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alphabetboyluvr · 11 months ago

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the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine��you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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xo-cod · 5 months ago

Text

"you don't trust me like i trust you"

the words echoed from his lips as he let out a soft resigned sigh, his face knitted in the same frowning pensive look he usually gave to his team when they were receiving bad news. it was odd being on the receiving end of it as you watch your husband lean against the counter tops. his black jacket discarded on top of the couch, revealing the compression top he had worn underneath highlighting his bulging muscles and broad frame

"what do you mean?" your voice was next, raising your brow as you look at him. but there's no lightheartedness about him tonight, he looks defeated and you couldn't help feeling guilty. your stomach in knots for being partly responsible as he brushes himself slightly trying to organise his thoughts.

"tonight. with your parents. you just froze up when they asked about me, what was that?" he asked again, his tone confused and hurt as he tried to understand your point of view. the night had consisted of a dinner with your parents and while you loved price with all your heart, you knew it would be difficult to explain your backstory with him. his true nature, his job.

so you chose to omit a few details but none of that had escaped price's watchful gaze. he kept his mouth shut, swallowing down the words that desperately wanted to be said with a forced smile as he watched you answer for him. every false thing to avoid the truth twisted the knife that much more until he excused himself early to the car, muttering some excuse as he left the place gulping down air that didn't seem to fully reach his lungs.

until now, back at home where he couldn't take another word and confronted you hoping you'd prove him wrong. but every second that ticks by and the dread only continued to grow.

"it's been a long night" you spoke back, your tone a warning not to delve into the matter tonight as you tried to side step him but he stands in the way. his brow furrowed as he looked down at you refusing to let it go, challenging you back as he stood there.

"it bloody well has been. which is why i need you to explain exactly what the hell that dinner was" his voice is sharp, a command as he looks at you expectantly his form tense. he looked angry and it only caused your temper to rise as you tried to move away, hoping not to escalate the situation.

"you're embarassed of me, aren't you?" the words were cold, harsh as he eyed your movements carefully. he knew you well, he knew your moods having been married to you for three years. he took pride in that, having knowing you better than himself.

you froze at the words, quickly trying to compose yourself but even that was a second too long as his eyes darkened. shock on his face. confirmation, resignation on yours

you almost hated how well he read you and in this moment, he shared the same notion.

"so what it is then, my work? me? what, aren't i good enough for your love anymore??" he snapped as he clenched his fists, taking a few steps forwards as his eyes narrowed in on your face. trying and hoping you'd tell him it was all in his head, that he was overanalysing everything. that there had to be a reasonable explanation for all this

he forgot, however, that sometimes not everything plans out the way he so desperately wished they would.

"no, maybe not! this whole thing was a mistake, this whole marriage is a joke" the words tumbled out of your lips before you had a chance to comprehend them and the realisation dawned on you when you see his face, his stoic demeanour cracking under your proverbial hammer. it made you instantly regret saying a thing, your breaths hard and fast as you stutter slightly. he almost deflates a little, his heart thundering under his chest but his face rests usually. almost like he had expected the disappointment to come naturally

"i see" it's the only sentence that leaves his lips, you can see the hurt swimming in his eyes practically threatening to drown you whole. you don't think in all the three years you've been married to john, see him in this state before. his muscles tense and rigid, rooted to the spot looking you over before his gaze falls to the floor. unsure of what to even say, what could he say to that anyway? his wife, his love, proving to him that he was his worst fear. that he was a burden, you simply couldn't get rid of.

price felt a stabbing pain in his chest as if on cue reminding him of the pain he felt regularly whenever he missed you. even when you were there, standing right in front of him, he missed you. but it was clear you didn't feel the same and the realisation only hurt him that much more. who knew people could carry this much pain with them? surviving a war seemed much easier than this

his arms closed around his chest, partly for comfort and self soothe. partly to keep him from falling into the dark abyss that threatened to overtake him, to keep you out even though you were so deeply intertwined with his very soul it would be impossible to completely remove you without taking a huge part of him

"i know what they say, i've heard it before. i know have a bad past, i know my job is unconventional" he starts as his adam apple bobbs in his throat, brows creased as he speaks

"but i didn't think the first person i've ever had a true and honest connection with, would give me hell on top of that. i thought you would've seen more to me than that. you're my wife for christ's sake, my best friend..... i need time. i need space" it almost pains him to say the words as much as it hurts you to hear them. his voice was was soft, low, and almost like a plea. he rarely ever sounded like that. he seemed tired, broken, and fragile standing before your eyes. hardly the formidable strong captain everyone knew him to be. it only pains you that much more when you see the true extent of the damage your words have done.

who knew it took five minutes to completely shatter three years of marriage just like that

it's the only thing he offers you for the night as he turns his back, settling on the couch. you know it won't be comfortable for him, his muscles already look cramped but he's made his mind. he doesn't even have to be angry, to be fuming as he should've been. he didn't get the urge to throw himself into a workout and lift the weights until the familiar burn settled into his bones whenever he worked himself too hard. to punch the lights out of the hanging bag until he felt his knuckles cramp and ache.

no, tonight he felt inexplicably sad. as if the person he thought you were deep down had completely obliterated into pieces, your words had been like bullets hurting him more than anything physical could've done. maybe he didn't know you as well as he thought and that made him feel worse, trying to bury it all deep down to get some rest for the night. deep down knowing he would hardly find some relief to soothe the ache deep down in him.

a soft sigh passes your lips, every ounce of your heart throbbing to hold him one more time. to touch his skin, to feel his comfort, to feel those strong arms pull you to the safety of his chest his heartbeat a soft hum under his chest.

but tonight you've lost that privilege and you walk away, resigning to a room filled with loneliness and despair without your other half to keep you company. your hand strokes his empty side, missing the way his warmth would seep into your skin while he cradled you close to his chest. his nose buried in your neck, nuzzling your skin.

you loved it all, now you missed it terribly.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #john price #john price x y/n #john price x reader #john price x reader angst #john price x you #captain price

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fortheloveofkonig · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the 141 x Male reader, they know alot of medical like they use their knowledge of the human body against anyone whom threatens them (or people the care about). They aren't a medic are doctor parday but have extensive knowledge of the field that helps the team. Seem cold uncaring and ruthless but if anyone of them is injured its like a total switch of 'mom bear mode' checking them over the gentle hands and worry.

(Kinda of trope of don't mess with the doctor lol)

Summary: TF 141 reacts to Reader who knows a frightening amount of medical knowledge.

Note: I'm going to do this as more of a headcanons type of post ^^ hope this is good enough! ^^ I did 95% of this all in the last 2 hours

Content: Medical speak, Injuries, Slight Torture, Slightly Bad Medical Research, But I Did Research. Roach Talks.

Word Count: 1085

TF 141 x Knowledgeable in Medic Field M! Reader

Ghost

Probably first heard about your knowledge from Soap talking to him about how terrifying it is to see it come into play

Doesn't believe him.

You've always been good at what you do but have never shown any previous knowledge or interest in the medical field so, who can blame him?

There was also no way you could've went to medical school unless you were years above your usual education range

He finally sees it come into play when you two were 'interrogating' someone.

"If you're gonna stab, don't do it right there. Price said he needs to stay alive."

Ghost looks at you, annoyed. "I've stabbed many people and seen many people survive stab wounds of surrounding areas."

"In lower places of the abdomen and with quicker medical care, if you do it there" You point to where he had the knife, pointed at the tied up man's skin. "It could puncture an intestine and we will be fucked. If you want to stab, move the knife below the belly button...about right... right there. Do not remove the knife once it pierces through."

He did as you said, with questions, but still followed your lead.

From then on he watched everything you did, even noticing that you took care of some of the rookies that ended up with minor cuts and damage that wasn't enough to bother the medics with.

Needless to say, he also ended up coming to you for some patch ups, mostly when he wanted to keep his new damage a secret from Price.

He ended up finding it kind of hot during the interrogation thing so he often asked to do things like that with you again.

Soap

Honestly, probably figured out about your medical knowledge after he was being a dumbass with explosives and almost got hurt.

"Go change into some shorts and a tank top." Your voice was in a serious tone as you went to grab a nearby first aid kit.

"Already wanting to see me strip?"

You just glared at him until he actually left and did what was told.

Despite having only a few scratches, you still cleaned them up as best as you could.

You also went on a rant about it too, about how dumb he was

"Do you realize how dumb you are? What if you actually made a big explosion and a piece of shrapnel flew and hit one of the carotid arteries in your neck?

"My What?"

"Do you realize how fast you would've died? Why weren't you wearing any protective gear?"

"I'm pretty bad at forgetting protection."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead.

That was not the last time you had to clean his wounds, he seems to be a magnet for them.

Asks you more about medical stuff, just to get an idea on how much you know.

You know a lot.

Unsure at this point if he hurts himself in new ways just to hear you yell at him for what dumb way he could've gotten himself killed this time.

Gaz

He falls out of helicopters a lot, that's the truth. What's one more time?

This time (and somehow not the last?) he ended up hurting his foot, you were there the whole time when it happened.

When the both of you were both safe in the safety of a van, you got him to put his leg up so you could check it.

"This is stupid" He mutters, "It's nothing more than it has been in the past."

"Shush, let me concentrate" You mutter feeling around his bootless ankle, nodding your head when you hear him hiss at a pointed touch.

"Any pain when you walk on it?"

"Possibly....yes."

"I'm gonna say it's a sprain for now but I think we should take you to the infirmary after we get back to base. Doesn't seem dislocated. Possible fracture though."

It was just a sprain

Was surprised when you spoke fluent...doctor to the doctor.

Honestly felt like a little kid in the doctor's office, watching his parent's converse with the Doctor telling them what was wrong.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Price

Always knew, almost nothing gets by him unnoticed

Was probably one of the reasons he wanted you on the task force.

He knows how soap and gaz the boys are

Has you teaching rookies how to probably put a tourniquet on.

"What the fuck are you doing? That's not how I taught you."

The rookie you were speaking to just looked down at the dummy that they were working on and the tourniquet, "It looks-"

"Terrible! He's still bleeding out! Retry it."

Definitely has to sit in on these sessions, some rookies have complained to him that you take it too far.

You always just use the excuse that if those were real people and not training dummies, they'd be at fault for letting them die.

He agrees with you.

The rookie looks over at Price.

"Get to it. He told you to retry it. The man is bleeding out."

Mostly just sits in because it's less complaints now that he is showing he agrees with you in front of everyone.

Roach

This fucker needs a friend that has medical knowledge

Much like Soap, it seems like he is a wound magnet

Was probably the first of the 141 that you had to go full protective, medical knowledge out and work on him.

Man's like a tank too, no matter what the day brings to him it seems he's just able to walk it off

You don't let him

"You're limping, sit down."

He just waves it off, "'m good."

"Like hell you are." You walk up to him and grab his wrist, dragging him to a nearby chair and pushing him onto it. "Stay or I'll have Ghost lay on you."

Does not stay.

You cannot get Ghost to lay on him.

