#I will get the last laugh on Soup when I finish writing the Eyes drabble for him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captainjanegay · 4 years ago

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someone holds me safe and warm | Stucky | Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent, Timelines, 4+1 | 5.4k words | Ao3

Summary:

Four times Steve was sick or hurt and Bucky tried his best to care for him and one time the roles were reversed.

A short trip through Stucky timeline with loads of softness and care on the way.

A/N: It's here! My Secret Santa gift for the loveliest @snarky-drabbles ♥ I was so worried I won't be able to finish it and it turned out much longer than I wanted it to be but I really hope you'll like it :') I was so happy when I've heard you wanted some nice and soft sickfic and I hope I was able to provide you with exactly what you wanted ♥ I wish you the happiest holidays season, love! Despite the stressing, it was such a pleasure to write it for you ♥ Also big thanks for @metalbvcky for hosting this event, it was so much fun :’) And thank you my sweetest Luisa @its-tortle for giving it a read and being your incredible, supportive self :’)

1. December 9th, 1928

The snow has been falling all night. Bucky’s mum had to almost forcefully drag him away from the window, because Bucky couldn’t stop looking at the tiny snowflakes making layers over layers of fluff on the ground. If he could, he would stay up all night, just to make sure the snow won’t disappear before he wakes up. The only argument that eventually makes him go to sleep is the threat his mum makes, saying that he won’t get to go out with Steve tomorrow if he doesn’t make it to bed in the next 20 minutes. He makes it in 15.

When his mom finally lets him go to the Rogers’ house the next day, it’s well past 11 o’clock. Luckily, the snow is still there and Bucky’s pretty sure there’s more of it than he remembered. On one hand he wants to take the longer route so he can spend more time kicking it up in white, fluffy clouds, jumping into snowdrifts or making snowballs. He doesn’t throw them at anyone, his mum raised him better than that, just drops them back onto the ground. The most fun was in creating a perfectly round ball anyway. But on the other hand, he wants to get to Steve’s house as soon as possible, so they can go out and do all of those things together. Eventually, he decides to take the shortest route possible but he kicks the snow around even more to make up for it.

Ten minutes later he runs up the stairs of the old tenement house and knocks on the door. Two slow and three rapid taps, as always. Bucky bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for Steve to run to the door to let him in, as always.

But this time it’s not Steve who opens the door. It’s Mrs. Rogers, her face pale and with dark circles under her eyes. But as soon as she sees Bucky a big, genuine smile brightens up her face. It’s the exact same smile Bucky has seen on his friend many times.

“Good morning, James,” she says. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Good morning and likewise, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky grins, taking off his cap. “Is Steve here? It’s been snowing all night and I was hoping we could go play outside!”

Mrs. Rogers sighs, her smile getting a bit sad. Bucky senses that something’s wrong, and his excitement melts like the snowflakes he tried to catch on his tongue.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Mrs. Rogers says. “Steve’s sick. He won’t be able to go outside for a while. I guess you’ll have to face all this snow by yourself today.”

Bucky's face falls upon hearing that. He was really excited for today and he spent long minutes before he fell asleep last night thinking about all the fun he and Steve could have. But Steve’s sick and the idea of doing all of them alone doesn’t sound fun at all. So instead of saying goodbye and heading home, Bucky looks at Mrs. Rogers with hopeful eyes and asks, “Would you mind if I came in and stayed with Steve for a while?”

The warm smile is back on Steve mother's face as she ruffles Bucky’s hair in an affectionate gesture and steps to the side, letting him in. “Of course, I don’t mind. Steve will be so happy you’re here.”

Bucky quickly shrugs off his coat and kicks off his shoes. Just as quickly, he apologises for all the snow he’s brought inside and picks up his shoes to put them on the rag by the door. Mrs. Rogers only waves a hand at him. Instead of running straight to Steve’s room, Bucky follows Mrs. Rogers to the kitchen when she asks for some help. Tongue sticking out in concentration, Bucky takes a careful hold of the bowl of hot chicken soup and slowly walks after Mrs. Rogers who is carrying an armful of meds and a glass of water.

As soon as they enter the other room, a small, blond head peeks out from under a mountain of blankets. As soon as it notices Bucky, a smile splits its face.

“Bucky!” Steve says, his voice all raspy and weird.

Bucky only grins in response, sending a quick look Steve’s way before he focuses back on the bowl in his hands. Only when it’s safely set aside on the bedside table, Bucky jumps towards the bed. Mrs. Rogers stops him when he tries to give Steve a hug, saying he might get sick, too, so it’s better if he keeps a bit of distance.

Steve's smile falters. He tries to convince Bucky that he should go so he won’t catch anything from him. In response, Bucky calls him a dimwit and drops onto the floor next to the bed.

Mrs. Rogers checks Steve’s temperature, rubs his back with something with a very strong smell and gives him some medication. Steve looks miserable and a bit embarrassed through all of it. Seeing his friend’s discomfort, Bucky tactfully looks away and starts babbling about the snow, about mean Mr. Flanagan slipping on the icy pavement in front of his house today and falling onto his butt while shouting obscenities. He tells Steve how pretty the park looks with trees and bushes all covered in snow. He asks if Steve would be able to draw them if Bucky describes it to him with all the details he can remember. When he glances up at his friend, Steve’s eyes are finally bright and happy again, and he’s really excited to try.

Mrs. Rogers leaves a few minutes later, dropping a kiss to Steve’s head and ruffling Bucky’s hair before she walks out of the room. Steve adjusts his pillows so he can sit more upright and takes a small sketchbook from the bedside table. Bucky rests his folded arms on Steve’s bed and places his chin on top of them. As soon as he starts talking about the snowy park, Steve starts drawing. It looks just like the real thing. Soon enough, Bucky starts making up details, at first some believable ones but then he comes up with more and more ridiculous things. Giggling, Steve dutifully puts them on paper. It’s really nice, knowing that Bucky managed to make his best friend laugh despite the misery and terrible cough that escapes his mouth every so often.

The snow might be nice but there’s still plenty of winter left, so Bucky’s sure he and Steve will have a chance to play outside soon. Bucky is more than happy to sit by Steve’s side if it means he can save him from boredom this way.

Besides, their version of the snowy park is so much better than the real thing.

2. December 14th, 1936

It’s cold. The old stove is not giving as much heat as it’s supposed to. They’re slowly running out of things to keep the fire running and Bucky should probably check if there are any old wooden crates or something he could take from the docks tomorrow. It’s not freezing yet, but the nights are supposed to get even colder. He has to do something. The coughing fit from the other side of the room makes Bucky take another log from the quickly disappearing pile in the corner, before he goes back to stirring the soup.

He didn’t make it, just heating up a portion of what his mom gave him when he came by for a quick visit earlier today. It’s better than anything he could make, but it’s not as good as Mrs. Rogers’. God, there’s no way anyone could compete with her in terms of cooking or baking. Bucky was pretty sure her chicken soup had some actual healing powers, considering how quickly it was able to get Steve back on his feet.

It’s easier to think about Mrs. Rogers' soups and their magical properties than the fact that each time Steve gets sick, it seems to be worse than the last time. Thinking about that won’t do anyone any good. And Bucky would rather swallow a log than let Steve see how worried he gets sometimes.

So he stirs the soup extra vigorously before pouring it into a bowl when it gets nice and hot. It’s filled to the brim, so Bucky furrows his brows in concentration as he slowly makes his way across the room.

When he’s halfway there, he hears a laugh from the pile of blankets on the bed. It’s a bit wheezy but it’s a laugh nonetheless. When he looks up, Steve is already looking back at him with a soft smile on his face.

“What?” Bucky asks defensively, feeling flustered all of sudden.

“Nothing,” Steve says. He looks tired and pale but his lips stretch in an even bigger smile. “When you’re concentrating on something, you still stick your tongue out. Just like when you were a kid.”

“Oh fuck off, Rogers,” Bucky mumbles, placing the bowl on a stool that serves as a makeshift bedside table. “You’re not getting any of the soup for being an asshole.”

“How am I an asshole?” Steve asks. “I just think it’s cute that you still do that.”

Feeling that his blush is only getting worse, Bucky turns around and pretends to be very busy putting away the food from his mom. After taking a deep breath, he gets a grip on himself and walks back towards Steve.

As he approaches, Steve tries to slowly pull himself up into a sitting position, his arms shaking with effort. When Bucky reaches out to help him, Steve sends him a warning look so fierce that Bucky just raises his hands in surrender and backs away. He sits on the chair by the small table, stacked with books, old newspapers, letters, some of Steve’s sketches and who knows what else. While Steve eats, Bucky tries to tidy it all up, putting it all into nice piles and filling the quiet with mindless chatter. He tells Steve about the new Christmas tree they’ve put up at the docks, and about Becca’s new guy who seems decent enough to get Bucky’s approval of going out with his sister. Every once in a while, he throws Steve a quick glance. He tries not to sigh at the sight of Steve’s shaking hands or at the fact that he needs to take a little break every few sips as if even eating tired him out. Bucky doesn’t offer help, no matter how much he wants to. Steve would probably strangle him with his bare hands if he did, even in his current weakened state.

So Bucky doesn’t say anything about that, just keeps babbling nonsense, getting an occasional hum or a chuckle out of Steve. After a few more minutes, Steve buries himself back under the blankets.

“It’s very tasty but I’m full,” he says. “Give your mom my thanks when you next see her.”

“How do you know I didn’t make it?” Bucky asks in mock offense, putting away the leftover soup. “You were asleep for most of the day so you can’t be sure.”

“You’re a decent cook, Buck. But that’s way out of your league. You’ve reheated it like a champ, though!”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him and shakes his head. “You’re such a punk, Rogers. Now scoot over - for such a small person, you’re taking an awful amount of space. I’m cold and you have all the blankets.”

They both know it’s just a guise. There’s a perfectly good cover on Bucky’s bed on the other side of the room. Steve doesn’t protest though, just move forward a bit, leaving space for Bucky to slide between him and the wall. As soon as Bucky’s settled, Steve’s body goes lax next to him and he presses his back closer to Bucky’s chest. Automatically, Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s middle. He rests his head on top of Steve’s, the soft fair hair tickles his cheek. Soon enough Steve’s breathing evens out. Bucky closes his eyes, but it takes him a bit longer to drift away, as he anxiously listens to all the hitches and rumbles in Steve’s breathing. At some point, still deep in his sleep, Steve in his sleep wraps his long, delicate fingers around Bucky’s wrist. The touch soothing enough to let Bucky calm down and allow the sleepiness to finally take him.

As long as he holds Steve close to his chest, nothing bad can happen.

3. December 20th, 1938

There are blood stains on Steve’s white shirt. Some around his collar and some on his cuffs, which means that he managed to pack a punch or two before he got beaten up by whomever he started a fight with this time.

Bucky’s lips are set in a thin line as he tries to get a better look on Steve’s face to assess his injuries. Which wasn’t that easy considering that Steve is currently looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh, for God’s sake, can you just—,” Bucky says angrily, gripping Steve’s chin and turning his face up. He might be furious that Steve has gotten into another fight, but his grip is gentle. The last thing he wants is to cause Steve more pain. But God knows how badly he wants to punch that reckless punk himself, sometimes.

Steve jaw is set and at first, he looks like he wants to free himself from Bucky’s grasp. Changing his mind, his eyes gaze right into Bucky’s, a challenging expression on his face. Bucky would laugh if it wasn’t for the state of said face.

The blood is most certainly coming from Steve’s split lip. Or maybe it’s from the deep cut on his left cheekbone, surrounded by a darkening bruise. There’s some dried blood under his nose, too. He doesn’t have a black eye this time, so that’s good. Although by the way Steve flinched when squaring his shoulders to look up Bucky thinks it’s a safe bet he got punched or kicked in the ribs. Bucky prays none of his fragile bones are broken.

The anger he felt dissipates, at least a bit. What’s left is worry — which Bucky tries to hide, knowing that Steve would just get annoyed at that – and affection. He stopped trying to hide the latter ages ago.

“Who was it this time?” Bucky sighs, absentmindedly swiping his thumb across Steve jaw, careful not to put pressure on any of the bruises.

“Some asshole, as always. He was shouting obscenities at a girl who didn’t want to go dancing with him or something and he tried to follow her home,” Steve says with a shrug, followed by a wince.

Bucky can’t stop another sigh that escapes his mouth. He really wishes the world would be a better place. A place where people weren’t harassed for no reason, so Steve didn’t feel obligated to help them. Damn Steve Rogers and all his righteous anger and his heart of gold.

“Sit down. I’ll clean you up, punk.” Bucky puts his hand down and takes a step back. When he sees that Steve opens his mouth — to protest, most likely — Bucky points a finger at him. “Don’t argue with me. I will kick your ass. Don’t think I won’t.”

Steve rolls his eyes but there’s a hint of smile tugging at his lips before he turns around and walks toward the bed. Bucky goes to get something to clean up Steve’s cuts.

“I can do it myself,” Steve says when Bucky’s back, reaching out for the wet cloth Bucky brought.

“Oh, I know you can. Just let me be useful since you’ve stolen all the glory, being a hero who saves ladies in distress and all,” Bucky responds, taking a gentle hold of Steve’s chin again.

“If getting beaten up and kicked like a dog is glorious, then yes, I guess I have. You’d be more of a help than I was, if you were there.” Steve’s smile is full of irony as he tries to look away but Bucky’s hand keeps him in place.

Bucky drops the hand that was gently wiping at the cuts on his face and waits. Eventually, Steve’s eyes land on him, probably wondering why Bucky stopped.

“You are worth dozens of men, Stevie. Dozens of me. You’re half my size but you saved so many people already. You’ve stopped that asshole from doing who knows what to this girl and gave her time to get home safely,” Bucky says, his voice steady and sure and his eyes never leaving Steve’s, no matter how Steve wants them to. “You always know the right thing to do, and I swear your heart is made of pure gold. If that’s not glorious, I don’t know what is. You’re incredible, Stevie and help me God, I’ll beat the shit out of you if you keep putting yourself down like this.”

