed at all times. painting his nails a black color would be great once in a while.

lol i forgot to mention nails in the last post

he notices right away that you like his hands when he catches you staring at them when he’s cracking his knuckles

like.. people have said that his hands are nice, but he doesn’t really say much about them bc they’re not you

scenario

a crack sound is briefly heard in the rather silent room. the scrolling on your phone halts, and your eyes follow the sound of the crack.

ah, he’s cracking his knuckles. you think to yourself, and you’re left just simply admiring the way he applies pressure on a knuckle. who knew that his rather— large hand would look appealing, even while cracking his knuckles.

you snap out of your observation, but instead of just simply going back to whatever you were doing, you’re met with lilac eyes. “you were staring again.”

your cheeks heat up, and you opt to just turn your head to the opposite direction. “sorry,” you apologize. however— that’s not what hitoshi was looking for apparantly.

“if you like my hands alot,” he scoots next to you, hands sliding up and down your arms— his firm grip practically making the pre existing butterflies in your stomach act up again. “then you should’ve said so, kitty.”

is he conscious of his actions? hm. you could say that

he’ll purposely play with his capture tool right in front of you— the material wrapping around his hand. and he can only laugh when you immediately get absorbed into it

the back of his hand will brush against your cheek. then, when he comes in to kiss you, he’ll cup your cheek— kissing you with his other hand resting at your nape

under the table, his hand will start to slide against yours, interlocking hands with you. he’ll act like nothing is happening, but on the inside— he’s taking in your reaction

a little spicy, but when he wants you to look at him— he’ll do that thing where his thumb brushed against your bottom lip, as it almost dips right into your mouth

if he feels a little extra, his hand will also be tugging on your hair (if you’re fine with that. otherwise, he’s sticking to the one above)

oh and he also does that thing where he rests his hand on your neck, thick fingers squeezing your throat lightly.

overall— THIS MAN omg, he’ll entertain your interest in his hand nicely, just for you. and every single thing he does is memorable

kirishima eijirou

his hands are quite normal regarding size, they are almost always veiny, a lot more than bakugou’s actually. i think at some point he was concerned about them

his hands are rather flushed in color, but that’s because of his quirk. his fingers have a few tiny scars here and there,

he occasionally has pen marks on his wrists due to bad penmanship, and his nails.. don’t look the best, but they’re not the worst it’s bc of his quirk

the palms of his hands are ridden with callouses. but he wears them with pride because it’s the pure evidence of his hard work with his training.

but he starts to get worried about them when he goes to hold your hand.

you always had a thing for kirishima’s hands, but you just never had the chance to tell him that. i guess asking you did it for him

scenario

did you even realize how hard you were staring at his hands right now? it happened every single time he enlaced his arms around you, his hands resting at the sides of your arms

at first, he thought it might’ve been because his hands are too rough, or you might’ve been in discomfort— because maybe, just maybe, he accidentally activated his quirk?

the fact that he can’t exactly tell what it is worried him, maybe he should just ask you.

but his worry washed off when you told him upfront that you ‘liked his hands’

“wait so.. you’re staring at my hands because you like them?” kirishima wants to confirm your words, and— so casually, by the way— nod in agreement.

tracing the veins on his hands, you elaborate “your hands are really nice, i can tell how hard you must’ve worked.” pressing your smaller hand against his, you smile.

eijirou takes a moment to process it, but it’s surprisingly quick. “oh t-thanks!” he sheepishly took the compliment, a small blush sporting on his cheeks. “i’m glad it wasn’t because you thought they were weird.”

kirishima unintentionally feeds your interest with his hands. like sometimes.. he’s just not aware of it, but yes— he is feeding your interest well

will always make you compare hand sizes with him, chuckling softly at the dazed look on your face when your palms touch

if you allow him, he’ll fix your hair for you. doesn’t matter what hair type you have, he’ll do LOTS of research to know how to style it

those hands are magical

if you get a papercut, or a wound from cooking— he’ll patch you up, then he’ll press a kiss on the bandaid.

he’ll do this thing where he’ll squeeze your sides when you pull in for a hug. but if you’re not okay with that, he’ll opt to just rubbing your back with his hand— rocking you softly as he hugs you

a little spicy, but his hands do wander a lot. you might need to even hold them in place to make sure they don’t go too wild

in addition to that, he’ll just SLIGHTLY, activate his quirk to make sure you’re conscious of his touch. his finger tips gliding against your back, sending shivers down your spine.

but of course, he’s careful. he doesn’t activate it to the point it causes scratch marks, nor will his actions draw blood. he doesn’t wanna do that

in short— kirishima’s a little clueless at first. he wouldn’t really tease you in public, but he’s surprisingly attentive to your interest.

monoma neito

his hands are on the tipping edge of slightly above average. he doesn’t have a lot of veins on his hands, but they do pop out depending on what quirk he’s using

monoma’s hands are pretty spotless of any scars (from cuts, abrasions, etc.) because he gets REALLY annoyed with wounds pretty easily

to the point he’d want to attend to the wound immediately, he doesn’t let them sit— it’s just a personal preference

his nails are at the perfect length. not too long and not too short to the point it hurts, you don’t know how he does it.

wears watches on his wrists, and not the digital type— he sorta acts like he can read it easily, but it takes him a few seconds to even get to know the time

you know this because kendo snitched on him and told you LOL

you secretly hate yourself for this, but you really like his hands because of how he takes care of them. you’d never tell monoma even though you’re dating him

scenario

you’re unsure of yourself on how your boyfriend— monoma, found out about your fascination with his hands. it was supposed to be a secret for the rest of your life, and you only remember talking about it once out loud

which you assumed was a close call, considering that you thought he didn’t hear it at all— but he did.

“so i heard you like my hands, huh Y/N?” monoma’s teasing tone does not aid the situation. your cheeks heat up with embarassment, and you can’t get yourself to answer his question— without sounding like a fool anyway.

you fake annoyance, “where’d that come from?” you ask, and monoma doesn’t seem to want to switch the topic

“i’m asking you a question, dear Y/N— i heard you like my hands,” his tone would’ve sounded condescending to any other person, but you can tell that he’s either genuinely curious

or just teasing you, because that’s how he is.

to aid his question, he brushes his fingers along your neck— near your pulse. you jolt, stunned by the sudden action— heart beating rapidly against your chest.

“see,” monoma presses his hand against your chest, where your heart is palpitating, grinning in a way that’s teasing you “it’s true, isn’t it? sweet Y/N has a thing for my hands, hm?”

you furrow your eyebrows, and flick his forehead— and he hisses in reaction, “fine then, i do like your hands.” you finally give in, admitting final defeat.

ever since then, you haven’t heard the end of it

definitely that person that’ll just randomly bring it up to you, no matter what hour of the day it is.

“oh Y/N, you were totally fawning over my hands earlier—”

“i will castrate you.”

you know he means well most of the time, but sometimes he just loves teasing the heck out of you.

but that doesn’t mean he neglects your obvious interest in his hands.

he’ll compliment you, he’s a snarky person in general— but to you, he’s totally smooth with it.

slides his hand from your forearm to your hands, only to bring them up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your hand

squeezes your hand everytime he sees you, it’s kind of a nonverbal greeting at this point

similar to kirishima, he likes comparing hand sizes— teasing you about the size difference (even if it’s not even a big of a difference, he’ll take that chance.)

does this thing where he rubs his thumb against his palm. does it a lot when he’s concentrated about something, or just out of the blue

a little spicy, but he’ll make you tell him what you like about his hands, and what you like about the things he does with those hands of his. if that makes sense

he wants all of the details, doesn’t care if it’s mundane, or things he does when he’s feeling a certain way.

he wants to know, because as soon as you’re done with your spewl, he’ll do exactly what you like, teasing you while he’s at it. and so he can start incorporating those habits whenever he’s around you.

totally someone that’ll make you suck on those fingers. oh, but he’ll purposely get some dessert on them— asking you to suck them off

“good grief, i got some dessert on my fingers again. Y/N, come suck them off”

sometimes he’s serious, sometimes he’s just teasing.

overall— it’s pretty adventurous. he starts to act on it as soon as the revelation is revealed to him.

but i’d say he does just fine.

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing, and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, translate, repost, or use my work for audio readings without my consent :))

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cuttoothed · 4 years ago

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For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

#the magnus archives #jonmartinweek2021 #tma #my fic #jonmartin #cw injury

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kpoppwriter · 4 years ago

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Soulmate!ATEEZ Headcanons - Meeting their Soulmate

❧ Anon asked: Heyy! I was wondering if you would like to write an Ateez soulmate!au headcanon? like what type of soulmate bond would they have (tatoos, colourblind untill they meet their soulmate, feeling pain when soulmate feels pain...) and how they will meet their soulmate very briefly. I hope is okay for you and i explained it well. Love the blog💞

❧ Anon asked: Hii can i request a fluff non idol soulmate au scenario of yunho? This is specific but can u include it where both of u are able to sense and feel each other's emotions and feelings? I love ur writing. Thank you 🥺🥺💕💕🥰🥰

❧ A/N: so I looked up a bunch of different soulmate aus so no one would have the same one and oml there are a lot of soulmate aus. Some of these are non idol!au as well this took me so fucking long to write omg each one is like the size of a drabble

~※ Main Masterlist ※~

Hongjoong - You can hear whatever song your soulmate is listening to

That familiar sound of singing echoed in your head. You were practically hypnotized by it. You were so entranced that you didn’t realize you had been zoning out while standing in front of the recording studio. You shook your head and headed into the studio. The group you were going to work with for the day stood up and greeted you. You noticed they were practicing for the recording. One of the boys got up and went into the booth to record. You put on your headphones, as did he. You started recording then started the track. Your mouth went slightly agape when you heard that familiar voice but this time in the headphones. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts when you heard the man asking for your opinion on how the recording sounded.

“I think...here, try it like this.”

You sang the last part, the part he had just recorded, changing a few of the notes to fit the track better. Now the man in the booth was the one with his mouth open. He blinked a couple times before looking back at the lyrics in front of him. He’d definitely have to say something when the two of you had a moment.

Seonghwa - The outline of your shadow is your soulmate

You stood with your back against the sun, your shadow hitting the pavement in front of you. You stared at the shadow trying to engrave the outline into your memory. You were so curious about the shadow that you saw whenever the sun was bright- What were they like? Did you know them already? What did they look like? Who were they?

While you were lost in thought, your friend Seonghwa walked up beside you. He called out your name bringing you back to reality. You looked over at him, sending him a smile. You looked down at his shadow. The shape felt familiar to you. Too familiar...

Yunho - Feel each other's emotions

You sighed as you leaned back in your desk chair. You were far too stressed out from your homework. You really just wanted to stop worrying about your homework but you had to get it done for class the next day. You ran a hand through your hair, deciding maybe you should take a bit of a break. You made your way to the kitchen to grab a snack and some water. When you returned to your desk, you heard your phone ringing.

“Hey Yunho,” you said answering the phone

“Hey Y/N. You feeling okay?”

“I’m just a little stressed out right now. How’d you know?”

“I guess I just have a sixth sense,” he chuckled, “You wanna hear what Mingi did today?”

You let him tell you the funny story of his adventures with Mingi, making you feel a lot better. He was always right there the moment you started feeling bad, even if you didn’t tell him. Maybe he did have a sixth sense...

Yeosang - A red string tied around your pinky is connected to your soulmate’s pinky

You’ve never seen your red string. You knew it was there, everyone had one, but you were never close enough to your soulmate to actually see it. That is, you didn’t see it until you moved to Seoul.

You were out at a local coffee shop just relaxing on your day off. You sipped on your drink, a book in your other hand. You looked up briefly when a small group of boys dressed in athletic wear wandered into the coffee shop. They were chatting among themselves as they got in line to order their drinks. You didn’t think much of them until you went to take another sip of your coffee. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a bright red string tied in a bow around your pinky. You followed the string with your eyes until you were met with one of the boys. He noticed you staring between him and your pinky, his eyes glancing down at his own pinky. He quickly muttered something to his friends before coming over to you.

“Hi, I’m Yeosang.”

San - Timer for when they’ll first meet

“You have to stop obsessing over your timer,” Wooyoung peaked over at San’s wrist

“It’s almost hit 0 though! I’m going to meet them any minute!”

San and Wooyoung continued to walk through the halls of the KQ building towards the practice rooms. They didn’t notice you also walking down the hall. You were looking down at your phone when you bumped into something- or rather, someone. You apologized profusely, a dark pink blush appearing on your cheeks. The blush was mostly from the embarrassment of running into someone but also because the person you ran into was rather attractive. You quickly scurried away down the hall. San and Wooyoung just looked at each other in confusion and surprise. Wooyoung’s eyes glanced down at San’s wrist.

“Hey, look!”

He pointed at the counter on San’s wrist. There was a large zero where the numbers counting down used to be. San looked up at Wooyoung then back down the hall where you went.

“Wait, were they...?”

Mingi - Write something on your own skin, appears on the other’s skin as well

You were too young to know. The two of you just thought you both had magic powers or something. No one told you about how soulmates could draw and write on each other. You wish someone had.

You rushed into your kindergarten class and sat down at your table. You pulled out a piece of paper and your crayons. You started drawing, your eyes constantly glancing up at the door to the classroom.

“Y/N!”

In came your best friend Mingi, a large smile on his face. He sat down beside you and looked over at your paper.

“That’s a pretty rainbow,” he smiled

“Thank you,” you giggled, “You wanna draw too?”

You dug around for another piece of paper but you didn’t notice Mingi had already pulled out a pen and began drawing on his arms. You giggled when you started seeing the flowers and stars appearing on your own arms. You took out your own pen and doodled on the free skin on your arms. The two of you happily laughed and doodled together completely oblivious that you were sitting beside your soulmate.

Wooyoung - Get the same injuries as your soulmate does

“My soulmate needs to chill out. This is the third bruise this week,” you groaned while putting some ice on your leg

You left the nurse’s office and headed towards the entrance of your school. Just as you were about to leave, your friend sent you a text. You mentally slapped yourself. You had promised your friend that you’d come with them to the school’s dance club meeting. You really wanted to reschedule due to your bruised leg but knew they’d scold the hell out of you for rescheduling on them for the third time. You sent a text saying you’d be there in a second before limping down the hall towards the music room.

You arrived at the music room a few minutes later, your friend standing outside the door looking impatient.

“There you are!” they looked down at your leg, “Did you get hurt?”

“I didn’t,” you huffed, “My soulmate did.”

“Ah, well at least Wooyoung won’t be alone then.”

“What?”

“He hurt himself and can’t really participate today so the two of you can hang out.”

The two of you walked into the room, the other members of the club greeting you. Your friend introduced you to Wooyoung before going off with the other club members. You tried to strike up a conversation with him, asking him about his injury.

“I bruised my leg trying out a new dance move,” he said pulling up his pant leg to show you the purple bruise that looked similar to yours, “What about you?”

You said nothing, only showing him your own bruise. He looked between your leg and his, his eyes going wide in surprise. His eyes wordlessly said what you were both thinking.

Jongho - Each other’s initials on their wrist

“Just come with us, Y/N!” Wooyoung whined, “It’ll be a lot of fun!”

“Will you shut up if I say yes?” you looked over at the boy

You rolled your eyes playfully when Wooyoung promised to leave you alone if you came out with the members of Ateez to karaoke. You hadn’t met all the boys yet so you were a bit apprehensive at first but after Wooyoung’s relentless pestering, you finally broke down and agreed.

You and Wooyoung walked into the karaoke room, the loud sounds of singing and yelling coming from the room. Everyone, well almost everyone, were on their feet singing along with the song being played through the speakers. Wooyoung quickly joined in on the fun but you decided to sit with one of the boys- one you didn’t know. You introduced yourself, leaning in close to hear him tell you his name- Jongho. You talked for a bit before the boys were pulling Jongho up and shoving a microphone in his hands.You peeked at the initials on Jongho’s wrist. Your eyes went wide when you saw your initials on his skin. Was it just a coincidence or...

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specialagentsergio · 4 years ago

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baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #yes i watch grey's what about it

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,040)

(first part) (second part) (fourth part)

--------------------

Part Three

She knocks twice before opening the door, and he barely has time to look up before she’s there. Slightly hesitant, perhaps, but the look on her face is one of resolve as she steps into the room, and nudges the door closed behind her.

It takes a second to find his voice. He can’t remember if she’s ever visited him here. Surely she has, at one point or another. Anyone is free to come find him whenever they choose. He makes himself available, or at least, as available as he can be. The door is never locked, and he is always here.

“Niki?” he asks. “Is something wrong?” He puts down his pen. He hadn’t actually been using it, had instead been twirling it between his fingers and staring off into space. He finds himself doing that incredibly often, and sometimes, he catches himself wondering if it’s worth getting out of bed at all, if that’s all he’s going to do with his time.

She smiles at him, then, but like so many of the smiles she’s directed towards him lately, it seems strained, thin, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Not for me,” she says. “But I would like to talk to you for a little while, if that would be okay?”

She’s already reaching for a chair, one of the ones he keeps in here, set up so that he can carry out meetings across this desk. None of them are very comfortable, but before he can offer to find her a better one—there has to be one somewhere in this building—she is sitting, perching on the edge, crossing one leg over the other and resting her forearms on her thigh.

Anxiety is already rising. He doesn’t know why she’d come here, doesn’t know what she’d want to talk about, if nothing is wrong on her end of things. Not with that look on her face. Except, there was the whole thing yesterday, and he was very rude to all of them, so perhaps that’s the subject matter. He gave an apology, but it was rushed, and then he all but ran away. He wouldn’t blame her if she had a piece to say on that, little though he wants to discuss it.

So perhaps he should go ahead and get in on it.

“About yesterday—” he starts, but she’s saying the exact same thing, almost in unison, so he cuts off. But she does too, and for a second, they just stare at each other, neither sure how to proceed.

“Go on,” Niki says, after a moment, and he nods, somewhat tentative.

“Right. I just wanted to say, about yesterday, I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lose my temper there. I was just feeling a bit stressed, ended up snapping. But I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything you did.”

Niki draws in a breath. He can see her steeling herself, visibly, and his trepidation grows; what could she possibly have to say to him that would take so much mental preparation?

“I accept your apology,” she says, “but, actually Wilbur, I wanted to apologize to you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I pushed you yesterday, even when it was pretty obvious you weren’t feeling comfortable talking about it,” she says. “I think—I think we do need to talk about some things, and that’s why I’m here, but I shouldn’t have confronted you like I did. Especially in front of others, since it was a conversation that we had with just each other. So I’m very sorry about that.”

He isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Some part of him feels a bit mollified, because it is true that he felt uncomfortable with the direction the conversation took. But at the same time, that doesn’t really excuse how he reacted to it. He could have handled it better. Should have handled it better, in fact.

“Oh,” he says, and scrambles for something else. Talking is his thing, is what he’s good at. He can’t just be saying oh to people. He needs a response. Needs to be well-spoken, eloquent, because that’s what is expected of him, and he has to fulfill expectations. “Well, that’s alright, then. You really don’t have anything you need to apologize for.”

She frowns. Why did that make her frown? What did he say?

“Okay,” she says, and that doesn’t help him figure it out at all. “Would you mind if we talked about something, though?”

He doesn’t know what else she would want to talk about. At least, not like this. Not coming to his office, expression serious, body language tense. Not saying this, that nothing is wrong with her—because if she doesn’t have a problem of some kind, he doesn’t know why she would be acting this way. Unless there’s another problem with him. Or she thinks there’s another problem with him. But—no, he’s been doing well, lately. Yesterday’s outburst aside, he’s made all of his recent meetings, he’s finished all the paperwork that urgently needed to be done, and he’s been meticulous about his appearance.