You just end up pelting pillows at him until he joins into a pillow fight, and you both end up getting exhausted.

"I'll rest right here."

"Good."

Stubborn but still okay with medical help

Often comes to you with oddly specific questions.

"Hypothetically, if a car blew up in the near vicinity of where I was at, what is the possible health issues that could arise?"

"Well, burn marks obviously, depending on the distance it could be any degree. If it was enough to knock you over, then a possible concussion. Depending if you hit the ground and hard enough, possible broken or fractured bones. Not to even mention the possible pieces of metal and glass flying, and just blast trauma in general. Could cause damage to internal organs with enough force."

"Okay, so...hypothetically, if that happened, I should go to the infirmary?"

"Roach, were you next to a car when it blew up?"

"..."

"Gary???"

You immediately dragged him to the infirmary.

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python333 · 1 year ago

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Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

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httpiastri · 5 months ago

Text

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FIVE

genre: angst, fluff, comfort, the usual

word count: 5.0k

warnings: hmmmmm don't think so!!

author's note: hello hello !! finally done with this!!!! took me ages 😵 anywayssss i was supposed to include like italian cities and everything but i have 0 knowledge of italy i've realized, it's been ages since i went there... so pls forgive me for that, hope this makes sense anyway :) hope you enjoy!!

series masterlist

"we came home from a run in the mountains about… ten minutes ago?" you start, checking your watch. "the view was actually mental, i will send you some pictures."

your mother hums on the other side of the line. "that sounds lovely, darling." she pauses for a moment and you sit down on the edge of your hotel room bed. "where is ollie now? is he around? can i talk to him?"

"he's in the shower," you tell her, ears instinctively listening for that familiar sound of the shower running and the soft humming by your boyfriend. "but i can put him on when he's done, if you'd like."

the same night of the monaco grand prix, ollie managed to find a way for you to fly out to italy with him the following morning. you were into the idea when he proposed it, but right before you were traveling to the airport, you started to doubt if it was actually that good of an idea. you basically only had racing gear in your suitcase; no swimsuits or clothes to work-out in, and the only outfit even near fancy enough to wear to a real restaurant was the one you had worn to the ferrari celebratory dinner the night before.

but ollie insisted. i'll buy you everything you need, he told you, which you, of course, instantly refused. i want you with me, so if that's the price i need to pay, then it will be worth it.

ollie took a day in modena to re-pack his bags, to visit both prema and ferrari, and to just take some time to recharge with you after the race weekend. the following day, you started your trip down the country. but first, you needed to stop in another few cities for some shopping. after a lot of complaining, you agreed to let him pay for the clothes, but only if you got to pay for the coffee and gelato. pretty fair, if you may say so yourself.

you booked your hotel in a cozy little city neither of you had ever heard of before, somewhere close to the west coast, but you have been around in most neighboring cities by now. romantic dinners in charming restaurants, sunbathing by cozy little lakes, and a lot of hiking and running through scenic trails to keep up your physique during the break.

and, as you hoped beforehand, you've started to see ollie in a new, more romantic and more exciting light. the quiet evenings spent together, far away from the hustle and bustle of your regular lives, have been like a breath of fresh air; it's all so easy, so comfortable, so heartwarming. and after your talk with paul in monaco, there isn't even a dark, rainy paul-shaped cloud hanging over your head like there usually is.

you find yourself enjoying the different layers of him and every detail that make ollie that sweet guy you first went out with, and those initial butterflies from your first few months together have finally made their comeback. it's not a huge change, but definitely enough to make you feel like you're moving in the right direction.

"are you two having fun?" your mother asks, the tone of her voice a tad too innocent for you to ignore. "your father mentioned something about a fight, or…"

you can't help but scoff at her words – you know she means no harm, unlike your other parent, but even just the mention of your father irritates you these days. "we're not fighting, mum. everything is fine."

"i'm glad." another moment of silence, just as suspicious as the whole aura of this conversation. then, she lets out a laugh, her voice growing much more lighthearted. "do you two ever fight at all?"

you aren't having it, however. "not really," you say, continuing instantly. "i think it's silly to assume that it's a bad thing that we're never upset with each other. i don't understand it."

your mom clears her throat. "you've got it all wrong. all we want is for you to be happy," her voice booms out from the phone, a little louder now than before. "but fighting a little is healthy. dealing with your problems is important in a stable relationship."

you obviously understand her side of it, and you know she's right. but how could you ever bring yourself to fighting with ollie and causing him any extra pain when he deserves nothing but happiness? how could you ever put more pressure on him when he's already got the expectations and weight of the entire world resting on his shoulders?

besides, what would you even fight over? the fact that you aren't as passionate about him as you were about paul? or the fact that you don't feel the same way you used to with your ex?

this vacation was supposed to make you feel more, to make you fall deeper. sure, you still have a few days left, but will any amount of time ever be enough to get over paul?

"we have no issues," you say. "it's alright, we've got it under control."

you can hear your mom let out a little breath before she speaks up again. "if you say so, then i trust you." there's the faintest hint of sincerity in her words, enough to almost make you believe her. "he must've been very proud to see you on the podium."

a faint smile appears on your lips at the mention of monaco, nodding to yourself as you think back to the race. "he was. jealous, but proud."

"i think they were all jealous. maybe even paul." a confused frown takes over your face as you lie back over the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. "how was it to share the podium with him again? you two looked quite happy with each other."

"i guess."

"you guess? you two were hugging like…" she chuckles. "well, like it was a year ago."

you take a deep breath. "your point?"

"i was just thinking about how…." her words fall out of focus when your ears catch the sound of the shower being turned off and feet tapping against the tiled floor.

ollie then appears in the doorway to the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and an intrigued look in his eyes. who are you talking to? he mouths.

"ollie just came out of the shower," you tell your mother as you push yourself up to a sitting position again, dropping your phone onto the bed and clicking a button. "you're on speaker, mum."

she calls out for him, and he smiles as he sits down next to you on the bed. "hello, mrs. harper," he says. "how are you doing?"

"lovely now that i get to hear your voice, sweetheart," she coos. "how are your parents doing?"

yet again, everything quiets down; ollie's mouth moves, and you see him politely laugh at something your mother says, but everything you can hear are your mother's words from before.

dealing with your problems is important in a stable relationship.

you reach forward to brush a wet strand of hair out of ollie's face, letting your hand fall down to his cheek. he looks down at you with gentle eyes and raised eyebrows, making you want to open up and tell him everything. about how badly you want to change to be the perfect partner for him, about everything you're feeling and about everything that makes you so terrified that your voice gives up on you. about how scared you are of even giving him a real chance, of actually falling for him, because what if he isn't enough?

but what if he is?

what if you allow yourself to fall and he's there to catch you every time?

today during dinner, ollie got an idea.

he loves the way that you can come up with conversation topics out of nowhere. he loves how you can rant the entire way to the restaurant about a karting race you drove in ten years ago, and he loves your little game of "is the couple at the table next to us siblings, happily married, or is one of them secretly only in it for the money?" during dinner dates.

but it doesn't help him get to know you any better, especially not on the deeper level he wishes to reach you on. it doesn't allow him to come closer, nor does it help you get closer to him, either.

but tonight, he hopes everything is about to change. if he just introduces the idea of talking to you, actually talking, then maybe it will come more naturally in the future, too.

ollie is sitting up in bed when you turn off the lights in the bathroom and enter the bedroom. his back is propped up against the headboard, phone in hands turning black the second he sees you appear. he plugs the phone in to charge, clearing his throat before speaking up. "can i ask you something?"

you nod as you walk over to your side of the bed. "of course."

"i'm pretty sure i wasn't the only one who thought it was strange that you stayed in red bull after your dad started working with the ferrari driver academy," he says, watching you sit down on the edge of the bed. "how come you didn't switch academies?"

you let out a sound, something between a sigh and a chuckle, looking over at him as you hold up the duvet. "do you want the short version or the long version?"

"the honest version."

"well," you start, slipping in under the covers. "there's a lot that went into it. ferrari is a cool brand and everything, and it would be an honor to represent them. but…" you shrug – or as much of a shrug as you can pull off while lying down. "i went to red bull because of my dad in the first place so…"

ollie doesn't say anything when you pause, his expression reflecting genuine interest. he's always been a great listener, and today is no different.

"plus, it's been pretty good not having my dad breathe down my neck every second. i would've gone absolutely crazy by now if he had been my boss."

ollie snorts, a grin appearing on his lips. "your dad is a good boss, though."

"if you say so," you respond with a roll of your eyes, one he can't quite decipher.

ollie takes a deep breath, seemingly preparing for his next words. "you didn't even want to join ferrari just to be with me more?"

you bite back the smile that wants to spread across your lips. "didn't wanna get too distracted from my goals."

"is that so?"

you nod, and ollie just looks down at you for a few moments, that grin still prominent on his lips, before shifting to turn off the lamp on his bedside table. he then lies down, joining you beneath the covers.

"genuinely, though," he begins. "when did you first realize you liked me?"

only the gentle, white light from the moon sneaking past the blinds keeps the bedroom somewhat lit now, but it's enough for you to catch the way the pillow has messed up his hair already. you turn your head, eyes following the beams in the ceiling and the chandelier dangling from it. you think it through for a few moments. "i think… something inside of me always liked you." you pause to find the correct words, but none of them seem to describe what you're really feeling. especially not in a way that will sound good to his ears. "like, something just clicked when we went out on our first date. it was like the puzzle pieces fell into place. like i suddenly realized my feelings."

when you look back at him, his eyes glimmer in the moonlight – or is it because of your answer? – and he doesn't move for a good few moments, just taking you in.

"your turn," you prod, supposing he'll need to think through his answer, too.

however, he answers within just a second. "in 2021," he says, completely serious, "when i saw you for the scouting finals."

you groan. "oh, shut up."

"it's true!" he exclaims, propping his head up on his arm. "of course, i knew of you before that day. but actually seeing you in real life, seeing your smile and hearing your laugh..."

"but you never said anything?" you ask, eyes flickering over his features, mentally drawing lines between his freckles and birthmarks. "or did i miss any signs?"

ollie shakes his head. "even when you weren't actually taken, i knew you were mentally with..." he doesn't say the name; he doesn't need to. instead, he starts talking again instantly. "but when i heard that you two had broken up, i knew i had to shoot my shot. i knew i wouldn't get another chance like that."

his words should fill you with joy. they should make you swoon, make you fall even more for him, make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. you have this perfect man lying right next to you, telling you about how he was waiting for years for his chance to be with you – what could be better?

but instead, there's a sharp pain in your chest.

what if you will never love ollie the way he loves you? in the way he deserves?

the sound of ollie pulling the keys out of the ignition finally draws you out of your thoughts, eyes flickering over to him. you've been mostly quiet for this entire forty-five-minute ride to your destination, your mind still stuck on your conversation from yesterday, but you think you can blame it on just wanting to hear ollie hum along to the italian songs on the radio.

you decided to travel to this cute little coastal town to go for a little swim after your morning run, and the name of the place ollie had suggested seemed familiar enough. you just weren't able to figure out why – until you finally arrived.