Steve chuckles at the last part and opens his mouth as if to respond but closes it a second later. The smile he gives Bucky is shy and soft. Bucky’s heart aches to just lean down and close the remaining space between them. Instead, he lets go of Steve’s cheek and goes to wet the cloth again. It’s not necessary, but he needs to take a grip on himself before he does something stupid.

A few moments later all the blood is cleaned from Steve’s face, his nose turns out not to be broken this time and most of his cuts have mostly stopped bleeding. Bucky counts that as a win.

“Take your shirt off,” Bucky says, trying not to blush. “Gotta make sure your ribs are in one piece.”

“Just admit you want to get me naked,” Steve replies without missing a beat. When the words leave his mouth, his eyes widen in shock, as if he wasn’t expecting to say them out loud. “I mean— I didn’t—,” he stammers.

Seeing how the blush colours Steve’s cheeks, still visible despite the bruising, and travels down Steve’s neck and past the collar of his blood-stained shirt, Bucky admits to himself that he is not as strong-willed as he liked to think. Sliding his hand down, Bucky traces Steve’s delicate collarbone with his thumb.

“To be honest, I’d prefer to do that for purposes other than checking if your ribs are intact,” he hopes he sounds nonchalant, but he can feel his cheeks are heating up.

“Oh really?” Steve asks, cocking an eyebrow up. The challenging look is back, and Bucky is going to lose his mind if Steve doesn’t stop looking at him like that. All cocky and sure of himself, like his face is not beet-red at the moment.

Bucky clears his throat and picks up the cloth. “I guess we have to wait until your cuts and bruises are healed and check.”

Steve laughs, gripping a handful of Bucky’s shirt and tugging him lightly. “Can you— Just come here, you jerk. I’d get up but it really hurts, I think you should kiss it better.”

And Bucky does. He kisses Steve’s split lip and then very gently swipes his mouth across Steve’s cheekbone and jaw to go back to his lips a moment later. A giddy laugh escapes his mouth and he thinks that there’s no other thing he’d be doing. He is not naïve enough to believe Steve will stop coming home with bruises of all sorts, but Bucky will always be there to kiss them better.

4. December 1st, 2024

The room is quiet. Or relatively so, considering that Brooklyn rarely gets completely silent, even at night. But it’s quiet enough for Bucky to hear the change in Steve’s breathing, where he lays asleep next to him. He opens his eyes and turns around. Soon enough, Steve starts tossing and turning, his breathing becomes more erratic. All those sleepless nights, spent on anxiously waiting for Steve’s next breath, praying the next one would come are flooding Bucky’s memory. He’s not sure if it’s better now. Steve might not be physically fighting for his life now, but the night terrors that haunt him, certainly make him feel like he does.

Carefully not to startle Steve, Bucky places his flesh hand on his arm. He squeezes lightly and whispers Steve’s name. When it doesn’t help, he tightens his grip for a moment and speaks a bit louder. Steve breathing hitches and he goes still for a moment. But then a strangled cry escapes his lips and he tosses hard enough that it wakes him up. Immediately, he sits upright almost knocking Bucky down in the process and he pants heavily, looking around the room with wide, terrified eyes.

"Steve," Bucky says, trying to keep his voice calm. "It's OK. You're OK. We're in Brooklyn. It's 2024. You're safe, we're safe. Everything's fine, Stevie."

It's like a mantra that Bucky keeps repeating until Steve is able to take full, big breaths again. When he finally turns his head to look at Bucky, he looks scared and lost and it breaks Bucky's heart into pieces. Bringing his hands up, Bucky wants to stroke Steve's cheek in a comforting gesture. But before he has a chance to do that, a grimace crosses Steve's face and he quickly gets out of bed and rushes towards the bathroom. Bucky sighs at the sounds of retching he hears a moment later. He gets out of bed and follows Steve. With a voice no louder than a whisper, he repeats over and over those little affirmations he knows Steve needs to hear and believe anew as he gently rubs his back.

It doesn't take long for Steve to calm down, but Bucky would gladly sit there all night if needed. Soon enough the dry-heaving stops and only a tiny sob comes out of Steve's mouth. Bucky helps him to brush his teeth, since his hands are shaking so much it makes it impossible to get the toothpaste out.

After that, Bucky tangles their fingers together and walks out of the bathroom. Instead of going back to bed back to bed, he leads them to the kitchen. He turns on the small lamp by the couch as they pass it,mostly for comfort, since with their respective shares of the serum, navigating in the darkness is not much of a problem for them. The dim light softens the dark edges of the living room and open kitchen space.

Bucky puts the kettle on, his hand not leaving Steve's for a second. He smiles — a bit sadly — as Steve comes closer, and plasters himself to Bucky's back, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Steve hides his face in the crook of Bucky's neck, right palm coming up to lay flat on Bucky's chest, right over his heart. Bucky takes slow, deliberate breaths, knowing that his calm will help Steve. So without a word, he lets Steve see and hear and feel that they're both alive and safe. That whatever haunted him in his nightmare is not real. At least not anymore.

Bucky brings Steve's left hand, the one he's still holding, up to his lips and places a kiss after kiss on each of his knuckles. More reassurances are whispered right into Steve's warm skin.

It's hard to tell how long they stay like this. The water starts boiling and the electric kettle turns itself off at some point but none of them as much as flinch at the sound. It could be hours and it could be mere minutes before Steve's muscles relax and his breathing finally steadies. While he doesn't let go of Bucky, he doesn't cling to him like a lifeboat anymore.

Slowly, Bucky turns around in Steve's arms. His hands gently cup his face and he rests his forehead against Steve's.

"You're here," Steve says. The statement is just a shaky whisper and Bucky's not sure what to make of it, but he gives a small nod.

"I am. And I'm not going anywhere,"

"It's—," Steve starts, and then swallows. "You were— I thought—"

Leaning away just the slightest bit so he can look at Steve's face, Bucky shakes his head. "Shhh, Steve. It doesn't matter. It wasn't real. Don't torture yourself, love. We can talk about it in the morning if you want to, yeah?"

After a second, Steve gives a small nod. Even though the unease still hides in his eyes, he tries to muster a smile as he shifts his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Bucky's palm.

"Now, I'm going to make you a cup of tea because as Mrs. Rogers used to say—," Bucky says.

" 'A cup of Earl Grey always does more good than harm'" Steve finishes and closes his eyes but the smile grows a tad bigger.

"Bless her Irish soul," Bucky says with a smile of his own. "So I'm gonna make some and then we'll go back to bed. Or cuddle on the couch, or take a walk or whatever you want to do, OK?"

Steve looks up at him, his hand stroking lightly across Bucky's cheekbone. "I love you, Buck. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"And you'll never have to know. I'm not going anywhere, my love. I'll be right by your side for the end of time because that's where I belong. And we've proven enough times that there's not a damn thing that could change that.”

5. December 5th, 2025

Bucky was never the one to get sick. When he was a kid he had a bad cold maybe once or twice but it was all forgotten within a week or two. Which is pretty surprising, considering that he was hanging with Steve all the time but never managed to catch anything from him. Later, he has gotten the serum so getting sick stopped being a real issue for him.

So why does his throat feel all scratchy, his nose is too stuffy for him to take a single breath and he feels both hot and cold at the same time?

It's because the world hates him, that's why. There's also a teeny tiny chance that it has something to do with his and Steve's last mission.

They were trailing someone who aspired to create a biological weapon, as one does. It wasn't hard to locate this mad scientist's secret lair or to capture him. Overall it was a pretty simple mission and it was going really smooth. At least until they were to extract the highly reactive bio-bomb that — quite literally — blew up in Bucky's face. It was good he was alone in the room when that happened because as the Avengers-issued doctor has later told him, the substances implicit in the bomb would be lethal to regular people in the dose that attacked Bucky. But to someone enhanced the worst case scenario would mean a heavy case of flu that the organism would be able to fight, eventually.

So, of course, the worst case scenario is exactly what is happening now. Every single muscle in Bucky's body is aching, including the ones he wasn’t even aware existed. The sheets are drenched with sweat and he's still shaking under his layers of covers.

"Steve?" he calls miserably. His voice feels like sandpaper in his dry throat.

Not even a second passes before he hears footsteps and Steve enters the room.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks. There's a worried wrinkle between his brows.

Instead of answering Bucky let's out a little whine and pouts, looking up at Steve from where he's buried under the covers so only the upper half of his face is visible.

And what Steve does? The fucker laughs at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking a nap?" Steve asks, looking amused.

"I can't sleep," Bucky rasps out. "I'm uncomfortable and everything hurts and can I just die already?"

Steve laughs. Again. Really, Bucky can't fathom where people got the idea that Steve Rogers is all polite, nice and righteous all the time. He's the biggest asshole Bucky ever knew.

"I figured you'd be dramatic when sick, but I didn't expect that," Steve says as he sits on the side of the bed. He reaches out with his hand and places it on Bucky's shoulder. It's pleasantly cool against his skin and Bucky closed his eyes and sighs.

"You're a dick," he mumbles. "Absolutely no compassion for the weak and hurting, I don't know how you can live like this."

As Bucky says that, Steve leans over and peppers his face — or at least the part not covered by the duvet — with little kisses. It's nice but Bucky's point still stands. Steve's a monster.

"You need anything?" Steve asks, gently stroking Bucky's hair.

"Yes." When Steve makes a questioning sound, Bucky continues, "the sweet relief of death, please."

Steve sighs heavily but when Bucky opens his eyes and looks at him, his face is both amused and fond.

“I’m gonna make you some tea and soup, how about that?”

“Huh, so you are going to kill me?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go for poisoning but if that’s—”

Not letting him finish, Steve just gets up and leaves the room. Bucky tries calling after him but he doesn’t get any response and he has a coughing fit after raising his voice, so he gives up.

This time Bucky might have actually fallen asleep. He’s not shaking as much so he figures the fever must’ve gone down a bit but now his head is throbbing so he’s really not sure which option he preferred. When he confusedly looks around the room, his eyes land on Steve. He’s back, sitting on the bed by Bucky’s side.

Did Steve wake him up? Now that Bucky thinks about it, he vaguely remembers someone shaking his arm. His point about Steve being a monster still stands.

“Why d’you wake me up?” Bucky whines. “You said I need sleep and now you won’t even give me fifteen minutes.”

“You’ve slept for over two hours, love,” Steve points out, his hand on Bucky’s cheek. “I’m only waking you up cause you’ve barely eaten today and I’ve made some soup.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve. He looks at the clock on the bedside table, but since he has no idea what hour it was when he last talked to Steve, it’s pretty useless. He’s not really hungry, but he figures it’s a reasonable thing to do. So, with a loud groan, he pulls himself up into a sitting position. The monster beside him chuckles at that but actually helps him arrange the pillows so Bucky can sit comfortably and places the small bed tray in his lap.

Despite what Bucky said earlier, the soup is good. Recipes are probably the only rules Steve knows how to follow so he’s a decent cook and knows his way around the kitchen if needed. Bucky gladly eats the whole bowl, enjoying the way it soothes his sore throat.

When he’s done, he thanks Steve, who takes away the bed tray and gets up, probably to take it to the kitchen. Before he can get up, Bucky grabs his hand.

“Stay with me for a bit?” he asks.

Steve’s face softens. He puts the tray down on the floor and gets in bed, lying on top of the covers next to Bucky. Soon enough Bucky is tucked safely into Steve’s arms and under his chin and he lets out a content sigh.

“You’re feeling any better, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know, I’m so miserable and tired all the time. I hate it so much,” Bucky whines. “Is that what you’ve been going through every time?”

“Mostly. I guess I was too used to this to complain much.”

“And too stubborn. You’ve never let other people see how bad it was,” Bucky points out.

“That, too,” Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “You always were able to make it easier, though.”

Bucky smiles, tucking his face further into Steve’s chest. He feels sleepy again but this time the warmth he feels is not caused by the fever. He mumbles into Steve’s shirt, not sure if the words his brain is trying to communicate are the same ones that his mouth says out loud. But judging by the way Steve’s arms tighten around him and by the “I love you, too” whispered into his hair, Bucky thinks they are.

#stuckygiftexchange2020 #stucky fic #stevebucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky fanfiction #stucky #stevebucky #my writings #i hope you like it! ♥#it was so fun to write #stressful but fun :')

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mr-chrisevans · 4 years ago

Note

for the drabble requests could you do number 8 with chris please!

Here we go! I actually had a great time writing this so I hope you enjoy it! More to come tomorrow in all likelihood but check out the original post here for more prompts.

Title: Happy Holidays, I Guess

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Prompt: “Look, I only came here for the Christmas cookies.”

You sat in your car outside the house for a few minutes, trying to find the will to go inside. The last thing you wanted to do was go to a holiday party filled with people from your hometown, but Chris insisted you come with him. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly pulled it out to see a text from Chris.

Chris

I can see your car outside.

Get in here or I will pull you out of the car myself don’t try me.

Y/N

God you are the worst.

You sighed heavily and finally got out of the car, carefully making your way up the driveway in the snow to make it to the front door. Before you could even knock Chris was standing in the doorway beaming.

“Y/N, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, but I’m really glad to see you.” He pulled you inside and shut the door behind you.

“Look, I only came here for the Christmas cookies.” You shrugged off your coat and let him hang it up for you in the coat closet. “The fact that I let you convince me to do this is a testament to your skills of persuasion.”

“I know our hometown friends aren’t exactly your favorite people, but we can spend tonight making fun of all the people who were really shitty in high school and are now horrifically boring.”

“With that I guess I’m not only here for the cookies.” You joked.

Chris laughed and wrapped an arm around you and lead you into the kitchen. “Let’s get you something to drink because I think you’re going to need it.”

The second you got to the kitchen you were bombarded by hellos and questions about how you’ve been doing since you moved and a million other questions that you had absolutely zero desire to answer but had to be nice. Chris discreetly handed you a beer as you started talking to Kelly, the girl who hated you for two years because you beat her out for the lead part in the fall play sophomore year. “Yeah, I really love New York it’s a fantastic city.” You smiled at her. “How about you, what have you been doing?” You asked politely with no actually interest in what her answer was going to be.