Mostly. His coat still hasn’t made it into the wash. But he’s done everything that he’s had the time and energy for, and he thought that it was all holding up.

“Of course,” he says. “What is it?”

She draws in another breath. That’s the second time, now, that she’s steadied herself in so obvious a fashion.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’d really, really like it if you’d answer me truthfully,” she says, and he can feel his pulse quickening already. “Wil, are you alright?”

She puts a strange sort of emphasis on the final word. He’s not sure why. For a second, he’s lost, adrift, has no idea at all how to answer, because—because of course he’s alright. He’s fine. Just fine. He’s keeping his head above water, steering clear of the circling sharks, and that’s what’s most important. So why do the words linger in his mouth before he can force them out? Why does it take so much effort?

No. He needs to pull himself together.

“Yes,” he says. “Niki, I’m perfectly well.”

Her face crumples. He jolts, hand jerking forward, his instinct to comfort her, but his desk is in the way.

“Wil,” she says, voice soft. “You’re not sleeping.”

The way she says it, so frankly, so matter-of-fact, as if she knows, takes him aback.

“I—” he starts, but she’s already gone on.

“Your eyes are always bloodshot, and I know I joked about the bags under them, but—they’re really bad. Really dark. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes, when you walk, you kind of—sway, a little bit. Like you’re too tired to stay upright properly.”

He hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t—that can’t possibly be right, can it? Because it’s true, he’s not getting as much sleep as he would like, but it can’t be that bad. It’s not as if he never sleeps at all. So it can’t be that bad. Can’t be that noticeable. Niki has to be looking too hard, jumping at shadows that aren’t there, because the alternative is worse. Is unthinkable.

Because if what she’s saying is true, who else has seen?

“I sleep,” he refutes, but it sounds weak to his own ears. Meek. And Niki shakes her head.

“Not enough,” she says. “And—” She cuts off. And then, she reaches out for him. He watches as she closes her fingers around his wrist, feeling almost outside of himself. His head is buzzing. “Wil, you’re too skinny. I’m really worried that you’re not eating enough.”

He eats. He does. Maybe not a lot, since food has become increasingly hard to choke down—this morning, for instance, he tried, and almost threw it all back up on the spot. But he does eat. And it’s not like he wouldn’t, if he could. He just sort of—can’t. Not much, at any rate. But it’s not as though he doesn’t eat at all.

“I think you might be reading too much into things, there,” he says, and tries a smile. “I eat, I promise. How could I not, with you around?”

“You’ve been by twice in as many weeks,” Niki states. “And both times, you left in a hurry, before I could give you much of anything at all, because the conversation turned to something you didn’t want to talk about. No, you can’t tell me I’m wrong,” she adds, raising a finger at him. He leans back, away from it. “I’m not wrong. That’s why you left. Both times. And I—I really am sorry, Wil, if this isn’t something you want to talk about. If you don’t feel comfortable with it. I don’t want to hurt you, or pressure you, or anything like that. But I’m scared you’re hurting yourself.”

She’s—what.

Now that—that truly is a ludicrous idea. That is—

No. He wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t—by itself, the risk of someone noticing is more than enough to dissuade him, though—he is self-aware enough to realize that if that’s his first reason for—abstaining, then that might not be a good sign. Of. Things. He’ll think about it later.

Or not. Or maybe never. This seems like a good thing to not think about, actually.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of,” Niki says, and he’s left it too long again. Too long without a reply. He keeps doing that, keeps getting lost in his own head. He needs to stay more present, needs to keep his head in the game. It’s just hard, when everything feels so far away, when he’s constantly thinking through a thick fog. “Not unless—not unless you are, but—”

She sounds like she might actually cry, at that, and that is enough to force him to focus.

“I’m not,” he says, and to his relief, his voice comes out firm, steady. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she says. “That’s good. I’m—I’m really glad. But—you’re overworking yourself. You’re not sleeping or eating enough, and you’re always in here, and that’s—none of it’s good for you. None of it is healthy. And then, your hair—”

Annoyance bubbles up. Just a bit.

“Do we have to be on about that again?” he asks. “We’ve been through this. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know you don’t think it is,” she says. “But I’ve heard about things like this, Wil. It’s not that—it’s not that it looks bad, or anything like that. It’s just that hair doesn’t do that without a reason. Not when you’re twenty-four years old. That’s why I keep bringing it up. You’re stressed, even if you try to deny it.”

“And what if I am?” he asks. “It’s a stressful job. I’m running a nation here. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing my job.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Niki says. “Who—I know you’re capable. I never said that you weren’t.”

He may have overplayed his hand a bit, with that one. There’s a bit of confusion in her tone now, where there wasn’t before, stacked on top of an increasing amount of worry. He’s not doing very good work of assuaging her concerns. But even still, this conversation is bothering him, now. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep a straight face, and he brings his hands together, folding them on top of his desk. Her hand falls away from his wrist, and—it’s because he’s so tired, that he has to catch himself before he grabs it, moves it back to where it was. He’s not that needy.

“Then I’m not quite sure that I understand the point of this,” he says, and tries his best not to bite out the words. Just because his temper is on a short fuse doesn’t mean that he can take it out on Niki. She’s just trying to help him. “I am stressed, it’s true. But it’s not as if there’s anything to be done about that. And as I’ve been saying, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“The point is that you’re working yourself into the ground!” Niki says, her eyes flashing. “It doesn’t matter if you can handle it, it’s about whether you should!”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he snaps. “Aren’t I the president? Isn’t this my job?”

“Not if it costs you this much!” she snaps back.

And—she doesn’t mean it like that. He’s almost certain that she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t mean it like it came out, doesn’t mean she thinks he shouldn’t be president. The thing is, he would accept it, if that were the case. If his people banded together and decided that someone else would do a better job than him. If they thought he was no longer deserving of the position. He would accept it. He would step down, retire to private citizenship. He just doesn’t know what he would do afterward. Doesn’t know what he would do with himself, if the country he founded decided he was no longer good enough for them.

But of course, he has never been good enough. Not really. He’s hanging onto his pretense by bloody fingertips.

Has Niki realized it?

“It’s not worth it if this is what it does to you,” Niki continues, voice softer. “Nothing is. Nothing matters if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

He doesn’t—that’s not right. It can’t be right, because the country is more important. L’Manberg is more important, has been since the day they declared their independence, staked everything on a van and a dream. He started it, and so it is up to him to continue it, because the prosperity of his people must come first. His nation must come first.

What is he, in the face of that?

For a second, Niki goes blurry. He blinks, hard, and she comes back into focus, but his eyes are prickling. Stinging. His chest has gone tight, his breaths coming shorter, and he doesn’t want this. This can’t be happening now. He needs to—to shove it all away, down in a box, never to see the light of day. Only to be opened when he’s alone, in his quarters, safely ensconced where there is no one else to watch him break down. No one else to watch his shame.

He’s not doing this in front of Niki.

And yet, the sensation doesn’t subside, so he stands abruptly, surprising her, he thinks, and he walks to the window, shoving the curtains away and staring out over what he can see of the country from here. It’s not much; the window is not very big, but he can see the walls, the black and yellow ramparts. Standing tall, standing strong. This is why he does this, why he works so hard, why he refuses to show vulnerability. This is why. This is what he is protecting, what he must continue to protect, for as long as he is allowed.

His eyes sting again, the world wavering. There is a sob trapped behind his ribcage, clawing at him, trying to tear him open. He breathes, deeply, and doesn’t let it. Now is not the time, and here is not the place, and he will not lose his composure. He will not. Not over—and what is he reacting to in the first place? Niki’s words? He has no real reason for the tears welling up. He’s just weak. Emotionally. That’s what this is. And that’s why he can’t let it show.

Another deep breath. He pretends it doesn’t shake.

“Wil?” Niki asks. Behind him, now, and he doesn’t turn to look back at her.

“L’Manberg is worth everything,” he says. “You do understand that, right?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“I love L’Manberg,” Niki says. “We all love L’Manberg. But we don’t love it more than we love you.”

He winces, and he’s glad he’s turned away from her, glad she didn’t see.

Perhaps she believes that’s the truth. But it can’t possibly be. He could understand them loving him in connection to loving L’Manberg, this city, this nation, this wonderful place that they’ve built together, that he’s poured his sweat and blood and tears into. He and L’Manberg are irrevocably intertwined, and he could understand loving him, simply by virtue of loving the other. But separately? He hasn’t done anything. L’Manberg is his crowning achievement; besides that, what does he have to offer people? What reason? What virtue?

In a way, he is L’Manberg, and he cannot remove himself from it, no more than a bird can remove its own wings.

“Wil?” Niki says. Her voice has gone sharp. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, he lies, and—his voice breaks. Just a little bit. It would probably be unnoticeable, if the circumstances were any different. If Niki weren’t already paying so much attention to him, scrutinizing him, spotlight turned up to its maximum brightness. Like he’s on stage, and she’s in the audience, and he’s fumbled the line and she’s only noticed because she knows how the play is supposed to go.

Metaphors. Spiraling away from him. Just like this conversation.

“Wil,” Niki says again, more insistent. And closer. She’s stood up, stepped toward him. He still doesn’t turn, because the prickling has only gotten worse, and he’s scared to blink, lest that send the tears spilling over. If she looks at his face, she’ll see them. There’s no avoiding that. “Wil, please. Don’t lie to me.”

Ah. She knows.

He’s not sure why that’s the thing that breaks him. Why that’s the thing that pushes it all over into being too much.

The sob escapes.

Only partially; he tamps down on it on instinct, and his fist flies up to his mouth. Habit, that, to muffle his sounds. But that almost makes it worse, because the sob comes out sounding not quite like a sob, but instead more of a strangled whimper, bit off and weak, like the dying call of some small, hapless animal.

He doesn’t let another one out. He presses his fist against his lips, though he doesn’t part them, doesn’t bite down. But the damage has already been done, and then, Niki is there, right by his side, and he doesn’t dare to look directly at her, but he can imagine what expression she’s making. Some variation on the same one she’s had this whole time. Concern, deep and abiding and wholly undeserved, wholly unneeded.

“Hey,” she says. “Please talk to me. What is it? What can I do?”

His throat is too thick, too clogged. He has no hope of evening out his voice.

“You could go,” he manages, hoarse. Blunt, and he hopes she doesn’t mistake it as anger. He’s not angry. Not at her, at least. “I might need a moment?”

He didn’t mean for that to be a question. But Niki just steps closer, shaking her head.

“I’ll do anything other than that,” she says. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not if—oh, Wil.”

She has a good angle, now, to see his face fully. So the jig is up, and he knows there’s no hope of getting her to leave now. That’s how Niki is. Too kind. Too caring. And sure enough, she reaches out toward him in the next moment, and his usual reaction would be to flinch away, but instead, he just watches through obscured vision as her hand nears his face, and cups his cheek, tilting his head toward her.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. Part of him wants to jerk away from the contact, and part of him wants to stay there forever. Or for a good, long time, at least. Just because it really is nice to be touched in a way that is not meant to harm him.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.” But he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, so he blinks, and there go the first tears. Dripping down, out in the open, no disguising them. There are more sobs building up, but these, he forces down, keeps in his chest, out of his throat. Even if it makes his breathing unsteady, makes his chest jump and hitch every few seconds, it’s better than the alternative.

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “If it’s hurting you, then it’s not nothing. Please believe me.”

He can’t. He can’t do that. Not even for her sake.

“Is it what I said?” she asks. “I swear, I’m not angry with you. I just want to help.”

He shudders, and turns his face away from her. Her hand falls from him.

“Is it—is it that?” she asks, and oh, how he wishes she wouldn’t. “Why does that upset you?”

He—he can’t. He can’t answer that. He can’t talk about this. He can’t.

“If you would—if you would rather I go get someone else, I could do that,” Niki says, slowly, and he can tell that it pains her. He might be hurting her feelings, with this. He wishes he could explain that it’s not her in particular that he can’t trust with this. It’s everyone.

For a moment, he entertains taking her up on the offer, if only because she would have to leave to retrieve someone, which would give him time to escape his office and go—where? Where would he go? To his room, to scream into his pillow once again? A bit late for that. And the idea is foolish anyhow; she doesn’t need to leave at all, can just talk to someone on her communicator and stay with him until they arrive, and no, absolutely not. He doesn’t want that. As bad as this is, as shit as he feels right now, he doesn’t want anyone else to see. It’s bad enough that it’s Niki but—what if it were Tubbo, or Tommy? One of the people who looks up to him as an example and not just a friend or brother?

No. Bad enough that it’s Niki, but better her than someone else, and he’s done it again, has taken too long to respond because his brain refuses to think any faster than a slow, plodding pace, a trot rather than a gallop, and—

“Please don’t,” he says, and it comes out both whisper and plea. And then, because he has to try again, because he won’t be satisfied unless he does, he says, “Really, I just need—a moment. It happens sometimes, it’s fine, but if we could maybe pick this up later—”

“I’m not leaving you while you’re crying,” Niki says. “Please get that through your head.”

“But you should,” he says. He fights to get the words out past the lump in his throats, past the pressure that continues to build up. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. And I’m fine, because I can, I’m used to it. So if you’ll just give me a minute, I can—I can compose myself, and we can keep on.” He bites out each word, wary of letting something loose that he doesn’t want to, but that has the downside of airing his frustration again. He’s not trying to snap at her, he really isn’t, but better that than to dissolve into full-on crying. A few tears are manageable. He can get this back under control.

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “why on earth do you think you’re something that I have to deal with?”

He looks at her again, something in her tone compelling him. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

And this is not going to be the right answer, not going to be what she’s looking for, but he’s so worn out that he just—

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Oh,” Niki says. “Oh. No, Wil, no, that’s not right. You’re not—is this why you haven’t told anyone? Because you’re—oh, Prime, Wil. You’re not something I have to ‘deal’ with. You’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.” And before he can even begin to think of how to respond to that, she steps forward, and then her arms are around him, and she’s hugging him.

That’s when his knees decide to buckle.

“Oh, shit,” Niki says, but she guides them both down to the floor, so that they’re kneeling, kneeling and she’s still hugging him, still has her hands splayed on his back. “Okay, you’re okay. Are you with me, Wil?”

He intends to say yes. What comes out instead is a small, “Mhm.” Not even a word. And he’d be angry with himself, except all of a sudden, his chest is heaving, and the tears are coming quicker, and scrunching up his eyes doesn’t help, and it sort of hurts, now, to hold back the sobs that want to wrench out of him, hurts in his ribs. And he’s shaking, and despite all of that, he’s starting to feel cloudy again, distant from himself, and with that realization comes another: at this point, he’s lost control. His body has decided to shut down on him, and he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.

The sobs start coming out. Loud, broken things, like shards of glass twisted and half-melted until there’s no putting the pieces back together the same.

His mind feels detached. Impartial. Numb. So he no longer bothers to try and stop it. Just floats, a bystander within himself, as he has a complete break down on the floor of his office, with Niki holding him.

He’s not sure how long it takes for the tears to stop. He’s not counting. Not taking notice of much of anything, really. His body wears itself out, and he’s left there, slumped against her, like an empty shell.

She’s been talking to him this whole time, a stream of platitudes, comfort words, tumbling after one another, but now, she stops. For a moment, there is silence. He can hear himself breathing, rough and ragged.

“Hey,” Niki says. “Are you still here?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. He doesn’t feel very present, and frankly, he likes it that way, right this second. If he were feeling any more present, he’d be dealing with far more than he thinks he’s equipped for. But he is here physically, and he has enough presence of mind to respond to her, at least, even if it all feels so very far away, and he is so very tired.

He has been this tired all along, he thinks. This was a breaking point. Does it make him feel any better, that this was probably inevitable?

“Yeah,” he murmurs. His head is resting on her shoulder. He keeps it that way. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes.

“That’s good,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you actually asking,” he mumbles, “or are you going to make me anyway?”

She sighs. That was the wrong thing to say. It’s harder for him to care.

“I don’t want to make you do anything,” she says. “That’s not why I’m here. If you really, really don’t want to talk about it, then—we don’t have to. But I think you need to. I think you’re hurting, and you’ve kept it to yourself, and I think that’s not a good thing.”

“‘S better than the alternative.”

“Okay,” she says. “What’s the alternative?”

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell her? Every instinct he has cries out against it, but the thing about that is that his instincts are rather dull at the moment. Easier to push aside. And his logical reasoning informs him that he’s already cried all over her, so really, he owes her an explanation at this point. Doing so might make everything worse, but if that’s the case, it’s no more than he deserves, for being unable to keep it together.

“Niki,” he says, “I’m a bad president.”

His voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirtsleeve. But he knows she understands him, because she stiffens.

“What makes you say that?” she asks.

“‘M not any good,” he tells her. “I’ve got all this work to do and I can barely do any of it. I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I’ve only been pretending this whole time, to know what I’m doing. I’m a shit leader.”

“You’re not,” Niki says, “but if you really think that, why didn’t you ask for help?”

He shakes his head, still holding his face on her shoulder. He doesn’t want to see her expression. “Can’t,” he says. “‘M supposed to be able to do it. I didn’t want you to know I’m a failure.”

Niki doesn’t respond. For a full three seconds, and he wonders if this is the part where she leaves. Finally. And then, she stops hugging him, and the part of him that is still awake enough to form coherent sentences thinks, yes, this is it, this is what you have sowed. Except then, she doesn’t leave at all, makes no move to get up, and instead grips him by the arms, and moves him backwards, so that she can stare him right in the face.

“Wilbur Soot,” she says, and she sounds more upset than he has ever heard her. “You are not a failure.”

“I am,” he says. Why is he trying so hard to get her to believe it? Maybe he just feels like he’s committed, now, to pulling the rug out. “I am.”

“You’re not,” she insists. “You made this nation. You took a drug van and turned it into a country where everyone is happy and free. Everyone looks up to you. We all love you.”

And there it is. The problem, in a nutshell.

“And what happens when you stop?” he murmurs.

Niki is completely silent, completely still. Staring at him.

“What happens when it turns out I’ve never been good enough?” he continues, voice weak. “What happens when the man you look up to lets you down? What happens when you know that all I am, in the end, is a pathetic shell who can barely get himself out of bed in the morning, much less make any of the moves that would lead to actual prosperity? What happens when you all learn that your president is shit at his job?” His voice strengthens as he goes on, rises to a more normal tone, fueled by his own disgust.

In a way, it’s freeing, finally saying all of this aloud. Whatever the consequences may be.

“What exactly,” Niki says, “have we done to make you think there’s anything you could do that would make us stop caring about you?”

She actually does sound a little bit angry, now. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her nostrils flared. He opens his mouth to respond, because the answer to that should be fairly obvious at this point, but she continues before he can.

“Do you really think we only love you because of—because you’re president? Or because you’ve made a country? We love this country because you made it, not the other way around. Why would you—Wil. Have you been thinking like this the whole time?”

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to respond. Paralyzed. Stricken dumb. Blinking, working his jaw. She shakes her head, tossing her hair, and—are those tears glittering in her eyes? Surely not.

It’s another second before she keeps talking. She was waiting on a response from him, he believes, but it’s one that he is incapable of giving.

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe that.”