"i've been here before," you say as you jump out of the car, closing the door behind you. "me and dino were here two years ago, for our summer break."

ollie raises his eyebrows, pulling open the trunk lid. "just the two of you?" he asks and you shake your head.

"some other friends, too."

and paul. but the words die on your tongue. it's an unnecessary detail, anyway, you think.

in this context, sure. but the truth is that the trip was pretty much divided into two trips; your trip with paul, and dino's trip with your other friends. it was just months after you and paul had first gotten together, and this was your first trip together as more than friends. you were still in that initial honeymoon phase, able to spend hours and hours together without ever getting tired of each other, stuck in a haze of obsession and love and everything in between.

but you're not here with paul now. you can't be thinking about your former boyfriend when you're here with your current boyfriend, at a stunning beach in this beautiful weather.

ollie slings your beach bag over his shoulder, closing the trunk before making his way over to your side. "any good memories?" he asks, taking hold of your hand and beginning to drag you out of the parking lot. "or is there a reason you never came back?"

you hum. "we went here to the beach, and… we went to a nice restaurant in town," you say, gazing over the beach to see if you can find any empty sunbeds. "it had a funny name, but i... i don't remember what it was."

"was it any good?" he asks as he lets you pull him towards two sunbeds near the shore.

you nod, snatching two towels out of the bag before ollie even has a chance to put it down, draping them over the chairs. "they had this lovely pasta," you tug your sundress over your head, folding it up on one chair. "homemade tortellini, with this sauce made of-"

"what are you doing?" ollie cuts you off when he sees you sit down, his frown prominent. "i thought we were going swimming."

he's already dressed down solely in his swimming trunks, but not even the sight of his toned upper body is enough to make you waver now. "i just need a few minutes to tan so i..." you trail off as his frown melts into a pout. now, that is something you have a much harder time saying no to. "do i have to?"

"you do."

once you've stood up again, ollie moves in behind you and practically pushes you toward the water, explaining how good it will feel, post-morning run and everything. but the second your toes make contact with the water, you can't help but squeal, instantly shaking your head and backing away again. "i can't," you tell him. his hand wraps around your wrist as you try to move away, and now it's your time to pull your best puppy eyes. "let me warm up a bit first so that i can actually enjoy it."

"that's what you said yesterday," he counters, his other hand reaching to grab your other wrist. "but you stayed far away from the water all afternoon."

"you're right, but i promise that today-" you let out another screech when he tugs you closer to him before picking your body up in one swift motion. you press a warning finger to his chest as he takes a few slow steps out in the water. "oliver james bearman, you will put me down right this second, understood?"

he doesn't answer anything, because he seemingly doesn't understand. or maybe he just thought 'put me down' meant 'throw me into the icy water'.

he doesn't even look guilty over it; in fact, when you resurface and look over at him, he's grinning like the damn idiot he is. "oh, you will pay for this."

if by 'pay' you meant that he would get to pay for dinner that evening, then you were right.

sadly, not at that restaurant from the last time you were in town, but at a cute little trattoria near the city center. you stayed quite late because ollie got recognized as 'the guy who drove for ferrari in f1!' by the owner of the building, who then treated all customers to free drinks, and you obviously had to stay and celebrate with everyone. after the long ride back to your hotel, ollie was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow.

however, you can't get your mind to rest.

yet again, you find yourself dwelling on yesterday's conversation, and this entire trip in general. no matter what you do, no matter what you try – counting sheep, recalling old racing memories, thinking about the rest of the season – your mind always falls back to the same thoughts.

it's as if your brain works on autopilot when you slowly get out of bed, pull open the door to the balcony, and step outside. the cold air should help bring you to your senses, you assume, but it doesn't really do anything other than make your brain spin even more. the city lights in the dark night seem miles and miles away, yet so close, and you have to sit down on the little chair by the corner of the balcony to steady yourself. what's going on? you didn't even have a lot to drink, and yet you feel more dizzy than your worst nights out. what's real and what isn't?

one of the few things you know for a fact is real is the series of low beeps from the phone in your hand, but it takes a couple of moments for you to realize that they're signals – meaning that you're calling someone.

you blink at your phone a few times as you try to figure out what number you've dialed and how to turn off the call because it's nearing three in the morning, but you don't make it in time. there's a clicking sound from the speakers, followed by a low grunt. "hello?"

suddenly, you're wide awake and clear-minded again.

as you're trying your best to figure out how the actual fuck you managed to call him at this hour – was it a pocket dial? or did he call you? – the person on the other side of the line grows impatient. "is this a prank call or are you going to say anything?"

"i'm so sorry, paul," you manage to get out, your voice getting caught in your throat for another few moments. thankfully, he allows you some time to regroup. "i have no idea why i called you, it- it was a mistake."

paul stays silent for a little longer before the clicking sound of a lamp being turned on plays from your phone. "you must've had something to say, no?" he asks, and your heart clenches slightly at the sound of his sleepy voice.

you take a deep breath. "well... i actually do have a question for you." you shoot a precautionary glance over to the balcony door, checking that you indeed remembered to close it properly. "you know when you, me, and dino went to italy in 2022? during the summer break?" he merely hums as an answer. "do you remember what that restaurant we went to like five times was called? the one with the delicious pasta? it had a funny name, but..."

he lets out a confused sound, and you imagine his eyebrows furrowing together like they always did when you used to ask him stupid questions back in the days. "um... not right now..." he sighs. "you mean the one in the corner of the town square?"

"yeah, that one."

"can't remember. sorry." you both go back to that silence from earlier, and you begin to ask yourself if it's less embarrassing to say goodbye or just hang up right now and pretend this never happened. "a bit of a random question, no?"

you chuckle, nodding to yourself. "well, i've been craving pasta... so i just thought about it..."

"can i also say something i've been thinking about?" he interjects suddenly.

"of course."

"well, i... i'd really like to apologize. for all of the things i said about you in the start of the season." the words hit you like a truck. you had assumed you would be somewhat friendly after monaco, but you never would've thought he would actually apologize to you. "it all got much worse than i had anticipated. i didn't mean it like that, i was just..." he sighs again. "i was worried about you."

in some sick and twisted way, his words actually do feel comforting. you understand where he's coming from, despite how little he's said; maybe it's the fact that you know each other so well by now that makes you understand how sorry he actually is. "i get it, paul. thank you for your concern-"

"like, i genuinely really never meant for that to happen," he says, not able to hold back from cutting you off. "i didn't think it could snowball that big and get so taken out of context. i should've known and been smarter."

"i appreciate that, actually," you say, voice softer now. "it means a lot."

the sincerity of his voice lingers, chipping away at the anger you've been holding onto. there's a strange mix of relief and hurt still swirling inside you, though, and you look around the balcony to try to find something to anchor your thoughts. you accidentally glance back into the hotel room, your eyes landing on ollie, peacefully asleep and so oblivious to the emotional storm you're navigating. the sight of the gentle rise and fall of his chest blends with the memory of paul's tired voice, and your mind gets going again. surely, you woke him up – but what if he was lying in bed with someone just like you were moments ago? what if you not only interrupted his sleep but also someone else's?

the words leave your lips before you can stop them. "how is your girl doing?" you bite down on your lip, shaking your head at yourself as an awkward silence fills the air.

"who?"

don't act stupid, paul, you think to yourself. "the girl you were with in imola." who else?

"oh, her," he says, voice suddenly much quieter than before. "i don't know her. haven't seen her since."

"oh." you can't tell if that makes you feel better or worse; was he willing to just go kiss any random girl?

"how is milton keynes treating you?" he asks, interrupting your thoughts before they can trail off. "pepe bothering you anything? no murders in the stairwell?"

"i'm... actually not there right now."

paul lets out a surprised sound. "where are you then?"

you don't say anything; you don't need to. the silence is enough of an answer for him.

"italy, of course. i get it." he takes a deep breath, which turns into a loud yawn before he speaks again. "well, i really should get back to sleeping..."

"i really am sorry for bothering you this late," you say, the guilt clear in your voice. "i shouldn't have called."

"you can always call me, you know. no matter the time."

this is far from the first time you've been on a call with him like this, late at night and thousands of kilometers away. but the words you're so used to telling him, the ones you almost let fall from your tongue, are the ones you aren't allowed to say – or even think of.

i miss you.

"ollie!"

his name sounds like a curse when it leaves your lips, a mixture of a groan and a whine following it. you can hear the laugh he tries to stifle despite him being many meters ahead of you. "what is it?"

"i'm too tired," you complain, stopping in your tracks. "my body is about five steps from giving up."

for the last day of your trip, ollie wanted to take you to one of his favorite spots in italy. did he admit that it required a bit of a hike? yes. but did he remember to mention exactly how awful of a hike it was, that it would take almost three hours and that it would be worse than any workout you've ever gone through? definitely not.

"we're almost there," he counters, turning around to wait for you to catch up with him. when you do, he wraps an arm around your waist, practically pulling you with him up the last hill. you can see the viewpoint already, but you can't squeeze one last drop of energy out of your legs.

"you've been saying that for the last two hours."

ollie laughs again, a sound that usually wakes the butterflies in your stomach but right now just annoys you. how is it fair that he has all this energy left? "you're going to love the view, come on."

he wasn't lying; the view truly is breathtaking. the valley beneath you seems to go on forever, a patchwork of forests and rivers filling the land. the mountain peaks jut up sharply against the sky as the clouds drift lazily overhead, their shadows dancing on the ground below. and the feeling of your boyfriend's arm around you just accentuates the feeling, making it all seem a little brighter and more colorful.

"worth it?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

"let me breathe for a minute, and then i can decide."

he lets you admire the scenery for a bit – but he's already memorized every tree and every mountaintop far too many times, so his eyes stay glued to your expression instead. he soon snaps out of his thoughts, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders. "i almost forgot," he starts as he crouches down a little, opening the zipper of the bag and starting to search through it. "i have something for you."

your eyes flicker down to him, interest in your gaze. "i hope you brought more of those chocolates-"

when you see what he pulls out of the bag, you instantly freeze. it's not the bag of sweets you had expected; it's a small velvet-lined box.

a ring box.

"don't freak out," he says when he takes note of your expression, and he stands up properly again. "it's not an engagement ring."

"ollie-"

"just open it."

when you remain still, he grabs one of your hands from your side, places the box in your hand, and prods you to lift the lid. the hesitance bubbling in your stomach makes your fingers tremble, but you finally open the lid, revealing a thin golden ring with a tiny heart-shaped gemstone.

"it's a promise ring," he explains. "it doesn't have to be a promise that we'll get married one day, or anything like that. but, just... to show that i'm serious about us."

you finally tear your gaze from the ring, wide eyes blinking up at him. "i..." you start, but no words feel right for this moment.