“Well, George and I got married earlier this year so that’s been the most exciting thing ever.” She beamed at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Chris mouth ‘Not surprised’, and you tried not to laugh as she kept talking. “Not nearly as exciting as being a writer in New York though.” She said with the tiniest edge of sarcasm in her voice.

“Well, you know, everyone’s got something don’t they. It’s been great talking to you Kelly but I think we’ve got to make some rounds and say hi.” You quickly excused yourself and grabbed Chris’ arm and pulled him with you into a corner of the living room. The fake smile you had plastered on your face quickly melted off. “I’ve been here all of fifteen minutes and it is already insufferable.” You took a long sip of your beer and looked at all the people sitting in the living room. “I don’t even see any cookies here.”

“Wait here, I will be right back.” He walked back into the kitchen and left you leaning on the back windows by yourself, observing the people you went high school with as they steadily got drunker and devolved into their high-school selves. “Voila!” Chris exclaimed as he walked back over to you, an entire tray of decorated cookies in hand. “I promised cookies and now I have delivered.”

“Oh thank god.” You took a cookie off the tray and bit into it immediately. “That’s a damn good cookie.” You said as you chewed.

“Well thank you, I made these myself.” He said with a smile on his face.

“You are such a liar I saw these exact cookies at the grocery store the other day.”

“Okay, maybe I didn’t make them, but I did buy them so that counts for something.”

You chuckled at him and continued eating your cookie. “How come we never got invited to parties like this in high school? I mean, we weren’t that weird, were we?” You asked.

“We definitely weren’t weirder than any of the other theater kids, but I’m pretty sure Kelly had you on the party blacklist after the Midsummer Night’s Dream debacle. And since I was your best friend they stuck me on there too.”

“I fucking knew it.” You laughed. “She never could have pulled off Hermia though, let’s be honest.”

“Being Hermia was probably your finest hour of high school theater. Perfect performance, if you ask me.”

“I can’t believe her and George are still together. How on Earth did that happen?”

“I know, it makes literally no sense.” Chris said. “I swear I heard he cheated on her when they were in college with some girl he met when he went abroad for a semester.”

You laughed. “I would not put it past him, I mean look at him now.” George sat perched on the arm of the sofa talking very animatedly with a girl who was definitely not Kelly. “What a prick.”

Chris looked at his watch for a second, sighed, and turned to you. “I think we’ve been here long enough, shall we go for an Irish exit?”

“I would love nothing more.” You agreed excitedly and quickly finished your beer before following him out to the front hall. You both pulled on your coats as you walked out the door. “Shit.” You said, stopping on the driveway. “I should have grabbed another cookie.”

Chris stopped for a second and looked down the street, thinking. “Toss me your keys, I have an idea.”

“You want to drive my car?” You asked skeptically.

“Oh come on. I’m a much better driver than I was in high school.” You hesitated still before finally tossing him the keys. “Thank god, it’s fucking cold out here.” He ran over to the car and threw himself into the driver’s seat.”

“So where exactly are we headed?” You asked as he started the car and pulled back on to the street.

“It’s a surprise. Trust me you’ll love it.” The two of you drove for a few minutes in a comfortable silence while cheesy Christmas songs played on the radio. Before too long, Chris pulled into the parking lot of the old diner in town and turned off the car. “Well, surprise!”

“Shit, I haven’t been to Jack’s in ages. I don’t even remember the last time I was here.”

He got out of the car and gestured for you to do the same. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

You walked inside the building, the warm air and smell of coffee greeting you. “Go ahead and take a seat anywhere, we’ll be over to help you in a second.” The woman behind the counter told the two of you. You both smiled and made your way to a booth. There were only a few other people there so it was pretty quiet and you managed to snag the booth you used to always sit at.

“I don’t even have to look at a menu, I know exactly what I am getting.” You said as you slid into the booth opposite Chris.

He grinned. “I knew you would love this. You can never beat a late night trip to Jack’s”

“God, we used to do this all the time. No wonder my acne was so bad, Jesus.” You joked and the two of you laughed.

“We were definitely here way too often. That’s probably why everyone thought we were weird. They were out getting drunk in someone’s unfinished basement and we were here trying to see who could drink a milkshake the fastest.”

“And I beat you every time.” You said proudly.

“I was just very sensitive to cold, it’s not my fault.” He responded, trying to defend himself.

“Excuses, excuses.” He tried to continue his defense but the woman behind the counter had made her way over to take your order.

She set down two glasses of water on the table before pulling out a little notepad from her apron. “What can I get started for you two tonight?” Her thick Boston accent made you feel even more at home in the diner.

“I will have the classic grilled cheese and tomato soup please.”

She turned to Chris. “And for you?”

His eyes lingered on the menu for a moment before he looked back at the waitress. “I will have the cheeseburger and fries and we will split a chocolate milkshake.” He looked at you and smiled as she wrote down the order.

“I’ll be right back with all that. Anything else I can get for you besides water?”

“No I think we’re all set,” you replied. “Thank you.”

“I think we’ve talked enough about the past tonight, it’s time to move on to the present.” Chris said, holding his glass of water between is hands as he leaned into the table. “How’s New York been lately?”

You sighed and played with your straw. “I mean, don’t get me wrong I absolutely love the city, but sometimes it can be a lot.”

He nodded along with you. “I totally get it. Work has been okay though, right?” He continued. You chewed on your lip a little and stared into your glass of water. “I take that as a no.” He added and leaned back into the booth.

You stared up at him. “No, it’s definitely not given that I no longer have a job.”

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

You tried to shrug it off. “It’ll be okay. I’ll figure something out soon.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to come to the party, wasn’t it?”

“And he puts the pieces of the puzzle together.” You lifted your glass to him in mock cheers. “I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to tell people here that I was now officially unemployed.”

“Right before Christmas too. Fucking rough.”

“We always knew my boss was a dick and now we have the ultimate proof.” You joked.

“If he didn’t live in an apartment in New York I would say we should egg his house.”

“Damn, that would’ve been amazing.” You both laughed.

“Well, let’s toast,” he said, gesturing for you to lift your glass with him, “to things being even marginally less shitty next year.” You clinked your glasses together and took a sip of your water.

“That is definitely something I can drink to.”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #drabbles #chris evans drabbles

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nightfayre · 5 years ago

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a donation drabble request for the ever kind and supportive Ayobami @tps31! thank you SO MUCH for your donation and support!! you’ll never know how much it means to me <3

prompt: tianshan quarantine fluff, aka “why the hell am I stuck in a house with you all day every day?”

(a/n: this is just a random thought but I honestly don’t think I’ve written a fic about the boys still in middle school like, ever, so thank you so much for this prompt! it was so refreshing to write them as the flustered, airheaded, and teasing boys they are!) <3

tianshan, 3600 words, rated T

* * *

Guan Shan hates this.

The laundry basket next to his. The pair of shoes at the front door. The extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and the second phone charger plugged in next to his bed. There’s a gray duffel bag taking up the corner of his bedroom and a black jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. None of it takes up too much space, carefully put into their respective places and never crossing the boundary, but—

Guan Shan hates it.

And, what’s worse: he never asked for this. He was stupid enough to mention He Tian’s name at the dinner table one night; a passing comment he hadn’t really thought about. But then his mother had paused with a spoonful of miso soup at her lips, pensive.

“He Tian,” she’d echoed, as if the name felt foreign but sweet on her tongue. “Isn’t that the one who lives near the center of the city? The one who lives alone? The tall and polite and handsome one of your friends?”

“Uh,” Guan Shan had said, smirking with distaste. “Yeah. Sure. That one.”

“Poor thing. Alone throughout all of this mess.” She sighed. “Why does he not live with his family?”

And Guan Shan had thought about it for a moment, sifting through his mind like pressing rewind on a VHS. “I don’t know,” he’d admitted, reaching for the soy sauce. “Never asked.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, you should invite him over, then.”

Guan Shan choked.

Oblivious, his mother had continued: “Have him stay a few nights. No one should be left alone throughout this entire period. Who knows how long this will last, what with how many cases that have been reported. He’ll go stir crazy by himself, poor soul.”

“He’s already stir crazy,” Guan Shan said, eyes watering from a dislodged grain of rice. “I don’t want him here, ma. I’ll literally do anythin’ else. Seriously.”

She’d given him a disappointed look. “Ah-Shan, I thought I raised you to have a little more compassion than that.”

“Trust me, a person like him doesn’t need compassion.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” she reprimanded. She tapped her chopsticks against her bowl, succinct. “After we finish dinner, you should reach out to him and invite him to spend the week with us.”

“A week?”

“Well, now that school is postponed and I’m working from home, wouldn’t it be nice to have company for a bit?”

“Ma, please—“

“You will text him, Ah-Shan. No excuses. The world needs kindness right now, and we will do whatever we can to contribute to it.”

And that, unfortunately, was that.

That night, Guan Shan deleted the message immediately after he sent it, as if that would erase it out of his memory, too. But it was hard to forget the string of skeptical yet blaringly enthusiastic string of response texts that followed the invite, and even harder to forget the sight of He Tian at their front door half an hour later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and smile bright as he greeted Guan Shan’s mother with practiced sweetness and feigned gratitude.

Guan Shan hated it.

But as his mother shot him a warning look, Guan Shan couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t just ignore him like he did, sometimes, at school.

And now, five days in, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Little Mo, are you naked?”

Running a towel over his hair, Guan Shan scowls at his reflection in the mirror, still foggy from the steam. “Fuck off, chickenshit.”

“I’m kidding.” He can hear the smile in He Tian’s voice. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Then you can wait.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, sweetheart. Are your showers usually this long?”

“That’s an average fuckin’ time for showers!”

A hum, muffled by the closed door. “Really? Mine only take ten, and that’s generous considering the precious amount of time I spend washing my—”

The thunk of the lotion bottle against the door rattles its hinges. “Fuck off!”

He waits until he hears He Tian’s footsteps recede. Guan Shan hates that he knows He Tian is walking away with that smug-as-all-hell smile, satisfied.

He dresses quickly after that, doing his best to ignore the citrus-scented face wash by the faucet and the contact lens case by the hand soap. The first time he’d seen all of He Tian’s things laid out like this on his bathroom counter was something like a revelation. It was like some things clicked into place, unbidden. Now it makes sense why Guan Shan sometimes thinks he catches a whiff of lemonade every time He Tian gets too close, and why He Tian looks like he’s scowling whenever he reads but, really, it’s just because he’s blind as a fucking bat and has to squint to see fine print.

If nothing else, Guan Shan suspects at least something valuable might come out of all this time he’s forced to spend together with He Tian — (read: blackmail) — but then again, He Tian hasn’t commented on the old, stained state of Guan Shan’s pillow like Guan Shan thought he would because he’s used it since he was four and can’t really sleep well if he’s not using that specific pillow. And he also hasn’t said anything about the way Guan Shan jumps, sometimes, when the toaster springs up his toast in the mornings because he never fucking sees it coming and it — sometimes — causes him to drop his jam knife.

A stalemate, Guan Shan supposes as he pulls his shirt over his head. Except, deep down, he knows that He Tian probably isn’t even aware that such a concept exists. After all, what would He Tian be if not someone to fight ‘til a broken victor is left standing?

By the time Guan Shan walks out into the living room, it’s ten o’clock. His mother, having finished washing the dishes because Guan Shan made dinner, is nowhere in sight, likely huddled up in her bedroom with a book like she always does before bed. That leaves He Tian alone on the couch, casually flipping through TV stations in a t-shirt and sweats, and he doesn’t see Guan Shan at first when the latter turns the corner.

“Bathroom’s open, dipshit,” Guan Shan mutters. He Tian looks up as Guan Shan approaches, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“About time.” He Tian tosses Guan Shan the remote, and he barely catches it before it smacks against his chest. Standing, He Tian smiles and says, “Find something good to watch by the time I get back, okay?”

“I don’t work at your beck and call,” Guan Shan seethes. But despite his retorts, his fingers find the remote buttons as He Tian saunters back to the bathroom, hands in pockets and steps quiet against the creaky floors.

For a while, there really is nothing interesting on any of the channels. Guan Shan flies past a romcom, an old horror film, a few cartoons, the dreaded news. Nothing catches his attention — and he feels exhaustion coming on quick. He thinks, maybe, of just going to bed. But behind the apartment’s thin walls, he can hear the water running from the faucet. Despite himself, he frowns.

It’s odd, really. He never thought he could get used to the image of He Tian’s broad frame hunched over his sink in the mornings, or the way He Tian can reach the bowls at the top of the cupboards without going on his toes, or the sight of He Tian’s nape pressed against the twin-sized air mattress on the floor of Guan Shan’s bedroom. He never thought anyone could make his mother laugh as much as he can, or finish puzzles as fast as he can, and he certainly never thought that his mother would spill Guan Shan’s childhood stories to someone she’d only met... once? Twice? He doesn’t keep track. He never had to before.

Nevertheless, it’s not nearly enough time to warrant such trust. Such comfort.

Guan Shan hates it.

But in the midst of his lamenting, the faucet shuts off. A few moments later He Tian returns. And when he plops back onto the couch — too close — he smells of mint and vanilla-scented chapstick.

Too aware of his presence and the way his knee almost touches Guan Shan’s, Guan Shan takes a long second to snap back to reality when He Tian asks, “What’s this?”

Guan Shan blinks. On the TV, there’s some kind of documentary playing. A narrator drones over the images of a complex space aircraft, and the camera pans out to show footage of the stars it swims in. As the screen switches to an interview of someone very important-looking in a suit, Guan Shan scowls.

“I don’t know. Nothin’s on.”

He Tian stretches his arms above his head, long and lithe. “Well,” he says, drawn with a sigh, “if you’re trying to put me to sleep, it might actually work.”