And the way she says it—he wants to cry again, for putting that pain in her voice. That expression on her face. Her hands are still on his shoulders, have not yet been pulled back, but suddenly, his skin is crawling, the contact too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For his numerous inadequacies, maybe. For the fact that he’s not strong enough for this, and never has been. For the way he started this country and so foolishly believed that he would be able to lead it well, that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the paperwork and struck with the desire to lie in bed all day and do absolutely nothing, a desire that’s harder and harder to fight. For the manner in which his body has betrayed him, time and time again, for his hair turning white and his inability to prevent his outbursts and the way that it shut down on him just now, let everything out in the most unbecoming method possible. For the fact that he was weak enough to let it all show, too weak to press on and get through it.

For hurting her, certainly. He never wanted to do that.

But then, to his surprise, she yanks him forward, swift and insistent, into another hug. His mind shouts in alarm, but his body, once again, has a different idea, and he finds himself slumping into her hold again.

“You are worth more than L’Manberg,” she says. “If this place went up in flames tomorrow, I’d be most concerned with making sure you were alive.”

No. No, she can’t just say that, can’t say it and mean it, because if she does—

“Stop,” he rasps.

“No,” she says. “We don’t love you because you made this nation, or because you’re the president. We love you because you’re our friend, and you’re our friend because you’re good and kind and clever and funny, and you’re you. Not because you’re good at making speeches or signing papers or building walls. You’re just you. I promise that’s enough, Wilbur.”

He shudders again. Full-bodied.

“I don’t believe you,” he admits. What’s one more mark against him, at this point? “I can’t.”

“Then let us help you so that you can,” she says. “Don’t shut us out.”

That’s another thing that he can’t answer. His mind is spinning. He doesn’t know what to believe. He wishes this whole thing hadn’t happened in the first place, wishes she hadn’t stepped in here at all. And yet, some part of him feels safe. Safer than he’s felt in a good long while. He’s not so stupid as to think that it’s not because she’s holding him.

“How about we start with this?” she says. Her voice has softened. “How about you take a nap, and then, when you wake up, we get you some food. Something nice and simple, like soup.”

That—is easier to comprehend. Physical needs. Needs that he’s not intentionally neglecting, but that he can’t seem to make himself take care of. He can—he can do that, especially if it makes Niki feel better, and he is tired. Exhausted. His eyes are drooping shut already, though he shouldn’t fall asleep on Niki. He should go—back to his room. To his bed. That’s where he should sleep. Except he’s almost never able to get good sleep, there, and he still feels safe. Right here, right now. Safe, and he can’t remember the last time that happened. Can’t hope to anticipate the next time it will.

“Alright,” he mumbles. Niki isn’t pushing him off yet. Maybe she’ll wait until he’s out.

There’s still a portion of himself screaming not to do this. Screaming that he just keeps digging himself a bigger hole. That with everything he continues to reveal, with every weakness he puts on display, he’s only going to make the inevitable fallout worse. Because there will be fallout, no matter what Niki says. Perhaps she is telling the truth. Perhaps. But she doesn’t speak for everyone else, and he doesn’t want—

But he’s so tired, in the end.

“Don’t let anyone else in?” he says. He’s unsure if the words come out understandable. He’s slipping. He’s letting himself.

“Just sleep, Wil,” she answers, and that’s the last thing he hears.

126 notes · View notes

peachywrite · 4 years ago

Text

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba

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disgustingtoast · 4 years ago

Text

my shitty, shitty minho fic that took ages [tmr minho]

I'm sick of rereading this so here is 3.5k words of shitty, self indulgent writing. The confession could have 100% been more heartfelt but I'm sick of looking this in my google docs. There is most definitely a ton of mistakes but idc <3

this isn't really enemies to lover but the whole dynamic minho and the reader have kinda wrote itself lmao

HERE YOU MFS- @agathallalongs @blanknamed

You were fine with the way you woke up. Hell, you preferred it over some snot-nosed kid coming in and waking you up. And as it turns out, having the same schedule for a little under a year makes for a great internal clock, the habit of getting up in time for your daily run already having been instilled in you for months. So when you’re pulled from the peaceful lulls of sleep because of the feeling of being flipped upside down and landing face-first into the dirt floor of the Glade, you were rightfully peeved.

“Rise and shine shank.”

Minho. Of course it was Minho.

“I’m gonna throw you off the Cliff the minute we’re far enough into the Maze.” Sitting up, you try to rub off the dirt that got on your face when you face planted, scowling at the stains that litter the front of your shirt. “This was a new shirt too.”

“Were you thinking of going running with me or do you plan on sitting in the dirt all day?” Despite him being out of sight you can practically see the smug look he’s wearing. “Hey, maybe you can convince Winston to let you get in the pig pen so you can take a nice mud bath.”

Groaning, you finally stand up and turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, holding a paper bag which you presumed had your lunch in it on the other side of your hammock, your very, very twisted hammock.

“Why the hell did you wake me up? I get up fine on my own.”

He shrugs in response, “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like waking me up or you just felt like getting the world record for ‘biggest pain in the ass’?”

“A bit of both, and seeing your face when you spat out that dirt made you so much more attractive.”

Heat crawls up your neck in embarrassment, “Slim it.” Furrowing your eyebrows in frustration, you gesture in front of you to the tangled mess that hangs between you, “Also you’re gonna fix that.”

“No. It’s your bed.”

“You’re the one who flipped me over! Fix it.”

He stares at you for a second before turning on his heel and jogging off. While he turns to leave you barely catch the way his lips quirk into a smirk. As you watch his retreating figure you can feel your fingers twitch, the urge to strangle him suddenly overwhelming.

“Hey! Get back here shuck-face!” As quickly as you can, you slip your shoes on, not bothering to tie them and pull the leather harness over your head. After one last disapproving glance at your pathetic hammock you’re off, racing after Minho in an effort not to let him get too far ahead. If he beat you to the Doors you’d never hear the end of it.

By the time you catch up with him you’re out of breath. Everytime you would get closer than a few feet behind him he’d run a little faster keeping you at a good few paces behind him, succeeding at prolonging your ever-growing exasperation.

Eventually though he lets you catch up until you’re running side by side, a few meters away from the Walls. “This prison wouldn’t be half as bad if the Creators had put anyone else in here other than you. Preferably someone cuter, without such a punchable face.” You don’t have to look at him to imagine the offended look on his face, one of his most punchable expressions actually.

“I am by far the most attractive guy here. The rest of these shanks look like klunk in cargo shorts.”

“Yeah no. You don’t even break the top 21 on my list.” Once you reach the wall, you lean against it, waiting for the doors to open. When you look at Minho he quirks an eyebrow.

“You have a list?” He pauses for a moment, “Wait there’s only 22 gladers. You included yourself on your own list?”

“Good job! I wasn’t sure if you knew how to count.”

“Slim it. So who’re the top 3?”

You pause for a moment pretending to mull it over. “Well, Gally’s got that whole tall and brooding thing going. And Nick, well I like a man who can take charge-”

“Yeah, yeah okay I get it.” He waves his hand in the air rather indignantly, dismissing what you said. After a minute of silence. the grating sound of rock being dragged against rock echoes through the Glade as the Doors finally start to open. As he tightens the straps of his harness, Minho glances down at the ground and pauses for a moment before he snickers, “You better tie your shoes if you don’t want to trip and ruin your pretty face. Might knock you down a few pegs on that list of yours.”

It had been hours since you’d left the Glade, running the familiar course of the Maze. The only entertainment being watching the way the back of Minho’s neck turns a lovely shade of red every time you make a particularly irritating comment.

“Hey it’s getting late. We should go back to the Glade.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s not that late. We still have plenty of time to get back.”

“But I finally convinced Fry to make bacon and there's no way that they’ll be any left unless we get there early.” You draw out the last syllable in a whine, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

He pivots, still continuing to run just now facing backwards. “Is Frypans bacon really more important than finding a way out of this hell hole?”

“Yes!”

“...Fine-” His sigh of annoyance is cut off abruptly as he trips, falling backwards and landing with a loud huff as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Shit, Minho!” You kneel beside him as he lays still, “Are you okay?!” Your voice seems to ricochet off the walls.

It takes a moment before he groans, his eyes still closed. “Why are you so shucking loud?”

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Quieting your tone, you hover over him.

He finally opens his eyes, “M’ fine. I just tripped.” Pushing himself up, he tries to stand but the minute he puts pressure on his ankle he gasps in pain, stumbling into you as you stand to catch him.

“Shit. Okay, you just need to sit down.” You lead him over to the wall, letting him support himself against it before he slides down to sit. When he stretches his legs out in front of him you take to kneeling again, this time next to his feet. Rolling back the bottom of his pant leg you check to see how bad his ankle is and judging by the wincing and the gritting of his teeth you’re betting on not good.

It’s only been a minute but you feel your heart drop at the way it’s already swollen and starting to bruise. You frown as you press your finger against it lightly, snapping your hand back as Minho recoils, growling in pain.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Fine. Good luck finding someone else in here that’ll help you. I’m sure the Grievers would be happy to assist.”

“It just hurts asshole, no need to get snappy.”

“Yeah, yeah just stop your whining you big baby.”

He cringes as you begin to prod his ankle again and sets his head back to rest against the wall.

“Well I’d say it’s just a fracture, it doesn't look too messed up- Minho?” He doesn’t respond. “Hey! Minho!” You reach in front of his face and snap your fingers, “C’mon I need you to wake up!”

He moans as he opens his eyes, well squints his eyes. He can barely keep them open half way, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Furrowing your eyebrows you glance up, it really isn’t that bright, gray clouds float across the majority of the sky and cover most of the sun. Looking back at his face, you can’t stop the nauseating feeling of fear that gnaws in your stomach. “Here, move your head off the wall, I need to check something.”

The dark stain on the wall where he was resting against is enough evidence but some irrational, hopeful part of you checks anyways, reaching around him and pressing your fingers to the back of his head. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are covered in blood.

“Damn it.” You try your hardest to push down the anxiety thundering in your stomach as you grab Minho’s arm and wrap it around your shoulder. Now is not the time to panic. “We need to get you back to the Glade.”

You’re not surprised he’s heavy, almost a year of running almost everyday tends to build up a lot of muscle however that doesn't make it any easier for you to carry him. You had to have been stumbling around for hours before you had to fully set him down to catch your breath.

“You really need to lay off Fry’s cooking. I’m telling him that you’re going on a diet the minute we get back.”

You only get silence in response, prompting you to look over and make sure he hadn’t passed out again. His eyes were open but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes focusing on something on the wall across from the one you were leaning against. You raise your hand and rest it against his shoulder, “Minho?”

“You need to leave me behind.”

The nauseous feeling returns, “What? No way I’m leaving you here to be Griever food.”

His face twists in frustration as he turns to look at you. “We’ll both be killed if you don’t get the hell out!”

“We still have time! I can carry you the rest of the way just fine.” Grabbing his wrist you pull his arm across your shoulders, tightening your grip when you feel him try to tug his arm back. “We’re going.” You wrap your arm around his waist to support him as you force him to stand.

He tries to pull away, “Why are you being so shucking stubborn! I can barely walk! There’s no way you’ll make it time before the Doors close.”

“Well that’s tough for me I guess.” You begin to walk forward, trying to adjust the way his body weight rested against you.

He begins to say your name but you interrupt him, “No! I’m not leaving you and that’s final.” Cursing the slight waver in your voice you continue to look ahead, choosing to ignore the frustrated look on his face.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to set in, Minho seeming to weigh even more every ten minutes. As you drag your feet across the uneven floor, the toe of your shoe catches on a crack, sending you both stumbling forward for what seems like the fiftieth time. The only difference is that this time you aren’t able to catch yourself, fatigue catching up with you and sending both you and Minho careening forward.

Stabbing pain shoots through your legs as you fall to your knees, the sound of Minho groaning in pain causes waves of guilt to wash over you. The sudden realization of just how dire your situation seems to suffocate you.

This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been so annoying Minho never would have tripped. If you were strong enough you would have been able to carry him all the way. Why weren’t you strong enough?

The soft call of your name shakes you out of your stupor, it’s followed by a hand pressed against the side of your face. It’s only when his thumb swipes against your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

“I’m sorry.” You shift slightly until you’re sitting down, knees pulled up to your chest. He follows and sits next you with his legs stretched out, hissing as he accidentally drags his ankle across the ground. “This is my fault.” Staring at the exposed part of his ankle, your stomach swirls at the dark purple bruising.

When he notices you staring he’s quick to pull his pant leg down, “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have been running backwards.” He watches you for a second, contemplating, before he speaks again, “You can still leave now and make it.”

“I’m not talking about this again.”

“Why not-”

“I just can’t leave you behind okay! It would kill me knowing that I got us into this mess and I couldn’t get both of us out alive.”

“So you’re just going to kill yourself because you would feel bad if you didn’t?” At his harsh words you whip your head to look at him, surprised to find him angry, his nose flaring and teeth gritting.

“Why are you getting so mad?! And you know it’s more than that! I’m not leaving you here, you can yell all you want but it’s not going to change anything.”

He throws his hands up in the air in indignation, “Why?! Why do you have to be so stubborn!” His tone is harsh and he practically spits his words at you.

A flurry of emotions lodges in your throat and a burning, hot anger ignites in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your lips are moving faster than your brain can process, “Because I love you, you idiot! I can’t just leave you behind because you're the reason I haven’t jumped the shucking Cliff yet!” Your heart is beating impossible fast and for a split second you wonder if it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You watch as Minho’s face morphs into an expression of shock and before you can identify the emotion swirling in his eyes you swear you can hear someone's footsteps.

You scramble to your feet, straining your ears in hopes that you weren’t imagining it. In the distance you hear the rushed strides of someone running in your direction and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat. It was far too late for another runner to be out in the Maze.

“Hey!” Cupping your hands around your mouth you hope they hear you. You hear Minho grunt and the sound of him dragging against the stone wall as he stands.

His voice rings through Maze as he calls out.

After a moment of tense silence you hear the quick foot falls of another runner getting closer before you spot his familiar blond hair turning the corner.

“Ben! Oh my god!”

He comes to a stop in front of you, his expression worried, “What are you guys still doing here? The Doors are closing soon!”

“Minho got hurt and I wasn’t able to carry him all the way back. Why are you out so late?”

“I figured I’d stay out later than usual. Had a bad feeling.” He glances over your shoulder to look at Minho. “We need to get going if we want to make it in time.”

Nodding your head, you turn around and make your way over to where Minho is leaning against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you, pleading for you to look at him but you’re adamant at avoiding eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Ben glancing back and forth between you, no doubt feeling the tension.

Having someone else there to help made carrying Minho infinitely easier and the three of you stumbled through the doors just as they began to groan, closing behind you.

“What took you so bloody long?” The familiar accent of Newt floats across the Glade but you’re too exhausted to even look in his direction. It isn’t until he’s standing right in front of you that you tear your eyes from Ben and Minho as they make their way to the Med-Jack hut.

“Minho fractured his ankle and got a concussion.” Your hands clench in anger as you speak, “If it hadn’t been for Ben we wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Aren’t you going to go check on him?” Newt frowns at you.

The thought of being in the same room with Minho after you practically dumped your heart out on him made your stomach churn. “No, I think- I think I’m just going to let him rest for now.”

Newt opens his mouth to comment, no doubt going to point out that you never left Minho’s side but you’re quick to interrupt him. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to go shower and get some rest.” You force a smile and begin to walk in the direction of the showers before he’s able to speak.

It seems to take ages to get to the bathrooms. Fatigue makes your limbs feel sluggish and the adrenaline of being in the Maze ebbs away, leaving aching muscles in its wake. You can’t seem to shake the thoughts of Minho as you scrub yourself clean. He probably wanted nothing to do with you and your big fat mouth. If you’d only bitten your tongue for another minute you wouldn’t have this looming air of regret suffocating you.

The regret seems to pull tighter against your throat when you notice your hammock, still twisted from this morning. Tears gather at your waterline, threatening to spill over. The view in front of you is distorted and watery and your fingers fumble with the twisted strings before you give up, whining in frustration.

You pause for a moment before turning in the direction of the Med-Jack hut, your heart desperately yearning to see him. Before you have time to think, you’re wiping your teary eyes with the back of your hand and practically jogging to the little run down shack, ignoring the throbbing pain in your legs.

Hesitating at the door you take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you’re pushing against it. The room is silent, both Clint and Jeff having left and gone to bed. Scanning the room you notice a bed in the corner, Minho sleeping peacefully under it’s covers. His face slack as he rests, his forehead covered by a thin, white bandage that stretches around his head. As you silently pull up a chair to his bedside you study him, it isn’t often you get to see his face when it isn’t creased with stress or in any expression other than a smirk.

Smiling softly. you reach up and pull his blanket up a little higher until it covers his shoulders, the night had a cold edge to it despite it being well into summer. After sitting there for a few minutes your eyelids begin to get heavy, like something was weighing them down. For a moment the idea of walking back to your hammock crosses your mind but you immediately dismiss it, just thinking about getting up is exhausting. You cross your arms on the side of his bed and rest your head against them. It doesn’t take long before the comfort of sleep consumes you.

Garbled words and the feeling of something brushing against your face is what wakes you this time. Opening your eyes, the first thing you notice are Minho’s pretty brown ones staring back at you, the next thing you notice are the hushed snickers from behind you. Shooting up straight you feel the warm rush of embarrassment flood your cheeks.

“It was about time you woke up!” Clint pipes up, “Lover boy here hasn’t stopped staring at you since we came in here to check on him.”

This time, pink begins to tint Minho’s cheeks and creep up his neck, “Slim it! Get outta here would ya?”

“Okay! We’re going!” You turn around just in time to see Clint pushing Jeff out the door and throwing you a wink before shutting the door.

The awkwardness is palpable as you stare down at your lap. The bed creaks as Minho shifts to sit up against the headboard, the sound seeming incredibly loud in the silence. Mustering up your courage you finally speak.

“I’m sor-”

“I love you too!’

Your head shoots up as he interrupts you, eyes wide as you take in his expression that mirrors your own.

“What?”

His body language tells you that he had most definitely not meant to say that, his mouth moving up and down as he tries to figure out what to say.

Your heart catches in your throat as you process his words, “You love me?”

At the slow nod of his head, a beaming smile splits your face, and before you can stop yourself you're pulling him into a crushing hug. Caught off guard, he stiffens for a moment as you wrap your arms around him but as soon as you let out a shaky breath against his neck he winds his arms around you.

“Is this okay?”

At your hushed tone he pulls you tighter against him, “This is more than okay.”

#I told myself I wouldn't tag this but just out of curiosity-#the maze runner x reader #tmr x reader #tmr minho x reader #if any kpoppies get this- sorry ig lmao

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years ago

Text

Interlude - Rewrite - POYW- Harry Hook x reader - Part 1 - New beginnings

*felt like doing an episode entrance to this so deal with it*

-a shot of the isle pans across the screen with Descendants™ background music playing, before turning and panning across the ocean towards Auradon. It cuts to the dorms and fades into Evie and Mal's room, where Evie is shifting through a tall stack of papers.-

Evie turned her face towards her door as it suddenly opened and Mal stepped in “hey E, still at it?” Mal dropped her (Ben’s) letterman jacket on her bed and sat across from Evie, leaning over in the chair to take a look at the papers Evie was working on.

“yep” Evie let out a small sigh, giving Mal a small smile before looking back at the papers “I still can't believe Ben had to go through all of this just to get us six over, half of it is guardian responsibility shit”

Mal quirked her brow at that and reached out towards Evie, doing the ‘gimme’ motion. Evie handed her six sheets of paper, the front one reading;

'Application of guardianship

Child; Jay - parent; Jafar

Guardian applicant - Aladdin’

the rest of the paper was just info and numbers, all of which Mal didn’t bother to read. she set the paper down and continued to read.