"i know it's sudden, but you can also think of it as an early birthday present," he tells you. "you don't have to accept it, of course. but it would mean a lot to me if you did."

but do you really have a choice?

can you actually promise to be serious about him, in the way he's serious about you?

yourusername just posted!

yourusername recharging the batteries 💗

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user thank you both for letting me take a pic with you 😭 made my week

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user gorggg!! hope you've had a good break <3

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redbulljuniorteam can't wait to see you back on track 💪

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user gonna have to steal you from ollie actually!! you're mine now 🫵

→ user i'll take ollie then 🤭

→ user deal

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olliebearman ❤️

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pitifulbaby · 1 year ago

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Battle Of The Bands

summary: most people do rather traditional gender reveals, but how does a couple who aren't traditional do one?

pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Pregnant!Reader

warnings: pregnancy, eddie has some big feelings, day million of alice not knowing how to do warnings, probably bad writing

a/n: i have been trying to write this for honestly wayyyy toooo long, longer than i should have but! i hope you enjoy this! thank you to the ever so cute @eddieschains for helping me with this! i hope you enjoy! 3.5k words

stranger things masterlist

Parties were never your favorite thing, the crowds were always rowdy and the smell of cheap beer and weed seemed to linger even after you left. But you never minded smaller parties- more so just a friends and family get together. Sure at times they could get loud, but it was never as intense as other parties.

In an odd way you compared it to a spider, the bigger a party gets the more uncomfortable you are, much like a spider. Small spiders are bearable, but as they get bigger? Nope.

So never did you think you would ever have a gender reveal party, you figured if you had kids you would always just find out the gender through an ultrasound, and that never seemed to be a problem for you. It had been Eddie’s idea to do a gender reveal party. He wanted your child to get to experience things he never got to- even if it had to start way before the baby was here yet.

You don’t blame him because you were the same way, you both grew up with hardships and not getting to have things other kids your age did. So you both vowed to give them as much as you can. You two were already obsessed with the baby, only being five months into your pregnancy.

The baby wasn’t fully planned, but that doesn’t mean you two weren’t welcoming the baby with open arms. Things happen for a reason, some good and some bad. But this seemed to be a good thing. Sure you both were rather young to be starting a family, but you two loved each other more than anything in this world, so you knew things would be okay.

Eddie searched for all the ways people reveal the gender, cutting into a cake with the inside being blue or pink, opening a box to reveal balloons, popping those powder poppers, but Eddie thought those were boring and overdone, and truthfully you agreed with him. Maybe it was because those were rather traditional reveals and you two were probably the least traditional in anything. And finally the idea came to him.

The two of you often shopped at thrift stores or garage sales for things, mostly going shopping there for clothes for either of you- wanting to save money to buy brand new things for the baby. Currently your normal clothes just didn’t fit right anymore, some of the oversized shirts you owned still fit, but anything else was just too tight on your stomach that was housing another human. The thrift store you two often went to the most was smackdab in town, a mixture of modern and vintage things mingled into one shop. It was pretty big for a locally owned thrift store, with a section for clothing, furniture, books and movies, and well, everything else you would find at a place like goodwill, but with much nicer things for lower prices.

You were both looking through the maternity clothes, your brows furrowed as you tried to find something you liked. Eddie stood next to you, his hand on your lower back and rubbing soft circles against the fabric of the shirt you wore- that was also one of his shirts. Your gaze wandered over each and every clothing item you looked at, asking Eddie his opinions on whatever you pointed out. He gave you his honest opinion, which was that you would look good in anything, everything and even better in nothing. To which you would either scoff, roll your eyes, feel flustered or all of the above.

After managing to find a good bit of things you liked, you two decided to head to the front to check out and pay. The owners of the store were an older couple, but today it was just the wife running the store. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the younger couple, she knew you both by name- always raved about how you were both her favorite customers.

“Hey you two!” Her voice was cheery, a bit worn from years of smoking and just being as she was older, a southern drawl laced through some of the words she spoke.

“Hi Mrs. Mabel,” Eddie replied with a smile, placing your clothes on the counter. The elder lady simply rolled her eyes at Eddie, smacking his arm softly, “I told you to stop adding ‘Mrs’ to the beginning of my name, makes me feel old and I already feel one foot in the grave.” Mabel scowled at the boy, which only caused you to laugh and lean against Eddie ever so.

Mabel started to ring up the clothes that were priced amazingly low, smiling at the two love birds in front of her. “How have you been feeling, Mom?” She questions, eyes landing on you and letting her gaze shift to your swollen stomach. You simply let out a soft groan at her question, leaning more against Eddie as the woman lets out a snort of a laugh. “I get it honey,” She replies with a soft smile.

The rest of the transaction goes fast, her quickly ringing the clothes up and bagging them. Before you two leave though she turns to Eddie. “This is a bit random, but someone dropped off this guitar and it's rather banged up so we aren’t going to sell it. Do you want it?” She questions as she brings up an older looking, wooden acoustic guitar. There was a large water stain on it and it looked like someone went to town on it with markers and crayons. There were scratches on it and one of the strings was snapped.

As Eddie looks at the guitar, you could almost see the lightbulb going off above his head, a wide smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You sure?” He asks, in which she simply nods, “You would be doing me a favor.” She says handing over the guitar. He grabs the neck of the guitar, “Thank you.”

Once you two were seated in your car, Eddie seated in the drivers seat and you in the passenger, but before driving away he turns to you with a big smile. “I figured it out.” He says, a sense of pride evident in his voice. You arched a brow at him, leaning back against the seat and after moving the vents to blow air directly at you. Your head is turned to him, staring at him. The car is silent, which is much different from when you first get in his van and he puts the keys in, music usually will blast out- but he doesn’t play the music super loud in your car. It's always turned down to a respectable level.

You two blink at one another for a moment before you finally speak, “Are you gonna tell me what you figured out or do I have to guess?” You ask with a cock of your head, Eddie blinks and lets out a small laugh, “Sorry, got distracted looking at you.” Somehow his smile manages to widen as he speaks. You roll your eyes to try and hide how flustered his words made you, feeling heat rise in your chest. “Stop it,” You manage to get out, words breathy.

“No sweetheart, I’m not gonna make you guess. I figured out how we are gonna do the gender reveal.” Eddie’s words are sickeningly sweet, leaning over the console to press a kiss to your lips before he is seated normal and driving the two of you back home.

Though you never enjoyed parties, you couldn’t help but be excited for this one. Nancy had helped you and Eddie plan the whole thing, letting you two come up with the ideas and came up with a few herself, and then she would help get the things needed. Since you and Eddie were far from traditional, you two planned it all differently than a normal gender reveal. The dress code was simple, if they thought you were having a girl you wore red, and if they thought you were having a boy you wore black.

The party was being hosted at yours and Eddie’s home. Though the dress code was black and red, you two kept the other stuff the traditional blue and pink, only for the fact that it's rather hard to find baby items for parties in black and red.

Nancy had come over at around 10:30 in the morning to help finish setting everything up. She came wearing an outfit that didn’t correspond with either red or black because she was the one who knew if it was a boy or a girl. Nancy was given the gender in an envelope, the ultrasound technician writing the gender of the baby down and sealing it up for you to give to whomever. So she was tasked with knowing.

Though the set up was simple, it screamed you and Eddie. Pink and blue guitar picks decorating the table, balloons shaped like music notes, lots of sweet treats and salty foods, you had gotten a cute journal and put it on the table for everyone to either sign their names or just write something sweet for the baby to read when they got older, and then a sign on the wall that said;

“Battle of the bands! Cast your vote, BLACK Sabbath vs RED Hot Chilli Peppers!”

The black was colored blue and the red was pink, and to cast your vote all you had to do was write your name on a little music note sticker and stick it under the respected side of the ‘band’ you were voting for. There were some other little things here and there, but the thing everyone was here for was of course, the reveal.

Eddie had thought long and hard about how to go about it, but the day Mabel gave him the old guitar that was honestly needing to be trashed, he knew what he had to do. Eddie explained to Nancy to get that colored powder that they use in the gender reveal videos, stick a bunch of it in the soundhole in the body of the guitar and then seal it up so none of the color seeps out.

And then it would be simple, the guitar would be smashed and the color would fly out.

Eddie had given you the opportunity to smash the guitar, but you told him you thought it would be better if he did, and after a bit of back and forthing he finally agreed to be the one to smash it.

The party was in full swing, it was full of your closest friends, the people who you thought of as your family. You weren’t close with your biological family, never really were. You were always the outcast, the black sheep so to say, of the family. And truthfully you can’t remember the last time they tried to contact you, so you never contacted them. So they weren’t invited to the party.

The only person Eddie was truly in contact with in his family was his uncle Wayne, who was Eddie’s saving grace. So he was the only blood family there.

Then of course there was the rest of corroded coffin, plus the other close members of the hellfire club. And then the other members of the close, tight knit family you created.

Eddie was glued to your hip for most of the pregnancy, and today wasn’t any different- and to some others it would be annoying, but truthfully you didn’t mind it. Maybe you two were in the honeymoon phase, but it had been like this since you two started dating when you were both sixteen. But you were both now freshly twenty three, so perhaps this was just gonna be how you two would always be.

A gentle hand was rubbing up and down your back, your lover letting you lean into him as you stood talking with Wayne.

Wayne Munson was a wonderful man, a hardheaded gentleman with a heart of gold. He never doubted that either of you could take care of a child- though you knew he kinda hoped you two would’ve waited a little later in life. But, he was happy for you both and excited to be a grandfather, though he joked and said he was too young to be one.

“Now you tell me if this boy isn’t helping you, alright?” Wayne spoke, a southern twang laced in his words as his hand reaches out and grabs a hold of Eddie’s shoulder, giving him a small shake. His words caused you to laugh and Eddie to groan, “Wayne-”

“He is very helpful, wont let me do anything myself.” You said with a bright smile, enjoying seeing Eddie embarrassed. But before the conversation could continue, Nancy was wandering over to the three of you, a soft smile on her face as she reaches a hand and places it against your arm. “You guys ready?” Nancy had told you guys to stay inside while she set the rest of the stuff outside, planning to do the reveal in the driveway.

“You ready to smash a guitar?” You said as you turned to Eddie, you weren’t surprised to see him already looking at you, he pouts softly. “It's gonna feel like I'm committing a sin, but yes.”

In truth he was scared as hell, not for the fact of smashing a guitar, but knowing the gender. It’s not that he wants one more than the other, it was more so the fact that the moment he knows what it will be will be making it that much more real. He was excited to be a father, but he still had that lingering fear of fucking up the kids life. He didn’t want to turn out like his dad, and it feels like everyday that passes the memories he had with his mother become more hazy.

He had Wayne and he was the father figure he needed, but he still had that anxiety that no matter what, that it would happen. No matter how many times you reassure him he can’t help but wonder, what if it's just in his genetics? What if sometime down the line something in him switches and he becomes a carbon copy of his father?

But everytime you look at him with that smile, each time he feels a kick, looking at the sonogram, that fear seems to slowly start to fade.

Moments later the gaggle of your found family is crowded in the driveway, Eddie holding the guitar carefully as his gaze finds yours. Jonathan was in charge of recording it all, which he had no problem in doing so, Nancy was stood by a radio, shoving a cassette tape in and soon Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns n’ Roses was playing through. The song causes Eddie to laugh, his grip on the guitar tightening as he holds it safe and nearly doubles over in laughter, which in turn causes you to laugh at his enjoyment.