“Fuck off, I don’t control the damn stations,” Guan Shan bites. “And you shouldn’t be tired to begin with. You did jack shit today, just like every other day.”

He Tian looks at him, the corners of his eyes softened with drowsiness in a way that Guan Shan has become used to seeing.

“That’s not true,” He Tian says. “I went with you to pick up supplies so your mom can sew masks. And we went to get the mail downstairs. And I helped you go grocery shopping—“

“You fuckin’ stood there with the cart and didn’t help at all—“

“—and I chopped the onions and peppers for dinner. That’s a lot. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a normal person’s life,” Guan Shan says, exasperated. “Honestly, what the hell did you do all your life until quarantine?”

He Tian seems to take a moment to genuinely think about his answer. “Homework,” he offers, brows a bit pulled. “Basketball. School, obviously. I usually go to the convenience store for dinner, but sometimes I’ll get takeout. And I don’t get mail, but my groceries get delivered to me, so.”

And then he looks at Guan Shan, almost as if expecting some kind of praising reaction — but Guan Shan can only stare.

“That’s ridiculous,” Guan Shan says after a long moment. “That’s ridiculous and fuckin’ miserable. You live like a robot, and a broken one at that.”

Silence. Then He Tian sits up a little straighter, as if a puppetmaster had pulled on his strings.

“I mean, I used to take piano lessons,” he says, frowning as he rubs at his neck. “And Cheng took me to shooting ranges. And…” A pause. “Camping. Yeah, we went camping some weekends. Went to rivers and fished together all day. I caught a few sometimes.”

Guan Shan blinks. “What, are you tryin’ to prove somethin’ to me right now?”

And He Tian shrugs. “Maybe.”

The answer takes Guan Shan by surprise. But He Tian’s face is neutral — expression always so put together — and Guan Shan wonders if maybe He Tian is lying to him. Building up some kind of persona again just to tear it down later. Because, surely, with that much fucking money and privilege, the guy doesn’t just sit there in that empty apartment all day and twiddle his thumbs. Surely, with his reputation, he has a regular posse of socialites always seeking him out and inviting him to some kind of get-together or event. Surely, considering all that he is, He Tian doesn’t waste his time looking for, or teasing, or protecting, or calling up—

“Guan Shan?” He Tian says, mouth a little twisted. “You still awake?”

The low rambling of the space documentary suddenly seems louder. Guan Shan swallows, once, then forces himself to look away.

“You make no fuckin’ sense to me,” Guan Shan mutters. Then: “When are you leavin’?”

“Ouch,” He Tian remarks in an empty but unsurprised tone, shifting back on the couch. After a moment, he shrugs and responds, “Depends. Your text said a week but your mom says forever.”

A scowl. “She didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

He Tian smiles. “No, she didn’t. But she did say as long as I wanted — which, really, isn’t that much different from forever.”

Guan Shan swallows; feels inexplicable heat crawl up his neck like a spider, and he clenches his jaw against it.

“You should go live with your own family,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m sure they’ve got all the time in the world to shower you with attention.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees He Tian smirk.

“If I didn’t want to live with them at the best of times, what makes you think I would want to live with them at the worst of times?”

Guan Shan considers that. “This… isn’t the worst of times.”

“There’s a pandemic with no cure killing hundreds of people every day,” He Tian says, bland. “School is practically cancelled. People aren’t going to work. You invited me over to your home, unprompted. Even I know, with all things considered, that these are pretty bad times.”

Guan Shan can’t argue that. Instead he stares at the television, watching an astronomer point out weird symbols on some kind of map. It takes a lot of concentration to focus on nothing. After all, if he shifts his gaze any more to the right, he’ll see He Tian. If he lets his eyes slide down any further, he’ll see the way He Tian’s knee is still too close to his own. Both are dangerous territories for dangerous thoughts, and he doesn’t want anything to do with either.

After a moment of silence, Guan Shan says, “You know, you should get friends. Real friends, and not your fuckin’ fangirl group.”

He Tian raises a brow. “I have you and Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi.”

“That’s not—” And then Guan Shan stops, frowning, because he’s not actually sure what their ragtag mess of a group isn’t. Instead, he swallows and pathetically hides behind: “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe, it’s exactly what He Tian thought what he’d say. Guan Shan isn’t sure; he’s never fuckin’ sure when it comes to him. But it doesn’t stop him from tensing up when He Tian turns to face him, fully. Wholly. It leaves no escape, and Guan Shan realizes with a sour kind of reluctance that he has no choice but to look back.

“No?” He Tian asks, meeting his gaze. “Then, what are you to me?”

The way the television’s screen lights up He Tian’s face — it’s like looking at a painting, alone in the museum, at the dusk of day. Blue hues shine through his hair, dim, and his eyes are only bright enough to reflect the silhouette of Guan Shan sitting in front of him. It’s eerie, how the both of them are so undefined in this moment. Maybe, in a way, that’s easier.

Guan Shan’s voice feels thick when he says, “I’m not answerin’ that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t— need to.”

“Why?” And then: “Overthinking it?”

Guan Shan flares. “What? What the fuck does that— No, I just— I don’t need to answer fuckin’ anything, asshole. I… I owe you jack shit.”

Silence responds to him. He Tian watches him; studies him. Guan Shan feels like a specimen under his gaze, split apart layer by layer under the microscope. He feels like, somewhere, something in him is splintering. And He Tian is watching it happen.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ answer,” Guan Shan admits, sudden, like a sinner in a confession booth, heavy and quiet and raspy. “Okay? I told you, you don’t make any goddamn sense to me. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my ma.”

He Tian soaks that in, almost as thoroughly as he takes in the sight of Guan Shan’s flushed scowl.

“You didn’t want me here?” he says, teasing.

“No, dipshit. Every time you’ve been here hasn’t been because I asked you to be.”

He Tian smirks. “Ouch,” he says again, except this time it’s said in a way that pricks Guan Shan like a rose thorn.

Guan Shan pushes down the heavy feeling in his throat. “I don’t know what you were expectin’,” he says, truthfully.

And then He Tian looks away, rolling his head. There’s a kind of empty look in his eyes that Guan Shan thinks he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s the same look he’s seen in He Cheng’s eyes in the few rare times they’d crossed paths.

“I wasn’t expecting a pandemic,” He Tian says. His voice sounds loud in the small room. “I wasn’t expecting school break to get extended. I wasn’t expecting all the restaurants to close, and for all the store’s shelves to be wiped clean.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But I guess, for some reason, I was expecting a text from you after weeks of nothing.”

It hits Guan Shan, hard and heavy, like a ring-laden fist against his cheek. The last time he’d seen He Tian before all of this mess was a month ago — more — and at the time, none of them had known that this is how it would turn out. How could they? It’d only taken a week for things to turn south, and Guan Shan was too busy worrying of how he and his mom were going to file for unemployment to think of the way his phone had been silent for longer than he’s been used to.

He wants to pull it out right now; check his recent messages. It would be with a sort of disbelief when he would find the timestamp on He Tian’s contact, he already knows. But the shock wouldn’t come from his own lack of outreach. No, his perplexity would stem from He Tian, the same person who couldn’t go a single weekend without a conversation about nothing over Facetime back when things were normal. The same person who, apparently, hadn’t messaged him once until Guan Shan texted him that dreadful night five days ago.

Had he been— testing Guan Shan?

“I didn’t reach out to anybody else,” Guan Shan hears himself saying. The words taste bitter as they leave his mouth. What is he doing? What does he have to justify? “I... It was weird, those first few days of the lockdown order, and my ma and I— we had a lot goin’ on. It wasn’t— I mean, I haven’t talked to Zheng Xi or Jian Yi this whole time either. I just... don’t have time. Or, I did, but it wasn’t urgent. I— yeah, I barely use my phone anymore, anyway. I’m always at home now so I just... don’t need it.”

He stops, his tongue feeling thick. He Tian isn’t looking at him, but he knows he’s listening. Somehow, the thought makes it even worse.

“What,” He Tian suddenly says, and there’s a curl to his mouth that he can’t seem to help, “are you trying to prove something to me right now?”

“I—“ Guan Shan flares, teeth clenched and ears hot. “Fuck you. No, I’m not, asshole. I’m actually rescuin’ your damn pride, but apparently you’ve got too fuckin’ much.”

“Hey, hey,” He Tian says, wrapping his fingers around Guan Shan’s wrist when he makes to get up. “Come on. Don’t make me finish this documentary by myself.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’m tired. Let go.”

“Then we can sleep on the couch,” He Tian replies — and then almost as if it were an afterthought: “again.”

Guan Shan warms at the implication of it. “Why the fuck would I do that when my room is around the corner?” he hisses.

He Tian tugs his arm. “Because I’ll follow you anyway since I’ve only got two days left with you and I’m not letting today end like this.” He smiles. “We’re not sleeping yet. I’m selfish.”

“I could’ve fuckin’ told you that,” Guan Shan mutters, dry. But he relaxes, settling back on the couch, and eventually He Tian lets him go. The skin he had touched feels electric in his absence.

“Let’s make popcorn and ride this out,” He Tian says, settling against a throw pillow. His eyes, no longer empty, are content as they drift back to the screen.

Hand in chin, Guan Shan smirks. “We both brushed our teeth already. I’m not doin’ it again.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He Tian gestures to the TV. “Popcorn and something more interesting than this.”

“If you think this is so damn boring, then why are you still here?”

“When else will I find an opportunity to spend time with you like this after I leave?”

Guan Shan doesn’t respond. After a moment, He Tian huffs.

“That’s when you’re supposed to invite me back over in the future, little Mo,” he says, amused. Guan Shan shoots him a warning look as the documentary goes to a commercial break.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “And don’t try to convince my ma, either.”

He Tian hums, shifting, and Guan Shan suppresses a flinch when his knee presses up against his. Warm. “I hadn’t even thought about that. That might be the agenda for tomorrow, now.”

“I’m sick of you,” Guan Shan growls. And He Tian laughs, like it’s the funniest thing ever, how easily he can get under Guan Shan’s skin and force him to worry about nothing and get him to stay with him to watch shitty television all within the span of twenty minutes. How Guan Shan has managed to survive more than three days is an incredible feat. How he’s unable to chase away the thought of inviting He Tian over for dinner after he leaves, sometimes, is an inexplicable one.

And when the documentary comes back on with a cheap intro jingle and the streaming quality of a disposable camera, Guan Shan feels He Tian’s foot hook against his and tries to convince himself, over and over:

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

* * *

thank you for reading! likes/reblogs would be greatly appreciated, as this fic is dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement. if you would like a fic/drabble written for you (and you want to support the BLM cause!), please see this post!

have an incredible week! <3

#19 days #tianshan #:)))#please reblog! it would mean the world!

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joonsdiary · 5 years ago

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the proposal

↳ part one of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing. ceo!seokjin x hotelier!reader (female) genre. arranged marriage au // humour with a dash of fluff and sprinkle of angst (mayhaps future smut?) word count. 4,8k summary. after losing ownership of your hotel to the satan-spawned ceo-to-be, kim seokjin, you are forced by the powers that be (your parents) into marrying him. you agree under the assurance that you won’t be out of job, but with the title of manager instead of owner. as it turns out, he has other plans and approaches you with a proposal that’s hard to refuse.

note. a cliché, overused trope? check. a series with (maybe) no plot and is just about jin as a billionaire ceo? check. this was initially supposed to be a sequel, but i couldn’t follow it up with the same ambience and mood, so i decided to leave the drabble [as a standalone] and write a spin-off instead. this has been in my drafts for the longest time, so i’m excited to share to you a series that literally nobody asked for.

warning-but-not-really. not all corporate ceos are as chilled out as jin will be portrayed here. may give you high expectations of literally some of the worst people on this planet lmao also purely self-indulgent! read at your own risk tbh

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

The premise was simple.

Get married so you can keep running your hotel business or refuse and lose everything to the man your parents have personally hand-picked to become the owner.

Scratch that.

The man your parents sold your hotel to, thus making him the newly appointed owner.

Choosing the latter and having your freedom would mean giving up your hard-earned company to the lousy billionaire’s first-born son, who happened to own half the hotels in metropolitan Seoul.

The Kims.

Notorious for their enormous amount of wealth, their class, and having three strapping young men for sons who knew nothing else, but privilege handed to them in a silver platter.

Despite growing up in a well-off family, you’ve always taught yourself that independence and hard work was the key to success. You distanced yourself as much as you could from your parents’ money, stuck it out for four years in college, and graduated with a degree. Running the hotel full time while attempting to finish your master’s in business administration part-time had been the theme for the past year. Until your parents dropped the bomb on you.

Words like, do you really think you had full ownership of that run-down hotel of yours and we had to sell, or we’ll go under had been thrown around. As if keeping the secret of having a huge amount of debt would make you feel better about seeing your hotel assimilated into Kim Hotels. Not only would you lose ownership, but you knew that you were bound to get fired, if not demoted. It usually came with the change of proprietor.

Conveniently enough, the Kims had other plans. Their current CEO, Seokjin’s father, agreed to let you keep working as the hotel manager instead of the owner, which is honestly miles better to you than being jobless. But it came with a hefty price: you were to marry their oldest son, Kim Seokjin. They drove a hard bargain, and you found yourself agreeing. You loved the hotel more than anything you’ve ever owned; having to pour your heart and soul into making it worth being proud of. And you were. That’s why hearing your parents say that it was in debt felt gut wrenching.

Initially, you tried to get a hold of him, hoping you could convince him to re-think the situation. You thought perhaps the media had been wrong about him, and all the talks of him being a calculating corporate shark was a lie. Maybe he would let you work as the manager without having to marry him. But the COO of Kim Hotels refused to meet with you, despite hearing from your parents that he’d been “more than willing” to be married to you.

You scoffed at their baseless statement. Seokjin had a reputation for taking women to bed one night before leaving them to dust by the next morning. As if selling his soul to the devil in order to be worth billions of dollars wasn’t enough; of course, he was sleeping around as well. You weren’t one to judge anybody’s lifestyle choices, but you were sure that someone in that calibre wouldn’t agree to be wed to a person they hardly knew just because. There was something in your gut that told you there was more to the agreement than a simple arranged marriage.