'Application of guardianship

Child; Gil - parent; Gaston

Guardian applicant - Eugene Fitzherbert’

Evie took Jay's paper and set it down beside her, taking Gil’s as Mal set it down a moment later.

'Application of guardianship

Child; Evie - parent; Evil Queen aka. Queen Grimhilde

Guardian applicant - Ella Charming’

“who’s Ella?” Mal asked aloud, setting the paper on top of Evie's new pile and looking back at the last three.

“Cinderella” Evie answered lightly, grabbing her pen and crossing out a couple of lines on her paper “that’s why she was on our side during family day, I guess she already knew who we were”

“and here I thought it was because she knew what we went through” Mal snorted, drawing her thumb against her name on the paper.

'Application of guardianship

Child; Mal - parent; Maleficent

Guardian applicant - Megara’

Mal quirked her brow again, turning the papers towards Evie and pointing at the guardian’s name “who’s Megara?”

Evie took a quick glance and shrugged “no clue” Mal shrugged back and set the paper on the pile.

'Application of guardianship

Child; Carlos De’vil - parent; Cruella De’vil

Guardian applicant - Anita Radcliffe’

Mal let out a small hum at that, so the person who Carlos’ mother had hurt, had decided to be the guardian of Carlos?...cool, she knew that there were heroes that didn’t judge them for their parent's decisions but it was nice to know that some of those who had been directly affected held no bad blood against them.

'Application of guardianship

Child; Harry Hook - parent; James Hook

Guardian applicant - Wendy Darling’

“huh” Mal snorted, setting the last paper on the pile, which Evie grabbed and straightened it and set it on her other side with the other read-through papers “Wendy Darling is Harry's guardian” Evie smiled at that.

“aw, cute…” then she snorted “I’m sorry the image of Harry wearing a baby blue sleep dress with a big pink bow on his head just came to mind” Mal covered her mouth and her forehead hit the desk as her body shook with laughter “I’m sorry” Evie giggled, leaning back in her chair and covering her eyes. “ahhh It won't leave~!”

“noooo Evie that’s going to be stuck in my head for like a month how dare you!” Mal screeched, lifting her head and reaching out to gently smack at Evie “I need bleach E, bleach!”

Evie pushed her hands away and shook her head “I’d rather you not go blind M” Mal just pouted and sunk back in her chair “also, I do need to get back to work so?” Mal sat up and gestured to the papers, picking up the pile Evie had set aside and starting to read, wanting to be involved in the program.

The room was silent other than the occasional shift of papers and scratch of a pen. Then mal popped her head back up to look at Evie, who glanced up at Mal and quirked her brow.

“oh, I heard you got appointed captain of the science league!” Mal grinned as Evie's entire face brightened, her eyes sparkling.

“yeah! I don’t even know how it happened, but Doug told me about this little contest with chemistry and I joined and I guess the winner got to be captain? But yes! And there's a championship after school starts up again!” Mal hummed with interest, leaning on her hand and listening intently as Evie went into her usual rambles.

“so it basically like that math league thing Carlos did for like two months, they ask us questions and stuff like that, and there's a physical part to it as well, the captain and three others on the team compete with the other team with an unknown challenge to create a certain chemical or other, last year they were challenged to make a chemical reaction, and our team won with making foam volcanos with beakers, all different colors, they had to make the chemicals used and everything from scratch with the bases they were given”

“that’s dope” Mal responded simply, not knowing what to say but wanting to keep Evie engaged.

“I know right!” Evie giggled, clapping her hands together slightly “we actually did the same experiment a bit before summer break started, we also launched soda bottles into the sky!”

Mal grinned at that “and yes I will show you how to do it, though I’m keeping the mentos away from you” Mal shook her head slightly, setting down the papers in her left hand and stretching.

“gah~” she glanced out the window, groaning at how dark it was already getting “wow how long have we been at this?” Evie pushed in her rambling and looked outside, gasping as she saw what Mal was talking about. It wasn’t pitch black, but the sun was beginning to set.

“holy shit how long have we been at this?” she pulled out her phone and bit her lip “it’s already dinner time!” Mal shoot up at that and grabbed her (Ben’s) jacket and slid it on, walking over to the door while looking back at Evie.

“come on! (y/n) said it was spaghetti night with garlic-ow!” the door opened in Mal's face, smacking her in the nose and making her stumble back.

“Mal!” Doug winched, swiftly closing the door and reaching out to the whining half-fae “shoot I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were behind the door!”

“knock next time” Mal muttered from behind her hands, her eyes screwed as pain thumped from her nose.

“I will I will- I’m so sorry” Doug stressed, pulling back slightly as Mal waved him off.

“forgiven, it was an accident.” Mal pulled her hand off her nose and wiggled it, looking towards Evie and Doug with raised brows “well?”

“no blood” Evie chirped, quickly organizing the papers and grabbing her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and grabbing onto Mal's hand to pull her out of the room “come on, I’m starving~”

“that’s what I came to get you for” Doug spoke up, stepping up next to Evie as the three of them made their way to the cafeteria “I noticed the two of you weren’t there yet and I didn’t want you to miss dinner”

“thank you, Doug,” Evie cooed, Mal leaned forward a bit to smile at Doug

“what she said” Doug smiled back and nodded.

“no problem” it was a quick walk to the cafeteria, and when they entered Mal immediately separated from Evie and got in line, bouncing on her heels as the smell of garlic bread hit her.

Evie walked over to the table that was occupied by the vks and set her bag in-between Jay and Gil. “hi~” she sang, before spinning around and joining Mal in the line.

You looked up from your food for a moment, eyeing Evie's bag for a moment for no other reason than knowing she always had peppermint puffs in them before going back to eating.

The table was mostly silent other than Gil and Jay talking about their next season of tourney, Carlos typing away on his laptop, and Harry's foot tapping on the floor.

A few moments later Mal and Evie joined the five of you at the table, Evie taking her bag off the seat and taking its place, while Mal plopped next to Carlos and immediately starting slurping up her spaghetti “those etiquette lessons really didn't do much huh Mal~” Evie teased, laughing as Mal glared at her and knocked her wrists together twice.

“I should have never introduced you to friends” you laughed, setting down your fork and grabbing your drink, deciding to change the subject as Evie and Mal started to throw fake ‘fuck you’ signs “before you and Evie start fake flipping each other off, how was your first day of therapy Mal?”

Mal paused for a moment, pursing her lips “it was….therapy? I don’t know how to answer that?”

You shrugged in response “well, did it feel awkward? Did the therapist push you too much? Or was it just kinda…okay?” Mal looked at you for a moment before looking at her hands in thought.

“it…the most we did today was just getting to know each other, something about me being comfortable was the entire point of the therapy thing, and that I should only tell her things if I feel like it, that I should never feel forced to tell her things” you smiled at that, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder gently.

“then it was a great first session, now just remember it's twice a week, okay?” Mal snorted, gently slapping off your hand.

“yeah yeah, ever since cotillion E’s been helping me make a schedule so my brain doesn’t break again from trying to remember every single thing” Evie nodded in confirmation and tossed a meatball in her mouth.

“Nice, speaking of Evie, how's the going through the shit ton of papers?” you asked with a teasing smile, laughing as Evie kicked at your leg with a pout.

“Exhausting” Evie sighed, slumping into her hand and pushing around her food slightly “I've only gotten through half of it and that was all guardian stuff!” the rest of the vks raised their brows at that.

“Guardian?” Carlos asked, closing his laptop slightly “what do you mean guardian”

You took the chance to explain since Evie might’ve not known the exact reason why the vks had guardians “It was one of the demands of the council; because you guys are underage, you needed a legal adult to claim you just in case something happened, and since your parents are on the isle and can't come off, Ben asked some adults in Auradon to be your guardians. essentially if any of you land in the hospital and need to be signed out by a legal guardian, they’ll come to do that”

The vks nodded slowly, then turned to Evie “Sooo who are they?” Gil asked, biting down on a garlic cheese biscuit.

Evie shrugged slightly “Um, well mine’s Cinderella” the others gave her a look “I know, I don’t think Chad knows, um, Mal’s is a woman named Megara” Mal butt in for a moment.

“Have no clue who that is by the way” you laughed at that, Mal turning to you with curious eyes.

“I know, Megara is Hercules wife, like, daughter-in-law of Zeus and all that” Mals jaw dropped a bit as she nodded.

“Oh…alrighty then…oh wait! The one that had a deal with Hades n stuff?!” you nodded at that.

“The same” Gil perked up and asked you who was his guardian “um, Eugene Fitzherbert, Harry’s is Wendy Darling” Harry did a small spit take at that “Yeah that’s why she was nice on family day love” you chuckled, patting his pat as he coughed out his apple juice. “um, Carlos your guardian is Anita Radcliffe, and yes the one that your mom stole the puppies from” Carlos looked at you with utterly confused eyes “I know sounds weird, anyway, Jay's guardian is Aladdin” Jay's food dropped back on his plate as he stared at you “Yeah something about ‘knowing what you had gone through’ and all that…I just realized we're going to have to go through all of that guardian shit again” you groaned slightly, rubbing your face in frustration, you had spent several late nights with Ben just going through the, though scarce, application paperwork for the vks.

The council had made it hell to get the first six vks over to Auradon, Ben only being able to pull through it thanks to it being his first proclamation. But now since it was turning into more of a program than a proclamation, the council would probably make it hard again.

“Why?” Gil asked, frowning as you let out a frustrated puff of air.

“Well as I said, for you six to come, you had to have guardians, and we were damn lucky to find six adults who didn’t hold a grudge against yall for your parents, and…wait how old is Harriet?” you suddenly sat up straight as the realization came to you.

“um,” Harry tapped the table as he mentally counted “she a little younger than the isle…she was born in September so…18 righ’ now” you grinned “wha’?”

“She's a legal adult” it took a moment for the rest of the table to realize what you were talking about but it hit them a moment later.

“Harriet can be a guardian!” Evie sang happily, clapping her hands together in excitement “Oh, wait!” she stopped, pursing her lips slightly “Um, I hadn’t gotten to that part of the papers yet, how many kids to a guardian?”

“Two at most, if they aren’t biologically related to you, Harriet is automatically CJ and Harry's guardian when she comes, so then technically Harry you’ll have two, so possibly we can have Harriet sign up to be the twin's guardian…how old is Sammy?” Harry furrowed his brows in thought then snapped his fingers.

“In two months, he’s turning 18” you hummed as you tapped your finger against your chin.

“I don’t want to wait that long unless we have to, I guess for Sammy and Dizzy we’ll just have to find some more people willing to be guardians or see if any of yours are willing to be responsible for another kid.”

A flash of pink caught your eye as the table delved into “New vks” talk and you looked up to see Audrey walking into the food line, her posture stiff. You shared a look with Ben, who was at a table with his friends, and stood, dragging your hand across Harry's back as you did, and walked over to the girl.

“Audrey?” she jumped slightly, her honey-brown eyes widening as she realized it was you “Hi, when did you get back from the cottage?” she shrugged slightly, stepping forward in line as it moved.

“A couple hours ago, I stayed a bit longer after Chad helped fix my tire at the request of my godmothers” she gave you a small, though strained, smile “um, how you been?” you shrugged, nodding back towards the vks.

“Eh, we’ve been going over the thousands of papers to start on the next round of vks, I’m tired as fuck but ill deal with it” Audrey let out a soft laugh and the two of you walked a bit as the food line moved again.

“Grammie talked about that…” you could sense the frustration behind her words, meaning her grandmother had gone off about your attempts about more vks the entire time and Audrey didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Sorry about that, um, did you hear Ben and Mal broke up?” Audrey just shrugged.

“yeah, my Grammy went insane over it, something about me having a clear chance with Ben again but I did my best to ignore her ya know?” you grinned at that, it seemed you had broken through some of her grandmothers hold on her, and were slowly removing the idea that she was responsible in being the sole provider of status In her family “cause I remembered what you said when Ben originally broke up with me, and I was kinda mentally like ‘well it’s not my job and I don’t care?’ and I realized as I was there….I don’t…think about Ben that way anymore” Audrey gave you a small smile, glancing back towards Ben as she did “instead of those butterflies I always got when I think of him... it's just….normal, like when I was a kid and dating wasn’t even a thing in my head…its…nice” her smile grew a bit “oh um,” she pointed at the line, which the two of you were almost at the trays

You smiled and patted her shoulder “no problem, I’m glad you doing good Audrey, it would have been nice to see you at cotillion, but I understand if that would have been hard” she nodded and grabbed a tray, waving you off as you walked back to the vks table and sat back down next to Harry.

“When did Audrey get back?” Mal asked, finishing off her garlic bread and glancing between you and Audrey.

“a couple hours ago” you responded simply, stabbing your last two meatballs and stuffing them in your mouth.

“oh” Mal looked between you and Audrey before going back to her food “okay, I just haven’t seen her all day then”

“for a second there I thought you were going to go fight or something” you joked, smiling a bit as Mal shook her head adamantly.

“heck no, why would I go out of my way to antagonize her?...well I mean I probably would have a couple months ago but…that would be just weird and…how would you say it? Out of character?” Carlos snorted at that “what?”

“Nothing I was just remembering how you went blonde and pastel for several months and that wasn’t ‘out of character’ for you?” Carlos used hand quotes as he spoke, laughing as Mal reached over the table to smack at him.

“Ney! I was having an identity crisis! I’m allowed to do out-of-character shit like that!”

“Switching the topic again” Jay interrupted, laughing slightly as Mal and Carlos continued to smack at each other “how's the search for Uma going?” Harry and Gil perked up at that. Mal stopped smacking Carlos and let out a low groan. “No luck?”

“not a tentacle in sight” she leaned on her palm “Then again I haven’t really been on the search party as of late, something about my school and everything else being more important”

“Do you think we’ll find her?” Evie asked, furrowing her brows as Mal shrugged “Well we have to soon, won't we? I mean she's a danger to Auradon” Evie squeaked a bit as she caught Harry and Gil's glare, your hand gently pushing on Harry's arm to prevent any…messes “Why are you two looking at me like that?”

“You called their friend a dangerous person, I think they are allowed to be a little pissed” you hummed, turning to Harry and giving him a look. He huffed and pouted down at the last of his dinner.

“But she spelled Ben? And she tried to get FGs wand to take control of Auradon!” Evie pushed, flinching back a bit as you looked at her with unamused eyes.

“Hypocrite much?” Carlos laughed a bit through his nose at your snark, looking down at his laptop as Evie, Mal, and Jay looked at you slightly confused “Oh come on you three, you can't have forgotten what you did only 7 months ago? You also spelled Ben, you also tried to get the want to control Auradon. You’re the kettle calling the pot black, Uma may have gone around the entire thing differently but all in all, she had the exact same plan as you six did.”

Mal, Evie, and Jay looked at each other uncomfortably before they looked at Carlos, who just rose his brow as if he was saying ‘you really gonna act like you’re better than her? Really? “She's right you know” Carlos hummed, looking back at his summer project “Uma is hardly different to us when we first came here, if the roles were reversed, I’m sure she would say the same about us”

Mal pouted for a moment before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath “I…suppose so” she grumbled, crossing her arms, Carlos just looked at her.

“Mal, you two have been at each other's throats since you were 10, most of it was you going after her, and her retaliating. I think it's time you let it go” Mal opened her mouth to argue but Harry glared at her, making her snap her mouth shut.

“I know yeh are tryin ta be better yeh imp, but tryin’ ta demonize Uma fer something yeh started is not helping yeh in meh books” Harry snarled, he and Mal having a glare off as tension raised at the table.

“Okay okay, that’s enough” you gently pushed Harrys face away from Mal and snapped your fingers in front of her face, making her blink wildly in surprise “I don’t want a bloodbath in the cafeteria please, anyway, Mal if I remember correctly, you did start the whole rivalry debacle, and I know why you did the whole stupid ‘shrimpy’ thing. It was just because your mother was an idiot and you need to leave that shit behind, if you continue to see Uma as a villain, that’s all she’ll ever be, it’s the same with you six, if the people of Auradon saw you as villains that’s what you would have become, and don’t try to tell me otherwise because I know exactly what went down on family day.”

The vks cringed at the mention of the horrid day. “I know, but you six were having doubts about your plans and then family day came along, so in turn, you decided to go through with everything. It’s the same with Uma, if you push her towards the label of Villain, she’ll accept it and rain hell on you and Auradon. So, you need to let your dumb rival shit go and see Uma as she really is, a troubled teen who has only had her mother's guidance on life and has been taught evil her entire life. Guess who that sounds like?” Mal sighed, crossing her arms and pouting at the table “hmm?”

“me” Mal finally admitted, closing her eyes “it sounds exactly like me”

“and me” Evie muttered, scratching her cheek as her eyes watered slightly at the memories of her mother surfaced.

“I’m sorry if that brought up bad memories but you three, mostly Mal and Evie, Jay you’ve been quiet but I could tell you were agreeing with everything” Jay winced at that “were acting like you are better than Uma when you’re not, she's just in the spot you all were in before and just after you came to Auradon.”

The vks were silent for a moment, the only sound being the usual noise of the cafeteria and Carlos typing away on his laptop. “and any new groups of VK’s we bring over may have the same mindset you six had when you originally came, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get a chance, showing them kindness and that the path that their parents showed them is not the only way to live is our best bet to safely getting more kids off while not accidentally destroying Auradon in the process, but as far as I know, Uma is a big symbol to the kids, just as you six were, if you accept her, the other kids will be more willing to come, and less willing to follow their parent's orders. But first, you need to get over your shit with her”

Harry and Gil smiled at you, as the other four stared at you for a moment before Mal sighed and nodded “she’s right…as much as I don’t want to hear it, you’re right…fine, I’ll see if or when we find Uma, she is not booted back to the isle…I’m pretty sure Ben wasn't planning on doing that in the first place, he’s pretty adamant in giving her a chance”

Suddenly Ben's smiling face appeared behind Evie, looking at the seven at you “I heard my name?”

“We were talking about Uma and the vks” you said quickly, saving the others from attempting to cover up the conversation, even though they didn’t have to (it was a habit they had a hard time getting rid of)

“ah,” Ben hummed, glancing at his watch “yeah, that’s a…whole thing right there that we don’t have time to get into right now but!” he clapped his hands and looked from you to Evie “after you two are finished, if you could come to my office with the list? I want to get started on the new group as soon as possible and I need names and parents.”

You both nodded and watched as Ben smiled back and walked out of the cafeteria and back to his office to do his kingly duties. “I just realized the council might also prove some trouble in getting more kids off” you sighed, leaning into your hand again. The vks gave you a confused look “well you all know they have been why it’s been several months since you guys came and there have been no more vks. then Harry and I kept trying to get meetings with Ben to talk about the vks, but almost every time he either had a council meeting or”

you gestured to Mal, who winced “had a date with Mal, which I’m still pissed at him for doing that, but anyway” you waved off the mention of Bens agitating routine “even though it was stupid, they kept giving the argument that you six were a rarity in the whole of vks, and that we would risk the destruction of Auradon every time we took a group of vks off, and they kept voting to postpone the continuation of Bens vk transfer program. And they might keep doing with and succeed; and I hate saying this, thanks to Uma’s rampage at Cotillion.”

Evie grit her teeth slightly in anger, there were so many innocent kids on the isle that never deserved to be there and deserved a chance at a real-life, it wasn’t fair that the old geezers of the council would doom so many of them just because of one “bad” egg

You finished off your drink and slammed the cup onto your tray, standing with it and nodding towards the door “well I’m done, and I want to get this started and finished quickly” you leaned down and kissed Harry’s cheek as Evie nodded, quickly eating the last of her garlic bread and handing you her tray as you reached for it and went to go stash them away.