Neither of you were expecting the song choice, but boy was it welcomed.

Once again Eddie was looking towards you, “Ready?” He yelled out to you over the song, placing the guitar over his shoulder and gripping the neck tight. Your left hand went and rested against your stomach, nodding with a bright smile. “C’mon! I wanna know what I’m growing!” You soon exclaimed back, you knew no matter what gender you were having you would be happy, and you knew you sounded like most every parent out there when you said all you wanted was for the baby to be healthy, but it was true. That was all that mattered to you, that the baby was happy and healthy.

With a playful eyeroll Eddie was then rearing back the guitar before smashing it against the concrete. And with the single smash the neck of the guitar snapped off, causing pink powder to puff out of the body of the guitar and settle against the ground.

Eddie is then letting go of the broken neck, jumping for joy as he hollers excitedly. You, of course, were an emotional mess. The moment the color appeared the tears pooled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks. Everyone around you was screaming and cheering, but they got tuned out the moment the gender was revealed.

It didn’t take a second longer before Eddie was sprinting towards you and taking you into his arms. A second later he was pulling away, resting his hands against your cheeks. “We are gonna have a baby girl!” You sobbed out, hands grasping the sides of his shirt. His only reply was an excited laugh, pressing his lips to yours- but it was difficult to kiss as you two smiled so intensely.

The kiss was interrupted as a pop! Sound was heard, which turned out to be Gareth and Dustin popping streamers over you and Eddie. The male pulled you into a hug once again, pressing kisses to your forehead as your friends swarmed over.

“I told you guys it was gonna be a girl.” You heard Max say to Dustin and Lucas, her arms crossed over her chest as she smirked at them. “I should’ve bet money on it.” She added, which made Dustin roll his eyes and Lucas to shrug his shoulders.

The rest of the party seemed to settle after that, the younger hellfire members helping clean off the driveway- which was just hosing down the driveway. Everyone chatted for a bit before starting to leave, not before giving the two of you a hug and words of congratulation. Nancy, Jonathan and Wayne had stayed back to help clean, there wasn’t much to clean and you know it wouldn’t take long for you and Eddie to do it, but they took the chores upon themselves.

Each and every single time you tried to help you were just shooed away, which in a way you were okay with- you had been on your feet for quite some time today and you were really feeling it now.

Wayne ended up staying the longest, helping Eddie make the three of you a nice dinner before he decided it was time for him to head back home, leaving with a kiss to your forehead and a soft smile. Eddie had walked Wayne out to his truck, which you knew that they would be outside talking for a good while. So while they were outside you had gotten yourself ready for bed, laying under the downy soft comforter with a book.

Eddie had wandered back inside almost half an hour after he walked his uncle out, a tired glaze in his eyes and his features relaxed. He locked up the house before stepping into your shared bedroom, quickly changing into a pair of pajamas- which consisted of an old pair of sleep pants and a shirt he cut the arms off. Once he had gotten under the covers he was propping himself up on his side, gently taking your book from your hands and putting the bookmark in.

He placed the book on the side table before settling back where he just was, his free hand nudging up your cotton sleep shirt and resting upon your bump. You two just laid there and stared at one another for a moment or so, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

You could feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, letting yourself curl into Eddie. “Oh honey,” He cooed softly, laying back flat on the bed and taking you with him. Your arms wrap around his torso as you rest your head against his chest- not fully laying on him, more so half on him. “What's wrong?” He asked quietly, “I don’t mean to cry,” You start with a sniffle, “I’m just, really happy.” Your words were sincere, giving Eddie a squeeze as you spoke. With a small laugh he is pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Me too, a baby girl. In just four more months we will have a daughter.” Eddie spoke with awe in his voice, his hand starting to rub your back while the other one takes a hold of your hand and rests it against his chest. Your tears had subsided, more so just watering up but they never fell. You find yourself relaxing as you listen to the thud, thud, thud, of your lovers heartbeat. Feeling any tense muscles in your body ease up as your eyes slip shut.

“We are gonna have to come up with a name, and we still need to paint the nursery- how is it that nine months feels so long but, fuck, its going by so fast.” Your words were slightly slurred as you felt the tug of sleep pulling at you, “I still think that Ozzy is a kickass name.” Eddie said after a few moments of silence, causing a laugh to bubble up, moving your hand from his hold and reaching over and gently pinching his nipple.

“Hey! Stop- what if I gotta breast feed?” Eddie nearly squeals, using his now free hand to cover his nipple. “You grabbing my nipples is how you got pregnant.” He grumbles, “If I remember correctly it was the other way around.” You retorted back, “Also, if you somehow magically start producing milk, I am taking you to a doctor.” Was the last thing you managed to say before sleep finally took hold of you.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x pregnant reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader

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chronicbeans · 2 years ago

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Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 8)

Yippee! More time off! At a price, though.

TW: Obsessive Behaviors, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery, Idol Worship, Mentions of Stalking, Spoken Descriptions of Injury/Gore, Mentions of Threats

🎥 The night is a bit difficult for you. Not only is your mind swirling with worries about this stalker of yours, you keep hearing the oddest of noises. It is a bit like plastic tapping on the hardwood floors, before a very soft "thump", followed by a plastic scraping noise, then more tapping. It is like a cycle that keeps going. As much as you want to check it out, you are too scared to do so. Not only that, but if you want any hopes of getting sleep, you need to stay in bed. You are exhausted, but getting up will only wake you up more and completely ruin your chances of rest. The odd noises can wait. Maybe they are Henry playing with Wally? Wally's shoes are plastic and Henry's floor is hardwood. The only carpet there is a blue circle one that covers about half of the exposed wood.

🎥 You, somehow, manage to get a little sleep. Unfortunately, you are woken up to the sound of your downstairs phone ringing. So, you get up to go grab it. You are surprised when Angela makes it to the phone before you, picking it up. You almost forgot that she would be home when you were around. It isn't often you get to spend time with her at home, except for holidays.

🎥"Yes, what is it? You want (Y/N)? Who is this? How do I know you aren't their stalker?" She says, her tone harsh and sharp. She has always had a bit of a... rude tone when talking on the phone. If you had to make a guess, it is due to her long work hours. This situation, however, seems extra hostile on her end. Though, considering what you hear from her side of the conversation, it is a bit understandable.

🎥"Oh, you're their boss? Why are you calling during their break, then?" It grows silent. You feel awkward standing there, waiting for her to finally give up the phone. You watch as her cold eyes grow wide and concerned. "What? Oh... oh dear... Um... I'll hand the phone over to them right now."

🎥 You are finally handed the phone. Putting it against your ear, you ask "Hello? What is it, Boss?" There is a sound of rustling papers, before your boss says "Well... Good news and bad news. Mostly bad news. However, the good news is that you have a few extra days, if not weeks, of vacation! Bad news is that it is because of severe injuries to the... Uhh... "Overnight Team". Is that what they called themselves...?" They trail off, before there is some more rustling of papers.

🎥"Wait... what happened last night?" You ask, remembering how Eddie's puppeteer was walking with a slight limp. Your boss sighs, looking through some more papers, before saying "I can only really tell you what happened to Wally's voice actor and Eddie's puppeteer. The voice actor, I can only tell you because they worked alongside you and I put it into your contract that you both will know of the other's condition during emergencies. I thought it would help you both coordinate your rehearsals. The puppeteer consented to letting others know of what happened before being wheeled out in a wheelchair."

🎥 You grow silent, not knowing what to say. Your boss, seemingly waiting for a cue to continue, decided to take your silence as one. "The voice actor got hit in the head with a falling, two gallon can of paint. We believe it hit his head at an angle, with the rim causing a dent in it. He was found bleeding, but still conscious, somehow. He was given first aid from one of the two camera operators who found him, before the two rushed him to the hospital in their car. He is currently in stable condition, but passed out on his way there, and hasn't woken up."

🎥 You stammer in shock, trying to find something to say. Eventually, you settle upon the words "Do you know what caused the accident?" "No. As I said, the cameras seem to be turning off whenever we are not filming. Well, technically, if I remember correctly, I said that they turned off around the time we stopped recording... we have just learned through this incident that they turn off whenever we are not recording. None of these incidents were caught on camera. The camera operators seem to believe that whoever is behind the messages did all of this."

🎥 He then moves onto Eddie's puppeteer, explaining "They were able to tell us some of what happened, but not who did it. They were found to be limping, which caused Poppy's puppeteer to ask what happened. When they lifted their pant leg, it was revealed that someone had put staples in their leg, before puting five pieces of construction paper over it and taping them on with a tick layer of scotch tape. They were given first aid, before being wheeled out to the present director's car. When asked what happened on the way there, they claimed that they were jumped, promptly stapled and papered, before being forced to call you and deliver some packages with the threat of having staples put into his throat if he didn't. He refused to tell who did it, but mentions that they saw him. So, we know that whoever stalking you is a guy... At least, I think. They were so shaken up they could barely speak, so it might've been a mistake when they said "he" when referring to who hurt them."

🎥 You feel sick... as well as a bit guilty. You had seen them yesterday, but didn't mention anything about their limping. You faintly hear Henry calling for you, so you try to tell your boss goodbye, but they ask a question. "I need to know what was in the package they brought to you. Can you quickly tell me what it is before you go?" Without thinking, you say "It was just Wally. You know, the puppet? He had some red on his shoes and was pretty scuffed up. Now, I gotta go. My nephew is calling." Then, you hang up before they can finish their sentence.

🎥 Turning around, you sigh in disdain. This day is already exhausting and all that has happened was a phone call. Henry scurries up to you, a large grin on his cheeks as he chirps "I was going to tell you this last night, but you were trying to sleep. Wally said he likes you!" You giggle, a tired, exasperated noise that you didn't mean to let out. Right now, you don't really want to hear about Wally... wait a second...

🎥"That's sweet, Henry. Where is Wally, though? I thought you had him, since you two were having a sleepover." He looks around the room, before saying "Well, I went to bed cuddling him. He said he would let me cuddle him to sleep after I told him I had nightmares if I didn't cuddle a plushie. He told me puppets were soft and plush, like plushies. When I woke up, though, he was gone, so I grabbed my Barnaby plushie, instead. I thought you might've taken him because you work with him."

🎥 You open your mouth to speak, only to close it again as you realize what he said. You think of your words carefully, before asking "Did Angela tell you that I am Wally's puppeteer?" He shakes his head, a big, goofy grin on his face as he joyfully says "Nope! Wally did! He said he loves you very much! Something about him not being able to move on set without your help! By the way, can you tell me what a "set" is? Wally wouldn't tell me, saying that we would've been up all night if I kept asking questions."