Or maybe the feeling in your gut was due to the bad pasta you had.

“Good evening, Ms. Hwang.”

You’re greeted by Mr. Park, the doorman as soon as you enter the lobby, cradling a piping hot tea you hoped would alleviate the stomach cramps you were having. His smile gave away his old age, wrinkles dotting the corner of his eyes and the lines in his cheeks. You returned the gesture.

“How was your dinner?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you laughed softly, shrugging away your coat without spilling your drink. “I’m never eating out ever again. Please tell me Yoongi is in.”

He nodded, gesturing to the entrance not too far from the lobby. You bid him good night and head to the restaurant in the hotel, which was sparse with customers. Friday nights were usually teeming with life and excitement, but unfortunately business had been relatively slow all week. The worry pooled deep in your stomach – as if you needed any more ratification that your hotel needed to be bought, or you’ll close down.

“Yoongi! I need your cure-all soup,” you called out as soon as you sat on the barstool, propping your tote on the table. Jungkook waved at you from the far end of the bar, concocting a drink for the eager gentleman waiting in front of him. Yoongi popped his head out from the kitchen’s double doors to scowl at you but was met with your beaming smile.

He returned several minutes later with your request and you quietly thank him.

“Bad date?” he asked, wiping his palms over his well-worn apron. Jungkook had inched closer by this time, mindlessly wiping the area beside you.

You nodded. “And terrible food. I should’ve just asked him to take me here to Grigio instead.”

Yoongi raised his brows, but a grin was threatening to burst from his lips. “Why didn’t you?”

“He insisted on going to that posh new restaurant that just opened last week. Said it took months to book and he couldn’t just cancel on a whim,” you rolled your eyes, carefully blowing cold air into your steaming soup.

“This is why I told you to stop looking around,” Yoongi leaned into the counter, studying your expression.

“It’s cuffing season,” you joked. “Blame social norms for my behaviour.”

He gave you an impassive stare, before sighing. “You’re literally cuffed already.” He said, followed by a quiet, “I still can’t believe you’re getting married soon.”

You waved your right hand nonchalantly before lifting the spoon to your lips. You moaned as soon as the flavour filled your senses.

“Did you know you’re the best chef ever?”

“It’s just chicken noodle soup,” he said drily.

“Exactly! The simplest meal yet you manage to bring out so many spices at once.” He rolled his eyes at your attempt to boost his ego. Either way it was true; for you, nothing beat Yoongi’s cooking, no matter how simple he thought the meal was.

You forgo the tea and asked Jungkook for a bottle of white wine. “Nothing fancy — Les Capriades is fine. I heard they came in last month, and I have yet to try them.”

He nodded at your instructions before disappearing off to the back to find your drink.

“Stop avoiding the topic, Y/N,” Yoongi rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you stated confidently, yet you couldn’t meet his gaze. “The devil incarnate himself refuses to see me. I guess I’ll have to meet him at the altar.”

“Three weeks from now,” Yoongi said, almost exasperated.

“Until then, I’ll enjoy my freedom.”

“What freedom?” Yoongi scoffed, rounding the table to slide into the seat next to you. Jungkook returned with your promised bottle and your eyes beamed with excitement before quietly thanking him. “You didn’t even date around before any of this marriage circus happened.”

You agreed with the “circus” part and ignored the indirect jab. Besides not having a say in any of the planning for your wedding, your supposed fiancé refused to introduce himself when you tried to reach out multiple times.

Okay, perhaps it wasn’t multiple times. You called his office when your parents broke the news to you a week ago, but his assistant said he was busy with a meeting and that you should call back. You didn’t, and that was the end of it. You’ve been putting off trying again, but it’s been a week and he hasn’t contacted you back either.

Maybe it was mutual disdain; if one of you was testing the other to break, you didn’t want the first to be you. It already felt undignified to be marrying someone for the sake of keeping a semblance of ownership to your hotel, so you weren’t about to grovel and demand to be spoken to when it seemed like he wasn’t willing to spare you a second of his time.

Yoongi chatted for a bit before he had to go back to work, so you were left to pull out your laptop from your tote. For the next few hours you immersed yourself into finances, staring at the excel spreadsheet displayed on the screen far longer than was medically allowed. Surely, you’ll go blind before you see your hotel overcome the negative deficit you were in.

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Hwang,” Jungkook thrummed his fingers on the table as he passed by. You looked up in time to see him mime something unintelligible. Your brows raised in confusion.

“Your glasses,” he laughed quietly, fingers hovering close to your cheek. You mumbled a quiet oh, before pushing the rim higher until it settled snugly against your nose bridge.

“Thanks.” You sighed, tipping your head to one side. After feeling the satisfying pop! you turned back to Jungkook with a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You slumped back to your work as soon as Jungkook was out of sight. Glancing at the clock on the corner of your laptop, it blinked 00:37, which automatically caused you to yawn. Yoongi should be out soon, so you willed yourself to stand up and prop the close sign by the entrance.

From where you stood, you could see the lobby clearly, as well as the spinning doors of the hotel entrance. A few patrons trickled in, no doubt coming in from their busy day, and filed sluggishly to the elevators where it would take them up their floors.

That was the most fulfilling part of being a hotelier to you. The satisfaction of giving people a comfortable stay, whether they were mere tourists or locals wanting a getaway from their normal life. It certainly isn’t as posh and sleek as the Kim Hotel with their towering glass buildings and boring black, white, and grey colour palettes. But what you had was something you were proud to consider your home, with the vibrant earth tones of the walls and furniture, as well as the rich velvet tapestry draped along the ornate windows. High ceiling chandeliers peppered the lobby, casting an ambience of warmth and security without lacking luxury.

“‘Night, Y/N.” Yoongi clasped your shoulder, startling you out of your mini daydream. “Stop using my restaurant as your office, will you?”

You mustered a small grin. “Bye, Yoongles. Drive safe.”

Yoongi turned to you as his face contorted violently. “I hate that nickname.”

“Love you too!” You called out as he exited through the revolving door before placing your hand down with a sigh. Back to work. You were about to turn and go back to your forgotten laptop when the door welcomed in another guest.

With bated breath you watched the man stalk towards you, eyeing you dangerously as if you were his prey. His midnight black suit made him look slim but highlighted his broad shoulders all the same. You were arrested at the spot, unable to look away and felt as if you’ve been robbed of oxygen. The more he stepped closer, the more unclear your thoughts became.

It’s not as if you hadn’t seen the man. He often appeared on several business magazines — gossip tabloids more so. Yet there was something different about seeing him in person, in front of you, in your hotel.

No. His hotel.

“Ms. Hwang. I was hoping to find you here.”

You blinked up at him, not trusting your voice to form words under such immense pressure. His usually slicked back ebony hair is more mussed; a day’s worth of stress was evident in his restless feature.

When you didn’t reply, he took it upon himself to study you from head to toe, and your body went rigid. Your long, honey-coloured hair had been tied up in a lazy bun and glasses framed your face. You didn’t bother changing out of your mini black dress from your date earlier, whose thin straps clung onto your shoulders for dear life.

You squirmed uncomfortably, finding a small ounce of strength to wrap your hands protectively around yourself. “What are you doing here, Mr. Kim?”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes, supple lips bending upwards for a grin. “Call me Seokjin. Mr. Kim is my father.”

And with that, he welcomed himself in the threshold of your restaurant.

Technically, it’s his restaurant now, too.

You let your anger simmer for a bit before turning to follow him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you declared. It was hard to keep your annoyance down when he had showed up unannounced after ignoring your existence for a whole week.

He slid next to the seat you had claimed yours, and you almost tripped in your heels as you followed, immediately snapping your laptop shut. There was no new information he could have garnered from looking at the finances of the hotel, as he’s probably aware of them. But the thought of him snooping around made you feel queasy.

“I wanted to see what had my father so enamoured that he’d actually buy this…” he trailed off, waving his hand dismissively, “…hotel?”

You hated the underlying judgement in his tone of voice. You had also heard rumours that he’s unabashedly forward and hard to deal with, on top of all the other rumours that plagued him. So far, all the boxes in the checklist were proving to be true.

“It’s quaint. Not at all what I expected.” His gaze studied you momentarily, and you can tell he wanted to say more but he smartly held himself back. Good. You don’t know what you would do if he strung one criticism after another.

“Well, you’ve seen it. You can kindly screw off now.”

Seokjin seemed taken aback for a second, but his surprise didn’t linger. He leaned back on the stool and swiveled forward before pointing at the shelves lined with alcohol.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.”

In an attempt to ignore his ridiculous demand, you powered up your laptop once more. No way in hell would you let him step all over you, not even when he owned the hotel where you now stood. “You have very capable legs and arms. I’m sure you can whip one up yourself.”

Was this man joking? Granted, you know your way behind the bar since you had the privilege to work as a bartender for a few years during your college tenure. But that doesn’t mean he’s welcomed here to treat you as if you were a subservient of his. Which, semantics aside, you were, though that’s beside the point. But if he made an effort to come down here and order you around like a scullery maid in an attempt to intimidate you or put you in your place, then he was barking up the wrong tree.

“I was told you have terrific hospitality. I guess they were mistaken.”

Not for the likes of you, I don’t. You rolled your eyes, not bothering with an actual reply.

Seokjin maneuvered off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his cufflinks before he rolled his sleeves up meticulously. He then rounded the bar and began grabbing materials with familiarity, not stopping to ask where anything was located. You watched in awe from the corner of your eyes, attempting to be discreet.

“Want one?” he gave you a slanted gaze.

You wrinkled your nose in disagreement and raised your wine glass.

“A refill, then?”

Pressing your lips firmly together, you gave him a defiant headshake.

The mild shock of seeing him traipsing behind the bar had rendered you absolutely mute. The fact that he knew where everything was piqued your interest. Was it an outcome of years of experience as a habitual drinker? Or did he often just randomly raid bars, hence his extensive knowledge of their layout? You didn’t want to know, but at the same time you did.

It took him a while to find a coaster before settling back to the spot beside you. Typing away at your laptop, you refused to give him even an ounce of attention despite his attention solely being yours. The silence that ensued was more uncomfortable than anything you’ve experienced.

Suddenly, you were all too aware of your crooked posture and your body snapped, straightening your shoulders rigidly. It felt stupid, but necessary for the sake of your sanity to keep your façade. Although it crumbled ever so slightly when Seokjin laughed beside you.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel tense,” his voice was languid and inviting.

You steeled yourself, refusing to be lulled into a trance by his intoxicating presence. “What did you really come here for, Kim Seokjin?”

“She speaks!” he exclaimed, clearly amused. You turned to give him an impassive stare. “Do I need a reason to visit my fiancée?”

His statement caught you by surprise, your poor heart bearing the brunt of suddenly having to pump more oxygen than usual. It brought warmth to your cheeks and you allowed yourself to fall into the fantasy of marrying the most eligible bachelor in all of Seoul. The fantasy, however, was short-lived as his wink broke the spell you were under.

“Don’t worry, this will be strictly business,” his back straightened up on cue. You tried and subsequently failed not to watch the way his deft fingers moved to loosen up his necktie. He then slightly deflated with a sigh, before grabbing his drink and taking a sip.

For courage, perhaps? It brought a small amount of accomplishment to know that you might have The Kim Seokjin nervous before you.

“It’s about the wedding, which you know is coming up soon.”

This was it. The topic you’ve been narrowly avoiding for the past week suddenly poured on you all at once like a bucket of ice-cold water. It wasn’t the most refreshing way of waking you up to reality, but it got the job done.

“I hope you aren’t getting cold feet now, Kim,” he grins at your attempt at humour.

“I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, by the way. My secretary said you tried to get a hold of me.” You remembered the woman’s monotone voice on the other end of the phone call. Part of the reason why you were reluctant to call back was due to nervousness from hearing her apathetic voice.

You shrugged in response, finding him less of an asshole than you had previously. Was your expectation of decency so low that you found anything remotely human he did to be an act of chivalry on his part?

Yes. Yes, it was.

“I tried calling because I wanted to know if I would be able to talk you out of this deal.”

Seokjin was visibly surprised by your candor.

“Oh yeah, and how would that have played out?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Surely, it was too late to take anything back, so you tossed all caution out of the window. He might as well hear your piece.

“The ceremony preferably cancelled. The Hwang Hotel back to its rightful owner, as if the whole thing hadn’t occurred in the first place.”

Seokjin regarded you with amusement in his eyes. The warm lights of the Grigio soften his rugged features, making it seem like he was glowing. You came to understand how he had the whole country enamoured by him. He was distressingly handsome.

You gagged at where your thoughts ended up and leaned back a little, terrified of feeling too intimate with the man who had claimed your hard-earned success for himself. The hotel means more to you in ways you know Seokjin will never be able to relate. A man who, with a little twirl of his fingers, would be making more money than you could ever hope to imagine. They say no hard work goes unpaid, but for him it was probably akin to: No hard work, but I get paid either way. How comfortable must it be to sit atop that domineering tower of his, overlooking the city he practically owns?

“And what do I get out of that possible scenario?” he began after a brief pause.

You refused to wilt under his imposing gaze. With a confident voice, you said, “The satisfaction of doing a noble deed.”

He barked out a laugh, tilting his head back in obvious enjoyment. You didn’t share the sentiment as you sighed before removing your prescription glasses. Perhaps hoping for the impossible was futile, after all.

“Look, I don’t care about this little passion project of yours,” Seokjin waved his hands around condescendingly, and you felt a familiar pang of anger surging from your chest. “And you’re lucky my father swooped in to purchase this hotel before you went bankrupt.”

“Thank you for the constant reminder,” you deadpanned, but he ignored you and continued. The gall of the man to show up and ridicule you made you irate. I take that back, he’s still an asshole in every aspect imaginable.

“To be frank, I think we’re both in a pinch here. You want your hotel back, and I’m willing to grant you that tiny little wish.”