“bye, guys!” Evie called, the two of you running out of the cafeteria and towards her room to grab all the needed paperwork and the list.

“and if possible, I want to start on getting fresh food and other basic necessities shipped to the island” you finished, Ben immediately nodded at your request, writing it off on his notepad and underlining it.

“Sometimes I still can't believe my father let rotten food and garbage be their source of well…everything” Ben sighed, leaning back in his chair and holding his head.

“yeah…” you took a moment for Ben to process what was going through his mind before continuing “Because If we’re not able to get any kids off sooner than later, I want them to have a bit better of a living situation during the waiting period” Ben nodded again, sitting straight again and grabbing some of the papers Evie had revised and gone over.

“We might have to sneak around the council for some of this stuff, we all know that most of them hold a grudge against the vks for some reason, one of them being Audrey’s grandmother, and we all know what she's like” you and Evie shared a grimace.

“yeah…wait hold the phone” you waved your hands around, stopping the two from their work “Ben the council couldn’t vote on stopping the original transfer program, right? Since it was your first proclamation?” Ben nodded, leaning back a bit as a sharp grin bloomed on your face and you slammed your hands on the desk “This technically still counts as your first proclamation, they have no say on if you can or cannot bring more vks over! All we have to do is follow the steps you did last time and just…bring ‘em over! We might have some problems after that but fuck ‘em!” Ben stared at you for a moment, trying to realize what you were saying before it hit him.

“They can't vote on my first proclamation! They can only put rules on it! And since we closed ruling on it before you guys came” he pointed to Evie “they can't add any more rules! It's perfect!” “Let the bullshitting commence~!!!” you cackled. Lifting your hands in the air and spinning around “and if they try to send ‘em back because we went behind their backs, we can pull the fucking family card on ‘em!” Ben and Evie looked at you confused

“Harriet and CJ?! If they try to send them back for whatever shit reason you can just go” your voice drifted into a false light tone as you mocked Ben “ ‘oh, are you really going to send back these kids and separate a family?’ and just have Harry do that doe eye thing he does scarily well and BOOM! Six new vks here to stay~”

Evie stared at you while Ben did a mini celebration dance “(y/n) I now understand why Harry and Gil tell us not to piss you off, you are scary” you grinned at that and bowed.

“Thank you~ I do take pride in terrifying those who don’t understand my brilliance~”

Ben laughed a bit, turning back to his desk and pulling out the guardian applications “so what are we going to do about the guardians? (y/n) you mentioned something about Harriet being CJ’s guardian automatically so we wouldn’t need one for CJ?” you nodded, sitting back down in one of Bens cushy chairs.

“yeah, dunno if it’ll fully work out though so we should still pick out a guardian for her. And if it's possible, that Harriet could also be the twin's guardian, if I’m remembering correctly since Harriet is CJ’s biological guardian which in turn makes her CJ’s legal guardian, she could technically sign up to have two more kids under her name” Ben hummed slightly, shuffling through a stack of papers.

“i’mmm not sure, I think it’s possible, but what do we do about Dizzy and Sammy? They are both underage, aren’t they? And Harriet can’t be their guardian either”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your head “We can ask if any of the current guardians would be okay with being responsible for another vk, but I don’t know if they will go for it”

Ben glanced up at the clock and groaned “it's already almost curfew guys, I say we leave this for now and come back with fresh minds, it'll be easier to think when we're not dead tired”

“agreed” you and Evie chuckled, grabbing your things and waving Ben goodnight, walking back to your dorms.

“This is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it?” Ben sighed, shifting through the new vk applications, and Evie's two pound list, setting Harriet and CJs on top of Harry's file “but It’ll be worth it in the end”

-end of part 1-

part 1 yall~! we did it~!!!! i think to give myself some time to write the parts, ill be posting once a week, possibly on Saturdays (as to not post at the same time as @disneyfan50 because they post on Fridays with their amazing true defender fic and i don't want to possibly take away any of the stage from them that they so deserve because their writing is incredible and i’ll stop lol-) but yeah, Mini-series, here it is!!! i hope i’m doing good on the core fours characterization, and Mal’s, they are all still learning (while Carlos is a bit ahead of them because I've always seen him as the most emotionally mature) and unlearning stuff from the isle and Mal is learning to see that Uma and she arent really that different and Mal needs to stop being a hypocrite over things that Uma did that Mal did 6 months before her. :/

anyway Permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @imtryingthisout

@remembered-license @random-thoughts-003

@verboetoperee @thecaptainsgingersnap

@jatp-rules-my-life @rintheemolion

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #interlude #finale #shuffle playlist #rewrite #part of your world

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Spider Fracture

Summary: Cheryl/Reader Request: Cheryl takes care of reader when they break an arm

“It’s just a sprain. Really I’m fine to do the routine’s tonight at the game.” You’re almost begging your girlfriend, but she simply raises an eyebrow at you, and glances down to your arm in the sling. “No. Firstly I’m not risking having anyone else get injured because you slip up. Second I’m not letting you show up to the game with a splint on, it’ll throw everyone else’s outfits off. And thirdly there’s no way in hell I’m letting my girlfriend get hurt more. You’re staying home, or at least off the field.” You sulk sitting on the bleachers watching as Cheryl directs the rest of the vixen’s to start practice. You decide that maybe sitting out isn’t so bad as you watch her dance around the gym.

“Betty I swear you won’t get in trouble, I’ll take the fall, just please help me stretch, I feel so restless; Cheryl won’t even let me hold my bag!” Betty nods to your sling. “I think she has a good enough reason; you fell out of a tree twice.” “I thought I was fine the first time! It’s a sprain!” Betty glares and Cheryl walks up joining her with a matching pout. “Babe I know it’s torture but I don’t want you getting hurt. Please; I’ll do whatever you want tonight, bring you anything you ask for; please let me take care of you.” “Cheryl, all I want is to practice a little; it’s just a sprain,” She narrows her eyes. “Okay it’s a fracture but-“

“You fractured your arm?” She half shouts in shock. “Babe it’s not that-“ “That’s one wrong move away from being broken! No way am I letting you do any sort of practice.” You huff nodding at her, before she walks over and kisses you. “I can’t have anything happen to you.” You smile. “Nothing will. I have a proper doctors appointment after lunch anyways.”

You curse your earlier assurance, ducking behind the stairwell trying to stop shaking. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; the closest to blame would have been whoever decided to get in a fight on the stairwell. Still the resulting fight had left everyone rushing up to see it and shove past you, which left you to stagger down a few steps before the sling catches on the rail and you jerk backwards. Thankfully your arm doesn’t seem to be damaged any more than it already was; it’s just sore, the dull ache had gotten worse and now seemed to be a sharp stab at any movement.

You don’t bother putting your arm back in the sling, instead starting to trek to the nurse’s office, unsure if it’ll actually do anything. Its Veronica who catches you in the hallway, turning you around insisting you go straight to the hospital. She assures you she won’t call Cheryl until you’re actually in with the doctor. “I have an appointment later I can just wait.” Your protest a fall on deaf ears and you let Veronica drive you to the hospital.

They’re halfway through putting a cast on what is now your broken arm when Cheryl storms in. “Hey babe.” You start nervously, surprised when she sits in the chair next to you, her hand reaching to grip your free one. “I’m okay. It’ll take about two weeks to heal. Your offer to take care of me still open for that long?” She nods, tapping her foot as the nurse leaves the cast to dry.

“Cheryl this isn’t necessary I can still walk.” You half glare as she carries you to her massive bed in her room. “Well I did say I would do everything for you..” “Please don’t chew my food.” You grimace and she laughs, curling next to you as you settle on the bed. “Don’t you have the game to go to?” “No the others can handle it.” She shrugs and you gape, pulling her in for a hug. “You didn’t have to miss it for me.” “Well its no fun if I can’t catch you watching me dance.” She laughs and your face pinks.

“It was once time I swear.” “Of course.” She rolls her eyes kissing your forehead. “Now do you need anything? Food? Water?” “You?” “Well If I must.” She throws her hand dramatically out and pulls your lips against hers. You make out for a moment pulling apart to breathe before she pulls you back in smiling as you try to place kisses against her neck. She smirks shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you remember?” “I know, not to ruin the moment but I’m starved.” “Well that’s not ruining the moment depending what you want to eat.” She laughs and you beam, looking sheepish as your stomach growls.

“Pop’s? We’ll be able to visit with everyone after the game if you want?” She glances at her phone and loops her arm with your cast-less one as she walks forward. “Wait!” She rushes back to her room pulling a bright red sharpie out. “I have to sign your cast first.” You smile as she writes her name looping around your wrist like a bracelet. You laugh at the cherry and spider ‘charms’ she draws looping them around just as she did her signature.

The ride to Pop’s is uneventful and sitting in a booth waiting for the rest of the vixen’s and your friends is almost boring; Cheryl’s giving you a run down of the game and the routine the Vixen’s put on when she pauses watching you squirm. “What’s wrong Y/N?” “It’s itchy.” You whine nudging her with your cast. “Fix itttttt.” She laughs as you whine more shaking her head. “That’s your own fault and something I can’t fix, here.” She holds out a pen, which you try to wiggle between the cast and your arm.

“I can however get shakes, does this help?” You pull your shake over still glaring at the cast as you try your best to scratch under it. “I’m going to die.” “You’ll be fine Ms. It’s just a sprain I swear I can cheer. Hmm?” She smirks as you refuse to meet her eyes embarrassed.

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imomomi · 4 years ago

Photo

The doodles first started when he was 16. Little stars on his wrists when he woke up, a flower curling on his palm before class, an inky sketch of some mountains on his thigh. Rationally, he knew what they were, why they were there, but it didn’t stop the initial stab of disgust at seeing the ink on his body. He washed it off frequently and often right away. By the end of the week, the drawings became less frequent. The loss of them did not hurt, but a stab of anxiety followed when he woke inkless and alone like always. Kiyoomi had never written back. The idea of writing—what if the ink was toxic and made him sick, what if they were allergic to something and it somehow leake---he took a breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He didn’t hate the idea of having a soulmate. It made life easier knowing that he didn’t need to waste his time looking for a partner. He preferred it when things were clear cut, easy to understand, and with a visible end in sight.

Not where people can see, he wrote on his thigh, just high enough that it wouldn’t show when he was playing. His handwriting was chicken scrawl and despite his attempts to make it neater, he never managed it.

He waited minuets, checking with such frequency that not even cleaning his room had taken his mind off it. Words didn’t always make it through. No one knew why or how the process worked. Scientists debated that the reason words didn’t appear were because communication as a human method, poets wrote about the mysteries of soulmate marks and fate, but Kiyoomi thought it was simpler than all of that. Soulmate marks lead you to your soulmate when you were ready. Relationships were messy and complicated and despite how alone he was at times, he didn’t want one right now.

A single word followed, written so neatly it could have been its own font.

Ok.

The eighty-eighth floor of MSBY’s headquarters was not a place that Kiyoomi ever dared enter. He was content in receiving his paycheck on the day he was meant to and waiting for contract negations to raise any issues. Atsumu had managed to sneak his way into the Management and Finance department the first week he’d joined the team. Apparently, the gossip among their teammates wasn’t enough to quell his nosy behavior. How he’d managed to convince him to join in on his lunch-time venture, Kiyoomi wasn’t too sure. All he knew was that he regretted his decision already.

Couches were scattered in the main room surrounding large flat-screen T.Vs that played the news in a constant cycle. A large-open kitchen faced the back wall where a couple of people hung around, holding steaming mugs. Two people sat at one of the couches, intensely focused on a video-game they were playing. All around the floor, leading up the offices down the hall, were flowers. Some hung from the ceiling, spilling over the pots with vines drifting downwards. Large bouquets in crystal vases littered the tables. Kiyoomi could feel his nose twitching.

“Come on,” Atsumu said, leading him down the hall where several offices were tucked against the floor to ceiling windows. They came to a stop in front of a corner office where a small shoe rack lined with slippers, some still in the plastic casing, rested outside the door. A pair of pale pink slippers were on the top shelf, bunny ears plastered obnoxiously at the front.

“Take off your shoes. Y/N-chan hates dust. I’m pretty sure she ripped out the carpet with her bare hands when she got here.”

“I’m surprised you’re actually doing it,” said Kiyoomi. Too often had he watched in disgust as the man went home wearing the same sweaty clothes he’d practiced in.

“Y/N almost had a heart attack the first time I came in here, kinda made me feel bad not to listen after that,” Atsumu admitted. Kiyoomi struggled to rearrange his features to hide his doubt at the words and failed.

“Yet, when I tell you to stop stealing my face masks and towels, you never listen,” he said, dryly.

“That’s different. She’s a girl. You’re Omi-Omi.”

“So, if I miraculously gain a vagin-” Kiyoomi started.

“Do ya ever shut up? I’m not arguin’ with ya in the middle of the hall,” Atsumu hissed, his accent coming out stronger in his annoyance. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. If anything, it was Atsumu who started every one of their arguments, but his own boredom didn’t help.

“No need to be so sensitive,” said Kiyoomi.

“Put the damn slippers on,” Atsumu said, shoving the unopened packet into his gut. Sakusa smirked beneath his mask, gingerly opening up the slippers.

They were in the office for a full ten minutes before anyone arrived. Atsumu took the time to make himself comfortable in the leather chair behind the desk, making the various figurines of the team fight. Prototypes for the upcoming season, thought Kiyoomi, glancing at the little chibi version of himself in curiosity. The door snaps open and a woman walked in harried and tapping on her phone. She wasn’t dressed in office clothes, rather in an oversized hoodie with the name of a foreign university splashed across the front and leggings. The pink slippers that sat outside were on her feet.

“I thought I banned you from here last week,” she said with a groan, tossing a bag down onto the couch. She nodded to him in greeting, but otherwise ignored his existence.

“I bought a friend as a peace offering,” Atsumu said, throwing a hand in his direction. Y/N’s gaze fell to him briefly, brow furrowing.

“I don’t accept,” she said, turning to glare at Atsumu. “Human trafficking is bad. You would have learned that if you actually made it to college.”

“Sorry for joining the team,” said Atsumu. He stood from her desk, letting her settle in. Kiyoomi watched the two interact, wondering how long they had known one another.

“Please, I can replace you any day,” she muttered.

“We all know you love me too much to do that.”

“When I finally jump from the roof, I want everyone to know it’s your fault.”

“Take me with you,” Kiyoomi muttered, shooting Atsumu a look of disgust. Her lips twitched and she offered him a smile. Kiyoomi averted his gaze immediately, not liking that her attention finally focused on him. There was something unnerving in her gaze.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Business as usual. Sakusa needs you this time, not me,” Atsumu said.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she drawled.

“I was brought against my will,” Sakusa acknowledged. She picked up a pen and notepad from her desk, clicking it rapidly as she started to scribble.

“We can file a report,” she joked, “I’m sure the papers would love to hear how Miya Atsumu was involved in a scandal with his teammate.”

“Suddenly, I’m regretting all my life choices leading up to this moment,” Atsumu said.

“You didn’t before?” Sakusa asked. Y/N laughed and Kiyoomi hated how the sound filled the air, bouncing with a levity that he’d never experienced on his own. People like Atsumu---and it seemed like Y/N---had a way of taking up space and never letting it go. They were loud because they thrived on the attention and Kiyoomi who had been surrounded by people but, alone all his life flinched away from it.

He pushed the thoughts away, explaining quickly and concisely that Atsumu had brought him here to specify how he wanted the locker room set up before games. Kiyoomi anticipated resistance to his requests but was shown a brutal efficiency that he can’t help but admire. Y/N listened attentively, taking notes, and asking questions, before promising that they would implement a new cleaning schedule before their next practice. They leave as quickly as they arrived, but part of him expected more and is left empty with the thought that there was something incomplete about their meeting.

That night’s drawing was a little cat curled up in a box. It looked like any other stray that he might see in Tokyo, but there was something endearing about the way its eyes were closed in two tiny smiles. Kiyoomi traced it idly. It must have taken a long time, he thought. The urge to draw something back filled him, but he has neither the talent nor willpower to sit and draw on himself for any length of time. Unlike when he was younger, the drawings came less frequently and always at night.

He watched; brow furrowed in confusion as words appeared beneath the drawing. The rare sight had his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

Azabu, Tokyo.

Masterlist || Next

Taglist: @haikyuuopalite @cuddlesslut @sckusa @imuziawi

#Sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #haikyu reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq reader #hq reader insert #Sakusa reader #Sakusa imagine

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pathofcomet · 4 years ago

Text

'cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need

fandom: bridgerton series / bridgerton tv

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: 5 times Penelope said ‘I love you’ to one Mr. Bridgerton, and one time it was out loud. (AO3)

There are many ways to fall in love, surely. It’s called a fall for a reason: mainly that it hurts and it comes at the most unnecessary moments and it’s an entirely ungraceful matter. Just as one might fall down the stairs after too many glasses of champagne, or fall unconscious after being punched in the face, or fall because one’s ankle decided to twist most rudely – so do people fall in love in a various of ways.

Benedict Bridgerton swears it was love at first sight, like being struck by lightning. Laying his eyes on his beloved that fateful day, and knowing with insane certainty that he was going to spend the rest of his life by her side. Then Daphne’s murmured admissions, that it’s like a sigh you didn’t know rested in your chest releasing, rush of comfort and certainty when touching the other’s hand. Eloise scoffs at all of this, but Eloise can scoff because she has refused six marriage proposals, while Penelope sighs, because she hasn’t had one caller in a decade of London’s most notorious seasons.

Romantic stories wouldn’t fit with Penelope, she agrees. Her mouth doesn’t really know how to work half the time during social situations, and her dresses are most painfully unfitting. And if those were her only problems, but she is, to put it delicately and kindly, definitely not what seasonal diamonds want in a friend, not what loving mamas wish for their sons and not what men desire in a woman. It stung only the first time around, afterwards it was most expected. So no, Penelope Featherington’s love story is not romantic because she’s not a typically loveable person.

It doesn’t make it any less precious in her heart. When her bonnet flies with the gust of wind, consequently covering one Colin Bridgerton’s face while riding, and consequently having him fall down his horse directly in a fresh puddle of mud, she is mortified, certain that she is about to ruin her life before it even began. But then he laughs – not to mock her, not in jest and not in anger, unlike any of her past experiences with a man’s laughter, especially thrown in her direction. He doesn’t even look angry, not at her anyway.

And Penelope falls, too, even if not quite literally as Colin. She’s not sure how she recognizes it exactly as love – maybe the desperate flutter of her heartbeat against her wrist, or the fact that she can’t quite unglue her eyes away from his face (though that seems like an overall Bridgerton issue). Regardless, the truth and weight of the moment hung deep in her chest. Instead, what she manages to say, between the warm blush and their mothers’ chatter, is just an apology.

“I’m the one who should apologize.”

But she has a meddling mama, and he’s nothing but a young man despairing at such nagging, and despite how much she cares for this first moment, she knows she doesn’t quite yet exist in his life. And then – with her debut, with her growing friendship with Eloise, she suddenly is.

***

“Enjoying the evening, Mrs. Featherington?” Colin asks, having materialized himself near the refreshments table.

Penelope chokes on her drink, her cheeks reddening, the fingertips of her gloves now stained. She has been sipping at her glass for the best part of an hour now, wondering how much longer she can wait for everyone to get so drunk that they won’t notice her grabbing one of the cakes on the table. The answer is obviously an eternity, for a lady should never eat in mixed company, especially if she is a debutante. But although this is barely her fourth ball this season, Penelope has already learnt the most important lesson of her life: that she is not what others would necessarily call a catch. Just because that is true, however, doesn’t mean she can do as she pleases, no matter how incredibly tasty the chocolate cream might look to her right now.