🎥 You look around the room, before asking "Do you have any idea where Wally might be-?" "(Y/N)! Did you put the freaky puppet in my room?! You know how much these things terrify me!" You look upstairs, seeing Angela gripping the railing with one hand and dangling Wally by his leg with the other. "No, Angela! I was just asking Henry where he was!" "Well, tell Henry not to do it again! He must've looked in my diary, too, because this THING was sitting on top of it, the pages opened for anyone to see!" With that, she drops Wally from the second floor, a loud "thud" resounding once he hits the floor.

🎥 You pick him up, dusting him off, before looking back down at Henry. "Be honest with me, did you put Wally in your mama's room? Did you look in her diary?" Henry shakes his head, tears pricking his eyes as he says "No! I told Wally not to go in there! He promised he wouldn't! Wally, why didn't you listen? Now mama's upset with me!" He storms up to his room, slamming the door shut.

🎥 You look down at the little puppet in your hands, confusion and concern eating at you. If, by the smallest of chances, what Henry said is true... then your stalker could be... A puppet? The words he said sounded similar to the types of things the notes said. Then there's the Wally voice you heard in the studio... The red paint on his shoes could've been...

🎥 You're face grows pale, before you look down at Wally's shoes and mutter "Oh God... Oh, God no..."

🎥 You look up to Angela's room, walking upstairs. You might be acting too rash. Coming to the conclusion that puppets are coming alive is a silly thing to do. Angela could've told Henry about your job. Hell, he could've also told him about the letters you have been getting. Maybe he just put the two together, thinking that it was all some silly little game or joke. Kids are like that. They are blissfully ignorant to how important some things are, right? Kids are smarter than most think, but they still have their little hiccups here and there. Angela must have told him...

🎥 You hope, at least... the other option is a bit sickening to think of.

#welcome home #wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home arg

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anincompletelist · 24 days ago

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hello hello! :D

thank you to @faketrex and @kiwiana-writes and @firenati0n for the tags, friends! if you come across this post, please feel free to take an open tag and share your own as well! x

we're nearing the end of the year and while stats aren't really my thing, I do enjoy taking a trip down memory lane to see what all I've shared this year. (though I'm only including some of my personal highlights, because I am not @kiwiana-writes and I do not have the patience to list them all PROPS TO YOU MY FRIEND IT WAS TIME FOR SOME REREADS)

I'm going to try to keep this relatively short, but I did just want to underline how grateful I am to have a space to share all of this. life continues to throw curveballs my way, especially the last couple of years, and these characters have offered me comfort and stability during a time when everything else feels out of my control. most of the time I open a doc with a general idea and end up with something I had no idea I needed to get out, and getting to know myself a little better in the process.

to anyone who has gone with me on this particular journey, be it for one fic or all 57 from this year, I hope some part of it has created joy, purged some angst, validated grief, sparked realization, or healed something within you too, the way that it has for me.

I'm not sure how long I'll need to be in this space, but for now, it continues to serve an ever-changing but always enlightening purpose.

so, I hope everyone who is celebrating is having a lovely holiday, and I'll see you all in the new year -- wherever it takes us!

anincompletelist / sarah x

there were pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take) [94k]

The entire world has it on video. Alex stumbling forward, straight into Henry’s shoulder, knocking him back into the table and then crumbling to the ground, the cake falling on top of them. Everyone thinks Alex was drunk, or that he hates him, or that he’s immature or unfit for his title, but none of it’s the truth. Everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the world regardless. And maybe, for Alex, it kind of is. [Or, the way things might have played out if Alex had been diagnosed with type one diabetes after the royal wedding.]

treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet [8k]

Alex can’t remember his first words. He can’t recall the melody to the lullaby his parents often sang at his bedside to get him to sleep, nor the name of his sister’s imaginary friend that they had tea parties with on the floor of her bedroom. But he knows they existed. That it all happened and that each of those little, seemingly insignificant moments had built him up and formed him into the person he is today, even if he can’t recall every one of them perfectly. But he can remember, as clear as if it’d been only moments ago, the day that he found out what the red band around his wrist meant, imprinted underneath his skin with a small gap right over his pulsepoint, waiting for the day the ends would meet.

cover me up and know you're enough to use me for good [6k]

Alex decides on forever with Henry, no matter what that looks like for them--the good, the bad, and everything in between.

you've got two hands to take all you can (but don't take too long) [8k]

Philip’s life isn’t his own. Not really. He controls what he’s allowed; even if he’s the one that pays the price for it.

Something Borrowed, Something Blue [116k]

When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice. Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

hate to be lame (but I might love you) [45k]

Newly out as bi, Alex decides the best way to commemorate the occasion is to sleep with the most well-endowed guy on campus. Henry thinks he might be insane, and isn't quite sure what that says about him for being the one to catch feelings when this whole thing was just supposed to be practice in the first place. It all works out. Eventually.

l'ecchappatoire [22k]

Henry fixes anomalies in other people's timelines. It's quite predictable and impersonal work for the most part. (Save for when it seems intent on unraveling his own, of course.)

playing to win (you're in my head again) [37k]

Other than Nora, there’s Pez, the one that’d wrangled them all together in the first place and continues to plan their token themed brunches & bar crawls each week; Eliana, or Eli for short, ridiculously talented creative with a heart of gold underneath the leather jacket and the nose ring; and Mateo, their resident bro, all around hype-man and Alex’s fellow bisexual. And that’s pretty much the group. Except for Henry, of course. But Alex tries not to think about him if he can help it. Or, Henry and Alex are practically perfect for each other. Once they get past the years long animosity and hate-pining, of course.

ain't got a problem with provocative (I wanna be close to you) [22k]

Alex has somehow made it into the most elite sex club on this side of the city, and so far he’s gawked at one (1) naked man—a downright gorgeous man, in his defense—from a distance and gone non-verbal and introspective on a couch by himself. Truly riveting stuff.

I want you to have me like I've never been had (you get all my wild parts) [37k]

Henry's always struggled to get past the inevitable road bump of his classification when it comes to finding a partner. In an ideal world, that sort of thing wouldn't matter. He'd be able to walk into a bar and find someone to take home, wouldn't have to bother with anything aside from just good, casual sex between two people—status aside. He's not really expecting to find that sort of thing at all, but he's certainly not expecting Alex Claremont-Diaz to be the one that makes all of his wildest dreams come true.

tired of writing in pencil (I'm inking you in) [34k]

Against everyone's better judgement, tattoo artist Alex takes up a babysitting job on the side after he forms a connection with the kid over their shared love of art. It doesn't hurt that his dad's kind of hot, too. He gets more than he signed up for the longer he spends with them, and figures out that maybe the key to happiness isn't what he thought it was — maybe growing up means being a little childish after all.

livin' in the violet sounds [12k]

Wanting Alex’s blood is nothing new. Wanting Alex as a whole is nothing new. But Henry knows that it’s a dead end—one that will most likely lead to his own demise if he allows himself to drift too far into his orbit. No matter how attracted Henry is to him, how much he’s imagined the sweetness of his blood on his tongue, how much he’s envisioned the contrast of Alex’s skin against his bedsheets, it doesn’t change the facts. It doesn’t change who they are. Henry, born into a role he never asked for, and Alex, born into a bloodline bred to exterminate him.

(amazon) history, huh? [1k]

henry's amazon history over the course of a year (plus a little more).

ties that bind [4k]

Alexander runs a tight ship, but Henry has long since learned that everyone has their weak spots. Above all else, Alexander cares. Henry’s learned this, observing from a distance. He worries when one of his crew members falls ill with cabin fever or a seemingly rare bout of sea sickness, when they dock to prepare for a restock of supplies in a risky area, when they draw up the sails as storm clouds roll in over head. Henry thinks he likely made a good choice ending up here in his escape plan. And then he gets caught.

Don't Move [55k]

A year after Arthur Fox goes missing on an annual winter getaway at the family lodge, all six of the others revisit the place where it happened to reconnect and - hopefully - to find closure. It may not be as black and white as they'd hoped. [Or, an Until Dawn AU.]

it's so hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands [6k]

His mother would have a fit if she could see him now, taking comfort he isn’t owed from men he shouldn’t want it from. But Henry wipes his tears with the back of his hand and Alex begins singing the dulcet tune of a Spanish lullaby and George feels, perhaps for the first time in his life, like he belongs.

the way to a man's heart (is through his symbiote) [10k]

Henry’s stopped catastrophizing about it or trying to logic his way around it. He might have more feelings about it when it actually happens, but Henry likes knowing that Alex has an extra layer of support and unconditional love anytime he needs it. That if for some reason Henry ever couldn’t be there, Venom would. He also sort of likes the fact that his boyfriend’s extraterrestrial symbiote-bond thinks he’s hot. It’s not the weirdest thing that could have happened. Maybe.

kinktober 2024 [16 works, completed]

all the fics posted throughout kinktober during 2024.

let's talk about sex! [9 works, ongoing]

fics that feature conversations about kink and intimacy.

mary & George [2 works, ongoing]

firstprince, george, and all of the hurt/comfort.

#my fic #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue fanfic #firstprince #alex and henry

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theirishwolfhound · 3 months ago

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Bit of a rambling thing, so like fair warning I suppose. But these are topics that I would like to use in my stories one day, just so that I can figure out my own thoughts. There is more information at the bottom about why I am personally writing this, but consider this more of a self insert type of fic (but a lot of physical details are left ambiguous) for comfort. It has a lot of different thing from my own life.

Task Force 141 (Comfort Fic)- Are You Still There?

Content Warnings: Mental Health Related Issues (Disassociation/Derealization), Passive Suicidal Ideation, Hurt/Comfort

Written In First Person, Nickname: Cardinal, You can read this as a x Reader fic but it isn't intended that way

Joining the army was something I never wanted to do, but I had no choice. Between the lack of familial financial support to the increase of the general price of living, I had no choice. I don't even know why they would accept someone like me into the force. Perhaps they were like me. Desperate. In need of anything they could get their teeth and nails in. Willing for anything, or anyone that would approach with an offer. But now that I'm in it I can't really get out. A trap I willingly walked into like an animal that doesn't know any better. One who was hungry and tired of fighting everything so I chose to fight with a collective. It nearly broke me. But the pay is nice. So at least there's that. My bones and body ache every day. But the people I work with make it worth it. Right now however is a brief rest, no missions, no worries, no problems. At least that's what I think it should be, but my mind is too busy. There are too many thoughts in my head.

What if I didn't have to join up? I wouldn't be here, that's for sure. What if those pills back in secondary school had done the job? Then I wouldn't be here, but I'm not going to try it again. What if I took a bullet next mission? There's nothing I can do it it does, if it happens then it happens. What if I don't wake up in the morning? Preferable, but I have things I need to do tomorrow. Do my pets back home miss me? I hope so. Does my family miss me? Half of them do. All of these are valid thoughts, I think they are at least, and I can't help but to have them even as I sit with my friends in the common room. Two of them play cards together, one reads a book, and the other simply scrolls through his phone. But we're watching a movie at least, so there's noise. Looking at them, I realize that I'm lucky to have them. They're my friends after all. But I don't know what they're thinking, or if they feel the same way. If they feel trapped. ...if they feel real. Are they real? Counter question: am I real? Is this... all in my head? Arguably what is in my head and what is not? Should I reevaluate my decisions? ... My life? ...