You perked up; interest piqued. But you felt an ultimatum coming, so you squashed all hope arising from his statement. There was always a catch.

“My parents have been grooming me to become CEO ever since I learned how to walk. For me, acquiring the position is a no-brainer.”

“But?” you offered, and his grin widened.

“But lately my father refuses to hand me the reins. He’s been wanting to retire, but every year he keeps sticking it out. Then I unceremoniously learned my engagement with you. All of a sudden, his mood shifted, and his plans for retirement began piling up.”

Your brows creased in confusion, unable to see how you fit into all of this.

“My reputation precedes me, so I’m sure you’re aware of what I’m insinuating here.”

Something clicks in your mind, and you willed yourself to hold back a scoff.

“Enlighten me, Kim,” you propped your chin against your palm. If you were going to agree to this, you might as well have a little fun for yourself.

“My parents aren’t amused by my…” Seokjin trailed off.

“Decision to debauch half the women’s population of Seoul?” you offered, unable to hold yourself back. You grinned triumphantly; he had set himself up for that moral beating.

“I was going to say my inability to settle down, but sure, we’ll go with that,” Seokjin was unfazed, much to your disappointment. “He hadn’t explicitly said it but seeing the way everything is being handled so quickly, I can tell it’s what he wants. For me to get married; then maybe he’ll consider giving me the position.”

“And you didn’t oppose?” you asked incredulously. It seemed at the moment you were the one who is prepped to lose the most. What if it wasn’t you who the Kims chose for their son? Were you supposed to just accept defeat and give up your hotel?

“Oh, trust me, I vehemently opposed,” you nodded at his statement. At least you agreed on something. That was a start. “But that’s partly the reason why I’m here.”

“What more can we possibly do? We’re basically left with no option,” you grumbled, turning back to your laptop. For you, there was no way around this. Both your families have decided for you, so you have to either fall in line or risk losing your business.

“What if I tell you we can go back to our normal lives a few months from now? We won’t be married to each other. You’ll have your hotel back, and I’ll still be the CEO.”

You inadvertently leaned towards him, eager to know where the conversation was going.

“We just have to convince my parents and yours, as well as the board of directors of Kim Hotels and the public alike how we’re hopelessly in love with each other.”

Your mouth formed into a visible scowl, forehead creasing in confusion. You searched for hints of frivolity, waiting for him to say just kidding! at any moment. But his stoic face told you that he was being serious.

“And we’re doing this because…?” your patience had worn thin, expression marred by weariness and fatigue. You had a lot to get back to; you didn’t have time for silly games.

“It will make the divorce more believable.”

You paused, the gears in your brain turning. The agreement your parents told you about hadn’t involved a divorce; so, you were curious as to where Seokjin was going with his idea.

He was offering you an out; a way to get out of his family’s mess unscathed. You’ll have your only prized possession, and he can go back to sleeping with as many people as he wanted while retaining his coveted position. The proposition was too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” your lips pursed, and you found yourself considering his ludicrous proposal.

“No catch,” he holds his two hands up in surrender, the corner of his mouth forming a smirk. You eyed him with suspicion.

“Just that you give effort into this whole thing. Make my father and the board believe enough to think I’ve ‘cleaned up my act’,” he paused to roll his eyes, “so that they’ll hand me the position without question. I promise you full ownership of the Hwang Hotel, without debt, as soon as we separate.”

While your parents’ original plan had been to marry you off entirely (which you did not want at all) Seokjin was sensible enough to figure out that you had no desires of tying the knot to someone you barely knew. He probably shared the sentiment, hence his proposal.

“This doesn’t make sense though,” you said pointedly. “Wouldn’t they find out about your motives when we divorce? And our parents technically arranged this, so they’ll be mad — I’m sure yours will be more than mine.”

You’re all in for finding a loophole in this whole arrangement, but you’re not sure you’ll agree if it will give you more problems in the long run.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “They can question it all they want. But like I said, if we make it believable enough, we can always reason that we ‘fell out of love’.”

In an attempt to alleviate a developing headache, your hands slowly massaged your temples. The information was a lot to hand, but no matter how many scenarios you played in your head, they all seemed to have the finale you wanted. Regardless of what happened within the upcoming months, you were going to get your hotel back.

“If you’re really that worried, let’s just say I cheated,” Seokjin’s words snapped you out of your muddled thoughts.

Your eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be worse for you?”

“The public already thinks I’m a man-whore,” he said wryly. “The board is not going to kick me out of office for something tedious like a divorce once I’m CEO. And I’m sure I can reason it out with my parents when the time comes.”

You laced your fingers together, hoping to wring the concerns away. There was no use in overthinking the situation; it certainly beats staying miserably married to someone you barely know.

You let out a shaky breath, before mustering the confidence to say, “Fine.”

“Great, I knew you’d be reasonable.” He flicked his wrist to look at his watch, gaze composed despite the tiredness in his eyes. “I’ll have my secretary e-mail you a written agreement.”

“Great,” you mimicked his deadpan tone. Gone was the casual Seokjin who paced around behind the bar with much familiarity. This was the COO of Kim Hotels Seokjin; precise and straight to the point.

Better get used to that.

“Thanks for the drink, future wife,” he slid off the barstool with poise, the distance between you and him closing ever so slightly. He smelled like pine and cedar, with a hint of citrus; it was enough for you to suddenly sober up, unaware you were inebriated, to begin with.

“No need. You forced your way in, anyway.” You said dismissively, pretending to switch tabs on your screen. Where was that random website you were looking at earlier?

With a quiet laugh, he turned to leave. You listened to his rhythmic steps and perked up when he paused.

“See you tomorrow, fiancée,” he said without turning.

“Tomorrow?” you tried not to give away the surprise in your voice.

“We have to start going on dates to convince them that we’re serious about this, right? Pick you up at eight, sharp.”

With a wave of his right hand, he stalked off towards the exit, leaving you alone in the restaurant.

Suddenly, the premise didn’t appear so simple. You reached for your glass of wine and finished the rest of your courage drink in one gulp.

NEXT ;

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated ;u;

#seokjin fic #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bts scenarios #ceo!seokjin #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #jin fic #bts fanfic #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #seokjin smut #bts smut #seokjin #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fic #writing

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Clinic - Roger Davis

A/N: Just a RENT drabble because I recently watched a boot of the 1996 opening night performance.

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The Coventry Church on Avenue B totted signs claiming that ‘all were welcome’. Maureen commented, on passing the signage, that some friend from The Ecstasy Club told her there were churches like that in Vegas...for strippers and prostitutes to find Jesus and get off the street.

“They don’t offer you help just the ‘good word’ of the Lord.”

“And that only helps when you’re out of candles.” Joanne had remarked, not too fond of the outreach ministry.

It played more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, trying to blend in with the community while preaching about the sins that existed on the streets it called home. The only benefit it offered came in the form of the free clinic and soup kitchen it set up on Thursdays and Saturdays. The clinic prescribed medication for those dealing with any number of illness, including but not limited to an HIV positive diagnosis. When Roger’s medication ran out Mark mentioned that Maureen had mentioned the place.

“Free drugs?” Mark had joked, fiddling with his camera equipment and not sparing Roger the opportunity to cut in a witty comeback.

Free drugs indeed. The clinic was set up in the basement, where bible study was usually held. The chairs had been pushed around to resemble a waiting room and dividers had been put up to give patients a small sense of privacy. It was more than they usually got. The room wasn’t the nicest and no amount of wall hangings with scripture could make it so, but it did the job it was meant to. A clinic on Thursday and Saturday, an AA meeting on Monday, an NA meeting on Tuesday and bible study on Wednesday and Friday. Roger wasn’t much for going out but the necessity outweighed his general disposition toward other people so he left his apartment and found himself waiting, slouched down in a metal chair beside a woman who seemed to smell worse the longer he sat waiting.

When it was finally his turn to go behind the partition, he found a rather pleasant looking young woman there. You didn’t appear out of place in the basement of a sometimes clinic the way the church members often did. And unsure what else to say as he sat in the chair across from you, he felt the need to comment on your not-out-of-place-ness.

“You don’t look like you belong to the church.” Roger gripped the sleeves of his sweater as he heard the words tumble out of his mouth. Not his finest moment, certainly, but he’d had worse too.

You smiled at him like you knew all about his inner turmoil. “Judging by how you phrased that, and the fact that I don’t belong to the church, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I just mean-”

“It’s okay, we can move passed it.” You replied, taking a clipboard from the table beside you. It had a simple form on it, one found in most clinics and doctor’s offices. “Name?”

“Roger Davis.”

“Okay,” he watched you check off his name and the color of his eyes before you looked back up at him, “what’s your...actual hair color.”

“Blond.” He ran a hand through the bleached spikes on his head, he’d never grown out of that phase of his life the way he had imagined that he would.

“Any drugs?”

“No.”

“What brings you in today?” You set the half-complete clipboard on your lap and smiled at him like you maybe already knew why he was here despite the list of services offered from the temporary poster hanging on the door.

He was doing well. He’d watched friends die, Angel and Mimi and others in the support group that Collins was still taking him too every week. He wasn’t sure how much longer Collins had. Or himself for that matter but he didn’t like to think about it. He preferred to push away anyone potentially interested just so he wouldn’t have to disclose his status. “I have AIDs.”

“I assume you’ve taken AZT before?” You didn’t miss a beat as you asked him. Though he knew, realistically, that this was a clinic and of course they saw plenty of people coming in off the streets who needed AIDs medication and he was nothing special he had expected the slightest of recoils.

“The clinic I used to go to shut down and I ran out.”

“When did you run out?”

“Well I will, tomorrow.” He replied.

“I can give you a general ‘sample’ dose today, which will cover about a week and then if you come in Saturday I’ll have a full prescription for you. We work with an AIDs clinic in Brooklyn so I have to fill the prescription through them.” You explained.

“So, you just work for the clinic?” He asked, watching you fill out the medical part of his form. His renewed interest in you rearing its head.

“I don’t go to church here if that’s what you mean. I live around here though...I moved in a few weeks ago with some friends.” You offered more information than you usually would but you couldn’t be blamed for it. Roger was thin, sure, and certainly hadn’t slept well in the last ten years of his life, and the bleached hair washed him out, but he was nice looking. Cute in a very 80’s way, in a way that would have your mom experiencing heart palpitations.

“It’s a shitty neighborhood.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” You laughed, better than your smile, you looked so happy. And his chest ached for a moment as he felt bad for being so friendly with you. “Is there anything else you wanted to go discuss?”

“No, just that.”

“Okay,” you nodded and Roger could practically feel the conversation coming to an end. And why wouldn’t it? He’d come in for medicine and you had set up a time for him to get it, an easy transaction, one that didn’t require a lot of time and discussion. But especially one that didn’t require him to linger.

He was slow to stand up, patting his pockets as if he was suddenly going to remember some reason he needed to stay longer. And really, there wasn’t one. He was faced with the same debilitating issue he was always faced with. Or he had always been faced with since April. Mark told him constantly to put himself out there, to meet people, go on dates, don’t sit and wallow. But what options did he have.

And then, suddenly, because he wanted it so much his mouth won out over his head, “my friends are having a get together tonight, if you’re not busy...” he trailed off as his brain caught up. What was he thinking?

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay, I’m not busy.” You said, standing and stepping toward the partition, “I am busy right now though...”

“Yeah, right, of course.” He felt like Mark, stumbling over himself. “I can pick you up at your friend’s place?”

“Sure,” you rattled off the address as you checked to see who was left waiting.

“You know I’m-”

“Yeah. I kinda got that.” You replied, lingering just a second more. You did need to get back to work. The woman with the foul smell had been taken into the other partition but you were stuck with the teen mom who thought her baby was coming every other day despite only being four months pregnant. If you didn’t get to her now there was no way you’d be done in time to meet Roger.

“Are you?” He chanced asking. Mimi had been, April obviously was. It was his lot in life no matter how melodramatic Mark told him that sounded.

“No. Some of my roommates are.” You glanced out into the makeshift waiting area as the pregnant girl rubbed her stomach and stared at the wall hangings, “I had better finish up.”

“Right, of course.” He nodded. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight Roger.” Feeling a little bolder than usual, whether because a cute guy asked you out or because he looked like the type that might appreciate bolder, you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. Not too bold but more so than usual for you. He smelled like cigarettes and peroxide and the stubble on his jaw pricked just slightly.

“See you tonight.” He promised, thinking that maybe Mark was right about this place, it wasn’t as bad as the gaudy church signs outside made it seem.

Trying to find a good balance of work and school and writing and preparing for next semester....

#Roger Davis x reader #Roger Davis imagine #Roger Davis fanfiction #Roger Davis fanfic #rent fanfic #rent imagine #rent fanfiction #rent broadway imagine #broadway fanfic #broadway imagine #Broadway Imagines #broadway fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

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muselover1901 · 4 years ago

Note

Re: prompts. “Quarantine.” Alternatively, something based off urban legends. Thanks!

Well it took me forever, but hey, the world is crazy and I am just so proud of myself for finishing this Quarantine AU for you! It’s definitely WAY bigger than a drabble (at just over 2700 words) but I had a lot of fun writing it and it really pushed my abilities as a writer. Thank you for the ask! Enjoy :)

Edit: Now posted to AO3

Here With(out) You

“Are you getting close to finishing? It’s almost eight o’clock and we haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Zen says as he plops down beside Shirayuki—well, not exactly beside her, but just outside the orbit of her ever-present sticky notes, journal articles, and scratch-paper lesson plans. She acknowledges his presence with a noncommittal hum before continuing her vigorous typing on the laptop balanced on her knees. Even before the pandemic, it wasn’t totally unusual for Shirayuki to work late—she is a graduate student, after all—but lately she has been spending every waking hour on either her lab’s vaccine research or creating online lessons for her introductory biology students.

Zen’s work-life balance honestly hasn’t been much better, but since most of his work as the Mayor’s Chief of Staff involves writing reports and attending video call meetings, he can turn off his computer at the end of the day and walk away from work. Shirayuki, unfortunately, does not have the same luxury.