Colin obviously seems to have no problem with such rules, as he pops a biscuit inside his mouth. This one Bridgerton son is known for his appetite in particular, and social circumstances seem to not make much of a difference to his need. And the amount of food he ingests seems to not make much of a difference on how handsome he is.

Penelope pushes her glass on the table, straightening her back, though she immediately hunches back, aware that she’s wearing one of her mother’s absolutely horrid choices, and hell-bent on making it as unobvious as possible.

“Absolutely entertaining,” she answers, though the enthusiasm in her voice most certainly does not match her words.

“I’d rather agree,” Colin retorts. “I haven’t been this bored since Anthony got drunk and drawled on about the responsibilities of the first son.”

“Mr. Bridgerton!” she says, raising her fan so she can hide her smile behind it.

“Keep it a secret, Mrs. Featherington, would you? The Bridgertons tend to be quite unforgiving about these things.”

She thinks of Eloise and her adorably brilliant tendency to throw a tantrum about every single thing that bothers her about her siblings, whom she loves very, very much at the same time, which only makes her smile even larger. They’re such a lovely family, and with time, they’ll only grow to seem even more so in her eyes.

She nods her head in agreement, meeting his eyes over the edge of her fan. He looks, suddenly, quite proud to have her on his side. From across the ballroom, Eloise spots them: sending a nasty look at Colin, and waving her friend over.

“And please, Colin,” he leans a bit to whisper this to her, as the orchestra starts playing another song. “As it seems we will be seeing each other quite a lot.”

“Then, Colin,” she breathes, the name still foreign in her mouth, the roll of it on her tongue so strange that she’ll test it out many times over, in the darkness of her room long after she’s supposed to be asleep. “You may call me Penelope.”

She tries not to fixate on the sound of her name in his mouth (or his mouth in general, that’d be a good idea as well), and fails immensely, everything Eloise tells her that night flying over her head.

***

Penelope isn’t sure when the habit actually started: serving her tea once a week in the company of the Bridgertons. Of course, the number always changes, depending on the day’s circumstances, but it’s always more lively than her own home, in the most pleasant sense. Even the gossip doesn’t feel as cutting in here, with the warm banter and somewhat friendly threats. Eloise is now entangled in a complicated conversation on the virtues of marriage with her sister Daphne, and they’re sure on two different sides on the topic. Violet Bridgerton, the matriarch, just sighs. She meets Penelope’s eyes over the heads of her children, and smiles in a kindest manner. Eloise just rejected her second marriage proposal, while her best friend is yet to receive even a caller in her drawing room.

She recognizes the smile as the pity it is, and yet even that doesn’t feel as bad in here. Penelope has always taken only what has been given to her and made the best out of it. It’s hard when that is actually nothing, indeed.

“Pen,” Colin greets, draping himself in an armchair close to the side of the sofa where she is seated.

He doesn’t yet know how incredibly appropriate this nickname of his is, which is why Penelope smiles so brightly when she turns towards him. Violet’s attention has already moved towards Hyacinth and George, her youngest children, fighting quite loudly over the same colour that they both want to use right now in their paintings. She fails exactly to notice Daphne’s on them now, maybe out of lack of familiarity with the eldest sister.

Colin hands her a piece of paper, and she raises her eyebrow at him before taking it. He’s immediately replacing it with a piece of cheese from the numerous platters on the table, and that’s how she knows he is, in fact, quite nervous about whatever this is about. So she opens the piece of paper.

“The itinerary for my Europe tour,” he provides, though it wasn’t necessary, as she obviously recognizes the most famous locations. “Wanted to know what you think.”

The paper almost slips from her hands, unfair as he is right now. Of course, he has no way of knowing that he’s asking the one who loves him what she thinks about having him away. Penelope manages to somehow smile in-between the thundering of her own heart.

“You’re asking the opinion of a soon-to-be-spinster who has never left London?”

Joking is safe, she can cover her misgivings so easily with some humour – and Colin is so good at picking it up, matching her in her banter.

“No,” he says, and his thumb is over his lips, where he’s licking a spot of jam, and Penelope is quite distracted by the sight of his tongue in-between his fingers. “I’m asking my friend.”

Her neck snaps with how quickly she moves to meet his gaze. There’s a warmth feeling spreading all through her body, overwhelming with how pleased she is at the simple fact that he considers her a friend, how shocked at such admission.

“Are we not? Friends, that is.”

“Of course,” she adds, a bit too fast, and he smiles.

“Then?” the tone of his voice now turns teasing again.

“Colin,” she says, and her mouth twists in a smile just at the syllables making up his name. “You’re a young man: if there’s a world out there you wish to see, all you have to do is go.”

Even if she has to say goodbye, even if she has to see him go, just because she knows it’ll make him happy.

***

Penelope can feel herself getting physically sick. It’s been years now, of her silent love growing and growing in her chest – and it would seem that this moment would destroy it all.

Colin, standing in-between his brothers, having just shouted at the top of his lungs that he will never marry one Penelope Featherington, looks quite livid now that the exact person has been standing in the doorway for long enough to have heard him. Their eyes meet, and she wishes, with all the strength she is capable of, that he would say something. She waits – five seconds: the eldest, Anthony, starts finding excuses for his brother, but there’s really nothing else she wants to hear right now.

She knows her hands are trembling, which is why she hides it by fisting the material of her dress. She knows her voice cracks, when she says his name, but that’s just because she will absolutely not cry in front of three perfectly fine gentlemen over something that is entirely her problem. All things considered, she thinks she handled the situation more gracefully than a lot of others would have.

And when the other Bridgerton men leave the room, and Colin is left stumbling through his apologies, she discovers how meaningless she actually finds them. Because even with her heart breaking exactly because of the one she loves, she finds herself unable to love him any less. Yes, her pride is wounded, but he has said nothing that she didn’t know so well so far.

“I assure you, it is quite alright.”

The pain is there, sharp and terrible – but she will play pretend and she will say whatever words he needs to hear right now, because while he was unnecessary cruel, he was never so in front of her, on purpose, and there’s no need for her to be mean in return. And most of all, because she loves him so desperately, she doesn’t want him to be pained over this, not like she is. Anguished, really, and when Colin shakes his head, knowing that whatever apologies he’s given aren’t enough, but certain enough that he can’t give more, she almost runs in her haste to get away from him.

To get somewhere where she can cry her feelings out. Though her love, as every time, always lingers.

***

Her mother should get an award for the most optimist person, seeing how even with two of her daughters married, she still insists on parading a third one through ballrooms and promenades, as unsuccessful as they prove each and every time, and as old as they both keep getting.

Her mother should also get an award for way less flattering awards, seeing how she insists on dressing her daughter in the most terrible, happy colours, and pointing at third-rate suitors even as they’re standing right in the middle of the ballroom and it’s incredibly embarrassing.

In her defence, once they’re there and once it’s obviously clear Penelope is as unsuccessful as during any other social gathering before, she is left pretty much alone the rest of the time. She’s a wallflower, so just standing on the side of the dance floor and looking awkward is what she does best. The worst part is that this situation puts one quite in the spotlight of everyone else present, especially those old enough to have no other occupation but gossip.

Violet Bridgerton elbows her son in his back, hard. Who knew his mother has such incredibly sharp bones, or such a demanding tone? Colin has been home for a total of two days before he’s been dragged to the first ball, and he’s allowed three sips of his drinks before all attention-seeking young debutantes and their sharp mamas accosted him (which included his own dear one). Colin balances his options, and without even hesitating, he walks across the room to join Penelope in her sulking.

“I imagine these fine gentlemen are all waiting for their chance,” he says, looking around at several old lords, twice her age, which he knows she would not consider an eligible match no matter how desperate, “but would you maybe do me the honour of the next dance?”

She snorts. “I see you’re back and as amusing as ever.”

“You find me amusing?” he asks, already grinning.

“Colin Bridgerton, I’m not complimenting you again, lest it gets to your head,” she retorts.

“I missed you too, Pen.”

And it’s true. He didn’t realise it until just this moment, when they’ve fallen to their usual dynamic with no bit of awkwardness, even after the past months with his absence. It shames him just the tiniest bit that it has taken his mother’s most unkind pressure to even come by her side.

The orchestra starts its next song, and he extends his arm to her, which she takes with a blush and a shy smile. He is in fact her first dance for the night, and she has no doubt it’ll be the only one as well, which is a shame, since she always quite enjoyed dancing. Dances with good partners are the highlight of a party. Dances with Colin Bridgerton are the highlight of the season.

“Thank you,” she says, and if Colin wasn’t already leaned quite close to her, he maybe would have missed it entirely.

***

Penelope really should have learnt better by now – that her heart is never entirely safe with Colin. Be it that he has a tendency to step all over it, or that it makes it beat so fast, that she starts understanding all the ladies who faint all over during a season.

Being engaged with him doesn’t really change the situation. Not when his kisses make her feel like everything that she’s considered so bad in herself is worth the entire world, and then more.

With his hands now swiftly unlacing her dress, the shadow of his room all around them – she finds she cannot keep another secret for this man that is to be her husband,

“I love you,” she sighs. “I have loved you for years.”

“I know.”

How unfair he is, to the bitter end. Even as he essentially accosted her in his carriage, even as he asked her to marry him, even as he defended her in front of her numerous family, getting offended on her behalf, getting worried on her behalf… Terrible man that she loves, terrible man that Colin is, he drags out his own admittance as long as possible.

And she loves him for it, too.

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin/penelope #bridgerton fanfic #colin x penelope #polin

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jean-kayak · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 17

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: angst lmao that’s really all i can say without spoiling anything

Word Count: 2581

A/N: This is another FLASHBACK, and this will be the last one for the rest of the series, but after this, it goes pretty downhill lmfao

Tags: @iwascrybaby, @styxtm, @germinvasion, @prxttyguardian, @bigdaddyzawa, @kbbvbz, @tomsadversary, @kqtsukisgf, @pettyluxury, @protectpancakes

Chapter Summary: Words can hurt. Like really, really bad.

If you ever wanted a time to be good at holding back your tears, it would be right now. Final exams are coming up, so your stress levels are already through the roof, and to make it even worse, your teacher for interior design basically told you that your project was a failure and that you're going to have to start over. Today is Friday.

It's due Monday.

You're sitting on one of the benches in the main lobby of the high school, waiting for your ride, and you just can't stand being at school any longer. You're looking down, hoping no one who's still wondering through the hallways after almost everyone's left looks your way.

You freeze when you hear a familiar voice, and you feel a new fresh wave of tears roll down your face. You hear Eren laughing with his friends, and you keep your gaze down, refusing to look up as you wipe the tears from your eyes.

And you hate how your body sheds more tears at just the sound of his voice, and you blame it on the fact that you're already stressed. He "rejected" you a long time ago, so there's no reason for you to still be pining over someone you're never going to be with.

You keep sniffling due to the fact that you're looking down, and you're hoping he walks past you soon without looking your way at all. When you feel someone lightly nudge your head, you feel your heart drop. "Hey." His voice is soft, and that just seems to make you more upset. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on your shoes. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." You sigh as you look away from your shoes. He definitely is the most stubborn person you've met, and you're best friends with Jean.

"It's true. There's nothing wrong," you repeat. "Now, I'm pretty sure you'd rather be with your friends than with me, so you can go." You wipe your face with your sleeve, sniffling again which doesn't help your case.

"Look at me and say that." You feel yourself clench your hands into fists at his stupid fucking persistence, looking up at him, and you refuse to believe that you see his face soften when you look at him. "What the hell happened?" he asks, and you shake your head again.

"Like I told you, it's nothing. You wouldn't care." This is what you tell yourself, you're pretty sure it's the truth anyway. There's no way he would actually care about how you're doing.

"Where'd you get that from?" he questions in disbelief, and you scoff as you look back down at your hands, flexing your fingers as you relax them.

You shrug. "I don't know. It's just something I assumed."

"Well, it's a stupid assumption," he tells you before he sighs. "Come on, let's go." You look up at him, raising your eyebrows. "Tell whoever's picking you up that I'm taking you home." You scoff again as you shake your head.

"Eren, I already told you, I'm fine. I don't need you treating me like a baby," you respond, your words coming out more aggressive than you wanted.

"Come on, Y/N, you know I don't look at you that way. Now, let's just go." You roll your eyes as you look in the opposite direction of him, cursing yourself when you feel more tears brimming your eyes.

"I'm pretty sure you'd rather hang out with your friends than me. They're more important than I am." You didn't realize how self-deprecating you got in your head when you tried to get over your stupid crush.

"Who told you that?" He sounds angry now, and you can't hold the tears in anymore, more falling down your face as you shake your head.

"No one." I did. You try to hold back the sob rising in your chest, but it slips out, and you suddenly feel a hand on your wrist pulling you up from the bench before an arm is around your shoulders, leading you out of the school.

You find yourself sitting at that same booth in the ice cream parlor, this time barely putting a dent in your ice cream. "You can start on the work now. Just get a little bit done while you sit here," Eren says, and you shake your head, giving him a small shrug.

"No, I'll probably just wait till I get home. I'm sure you've got somewhere else to be, don't wanna hold you up."

You don't look up when he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. "Who's telling you all this shit?" You can't help but feel pathetic. You can't say yourself because then you'll feel even more stupid.

"No one, it doesn't matter." You put a spoon of ice cream in your mouth to stop you from saying anything else. You glance at him, and you know that he can tell that you're not telling the truth or that there's something else underlining your words, and you hate how much of an open book you are.

"Seriously, Y/N, do the work. I have nothing else to do." He leans back in the booth, eating some of his ice cream to emphasize his point, and you sigh heavily before you slide your ice cream to the slide and start pulling out the stuff you need to start on the toughest thing you currently have to deal with.

You're actually pretty immersed in your work, your notebooks and binder spread out all over the table, pens and colored pencils littering the surface, and you just happen to look around to see a pencil in Eren's hand. He seems pretty focused, and you chew on your lip nervously before you set your pencil down, flexing your fingers that are starting to hurt.

"What are you doing?" you ask cautiously, and he looks up at you through his lashes before he lifts his head up.

"Drawing," he responds easily, and you nod, remembering how Jean said that he had started to take it up.

"Drawing what?" you push softly, and he responds with an easy shrug.

"Stuff, I guess," he responds, and you raise your eyebrows as you give him an easy smile.

"Can I see?" He easily slides the book over to you, and you pick it up, setting it on top of your stuff. Your eyes widen when they land on the different sketches spanning across the two pages you're looking at. "You're amazing," is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and you're really at a loss for words.

You didn't know what you were expecting, but they're way better than what you thought. "I would hang these up in my room," you say, and you keep your attention on the drawings as you hear him chuckle softly.

"I don't think they're that good," he contradicts, and you scoff as you look up at him.

"Are you kidding me? You're seriously amazing," you emphasize before passing the book back to him. "What?" you ask when you notice that he's staring at you.

He hesitates for a second, not saying anything as he looks down at the table before looking back at you. "Can I draw you?"

You blink in surprise before you let out a depreciating chuckle. "You wanna draw an ugly girl with dried tear tracks on her face?"

"I want to draw a girl who is not ugly, and who is going to finish her project and get the best grade in the class," he counters quickly, and you chew on your lip softly as you try to fight the heat rising to your face.

"If you want to," you respond softly. "What do you want me to do?" you ask, fiddling with the pencil in your hand nervously.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." You respond with a small nod before turning back to your work, feeling a little bit weird now that Eren's watching you, but you're soon back to being absorbed into your work, nearly forgetting that he was drawing you in the first place.

Eren decides to leave once you have most of your project drafted, almost ready to work on the final result. "Can I see that drawing?" you ask as you pack your backpack up.

"It's really bad," he says, and you roll your eyes just as you zip up your bag.

"I know that's not true," you object, and he chuckles softly before sliding out of the booth.

"I'll show you one day. Come on, let's get you home," he says, nodding his head towards the door, and you walk out of the ice cream parlor feeling a lot lighter than when you came in.

^^^

The end of your freshman year of high school passed in a blur even though you swore you had those weeks where it felt like it took forever for them to end. You barely made it through your exams unscathed, your brain feeling like it had been fried ten times over, but now you had the summer to look forward to.

Eren had a graduation party, and the only reason why you were there was that Jean got to invite some of his friends because his mom didn't want him to feel left out. You two were the only ones there though, most of them not wanting to be surrounded by a bunch of former seniors or either having things to do.

You went to obviously hang out with Jean, but once more people started showing up, that's when you realized that this probably wasn't the best idea. You and Jean were able to take refuge in his room for the time being, and you couldn't go to your house because Jean's mom was making him stay for at least a couple of hours.

Jean wasn't happy about it, so you listened to him complain for at least an hour about that before he switched the subject onto you. He started asking you about your relationship with Eren, and he wasn't happy when you told him that sometimes he would take you to get ice cream. "What's so wrong with it?" you ask, and he just shrugs.

"I just don't like it," he replies, making your frown deeper. "Do you like him?" The sudden question makes you jump slightly, and you try to mask the nervousness in your chuckle.

"What do you mean? Like if I--"

"Y/N," he cuts you off, his voice telling you there's no point in beating around the bush, and you sigh heavily as you pick at the side of your cup.

"No? I don't..." you trail off, not really knowing how to answer. "It doesn't matter," you conclude.

Eren causes your feelings to be all over the place. One moment, you're fine, it's like you're over him, and then he'll do something like bringing you to the ice cream parlor to make you feel better, and then those feelings explode all over again.

"I'm going to get something to drink," you say, quickly standing up and walking out of his room. You maneuver through the mass of people, the house seeming to be stuffy from how many people are inside, probably due to the heat outside.

You slide past a bunch of people before you decide that you need a breather. You make your way to the back door, sliding it open just enough for you to fit through before closing it behind you. You release a sigh that slumps your shoulders when it feels cooler outside than it does inside. You walk away from the view of the door, leaning against the house so that no one can see you.

You're about to sit down when you hear voices coming from the side of the house. You make your footsteps light as you tiptoe across the deck, and you keep your back against the wall as you look around the corner, feeling an uneasy feeling settle over you when you see Eren talking with his friends.

Eren and Will are sitting next to each other in cheap lawn chairs while Porco leans against the wall, cigarette lit in his mouth. The conversation is nothing to really pay attention to, but once you rest your head against the wall, out of their sight is what catches your ears. "You ever get that whole crush thing sorted out with Y/N?" Will asks the question, and you can feel your heart starting to pound.

"Yeah, she said it wasn't true," you hear Eren respond and a scoff follows it.

"Yeah, right. Don't tell me you believed that." It's Porco that speaks this time, and you bite your lip as your hands dig into the brick against your back. "It was so obvious, it's almost sad."

"Like I said, she denied it," Eren repeats, and you want to leave, but your feet are glued to the ground.

"And then you were hanging out with her," Porco continues. "Like you had a crush on her, too," he jokes.

"Fuck off, man," Eren says. "I was only nice to her because she's Jean's best friend. Trust me, that's the only reason why I put up with her."

You think you physically feel your heart break. The tears are brimming in your eyes, and they spill as you turn in the opposite direction towards your house, your walking soon turning into running, not stopping when your parents ask you what's wrong, and you close your door, locking it before pulling the covers over yourself and crying so hard, you fall asleep.

Coming up with a lie to tell your parents wasn't easy, you roping in Jean to help you, and you both just said that you had gotten into a meaningless fight, but you're fine now. Jean was livid when you told him what happened, but you told him not to do anything. For one, Eren was way bigger than him, and two, Eren was about to leave so there was no point.