Even now as I type this I can't tell if the men around me are actually there. If the phone in my hand is real. If these thoughts are my own. It's scary. To not trust your own mind that is. Life is scary in general. For example: never knowing if you're going to even wake up in the morning. But it's something I'm willing to accept. Something quick and painless. Sleep is the best way for sure. Would I wake up? Maybe. I don't have any underlying health problems as far as I know. Where would I wake up? Hopefully in my bed. What time line would I be in? One that I'm familiar with, I pray for that. Would I adapt if I woke up in a new body? God, I hope so. ... Would they miss me? ... I hope so.

I don't hear his voice when he talks to me, I can't even see who it is, I can only sit and remain transfixed on my notes app. If I ever have to go to therapy because it gets too bad I need something to show them, right? I can't tell if the pressure on my shoulder is real or not, if the way the couch dips next to me is actually there or if I'm still lost in the idea that maybe the world I'm in is all just a dream. That my friends aren't real and that I'm going to wake up in the next moment. It has to be real. It has to be. It feels real. But I don't.

"Are ye okay, Cardinal?"

Am I okay?

"Can you talk t' me?"

Can I?

"What's going on, mate?"

"...I don't know."

"'ad us worried there, mate."

"Yeah ye' was jus'... starin' off again., thought ye might start cryin' yer eyes did that glossy thing."

"Mhm, spaced out a good ten minutes ago."

"...you okay, mate?"

"Ah... sorry... and yeah. I guess I just have a lot on my mind."

Coming back to reality was a bit hard but with the grounding hand on my shoulder it made it easier, the same with the presence next to me. For a moment I could focus. But deep down I know it won't last, the next time I start to think, I'll spiral again. It's a scary thought. I can feel my eyes burning at the mere thought, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"What do you need, Cardinal?"

What do I need?

There's not much I want in life, not anymore. I had to give up my dreams and aspirations so that I could just live. I need basics, this I know... but I'm not hungry. There's a roof over my head. I don't need a drink yet, and I'm not tired.

What did I need?

"...I dunno." "Maybe some bubble tea?"

"Yeah? C'mon then. I'll drive."

"Shotgun!"

"Cardinal get's the middle seat."

"Mm, 'spose that works."

The hand on my shoulder shifts down to my arm, helping me to my feet before two of them wrap an arm around each shoulder so that we could begin to walk out of the common room. It could be real, it could be fake, but for right now... I know that I want it to be real... for my sake.

Part of me likes to think about the possibilities of not being myself, not really in the depression kind of way (i think i could be wrong) but like in the day dreaming kind of way.

Again it may be the mental illness but like constantly formulating these ideas in my head about myself or my OCs really keep me level headed.

I don't know what it is. But it's the only way I am able to not focus on burning out. Like one moment I could be the fucking Dragonborn fighting off Alduin (I'm actually walking through a supermarket trying to get groceries) or the next moment I'm on an undercover mission with the 141 giving me updates on my surroundings via the earpiece in my ear so that I can survive (its a headphone, I'm listening to music while working a job that is breaking my body down with each shift.)

It's like I don't exist but the people I want to be do.

I would give anything to just be in a different world for like a few hours. Whether it be Skyrim or where ever CoD takes place (don't actually send me to Britain) rather than where I am. I want to be without pain, or worry about work— I want to worry about dragons burning down my fucking house.

I should be happy in general, not only when I play DnD or get to just sit with my fiancé in relative silence (parallel play if you will).

I can't tell if this is disassociation or not. I don't think it's derealization but what would I know, y'know?

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a-d-nox · 1 year ago

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pac/pap: what bad habit(s) are you struggling with? what happens when you drop your bad habit(s)? what to keep in mind as you break your bad habit(s)?

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: what is the energy that surrounds you and how can you best protect your energy?

masterlist of pap/pac posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!

pile one

procrastination. i have the feeling that you have a lot of goals and hopes that end up being "broken" or "abandoned" dreams. you likely try to take on too much all at once - you likely have the bad habit of start a lot of tasks but then not finishing anything. this likely causes you frustration because of the lack of progress you see leads to you feeling uninspired. then you start procrastinating on your goals and hopes - its a vicious cycle that you are in.

when you free yourself from procrastination, you will have hope once more. you'll turn a corner and start making dreams into reality - you'll stop mourning what could have been and instead see the possibility of what could be. right now you seem to be focusing on projects that are only half finished - if you focus on one project, determine how you can finish it, and then finish it - you will gain your momentum back.

as you face your procrastination know that you are intelligent and wise. you can make decisions and plans that will make these projects worthwhile. use logic instead of emotions you are likely thinking too much about what others will think/feel and no enough about the logistics of how you can get the project done.

pile two

projection, double-standards, and self-deception. i get the sense that you are struggling to see things as they truly are. you likely are in a holding pattern - it all feels the same because you aren't doing anything different. you must do internal work and break cycles in order to see progress. you have the ability to adapt and evolve, you simply need to allow yourself to do so. i sense there is some self-deception going on as well - i have a feeling that you are judging others inconsistencies and irregularities without evaluating your own. it's scary to confront the lies you tell yourself, the fear you feel, and what you feel ashamed of in your life at this moment in time - but it is time you do so. its time to reconnect with your inner self and be vulnerable. you aren't perfect and that is okay but it is not okay to not evolve and expect others to be perfect and change for you.

when you stop struggling with these inconsistencies between wanting others to be perfect and being unwilling to grow and change yourself, you will see that the universe is presenting you with new opportunities. in relationships, you won't be worrying that you can't find a romance like the one you perviously experienced, instead you will be looking forward to the possibilities of the future. you also won't be as afraid to share who you truly are with others. you could get a new job because you won't be as afraid to admit that the one you are currently in is not for you - you'll be more willing to take a risk and do things you perviously feared others would judge you for.

as you work on limiting behaviors and high expectations without the willingness to change yourself, remember that you to have the power to change. you can't expect others to change for you without being willing to change yourself. take risks you wouldn't normally take - stand up for what you believe in without worrying what others will think. don't be afraid to seek advice from others as you work on this aspect of your life.

pile three

accepting/making false-promises. i have a feeling that you have a bad habit of making promises/deals with strings attached. look at your own intentions as well as those you are involved with - i have a feeling you don't do that often and it only leads you or others getting hurt. if you only do things because it is to your benefit, it is time you self evaluate. you might be a bit too greedy and you might need to be more willing to give your time, money, and/or energy without expecting something in return. or you might be too giving - evaluate why you feel the need to give knowingly to those who wouldn't do the same for you.

when you stop making promises and deals with strings attached, you can start focusing on what you can control in this chaotic world. you have the tendency of thinking that you can control everything and everyone around you and that just is not true - no one has to do what they promise and when you realize that, you will be better in control of your life situation because you will be taking attention in your own life instead of waiting for others to help you or you doing things for others instead of doing things for yourself.

keep in mind while you stop waiting for others to keep there false-promises, that you have yet to make your dreams reality. i sense you are the trickiest of the piles - you are set in your belief that you need others or even the universe to bring you what you want instead of going after it yourself. you might need to take a minute and think about what you truly want but then you certainly have the ability to go after it - so do it.

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mariademetal · 11 months ago

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cw ... yuuji calls reader babe, blood(?) but nothing violent and no vivid description of a wound, if there's anything else lmk note ... haiii welcome to my lil established relationship yuji fic in which he is a stupid cat dad this is HEAVILYYYYY based on my experiences with kittens (every single kitten i've ever owned has shat on my bed once, as if just to get it out of their system before devoting themselves to a litter box) and the many fatal injuries i've received from them..... word count ... 3.1k

At first, you're the one that's apprehensive about bringing the cat home.

It's a little brown thing that ambushes you at the foot of your apartment's stairs, and who was very fun playmate for the first twenty minutes it followed you around, but got to be a little more trouble than you thought it might be worth after locking into climbing you like a tree and tearing a hole in your jeans in the process. At which point, you decided that while your hangout sesh was a lot of fun, it's time for your friend to go back to its mother.

To its fortune, just as you steel your resolution to leave your new friend at the bottom of the staircase on which it first attacked you, Yuuji shows up— of course he does— and decides as soon as his eye catches the claws hanging off of your shirt that he will simply keel over and die if the two of you don't foster the kitten.

"What if her last owners neglected her?" He pleads with you, looking you with the most convincing sad brown eyes you've seen in a moment while he speaks. (All while his new best friend bites his finger like it's made out of something positively delicious.) You're in the worst place in the world for this discussion, you think, still sitting at the bottom of that damned staircase. The fact that Yuuji will have won the moment you move into your apartment with that kitten keeps you in place at the price of your pride.

"Look at how fat she is, Yuuji," you gesture to her, and you can't even remember at what point in your heated discussion it became her. "What if her owners love her dearly and are waiting for her to come home? I'm not going to... catnap her."

"What if her mother died and she's looking for a new one?" He keeps asking these stupid hypothetical, rhetorical questions that prove nothing but still annoy you to no end. Not to mention the way he's cradling her in his arms— you have no doubt that by new mother he means himself.

"We already have a kid," you grit out. By kid, you don't mean an actual child, but rather a betta fish that Inumaki dared you to buy six beers deep and who you, unfortunately, discovered you could not return the morning after, nor ever. Yuuji stepped up as his father when you proved to be a little bit too absent as a single parent to him, and he's alive and thriving to this day, albeit in a tank you doubt is quite the recommended size. "What if she eats Fish? He's my pride and joy."

At this, Yuuji stops and thinks. "Aren't Nobara and Maki looking for a cat?"

"I think so," you hum, and tentatively reach over Yuuji's lap to rub your little enemy's stomach.

"Lets just take care of her until they're ready to take her," he smiles at you, tight-lipped and hopeful. "I'll make sure she doesn't eat Fish. I'll scoop her shit and feed her too."

You take your hand back to allow another tenant to pass between you and Yuuji and lean your head against the railing with a sigh. It's a bad idea and you know it. As much as you'd love to think you and Yuuji are ready to take care of a cat, dedicate the time and care it needs to it, you just can't. But if Yuuji says he'll take care of her just for the meantime, you know he means it. "... Alright. But the second she fucks with Fish, she's gone."

As it turns out, Kitty, as you and Yuuji have intermittently named her to match with Fish, is an only slightly worse roommate than Yuuji. If you were to rank everyone in your apartment by how much you all contribute, it'd go something like this— Fish in first place, obviously, for all the joy he gives you and Yuuji, as well as causing the least mess; you in second, for feeding and raising Fish up; Yuuji in third for cooking and paying the bills; Kitty at dead last for shitting all over your comforter on the first night she stays with you and having the audacity to beg you for food come morning.

Yuuji had prepared in every way he could think of— he bought her a litterbox, plenty of food for kittens, a collar (just until Maki or Nobara take her to get chipped), and enough catnip to plant a field. And, for what it's worth, when you’d first brought her into your apartment, just before Yuuji left to buy her supplies, she was an angel. She was the calmest you'd seen her the whole evening, carefully sniffing the floor of your apartment, sneaking up behind corners, checking for any harm that might come her way. So preoccupied with discovering this new, unknown land that she doesn't even acknowledge Fish's existence. It was only after she'd settled in that he ran to get her kitten things.