His stomach growls, upset at the lack of food this late in the evening. Zen reaches over, guiding a stray hair behind her ear before setting his palm against her shoulder to get her attention.

“I can make us something easy, if you want. You really should take a break to eat something.”

Shirayuki doesn’t respond. He squeezes her shoulder gently and dips his head to try to catch her gaze, but she reacts with naught but a firm pursing of her lips as she scrutinizes her screen even more. Zen gives her a small shake, as if to wake her.

“Hm?” She blinks up at him, broken from her trance, her voice sounding thin and tired. “Sorry, Zen, I really need to get this done tonight.”

She gestures vaguely to the smudged sticky-note to-do list by her laptop keyboard, the usual tasks of exercise, meal prep, and do something fun with Zen and friends crammed between terms he half-recognizes as different types of data analyses.

“We have our Friday meeting tomorrow and I need to have the preliminary results ready to present.”

“It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down her arm and offering her a tender smile as she turns back to her spreadsheet. She is such a hard worker, and right now she’s both working to save lives and to educate the next generation of scientists. Now was not the time to be selfish—even though he misses spending time with her, they just have to push through. And if that means Zen has to cook meals by himself, without Shirayuki’s incredible culinary talent for support, then he will gladly put his limited skill to use.

“How about I make pancakes?” he suggests, “I think we still have some eggs that need to be used, so I could scramble them too—if you want?”

Without looking up, Shirayuki murmurs a dry, “Sounds great, thank you.”

Zen stands and makes his way to their kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. Even after three years of living together and countless Sundays spent chopping endless armies of vegetables as they prepped meals, there are few dishes he trusts himself to cook properly. It’s Mitsuhide and Kiki’s fault, really. When they were his roommates sophomore year, he tried his hand at a simple vegetable stew to feed Mitsuhide’s hockey team at their annual fall party. The final product honestly wasn’t half bad, but he forgot to peel the vegetables, which gave the soup a mild dirt-like aftertaste.

He honestly thought he would be able to laugh it off and learn from such a minor culinary mistake, but it turned out almost no one was willing to let him live it down—even Shirayuki couldn't resist the occasional jab when they cooked together. Indeed, one of the last times they enjoyed quality time together was during a massive day of meal prepping after their first pandemic shopping trip. Hours of chopping and grating and sautéing had driven them a little crazy, and Shirayuki had broken out in giggles while he diligently peeled his seventeenth potato.

It had taken some prodding, but eventually she managed to hold back her laughter enough to snicker, "It’s nice of you to actually peel them this time."

He’d responded with the most convincing glare he could muster before selecting a particularly long piece of peel from the pile on the counter, turning to her with a dangerous smirk, and depositing said peel on top of her head. This only served to bring back her laughter in full-force, the contagiousness of it gripping him and dragging him along until their whole house reverberated with the ridiculousness of it all.

Unlike vegetable soups, Zen had yet to mess up a batch of pancakes in his lifetime, a fact which he was quite proud of. That’s why he’d chosen to make them for Shirayuki the first morning after she stayed the night at his place. They’d groggily rolled out of bed, blushing furiously as they realized that their late-night study session for Advanced Composition had ended with both of them passed out on top of Zen’s covers with their laptops discarded by the foot of the bed. He’d insisted on making her breakfast before she left, partly because he felt bad about their awkward start to the day, but mostly because he’d been smitten with her for months and he just wanted to keep doing things with her.

Zen smiles at the memory as he gathers the ingredients and begins measuring out the flour. Even after all this time, he still treasures every moment together. And now, as they are stuck working from home for the foreseeable future, he misses her more than he did before they moved in together. Although they are around each other nearly all day, every day, they hardly interact outside of breakfast and a kiss goodnight. He sighs and forces his focus back to mixing the batter. Shirayuki is working hard and here he is being selfish again. He should be stronger.

Pushing down his loneliness, he flings himself into scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes with gusto. He quickly finishes the first set of pancakes, butters them, and stacks them neatly on Shirayuki’s plate next to her portion of eggs. For the final touch, he sprinkles a hint of powdered sugar across them and places a little dollop of fruit preserves on top. Hopefully these would look appetizing enough to entice her into taking a break from work to eat. With her plate in hand, Zen makes his way back to the living room and sets her meal on the coffee table.

“Food’s ready,” he announces. “Please don’t forget to eat.”

Shirayuki pauses, tired eyes flicking away from her screen to meet his and offering all the gratitude she can muster. “Thank you, Zen. I promise I will eat as soon as I finish this analysis.”

Zen offers a quick smile in return before heading back to the kitchen to make dinner for himself. He’d better check on her soon, just to make sure she doesn’t get sucked into her work despite her promise—although it is never intentional, her basic needs often fall by the wayside when she is hyper-focused like this.

Fifteen minutes later, Zen returns to the living room with his own stack of pancakes (chocolate chip) and scrambled eggs (sprinkled with his friend Obi’s homemade hot sauce, because the pain was always worth the flavor). And just as he feared, Shirayuki hasn’t touched her food.

“How’s it coming? Are you going to eat soon?” Zen settles into his spot on the couch next to her and cuts into his pancakes with his fork.

“Hm? Oh yes, I figured out why that regression was behaving unexpectedly, I had just flipped the variables.” She bites her lip. “I guess after I fixed that, I just moved on to the next thing.”

Zen reaches out to tenderly place a hand on her cheek and guide her eyes away from her screen and to his own. Her eyelids droop a little, and he notices a small crease between her eyebrows—she looks so tired. He drags his thumb across her cheekbone and her eyes flutter shut as she relaxes into his hand.

His heart skips a little at the intimacy of their position; after all, it had been weeks since they had really shared a moment like this, just comfortable in stillness with each other’s full attention. Eyes still closed, Shirayuki reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek and sighs as she turns her head to press her lips against his palm. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she releases him and turns to exchange her laptop for her plate.

Although she continues working while they eat, Zen is relieved to see her diligently taking bites between bits of code. It doesn’t take long before she cleans her plate entirely. With a yawn, Zen stretches and rises from the couch before collecting their dishes and returning to the kitchen to clean up. The clock above the stove reads 10:08pm.

How did it get so late? He’d just have to head right to bed after this. Dozing off during his morning call with the Mayor was not how he wanted to start his day tomorrow.

After finishing the dishes and changing into his sleep shirt, he returns to the living room to let Shirayuki know he’s going to bed—apparently she still has a couple hours of work ahead of her, but she promised she’d come to bed as soon as she was done. With Shirayuki resigned to her work for the night, Zen heads to their bed and does his best to get comfortable. As the weight of the blanket settles over him, he melts into the mattress and takes the deepest, most relaxing breath he’s taken all day. Despite his body giving in to its need to rest, Zen’s mind still races with thoughts of the meeting tomorrow morning and of the latest case counts in the city. God, he can’t wait for the day when all of this chaos is over. He and Shirayuki could take a weekend off and hike Mount Koto just like they did senior year after finals. He sighs at the thought.

Visions of them packing their picnic supplies into his old backpack flash through his mind. He’s smiling as he makes Shirayuki’s sandwich with the mustard by the meat and the veggies under the cheese, just the way she likes it. The sunshine warms their faces as they walk along the trail, and Shirayuki is a vision in her button-up hiking shirt and sunhat, all glowing skin and bright smiles. He reaches their picnic spot first, so he spreads their blanket and sets out their food. Shirayuki’s still a ways behind, but she’ll be there with him soon, he tells himself. She will. He busies himself smoothing the blanket and making sure her sandwich is arranged just so with a nice serving of chips and a gleaming red apple.

He’s just about to polish her apple for a second time when he realizes he doesn’t hear the crunch of her footsteps on the trail anymore. Panicked, he shoots up from his seat and runs over to the trail to try to find her, to no avail. Maybe she went off-trail to relieve herself? No that can’t be it, she’s taking way too long, and she would have told him if she was going off trail, right? Oh god—what if she hurt herself and she’s stuck somewhere down the trail? Zen abandons the picnic and runs as fast as his legs can take him down the trail, until—

He hears the faint tapping of fingers on a keyboard. Looking across the trail, he sees the edge of a laptop screen poking out from behind a tree. As he approaches it, the sound gets louder and louder, until it feels almost deafening and Zen has to cover his ears to avoid the incessant din. He looks around the tree’s thick trunk and sees Shirayuki in front of the screen, her hair disheveled and eyes unblinking as she types away.

She’s absolutely overworking herself! Zen can’t let her keep doing this. He should have caught it before it got this bad, he should have pulled her away from work and made her take care of herself. Regardless, he refuses to let this go on any longer. He takes a deep breath, removes his hands from his ears, and reaches out to set his hand on her shoulder as he always does when he needs to get her attention. His hand goes right through her, as if she were a ghost.

He wakes to find her side of the bed empty.

Zen’s sleep shirt is clinging to his sweating chest and the sheets are tangled up in his legs. He kicks them off and rolls over with a groan. So much for getting a good nights’ sleep before the meeting tomorrow morning. He reaches for his bedside lamp, trying to feel the small switch in the dark. It takes him a minute, fingers clumsy and sleep-addled, but he finally finds it with a click and squints against the soft, yellow light. He yawns and drags his phone towards him by its charging cable and groans again when he sees the time. 2:37am.

With little desire to return to the stifling sheets, he decides it’s best to just get out of bed and have a glass of water before trying to sleep again. He shuffles out of the bedroom, and as the door clicks behind him, his tired mind peripherally registers that the living room light is still on. But with water being his body’s primary goal, he drowsily continues on to the kitchen and downs a full glass in three big gulps when he gets there. With his mind cleared from the coolness of the water, he realizes that even though the living room light is still on, Shirayuki’s persistent typing is absent.

When he reaches the living room, he finds Shirayuki on the couch, slumped to the side with her lips parted and a quiet snore escaping her with each exhale. Her laptop is open and teetering dangerously close to the edge of her lap, but the screen has long since shut itself off. There’s still a pencil behind her ear, too.

With as much gentleness as he can muster this late at night, Zen extracts her laptop and moves it over to her desk so it can charge overnight. He removes the pencil from behind her ear and brushes her hair away from her eyes.

“Shirayuki, come to bed.” Her eyes crack open ever so slightly, and she grumbles but does not stir. Zen sighs. Even in sleep—no, especially in sleep—she’s as stubborn as ever.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay?” She mumbles something unintelligible, but’s all the affirmation he needs. He pushes his arms underneath her knees and shoulders, steels himself, and scoops her up. At first, her head lolls to the side, but then she turns and nuzzles against his chest. He can’t help but smile down at her as he carries her back to the bedroom and slowly places her on top of the sheets.

“Shirayuki, you should change out of your clothes,” he says.

She stirs a bit before slurring, “Don’t wanna. Wanna sleep.”

“If you don’t change now, you’ll regret it in the morning. You know you will.”

At this, Shirayuki groans and pushes herself up off the mattress. She insists he help her take off her clothes, which makes him laugh and blush in equal measure.

It’s only after she is changed and settled under the sheets that he finally lets himself sink into their bed again, mind and body finally relaxed with the knowledge that she’s next to him and already half asleep. He turns off his bedside lamp with a click and lets the rhythm of her breathing lull him back to sleep. Just as the last remains of his consciousness are about to slip away, he feels the delicate press of fingers against his shoulder, the tickle of a whisper against his ear, and the softness of a kiss against his temple.

“Thank you, Zen. I love you.”

#musewrites #zenyuki #prompt #akagami no shirayukihime #fanfiction

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miss-pearlescent · 5 years ago

Text

When Your Boyfriend is Sick

Word count: 902

Pairing: Kai + you

Theme: slice of life, fluff ＼(￣▽￣)/

You huffed as the traffic light finally turned green. It was a weird sense of impatience because you were only heading home, but the soup in the passenger’s seat was getting cold and you had a sick boyfriend at home. Time was of the essence.

When you pulled up to the driveway, you saw that the bedroom lights were still on. You had only left two hours ago, but you wondered if Jongin would have fallen asleep in that time. After all, he was looking pretty rough when you had left.

Quietly unlocking the door and kicking off your heels, you padded your way up the stairs, quickly bringing the soup up with you. You knew he had food to eat in the fridge, but you weren’t sure if he was able to hold any of it down especially after he had declined lunch earlier today.

“Jongin?” you poked your head through the door and saw that your boyfriend was in bed, slouched against the headboard with a box of tissues in his lap. A movie was playing on the TV and a half-eaten plate of noodles was sitting beside him on the nightstand.

Sighing, you replaced the noodles with the soup that you had bought. You grabbed his used tissues too and threw them in the trash, then tiptoed around him to get to the door.

“Babe?” he murmured hoarsely from the bed.

“Go to sleep, Jongin. I’ll clean up.”

He rubbed his face and coughed a few times. “Leave it. I’ll clean it in the morning. Come to bed.”

You shook your head with a smile. As if he could wash dishes in this state; he could barely get out of bed. “I’ll be there in a second. Drink some of the soup.”

In a bit of a rush, you washed the dishes downstairs and grabbed a new box of tissues.

“Why are you back so early from the party?” Jongin asked as you climbed into bed with him.

You shrugged. “It was no fun.” That was the truth. It was a work party and the original plan was to have Jongin as your plus-one. You had been looking forward to a night of eating and dancing, but after Jongin caught this flu, all you could think about was him hacking up his lungs at home.

You weren’t in the right headspace to socialize, so you escaped right after dinner was over. No dancing for you tonight but it didn’t matter as long as you were with your boyfriend.

“But you were so excited for this party,” he remarked, grabbing the extra spoon in the takeout bag to feed you a bit of soup. “Try it. They made it really delicious this time.”

Carefully, you sipped the hot soup but cringed. “It’s so salty.”

“Really?” Jongin took another sip and smacked his lips. “It tastes good to me.”

You laughed, dabbing your mouth with the back of your hand. “The uncle at the shop was asking how you were doing and I told him you were sick. He must’ve added extra salt so that you could taste something.”