Jean only came to your house to hang out, and you never stepped foot back into Jean's house until Eren had left for college. Sometimes Eren would text you, but you never looked at it. You would swipe the notification away, and slowly the texts stopped coming in.

You obviously knew that it could never work between the two of you, but why did he have to say that about you? Was that true? You didn't want to believe it, but he seemed so serious that it makes you cry all over again. It just makes all of those moments you had together mean absolutely nothing, and it makes you want to punch the memories out of your head.

You didn't go see him when he left, you telling your parents that you weren't feeling that well, and Jean came over to tell you that he was gone. It took you a lot longer to get over him than you wanted, but you made sure to distract yourself for the whole summer, and Jean helped you.

You didn't tell anyone else what happened and neither did Jean, and even though it caused a deep wound, you were slowly but surely starting to heal, and Eren deciding that he wasn't going to come back often made it easier for you.

You didn't have to see him ever again, and you used that to aid in your healing process.

|Chapter 16|Masterlist|Chapter 18|

#nothing changed #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren jaeger x black reader #eren yeager x black reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

A New Kind Of Misery (Part 2)

Summary: After a night out, the reader wakes up the next day to discover her soulmate mark is now on her body. Except she has no idea who they are…

Pairing: soulmate!Dean x Actress!reader

Part 1

Square: Slow Burn

Word Count: 5,900ish

Warnings: language, brief nudity

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo

____

“Alright,” said Dean as you sipped on a beer on your couch, Dean pacing back and forth in the family room. You watched him go, smiling at him as you took him in. “I’m obviously not explaining this correctly or else you’d be freaking out.”

“Your mom was killed by a demon which led to your dad going on a vengeance trip in which you and your brother got dragged along. You were raised on the road and into this hunting life. Your dad died, the demon is dead but a whole lot of other stuff happened and you hunt monsters. I don’t think I left anything out,” you said. You held out the still full beer sat on the coffee table to him. “You got to try it. It’s from this brewery out near Napa and-”

“You are a little celebrity. I’ve been on the most wanted list. I’m legally dead and a criminal. You and me, we don’t mix.”

“Just because I act doesn’t give you a right to talk down to me,” you said. You got to your feet and he rolled his eyes. “I earned everything in this house. It wasn’t given to me. I did that.”

“My point being is that you live in an incredibly nice house and have money out your ass and your biggest worry is probably who sat next to who at some celebrity party or whatever. My problems? Life or death, every single day.”

“I thought I made it extremely clear,” you said, putting your drink down and getting in his face. You grabbed his arm and tugged down his jacket sleeve to reveal his matching mark. “We’re soulmates. I’m with you, you’re with me. There’s not getting out of it.”

“I’m not...listen,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to sit down. He went with you, giving you a forced smile. “So we’re soulmates. It does not mean we have to be together. You can stay here with your life and I can go back to mine. This never has to be an issue.”

“You’re something else,” you said, shrugging him off. You stood and left the room, heading upstairs to your room. You sat down on the floor and leaned back against the bed, reaching underneath for a shoebox. You pulled it out and opened the lid, taking out the small drawing you’d done years ago. It was a ring of fire, something you’d done in school when you learned about your marks. It was supposed to be an exercise on reflection and what you thought you mark would be. You remembered being scolded for drawing it but holding it up to your wrist, it was a near perfect match.

“What’s that,” he asked. You hadn’t heard him come in and shoved the drawing back in the box. “I remember doing that in school too. I drew the flames in a circle back then.”

“Why don’t you want me?” you asked quietly. He sighed and sat down on the other side of the box, tucking his knees up.

“Not a matter of what I want, sweetheart. It’s what’s right and what’s wrong. Getting you killed doesn’t seem very right to me,” he said. He flipped off the lid of the box, staring inside. “That a picture of you and your family?”

“Yeah. My parents and older brother,” you said.

“You’re cute,” he said, skimming through a few pictures. “These are important to you.”

“Our house had a fire when I was little. I took my bear and box out with me,” you said.

“Maybe it’s why we got flames. We both had fires growing up.”

“I don’t care what you do or how dangerous it is. It sounds like you’re really important actually. But no matter what you do, the most wrong thing you can do in the world is reject your soulmate.”

“You will die in my world. Even if I wanted to teach you, something will hurt you, take you, torture you, kill you, all before I even have a chance. You will be in pain and horrified and I might not be able to stop it. It’s not an if, it’s a when. And I can’t do your world. I just can’t. You live in the spotlight. I hide in the shadows. Coming here once was a risk I could justify but anything more and something might follow me and come after you. This conversation is all it can ever be,” he said.

“Be selfish and tell me what you want.”

He turned towards you and reached his hand up to your face, pulling you into a deep kiss. His jaw was a gentle kind of scratchy, his lips so damn soft and you could feel your wrist warm at your mark. He broke off and looked down, a deeper black making it up now.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“Cementing our bond? Tough shit. Now we need to-”

“You need to-” he said before you felt like you’d been hit in the gut. You gasped, a rush of who he was down in his soul hitting you. He grunted and grabbed your hand, riding through it himself. It felt wrong though, so much pain and trauma filling you up in your core. “Y/N. Y/N, breathe. It’ll be over in a second.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, taking another gasping breath. “You’re not feeling this bad ever again.”

“Y/N, you don’t understand. It’s not-”

“We’ll make it work,” you said, his hands catching you as you started to fall. The dark pit in your stomach began to subside and you shut your eyes, putting your head between your knees. Dean picked you up and sat you on your bed, sitting close by as he ran a hand over your head. “What was that?”

“I may have left out the part where I was in Hell for 40 years,” he said. You jerked your head up and stared at him, water forming in your eyes. “Don’t cry about it.”

“I’m sorry I care about you. It’s not like we’re connected on every level or anything,” you said. You rested your head down again, Dean moving his arm over your shoulders.

“I spent 30 being tortured. Then I couldn’t take it anymore so I picked up a blade and tortured for a decade. I became the star pupil,” he said. You risked a glance over, Dean staring at the bedding.

“I don’t know how you lasted that long. I couldn’t...s’not your fault for doing that. You had to stop the pain,” you said. He pulled his arm away and rested his hands in his lap. “Dean. It’s alright.”

“That is the tip of the shitty iceberg. You have to stay away from me.”

“No,” you said with a smile. “I’m sorry but no.”

“Why?” he asked. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t, but we kinda do. You would not have come here if you could really stay away. We’re connected. No matter our situations, it’ll work,” you said.

“God, you’re as stubborn as I am,” he said.

“Looks like it. Can we agree to try at the very least?”

He was quiet, absently staring at his wrist. He ran his thumb over it and you caught sight of some light scars on his body.

“Your life is scary but it doesn’t mean the scary stuff is going to make me run away. I’ll learn and so will you,” you said.

“I can’t date the lead actress in one of the biggest Netflix shows,” he said. “The second I’m in the public eye-”

“There are ways around the public eye, Dean. No one even knew I spent most of the past year dating someone,” you said.

“Really?”

“Really. I can sneak out of here very easily. We know we can’t walk away from each other.”

“I’m in charge though. I need to stay away, I stay away.”

“I’ll let you think you’re in charge if that makes you feel better,” you said with a smile. He grumbled and you moved over to his lap, his pretty green eyes watching you the whole time. “It’s not me, right?”

“What’s not you?” he asked softly.

“You being so hesitant. It’s because you want me to stay safe, right. It’s not because you don’t...you know...like me,” you said. Something in his face changed and there was a fluttering in your chest. He slid his hand up to the back of your neck and kissed you slowly, hot breath fanning over your face when he moved away an inch.

“Don’t ever say something like that again,” he murmured. “I need you and that’s scaring the shit out of me.”

“I completely understand,” you said. “My brother told me it feels like you’ve known them forever and you just met them all at once.”

“Pretty good way of putting it,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t stay,” he said. He was looking over to the doorframe and you saw another man there. You jumped off of Dean but he held up a hand. “It’s just my little brother. That’s Sam.”

“Hey,” said Sam with a quick wave. “De. The nest. We gotta go before it starts to get dark.”

“Nest?” you asked as Dean stood up.

“Yeah. Vamp nest. It’s what brought us to LA in the first place. It get dangerous if we wait until night. I’ll be back later, okay?” said Dean. You nodded and watched as he headed out of the room.

“Be careful,” you said, catching them in the hall. He smiled and you returned it. “Wait a second. Can I come?”

“No,” he said, the smile wiped clean off his face.

“We said we’d try though.”

“Y/N. Stay. I’ll be back later,” he said.

“Alright. You guys can stay here tonight if you want,” you said.

“I’ll be back,” said Dean. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He took off down the stairs with his brother and you frowned, hearing the front door shut. You jogged down to your office and sat down behind your laptop. You grabbed a notebook from the drawer and a pen, turning over a new page before you were on the internet. For a beat you paused but then you were searching vampires and writing down anything and everything you could about them.

Four Hours Later

“Hey,” said Dean, knocking on your office door. You jumped, Dean smirking to himself. “You weren’t-”

“Oh my God,” you said as you stood up and saw him covered in blood. You were wide eyed but he laughed. “You need a hospital!”

“This is from the vamps. I have a few bruises I think but that’s all,” he said. You walked up to him and looked him over, Dean carefully keeping an eye on you. “Y/N? You gonna freak out on me?”

“No. You can clean up in my shower,” you said. “I can order takeout.”

“Alright,” he said, glancing over at your computer. He followed you upstairs and to your bedroom. You flipped on the light as you headed into the bathroom, Dean taking it all in. You found some big towels for him and set them down on the counter. He was staring in the mirror when he seen he’d been caught by you. “You have a gorgeous bathroom and I look like a brute.”

“It’s just a bathroom,” you said, showing him the shower. “Feel free to use my stuff to wash up. I’ll try to clean those clothes of yours up for you while you’re in here.”

“Bleach and elbow grease normally works,” he said as he started to take off his jacket. “You really don’t have to. This stuff is gross.”

“Blood in clothes doesn’t bother me,” you said. “I’ll uh, give you your privacy.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” said Dean. “It’s not like were not going to see each other naked at some point anyways.”

He undressed and left his wallet on the counter along with his phone and watch. He got down to a pair of black boxer briefs and you cocked your head.

“What?” he asked.

“You have a very cute butt,” you said. He smirked and shook his head. “What?”

“Should have seen your own ass in season 1,” he said.

“Take your shower, goofball,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Oh. How do you take your steak?”

“Medium? Why?” he asked.

“I’m getting us takeout, remember?” you said.

“We have very different definitions of takeout,” he said. “Don’t get me like some vegetable on the side please. Vegetables aren’t my thing.”

“French fries?”

“More than okay,” he said. You found your hooded robe from your closet and put it on the counter as well, hoping that it was oversized enough to at least get his top half covered up for dinner. You ducked outside and went to the laundry room to grab the empty basket, returning to the sound of the shower on and Dean’s bare backside greeting you.

“Damn,” you said to yourself. He looked over his shoulder with a shy smile but he didn’t cover himself up. You felt heat in your cheeks and quickly gathered up his clothes and took them to the laundry. You called for some dinner before you set out trying to clean the clothes, quickly realizing this was going to be more difficult than you thought. You pursed your lips, quiet footsteps behind you.

“I can get that,” said Dean in a towel around his waist. His hair was damp and you spotted a few stray droplets he’d missed wiping off of his chest.

“It’s alright. Relax. You had a rough night,” you said. He smiled and stepped beside you, taking the bottle of stain remover from your hands.

“You got some gloves?” he asked. You pointed up to the cabinet over the sink and he reached up to pull down two pairs of rubber ones. He slipped it on and bundled his clothes up in the sink before he grabbed a bucket on the floor and filled it up with some water and mixed in some bleach. He set the bucket in the sink and poured some on his clothes, humming as he started to roughly scrub the clothes between his gloves and you began to see red stain come out. When it looked good he would toss it in your washer and wash what he could down the sink. “Easy peasy.”

“Do you not have any other clothes?” you asked.

“I’m not much of a clothes guy,” he said. “I have my duffel in my car with some. I didn’t really think to grab it before Sammy went back to the motel.”

“A motel? He could have stayed here,” you said. He shrugged and took off his gloves.

“We’re simple,” he said. “Your uh, robe was a little short.”

“What size are you?” you asked, pulling out your phone.

“XL. Why?” you asked.

“One hour delivery,” you said. “I’ll get you some clothes. Dinner’s going to take a bit anyways. Do you like salmon?”

“To eat?”

“No, the color,” you said, showing him a hoodie on your phone. He raised an eyebrow and you glanced in the washer. “Black?”

“Black is good. Really, Y/N, you don’t have to.”

“I can’t hunt and I’m not great at washing up vampire blood apparently but I can do this for you,” you said.

“Alright,” he said. You turned on the washer and you headed downstairs, getting Dean a blanket to wrap around himself while he took a seat on the couch. You gave him the remote and ordered a few things for him before going into your office and putting away your notebook. When you returned he was watching an old episode of Scooby doo and you smiled, taking a seat on the couch beside him. “Were you researching vampires while I was gone?”

“A bit,” you said.

“I have a journal I can send you. It’s got the actual information you need in there,” he said. “On anything and everything.”

“Cool,” you said. “I’m guessing the garlic thing isn’t real.”

“No, no. The sun irritates them but it’s not like they can’t go out in it. I had a buddy who was one, wore sunglasses and a coat out and he was pretty good,” said Dean. You went wide eyed and he smiled. “Not all monsters are bad just like not all people are good. It’s a gray world. I have a good friend that’s a werewolf.”

“Your life is so weird.”

“My best friend is an angel. My other friend is the Queen of Hell,” he said. “Oh and I help raise the son of Lucifer.”

“I can’t believe you’re not besties with God too,” you laughed. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Chuck’s a dick but he’s dead at least,” said Dean.

“Did you just say God is dead?”

“Like I said, it’s a gray world.”

“Right.”

You slumped back into the couch and shut your eyes.

“When you said your life is dangerous…”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a lot of weird stuff.”

“How do you get through it? Who takes care of you?”

“Me and my brother just push through it. It’s what we’ve always done,” he said.

“It seems like an incredibly hard life.”

“It has it’s moments. Your life can’t be easy either.”

“I make a TV show,” you said. You crossed your arms and absently watched the cartoon. Dean moved beside you and you felt his arm slid around your waist. “I don’t even watch horror movies because I get scared. Your life is a horror movie.”

“Yet you’re still here,” he said. “Not only that, but you’re trying. Let me try and do the same.”

“I make a TV show,” you said again.

“You’re telling me there’s no pressure involved with that?”

“No. There’s an incredible amount of pressure. It’s not life and death though.”

“Yeah but you doing a really good job, that gives a ton of other people jobs. It puts food on their tables, pays for the roof over their head. You sacrifice your privacy, your time. Your job is harder than you make it seem.”

“If it wasn’t me in the job, it’d be some other actress,” you said.

“Trust me, people watch for you,” he said.

“Do you...watch the show?”

“Yeah. We always binge the new season when it comes out. It’s good,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said, something tickling at the back of your mind. You took out your phone and checked your messages, groaning when you saw the one’s from Patrick. “I completely forgot I’m supposed to go to a party tonight. It’s for Danny, my co-lead. He’s like my brother. I…”

“Go,” said Dean with a smile. “It’s okay.”

“You could come if you wanted? After dinner,” you said. Dean made a face and you smiled. “It’s private, I promise. Danny’s a quiet guy.”

“Okay,” said Dean.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m sure people are going to notice your mark appeared anyways. I don’t think introducing me to some trusted friends is a problem,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll let him know we’ll be a little late.”

“My black hoodie is dressy enough?” he asked.

“It’s a backyard party with beer and a bonfire. You’ll fit right in.”

“That steak was so good,” said Dean, rubbing his stomach as you got out of your car at Danny’s house.

“Good. You deserved it after going all Buffy today,” you said.

“Was that a tease, princess?” he smirked.

“I think it was, Buffy,” you laughed. You grabbed his hand, led him around to the back gate and walked around the house to the patio. There were less than ten people there and you knew all of them, Danny turning his head and catching you. “Hey birthday boy!”

“About time! Seriously though, you just met your soulmate today. You didn’t have to come, Y/N,” he said, giving you a hug. “I’m Danny.”

“Dean,” he said, shaking Danny’s hand. They shared a strange look with one another before they broke off.

“Winchester?” asked Danny quietly. He nodded and Dean smiled. “Haven’t seen you in...fourteen years?”

“I’m 32 so that’s about right,” said Dean. “How’s the family?”

“Good. We laugh about it now,” said Danny. “Tell your dad thanks again when you get a chance.”

“He died a few years back.”

“That’s too bad,” he said before he looked at you.

“Keep her safe,” said Danny.

“I plan on it,” said Dean.

“Well there’s drinks in the fridge or you’re welcome to the liquor cabinet. Y/N can show you,” he said.

“How do you-” you said as Danny shook his head.

“Some stuff, you just don’t talk about, Y/N,” he said. “We’ll keep him under wraps tonight.”

“Thanks, Danny,” you said. You guided Dean inside and set Danny’s present down on his kitchen table, heading over to the counter where he’d set out some alcohol. “So. How do you know him?”

“Ghoul case in his town when I was about eighteen. He was a few years younger if I remember. Him and his brother Joe got into a bit of a mess. We got them out of it,” he said.

“How many people have you saved?” you asked.

“What?”

“How many have you saved?” you asked as you started to make yourself a whiskey sour.

“I don’t really keep track of that sort of thing. I think more about the ones I couldn’t save to be honest.”

“I’m going to guess you’ve saved more than you lost,” you said. “Cut yourself a break.”

“Self-hate is kinda my thing,” he said with a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, grabbing another glass. “You want one?”

“Sure,” he said. “You know, just cause we’re soulmates and we’re trying doesn’t mean you’re gonna fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you. I just...wish you saw what I did.”

“You barely know me.”

“True. But my soul knows your soul very well. Let’s call it a gut feeling,” you said. He hummed and you made another drink for him, Dean carrying it out to the backyard. You introduced him to a few more people and found a pair of seats by the fire. He relaxed more the longer you were there but you knew he was nervous. After a few hours you said your goodbyes and headed home with him, Dean easing up once you were back at the house.

“It’s getting kind of late,” he said.

“Do you want to head to bed?” you asked.

“I think...I’m going to grab my stuff and head back to the motel. Sam and I have a long drive in the morning,” he said. You stared at him and he rubbed the back of his neck. “This’ll never work. I can’t...I can’t pretend. I could barely pretend in front of eight people tonight. We don’t live in a bubble. I’m sorry, Y/N. This isn’t going to work,” he said.

“Then leave,” you said. You went upstairs to the laundry room and took his things out of the dryer, carrying them down and shoving them in his arms. “Never come back.”

“Y/N. If you weren’t-”

“But I am, Dean. I’m in the public eye and you hide from it. Fine. Go hunt and I’ll stay here and we’ll both be miserable. I was never asking you to give up what you do, you know. It scares me but I was willing to try. You lasted two hours at a party with my friends who think you fix cars for a living. It’s obvious you wanted a way out. You’ve wanted out since you came here. So just go and stay away.”

He looked down and went outside, waiting on your front steps for about twenty minutes before you heard a car pick him up.

You wiped off your face and went up to bed, crawling under the covers and wishing you’d never met him in the first place.

Three Months Later

“Back off!” you shouted at the guy dragging you down a hall in a sketchy warehouse. You kicked your leg back and hit him hard but he didn’t budge an inch. He dragged you over to a chair and tied you to it before pulling out a sharp looking knife. “I have money. You can-”

“I’m a demon, sweetie. I need to talk to your boy toy,” he said.