Naturally, Yuuji didn't think to check if Kitty actually knows how to use the elegant litter box he'd so diligently set up for her in your bathroom, so where you were expecting to sleep in and wake up to your boyfriend peppering your face with kisses, you instead wake up at the asscrack of dawn to the feeling of him jerking your blanket off of you (and the rest of your bed, you suppose), Kitty watching him from the floor with what you can only describe as morbid curiosity.

"Yuuji, what...?" You croak out, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

Then, the smell hits you, and you're confident you're not falling back asleep.

While Yuuji washes your blanket and lectures Kitty on the proper, sanitary way to relieve herself, you sprinkle some food in Fish's tank.

You stare down Kitty, who, in Yuuji's temporary absence, has taken to frolicking around your flat, as if she isn't a criminal, as if she didn't ruin your favorite duvet, and with a glare that softens by the second, you scoop out a can of cat food into a bowl and put it on the floor for her, despite the fact that Yuuji swore he’d take care of feeding her.

For what it's worth, you have to appreciate that, at the very least, she hasn't so much as glanced in Fish's direction. Despite how vehemently you're denying it at the moment, Kitty is, in fact, tearing and clawing and shitting her way into your heart— but if she does come to stay with you for any extended period of time, you'd rather it be one in which you don't have to constantly move Fish further and further away from her reach in order to keep him safe.

Fish, your first and beloved son— an accident, sure, but the happiest you've made in your life. There have been nights where you have been one dry heave away from throwing up your stomach in its entirety, and the only thing that could get you to stand up and drink some water was Fish, blub-blub-blubbing in his own, urging you with bulbous eyes to take care of yourself (because if you don't, you can't take care of him).

He's a selfish child, but all children are, you suppose. It’s their right.

Kitty finishes her food with a satiated meow and barely makes the three-foot journey to your coffee table before dropping down onto her side and passing out. It's an adorable sight, obviously, but one that also reminds you that that could've been you this morning if only she hadn't emptied her bowels onto your blanket.

Yuuji comes back to your apartment, empty-handed and head hung low, and you already know what he’s going to tell you; “Your blanket didn’t make it, babe.”

All you can do is sigh and throw your arms up. “I’ll pick up another one after work.”

Thankfully, after that fateful morning, Kitty didn’t have many other shit-related accidents. It was incredible, really, how easily she managed to fit into your life, how easily she forced you to carve time out of your day to spend with her instead— she sleeps on your couch since you tragically banned her from your bedroom, wakes you up like an alarm clock, consistently, to give her breakfast, and lazes around your apartment in tandem with you and Yuuji scurrying around to get ready for your respective days. You have class in the morning, he has work, and you always come come back just in time to deliver Kitty and Fish’s lunch. You’ve also found that Kitty has a taste in television— she screams at you whenever you put on Rupaul’s Drag Race, out of excitement or prejudice you can’t quite find out, and curls up into a ball in the crook of your elbow whenever you watch Seinfeld. Then, Yuuji comes back from work and if you don’t have plans, the four of you eat dinner together like a bonafide family.

Tonight, you don’t have plans, but Nobara, who has been promising to call you about Kitty for the past month you’ve had her has finally caught you on your phone.

“Of course I want her,” she insists, and you can see her bob swaying along with her head as she jerks it around in your mind's eye. (You love her dearly.) “It’s just… not a great time for Maki and I.”

Maki and I seems to be her favorite thing to say nowadays— you don’t think you’ve seen one without the other in some months. “That’s fine, but me and Yuuji can’t foster her forever, you know,” At the sound of his name, Yuuji whips his head around to see what you’re doing. Once he clocks who you're talking to, he mouths to you to tell Nobara he says hi. “Yuuji says hi, by the way.”

“Yeah, tell him I say hi too,” Nobara sighs. “We’re moving into Maki’s folks’ place, and I don’t know how they feel about cats and stuff.”

“Maki’s folks’ place is so big I doubt they’ll ever even see her.”

"I'm sorry, but can you just keep her until we're settled in?" Nobara asks with a politeness that's very out of character for her. Then again, if you had to live within a mile of the Zen'in compound, you'd be worn out, too.

It must be a sign from God, from Buddha, from the universe, or maybe just fate that before you have the opportunity to mumble out an uncertain I don't know to Nobara, Kitty wraps herself around your calf. She's gotten so big, you think to yourself— it feels like just yesterday she was small enough to fit in your shoe, but over the month you've fed her and scooped her shit, she's become big enough to play with your shoes.

"Yeah, of course," you splutter out. You press your phone against your shoulder and lean down to pick Kitty up while Nobara chatters away in your ear about gratitude and just hum when she asks you this or that. For a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you should be selfish and keep Kitty for yourself. Then you reprimand yourself, because she's still, for all intents and purposes, Maki and Nobara's cat.

Still, as you come to terms with the fact that Kitty's stay in your apartment will certainly be longer than you originally planned, it seems Kitty comes to the same realization— you and Yuuji discover that she's pointedly decided to make herself entirely at home. She was never well behaved, not really, what with the way she'd pounce on Yuuji whenever he fell asleep on the couch, or the way she'd dig her nails into your thighs whenever your petting skills failed to meet her standards, but it seemed that you, at the very least, had an understanding when it came to respecting the space you're all sharing— your apartment. She didn't scratch your couch, didn't spray litter all over your bathroom, and seemed to ignore fish in his entirety.

Now, though, she's picked up possibly the worst hobby of all— knocking shit off of other shit. Pens off of your desk, detergent off of your washing machine, cups off of your fucking kitchen counter. Yuuji, guilty for anything and everything he is physically capable of being guilty for, has cleaned up after her with a vigilance that you feel genuinely bad about. Unfortunately, he doesn't do it as carefully as you wish, which is why you're picking glass out of his hand with a tweezer at one in the morning after he stumbled out of your room to find what you and him had neglected to put away (what Kitty had managed to knock off of a counter) this time and found out the hard way. By tripping on the culprit in the darkness and falling hands-first onto the scene of the crime.

"Are you sure you can go to work tomorrow?" You ask, voice soft, and Yuuji, who has been smiling since he woke you up with a yelp, finally falters.

"I think I'll be alright," he murmurs back. "Nanami won't be happy, but..."

"When is he ever?" You snort.

"He likes Kitty, too."

"You've shown him pictures of her?"

"Of course! I've shown pictures of her to everyone in the department," he grins, and you can picture him, heavy in his uniform, lifting his phone up to his stoic boss' face with a picture of Kitty, asking Isn't she cute? Then him adjusting his glasses before nodding, Yes, Itadori, she's very cute.

You suppose that's the effect Kitty has on people. Yuuji, too.

He's sitting on the edge of the tub, you're sitting on the toilet seat, paper plate balanced on the sink beside you to drop the fragments of glass onto, Kitty passing and curling around your and Yuuji's feet. It feels odd to say it, but he got off lucky in this situation— only a few pieces of glass burrowed themselves deep enough into his skin to bleed, and the rest are just stuck on the surface. Still, you're pretty confident Yuuji's in a lot more pain than he's letting on.

"Really, Yuuji," you huff, "I think you should stay home tomorrow. Just so the swelling goes down and it'll be less painful the day after."

"It doesn't hurt," he starts speaking with his whole chest, but once he clocks the look you're giving him of complete and utter disbelief, his confidence wanes. "... that much."

"I know you're worried about money, but I'm worried about you," you start, and try not to wince with him after pulling out a particularly deep shard of glass. "And besides, if this gets worse because you went back to work too early, we'll have to pay for that, too."

He hums. "I guess so."

You wrap his hand up diligently, pepper his face with kisses, and shoo him away to your bedroom so you can pick up all the glass on the floor that didn't end up on that paper plate. He calls in sick.

You get through your classes like a zombie being pulled along campus by a leash. As it turns out, staying up until the early morning making absolutely sure that there wasn't any glass left on your floor did not prepare you for success when it was time to leave. Still, Yuuji solemnly swore to spend his day focused entirely on healing, so you achieved one little victory, if nothing else.

When you get home, before you can even grasp the doorknob, you hear Kitty yapping away, Yuuji sniffling, and something being shuffled around your living room. You don't know quite what you're afraid of— an intruder, Kitty growing to the size of King Kong, or Yuuji having shrunk of Kitty's height, but after peeking your head into the door, you can confidently say that it is none of the above. You do, however, see the assortment of Kitty's things gathered right by the door.

You step into your apartment, kick your shoes off, and greet Kitty as she practically jumps into your arms.

"Yuuji?" You call out to him, and realize he's in the bathroom, probably figuring out what the best way to remove Kitty's litter box would be. "What're you doing?"

He walks out of the bathroom, eyes red, bandage on his hand freshly, but messily changed, and his head hung low. "We have to give Kitty up," he says, and you immediately clutch her tighter in your arms.

"What're you talking about?"

He just gestures to where Fish is— rather, where fish should be. His tank isn't just empty, it's gone. You realize what happened.

"Did she eat Fish?" You ask. Your voice is calmer than you really are, but you don't want Yuuji to think you're mad at him for Kitty coincidentally killing Fish the one day he happened to stay home.

"No," he insists, and points to a red Solo cup he's placed on top of your bookshelf. "He's there. She... knocked his tank over. I saved him before he could die, but..."

You look down at Kitty, who is similarly looking up at you— it's like she knows what she did, like she knows exactly what your one condition to let her stay is, like she's pushing the rules just to see what you'll let her get away with before kicking her out. But Fish is not dead, albeit traumatized and certainly not thriving in his temporary home. You realize that you think you'd forgive Kitty if she clawed your eye out. You've been denying your truth— denying that you love Kitty like she's yours, because she is— for far too long.

"I-I remember what you said about only fostering her if she doesn't mess with Fish, and I agreed, so—"

"I don't want to get rid of her," you interrupt Yuuji, and his expression goes from distraught to severely confused.

"No," he insists. At first, you were the one who was apprehensive about keeping Kitty. Now, the roles have been reversed. "She messed with Fish. I get it."

"Yuuji," you say, softer, and walk towards him. You look at his hand and realize he must've worked so hard on his day off, to clean up the glass of Fish's tank, to clean up the water, the decorations, the plants, and how scared he must've been that Fish would die. How scared he must've been that you'd be mad at him. You love him too much for that. "We're not getting rid of Kitty."

"We're not?"

"Of course not. Do you want to?"

"Of course not!" He huffs, and makes a face at Kitty that she must not like, because she takes a swipe at him from all the way in the crook of your elbow.

"So... do you want to tell Nobara?"

"Hard pass."

#not edited icl #this stems from my deep dark desire to raise a cat with a himbo #jujutsu kaisen #itadori x reader #jjk x reader #yuuji x reader #yuuji fluff #jjk fluff #itadori yuji x reader

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