“I haven’t spoken to him in months. I barely know the guy,” you said.

“Hm, not what your internet search history says. You suddenly into the supernatural now?”

“Why is a demon checking my browser history?” you asked.

“Honey, the second word got out that Dean Winchester’s soulmate was out there, every demon with a bone to pick with him went looking for you. I just so happened to get lucky and possess a guy in your manager’s office.”

“Lovely,” you mumbled, swallowing when he pointed the blade at you. “Maybe we can negotiate a deal before you use that.”

“My deal will be with Dean, not you. He’ll be dead and so will you so I wouldn’t-”

“Cory my dear,” said a female voice behind him in the darkness. He glanced over his shoulder and shot straight up.

“Rowena! How nice to-”

“Cory. What did I tell you about the Winchesters?” she asked.

“They’re hunters. There’s no such thing as off limits hunters,” he said.

“Go,” she said, snapping her fingers. You stared as she stepped into view and she gave you a smile. “Hi dearie. Don’t worry about him. He’s off in purgatory.”

“Dean said you guys were friends, right,” you said.

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to go see him?”

“Not-” you said, suddenly in the middle of a large room. You spun around, books everywhere, tables here and there and Dean eating cold pizza out of the box at one of them.

“Y/N?” he said, getting up and looking to Rowena. “What happened?”

“Troublesome demon took her. She’s fine and he’s dealt with. It was nice meeting you. I’d stick around but you two look like you need to have a conversation,” she said. She disappeared and you blinked, Dean walking over to you.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling your hand away when he reached for yours. “Just drive me home.”

“We’re in Kansas.”

“...Well, drive me to a rental car place and I’ll drive home myself,” you said. “How do I get out of here?”

You tried to go past but he caught your arms, sliding his hand down to your mark. You glared at him and he sighed, running his thumb over the skin there.

“This changes absolutely nothing you realize. Stay out of my life,” you said. You tugged on your arm and he let you go. “Where’s the exit?”

“Just...give me a second,” he said. He went over to a cabinet by the wall and opened a bottom drawer, pulling out a folder. He set it down on a table and opened it up, an ID and other documents in there. “I need to be anonymous. It has to be just us. No friends. No family. It’s too dangerous. But we can go places and be alone. You can come-”

“Anywhere I go there is a chance I am recognized and a chance someone takes a picture and it ends up on the internet. People are already dying to know who you are. This only works if you give up what you do or I give up what I do and that’s not fair to either one of us.”

“Then from now on in public, I’m Dean Campbell. It’s what I go by around here. I’m just a quiet Kansas boy who works on cars for a living who will try to stay out of the limelight and the other part of the time, I’ll go do my job,” he said.

“Just like that, you’ve changed your mind.”

“Not just like that. It takes time to forge a new identity. People will ask questions. Now they have answers,” he said. “This stuff is out there if anyone wants to go digging. It took time to get it in place.”

“How long?”

“About three months. We have to do it ourselves and to make it credible, it takes time.”

“So what was your next move?”

“Get out to LA. Stand at your door. Hope you could understand.”

“A demon kidnapped me today.”

“I don’t guarantee that doesn’t happen again,” he said. “All I can offer is my crappy soul.”

“It’s not crappy,” you said, taking a seat. “Dean, you walking away like that hurt. A lot. Even for good reasons, it hurt. I’m not ready to try and date you.”

“I get it,” he said.

“Friends?”

“I’m okay with that,” he said. “I know I’m pushing but would you want to stay the night?”

“Sure. Just as friends though.”

“Just friends, I promise.”

Two Months Later

“Did you see that!” you said, Dean shaking his head as you jogged back over to Baby. “I shot a ghost!”

“That’s real good, sweetheart,” said Dean as he kept trying to light a match. You spotted the ghost behind him again and shot, Dean nearly jumping down into the grave.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he said before he tossed the match in. He took a deep breath and walked back over to you, giving you a once over. “Not bad for a princess.”

“I’m supposed to be getting ready to go to a network party right now,” you said.

“Yeah but hunting’s more fun,” he said, wiping a bit of dirt off your cheek. “Get scared at all?”

“Oh definitely! But I think I got that adrenaline high thing right now,” you said, Dean chuckling as he took the shotgun from you.

“Just a smidge,” he said. “I got a surprise for you.”

“What?”

You blinked and found yourself back home in LA with Dean, Rowena giving you a wave before she disappeared from view.

“Want to go to your party?” he asked.

“Why are you here though?” you asked.

“Because after a hunt, you go out and celebrate.”

“What about Sam? And the car?”

“Baby’s fine with Sammy. Come on. I bet I look good in a tux,” he said.

“Dean,” you said, smiling at him. “Want to stay home instead?”

“Yes,” he said and you let out a big laugh. “The party is fine too. Just...home is better. Actually a diner would be amazing.”

“I know a place,” you said. “Let’s go take a ride.”

“You have the best pie,” said Dean to the waitress about an hour later. She laughed and you munched on a french fry, Dean already wolfing down his last bite.

“Can we get another piece of the cherry for him and I’ll take a slice of that chocolate looking one,” you said.

“No problem,” she said. After a moment she returned with the food, Dean diving into his pie again.

“I knew you liked pie. This must be really good,” you said.

“I place it at number four. Above Sally’s in Bismark but just below 511 outside Phoenix,” he said. “This is high quality pie we’ve got here.”

“Part of the after hunt tradition?” you asked.

“On the good hunts, yeah,” he said.

“What we did tonight, that was super easy, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah. But you start small. I wouldn’t mind keeping you away from the big hunts permanently,” he said.

“Going soft on me there, Winchester?” you asked.

“Maybe,” he said. He leaned over the table and gave you a kiss. He smiled when he moved back to his seat and took a bite of his pie with a hum.

“You kissed me. In public.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” he said, smirking to himself.

“I hadn’t realized we shifted into dating,” you said.

“Y/N. If you never wanted me to be anything more than a friend, I’d live with it. I deserve it for how I acted before. But-”

“No, you don’t,” you said, standing up and sliding into the booth beside him. “I want us to be together because we want to, not because you felt like you owed me.”

“What about the rules of being soulmates?” he asked.

“Screw the rules,” you said. He smiled and slid his plate of pie in front of you.

“Well I don’t share top ten pie with just anybody,” he said. “Maybe next week I can go to your premiere party.”

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“I know. I want to.”

“Okay,” you said. He took your hand under the table and returned to eating, absently brushing his thumb over your mark. “Dean?”

“Mhm?” he said.

“Don’t call your soul crappy again. It’s beat up but not crappy.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s you. I need someone to believe what I have a hard time doing myself.”

“We’ll get there,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Now how about that pie, Winchester.”

_________

#spndeanbingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #au

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adhd-disaster-willie · 4 years ago

Text

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 2/4

So, I don’t really like this chapter as much as the other one but it’s fine. :/ I don’t have the patience to redo it, so this is what you get :)

Warnings: Homophobia, child abuse, non-graphic description of wounds, panic attacks

chapter 1

---

Alex didn’t quite know how long he’d been curled up on the sidewalk when a figure began approaching him; but he was shivering and crying and really not in the mood to be murdered. The person may not have been headed directly towards him, but they sure were biking fast in his direction and once again, being kicked out and killed on the same night didn’t sound like much fun. So, swearing underneath his breath, Alex stood up and began jogging away, still unsure of where he was headed.

The bike came barrelling towards Alex but came to a screeching halt immediately after passing him.

“Alex?!” The person, who had a guitar strapped to their back, hopped off the bike and stumbled towards Alex.

“Luke?” Alex whispered, baffled. “What are you-” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence before Luke wrapped him in a hug, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex decided not to mention Luke’s damp, red cheeks.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Luke asked, pulling away.

Alex snorted at that. “I could ask you the same thing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and began rocking on his heels, counting down the seconds until Luke read him like he always does and Alex had to stop him from marching back up the block and yelling at the Mercers until his voice was hoarse.

“Your parents,” Luke muttered, his voice hardening, bitter. “They kicked you out didn’t they?” Luke didn’t get angry very often. Sure, he got upset and disappointed and frustrated, but he wasn’t one to get genuinely furious. He was now though. Alex grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

“Yes, but Luke, please don’t.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, but backed off. “I’m gonna kill them,” He hissed beneath his breath.

“Not if you die from the cold. What are you even doing out here?”

Luke grew quiet, his gaze shifting to the ground. “Nothing, nothing I was just… I was headed to Bobby’s. The studio.”

Alex nodded, internally berating himself for not having thought of that. But he didn’t want to bother anyone. Staying in the studio for the night was entirely different from asking to live there. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

Luke, somehow sensing Alex’s thoughts, sighed. “I’m gonna go grab your bike,”he said, giving Alex a quick hug before turning to walk up the sidewalk.

“Luke, you don’t have to-”

“Nah, I do. I’m not gonna make you go back there, and we sure as hell aren’t walking all the way to Bobby’s.”

“Fine. But you need to tell me what happened!” Alex shouted after him, but he was already far enough to pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

---

Alex’s hands were practically numb after 10 minutes of biking, and his backpack felt like it had doubled in size. Not to mention the only light was people’s Christmas decorations and the occasional street light, and he’d only ever gone to Bobby’s in the day so he was relying about 80% on muscle memory. All in all, not a great situation.

“Dude, why the fuck is Bobby’s house so far away?” Alex complained, adjusting his grip on his bike handles in hopes that it’d bring back some sort of feeling in his fingers.

Luke shrugged. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride and was yet to explain why he’d run off in the middle of the night, but Alex knew he’d open up in time… hopefully. If it had to be pried out of him, it would; but Luke was never one to keep secrets. At least Alex leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t take much explanation, except to Bobby’s parents. No one had dared say it out loud, but for the whole year it’d felt like the seconds Alex had before being kicked out were just slowly running out. And this was the last straw.

“Can we- can we stop for a minute?” Alex breathed, his legs burning. “I have like, no stamina.”

Luke chuckled weakly, coming to a slow stop. They leaned their bikes on the side of the curb before sitting down, feeling relieved that they recognized the area; it was just a few blocks from Reggie and roughly another 5 minutes to Bobby’s place.

Alex let out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t even feel real,” he whispered, dropping his head and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “God, they kicked me out.” It was finally settling in and Alex felt sick. “Dad wasn’t even there. It was- it was just Mom and she… She didn’t even seem sorry. She looked at me like I was nothing.” He choked down a sob. “Like I was never her son. I didn’t think she’d ever hate me, but look at where we are now.” Alex didn’t bother fighting the tears this time. His shoulders shook and he brought his knees up to his chest, breathing in slowly in hopes to prevent a panic attack.

Luke moved in closer, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulder and squeezing. “Hey, it’ll be alright. We’ve got each other. And Bobby, and Reggie-”

“Luke, Alex?”

Both boys snapped to attention; they would’ve recognized that voice anywhere.

“Reg?” Luke stood up and took two long strides to meet Reggie, clasping his thin, hunched shoulders. “Shit. Reggie, dude.”

Alex wiped his eyes furiously as he walked over to where Reggie and Luke stood and he once again recognized the pure anger dripping from Luke’s words. Then Reggie moved closer to the streetlight and Alex’s heart plummeted to his feet.

Reggie’s face was blotchy and pink and his eyes were swollen from crying. His hair was slightly damp and Alex felt sick upon seeing the shards of glass in it. There was dried blood on his cheek and Alex was afraid for him to take his jacket off, but Luke tore it off anyway, inspecting the bruises running up and down Reggie’s forearms and wrapped around his wrists.

Reggie squeaked in protest and snatched the jacket back, his hands shaking.

“They are dead,” Luke muttered coldly. He gestured to both Alex and Reggie. “I am going to actually kill both of your guys’ parents.”

Reggie looked over to Alex. “What did Alex’s parents…” He trailed off, face darkening in realization.

“Where were you gonna go?” Alex asked quietly, his grip on his fannypack strap tightening.

Reggie shrugged and went to sit down on the curb. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t just leave forever. Sammy… I can’t leave him alone with them.” He shook his head. “I’d hate myself if I just left him there.”

“Olivia moved out last year and left you guys alone!” Luke countered, sitting beside Reggie. “Reg, dude, you can’t stay there!”

Reggie’s expression hardened in a way Alex had never seen. Reggie Peters was basically a human puppy and it seemed Alex had gotten all to used to that fact. “Yea but she knew we had each other, Luke. You don’t get it. Sammy’s just 13, I can’t just leave him. I can’t.” Reggie’s tone grew more hopeless at the last sentence, his lip quivering.

“Fine,” Luke grumbled. “But at least come with us tonight. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

“But what if-”

“No buts. You’re hurt and you smell like beer, we’re not gonna leave you out here.”

“But Sammy-”

“Sammy’ll be ok,” Alex cut in. He squeezed Reggie shoulder and gave a half-hearted smile. “He’s a tough kid.”

Reggie nodded. A quiet sob ripped through him and he buried his head in his knees, leaving damp spots on his jeans from his hair which would probably smell like alcohol for a week.

Alex lay an arm around Reggie’s shoulder and Luke chuckled. “Yea, group hug,” he whispered feebly, joining the embrace.

The temperature was rapidly dropping and Alex could feel Luke shivering and Reggie’s teeth chattering, his own feet growing numb in his shoes. But for just a split second, none of that mattered. He didn’t have to look to know that they were all crying and that Reggies hair was sticking to his cheek and Luke’s guitar case was digging into someone’s shoulder. They were a family. A stupid, dysfunctional, scarily codependent family, but still. It was something.

---

March, 1995

Despite protest, Bobby’s parents had started giving Alex and Luke monthly allowances; claiming that if they were gonna live there, they were family, not guests. Reggie refused to accept the money; he was still returning to his house at least two nights a week for fear that his parents would take their anger out on Sammy. But the money meant that Alex was finally able to get a new hoodie; one that wasn’t too tight around the shoulders and didn’t ride up every time he lifted his arms. It was nice, too. Sure it’d taken a couple months of allowance to buy, but it was soft and comfortable and his favorite shade of pink.

“Alex,” Luke whined, drawing out the vowel like a small child begging for candy. “You can’t leave us like this!”

“Luke-”

“It’s betrayal! You- I thought you were our friend!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Alex replied, smacking Luke’s shoulder lightly.

“Ow.”

“It’s one band practice. If I don’t retake this test, I’ll fail Algebra.”

“Algebra is a stupid subject anyway,” Luke pouted, kicking a rock angrily.

“Bobby’s mom got ice cream,” Alex said. “Now go.” He waved Luke off, smiling impatiently.

Luke trudged away from Alex’s locker and towards the exit, his head hung low. “You’re the worst,” He shouted before walking out of sight.

Alex sighed and chuckled lightly as he turned back to rifle through his locker in search of a pencil; he’d lost his favorite one in English earlier that day (more like Bobby stole it, but same difference). He didn’t like pens because the concept of not being able to fix mistakes was more daunting than it probably should be, and he refused to use any non-mechanical pencils (“Shut it Luke, I’m allowed to be picky about my pencils!”) because he hated having to sharpen them constantly and he had a bad habit of pressing down too hard and breaking the lead. So he couldn't find a damn pencil and Mr. Thomas had said he had to be in classroom by 4:30 if he wanted to retake the test but he couldn’t find a stupid pencil. Alex swallowed and breathed in shakily, glancing up at the clock which seemed to be moving too fast because there’s no way it was already 4:25. Logically, he could just ask Mr. Thomas if he could borrow a pencil, but he didn’t want to be a bother, and he knew there was a pencil somewhere in here.

Alex cried out in frustration, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and unzipping the small front pocket which he’d reserved specifically for writing utensils. Nothing. Ok. Fine, he’d just borrow one. It isn’t that hard to ask to use a pencil. Right.

Halfway across the hallway, Alex heard snickering drifting from around the corner. He froze and gripped his backpack straps tighter. It was useless, willing himself to keep walking. Not when that laughing was sickeningly familiar. God, Alex hated football players.

“Awe look he got a new jaaacket.” Someone -Alex refused to try and decipher who- cooed mockingly.

Alex didn’t turn around.

“Y’know when you stopped wearing the other one, we were really hoping your parents had finally beat some sense into you.”

Alex looked at the clock. 4:28. He willed himself to move forward, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. He played out the beat to Now or Never on his backpack straps.

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

Why was the hallway so long? Alex had begun to think it had doubled in size since he’d started walking. His hoodie felt too hot all of the sudden and he could practically feel someone breathing down the back of his neck. They were talking to him, but it was muffled, like he was underwater. He tried breathing in slowly. 4:29. His steps quickened.

“F*g!”

He couldn’t breathe. Alex couldn’t breathe and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and was twisting the knife over and over and over again. 4:30. Oh god. They were yelling at him and drawing closer and closer and now he’d missed his chance and was gonna fail algebra and they’d call his parents and then the school would know he’d been kicked out and-

Someone had hit him. He wished he could pinpoint where, but his entire body was numb and throbbing and everything was blurry. He wondered briefly if the shouting was in his head or out of it. And this might be where he could say he’d blacked out, but that wasn’t quite what had happened. He stumbled blindly across the rest of the hall, mostly on autopilot, unable to see through tears and why was he crying??? He never really fainted, but no matter how hard he tried, Alex couldn’t remember what’d happened next.

---

“Alex!”

That was Luke, Alex was sure of it.

“ ‘Lex, come on.”

Reggie shook Alex’s shoulder and his vision began to clear. Oh.

“What, why am I in the studio?” He asked frantically. “How did I- my test!” He stood up and not bothering to figure out why he was dizzy, Alex rushed to the doorway.

“Nope.” Bobby clasped his shoulder tightly and steered him back to the couch. “Sit down, idiot, you almost passed out.”

“Dude, who punched you?” Luke asked, scooting in closer to Alex and gazing furiously at the bruise on his face.

Alex shrugged. “I don’t- I’m not- it’s…”

“Mr. Thomas said you came into his classroom and tried to ask for the test but he wouldn’t let you since you’d just been beat up and then Bobby heard you in the room cause, cause he came up to the school to give you a ride so you didn’t have to walk-”

“Reggie slow down, you’re gonna give him another panic attack!” Luke scolded, swatting Reggie’s chest and shoving him lightly.

Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Thomas is letting you retake the test next week, drink some water.”

Alex took the glass gratefully and took a hesitant sip. He set the water down and breathed in, settling into the couch, still tense. “ ‘M sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry? Dude what?” Luke looked at Alex, completely baffled. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I made you cancel practice so I could take my test but I didn’t even take it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Reggie chided. “We’re not mad at you-”

“Yea it’s whatever asshat punched you that we’re mad at.”

“Bobby, we’re not killing anyone.”

“Yea please don’t get yourself arrested for me,” Alex laughed softly.

Bobby shook his head and flopped down on the couch beside Reggie. “Fine.”

“Hey,” Luke shook Alex gently. “You want some chocolate? Reg got some of that fancy stuff-”

“No, I draw the line at giving him my chocolates,” Reggie complained, reaching across Alex to slap a hand over Luke’s mouth. “Ew! Dude, you licked me!” Reggie whined loudly as he shook his hand, pretending to gag. “That’s just low.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re both stupid.”

Alex let his head fall against the back of the couch, a small smile creeping onto his face.

---

I’m not great at angst, so I’m not quite sure why I thought I’d do well with this fic akhfkldsfh

please tell me if there’s anything else I should add a warning for, I tried to do everything but I could’ve overlooked something.

chapter 3

chapter 4

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #trevor wilson #sunset curve #alex mercer fic #willow writes

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