He set the bowl to his lips and took a few deep gulps.

You watched him, noticing how grey his skin looked and how sunken his eyes had become. Just before you left, he had even said he was going to choreograph a little bit while you were gone in preparation for his hip hop class next week. You thought the idea was crazy. Did he ever rest?

You had to admit you liked to fuss over your boyfriend when he got sick like this. You liked it especially when he set the nearly-finished bowl on the nightstand and turned to pulled you into his arms.

“Thank you for that. I hope you don’t mind the cuddling.”

You leaned in closer, getting comfortable. “Never. If I was meant to get sick, I would have caught your cold by now.”

“Do you want to go change before bed?”

You feigned a yawn, because even though you weren’t tired, you didn’t want to move out of this position. The dress you were wearing wasn’t overly uncomfortable anyway. “No, I’m okay. What are we watching?”

“I think it’s a documentary about the black plague.”

You turned to look up at him. “You’re watching a documentary about the black plague?”

He shrugged and buried his face into your neck, his breath tickling you. “No, I was sleeping through it. It reminds me of you.”

You giggled and squirmed when his fingers began tickling you too. “I’m so glad to hear that the black plague reminds my boyfriend of me.” You hooked your arms around his neck, pinching his ear as a punishment.

Jongin let out a breathy laugh but quickly turned away to cough in his sleeve. Then he turned back and buried himself in your arms again. “You sure you don’t want to change and take off your makeup? Last chance, because I’m not letting you out of bed tonight,” he murmured against your skin. He knew you were very adamant about your nightly skincare routine, but all you wanted to do was hold your boyfriend.

One night of wearing makeup to bed wasn’t going to ruin you forever.

You ran your fingers through his scalp and leaned your cheek on the top of his head. “Sleep, Jongin. I’ll be here with you all night.”

---

:) :) :) This is just something quick I wrote for Kai’s birthday but I’m putting it out today because I’m going to be running around for the next couple of days. I missed writing scenarios a little bit because I don’t get new requests (sorry to all the ones that have been sitting in my inbox for years.....ah...ha...ha...my fault), but I do have a lot of longer pieces in my drafts that I have not completed. I like to write things that are not really contemporary/modern though so it’s difficult to do it in a short bite. You have to build a world, build a character, build a relationship...it’s hard to drabble LOL Anyway, I hope you guys liked this little short story and I hope you guys are having a great new year!

#exo #exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #kai #kai scenarios #kai fanfiction #jongin #jongin scenarios #kpop #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #fluff #slice of life #writing #happy kai day

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eeveedel · 5 years ago

Note

Can you write harry being a lil insecure about gaining weight and he’s scared that Louis wouldn’t want to be with him so he starts to not eat as much work out and try’s to eat salads and that he absolutely hates, Louis notices so he plans a night where he body praises him etc smut an fluff would be nice

I love this prompt and I also got a request on twitter last week to write chubby Harry and Louis on a dinner date so I decided to combine them. This baby is LONG so I hope you like it!

This is in the same verse to my first chubby harry drabble but it’s set before the events of that drabble.

Important warnings: this contains chubby kink, food kink, eating kink (is that a thing?), and body insecurity. If that is triggering to you please don’t read, I want you all to stay safe. Love you all sm xx

–

It was only Louis’s third date with Harry, and yet he already felt himself falling embarrassingly hard.

He had asked Harry out for lunch a week after the alpha had spilled his drink on him at a New Year’s Eve party, and since then every one of Louis’s January weekends had been booked and his phone was always full of short texts from Harry asking if he was having a good day. Louis felt stupid, teenage-like butterflies whenever he read one of those texts, but he didn’t even care. It was a new year, and he was dating a cute, funny, sweet alpha. He was allowed to be a little ridiculous.

Their third date was at an Italian restaurant downtown, and Harry had brought Louis flowers, which the waiter had put in a vase for them at the table because Harry apparently chose restaurants that believed in true love. The alpha was wearing a black turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans, which was what he had worn to every other date they had been on, and had his legs spread wide as he sat across the table and flicked through the menu. He wanted to know all about Louis’s master’s program and his teaching assistant position, which he claimed was far more interesting than his own job as a paralegal. Louis was rambling and maybe drinking his wine a little too fast, and was very caught up in how handsome Harry looked with his freshly shaved face and his tousled hair, that he almost missed the waiter coming over to take their orders.

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Louis said once he realized the poor server was standing next to their table patiently waiting for Louis to notice him, “Can I get the red pepper eggplant parmesan?”

“Of course,” the waiter nodded, scribbling down on his pad before turning to Harry, “And for you, sir?”

“Um, can I just get a Caesar salad?” Harry asked, “No croutons, dressing on the side?”

Louis frowned, remembering how fifteen minutes earlier Harry had told him how hungry he was.

“I thought you said you didn’t eat lunch,” Louis blurted out, and Harry glanced at him.

“Oh,” Harry said, “I’m just not hungry today in general, really. So just a salad’s fine.”

The waiter finished writing down the rest of Harry’s order, and then gave them both a quick smile before leaving them alone again. Harry launched back into asking Louis questions about his job, and the omega tried to answer the best he could without letting his thoughts run away from him.

Louis didn’t want to push Harry that much. But he had definitely noticed that when they went out, the other man usually got a salad or a small appetizer as his main course, never touched the basket of bread rolls, and never wanted to get anything after dinner. He had mentioned to Louis more than a few times that he was on a diet, and Louis wasn’t about to question that. He really didn’t care if Harry wanted to lose weight, that was his business, even if Louis admittedly found the alpha’s extra weight ridiculously sexy.

But the thing was, it was clear that Harry was still hungry when they had dinner. There were more than a few times he’d heard the other man’s stomach audibly grumble after he’d finished eating and he had coughed loudly to cover it up. He also always frowned just a bit, only for a moment, before he ordered his small meals. Diet or no diet, Louis didn’t want him to be hungry.

The dinner went by with Harry picking at his salad unenthusiastically and asking Louis lots of questions. The alpha was funny and charming enough to distract for another half an hour, but when the waiter came back around to ask if they needed anything, Louis once again became hyper aware of the way Harry’s lips twitched just a bit, like he wanted to frown.

“You want some dessert?” Louis asked, “We could split something.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Harry said, turning to him, “On that diet, you know, for New Year’s.”

“Oh. Right,” Louis said, “That’s fine, then. I’ll just have a bowl of vanilla ice cream, please. And an iced latte.”

“Oh, I’ll take a cup of black coffee,” Harry said, “Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, Louis had his ice cream and they both had their drinks, and Louis couldn’t ignore that Harry was watching him closely as he ate. Louis lifted his head to look at him, frowning at the alpha.

“Do I have something on my face?” Louis asked, and Harry shook his head.

“Oh, no, you’re good,” Harry said, and then picked up his coffee to take another sip. Louis noticed his eyes flick down to Louis’s half-melted bowl of dessert, and Louis picked up his spoon.

“Do you want some?” Louis said, and Harry shook his head.

“M’not hungry,” he said quickly.

“S’just a spoonful,” Louis said, “Really, it’s – “

“I’m really not hungry,” Harry cut in, a bit loud.

Louis blinked at him, and Harry’s cheeks colored as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Sorry,” he said, “Uh. I’m allergic to vanilla. Um. Yeah. Allergy.”

“Oh,” Louis said, “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Harry gave him a weak smile, “Uh, you never got to tell me about that class you’re thinking about teaching in the fall?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Louis said, and set his spoon down. He started to launch into another rant about graduate school, and Harry nodded and laughed along, but he was still stealing glances at Louis’s sad, melted ice cream.

So when the waiter took away their plates and cups and gave Harry the check, Louis made a decision. He had known this alpha for only a month or so, but he wasn’t going to let him be hungry, so help him God.

For their fourth date, Louis invited Harry over to his apartment and said was going to cook, his treat. Louis needed cooking practice anyways; he had started taking classes on the weekends so he could move beyond being in his mid twenties and relying on instant noodles and granola bars to live. He also figured maybe being in Louis’s apartment rather than out in public might help Harry loosen up a bit.

Harry gladly agreed and they set a date, which meant that the next Friday, Louis was tied to his kitchen all day. As the time of their date drew closer, he had finally gotten around to spreading out everything on the table, and he checked again to make sure it was all hot. He had spent all afternoon working on it, so if it wasn’t all perfect he was going to lose his mind.

He wasn’t sure what Harry’s favorite foods were; he had barely seen him eat anything that wasn’t soup or salad and maybe some snacks at parties. So he had gone with some American comfort foods and hoped they would do the trick; ribs covered in sweet barbeque sauce, mashed potatoes, cornbread, fried green beans, a chocolate cake and an apple pie. So maybe the cake and the pie were bakery-bought, but he thought it was still fairly impressive on his part.

Louis was still fiddling with the table when the door bell rang, and he nearly sprinted to answer it.

He opened the door slowly, just peaking out from behind the door as it cracked open. Once he saw Harry in the hall, he opened the door fully and grinned. The alpha was dressed in a proper button down tonight, bright blue, along with a pair of dark jeans and loafers. He smiled back at Louis, then held up the bottle of red wine that he had clasped in one fist.

“Hi,” he said, “I didn’t, um, know if you had anything, so I thought I’d bring something to drink.”

“That’s so sweet, thank you,” Louis said, “I, uh, have half a box of wine in my fridge but that’s probably not a very classy move.”

Louis ushered Harry inside and closed the door behind him, then awkwardly came back around to take the bottle of wine from Harry.

“You look really nice,” Louis blurted out, “I like your shirt.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry said, and tugged on the hem of his shirt a bit, “And you…you look lovely.”

Louis gripped the bottle of wine tighter. He was wearing all black with a pair of mismatched patterned socks because he had been too focused on getting dinner ready to dress up properly, but Harry sounded so sincere he nearly blushed.

“Let me pour us some drinks and then we can eat, I set everything out,” Louis eventually said when words came back to him.

He brought Harry to the kitchen to pour out the wine and have a quick toast, and then led the alpha to his small dining nook. Harry stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, and his mouth hung open for a few minutes before he properly spoke.

“Oh, wow, Louis…I thought you were just making, like, pasta or something, I didn’t know – “

Louis shrugged, “I thought it would be fun.”

He moved to sit down, and Harry followed him, still staring a bit wide-eyed at the food. Louis picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and put some on his own plate while he looked at Harry.

“You can just grab anything. I don’t want it to get cold.”

Louis got half way through putting all the food on his own plate, but Harry still hadn’t moved and his plate was empty. Louis frowned, tilting his head.

“Is something wrong?”

Harry’s head snapped up at that, and he opened his mouth.

“No, it looks good, I just,” Harry stuttered, “Might not have a lot because I’m – I’m on that diet.”

“Harry,” Louis cut in, his voice strong enough to surprise himself. Harry looked at him with wide eyes, and Louis nervously swallowed before he spoke.

“Harry, I want you to be able to eat whatever you want with me,” Louis said, “It doesn’t matter to me what you eat, or how much, or whatever. I don’t care. I really don’t. And I know you aren’t happy eating those salads when we go out, so if you want to eat what’s here, eat what’s here. Please.”

Harry just looked at him, his eyes still round, and then he finally stuttered.

“You mean that?”

“Yes, I do,” Louis said, and picked up his glass of wine, “Now, I kind of spent five hours cooking today, so please, for the love of God, dig in.”

Harry just stared at him for a moment longer, and then he gave Louis a small smile.

“Well, um, thank you,” he said. The alpha finally picked up the dishes one by one, filling his plate, and then he finally grabbed his fork.

Harry started with the potatoes first, digging his fork carefully into the mound on his plate. He took small bites, his mouth closing a bit too hard around the fork as he ate slowly.

“Oh, wow, these are really good,” he said as he picked up another forkful, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I started taking a night class this month,” Louis admitted, “My New Year’s resolution was to not starve on my own anymore.”

“Well, it’s paying off,” Harry said, and Louis smiled.

Harry picked up one of the ribs next. He bit down hard on the meat outside, and then immediately moaned so loudly Louis felt his chest flutter.

“Holy fuck,” Harry sighed, “Louis, you gotta tell me where those cooking classes are, this is crazy.”

He took another bite, and then another one, quick after each other. There was sauce on the corner of Harry’s mouth now, but he didn’t seem to notice as he polished off the rib.

“You got a little – “ Louis said weakly, but Harry didn’t seem to notice because he had moved onto the other rib on his plate. He finished it just as quickly, and when he was done there was a bigger smear of sauce on his mouth and on his chin, as well as on his hands.

“Louis, this is crazy,” Harry said, picking up his fork again to dig into the rest of his mashed potatoes. He glanced at the omega and shifted a brow, “Why aren’t you eating anything?”

“Oh,” Louis said, and then looked down at his still-full plate, “Guess, uh, I was worried I put in all that work and it didn’t even taste good.”

“It tastes incredible, really,” Harry said. He had finished off his potatoes, and reached for the bowl in the middle to put more on his plate, “Seriously, have some.”

“Uh,” Louis managed, and then picked up a wedge of cold cornbread off his plate and nibbled on it.

Harry was starting in on his third rib, and then moving onto the fried green beans, and then ripping apart the pieces of cornbread on his plate. He was eating fast, and he kept fucking moaning in what Louis assumed was the same way he moaned when he was having sex, and there was sauce and crumbs all over his face and he looked flushed and happy for once while eating and –

Louis was getting turned on.

He was an awful freak of a person but he was getting turned on. He had cooked for an alpha, provided for him, made him happy, and that was turning me on. It was all very 1950’s and backwards and he didn’t really give a shit, because Harry was getting a fourth rib and a third scoop of mashed potatoes and life was great.

Louis had managed to get through one rib and a small serving of potatoes by the time Harry tapped out and leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Harry said, “Holy shit, you should’ve invited me over on date one.”

The alpha reached up, rubbing his belly with one hand, and Louis felt his fork slip out of his fingers and fall to the plate. Two of Harry’s top shirt buttons were spread tight, a bit of his pale skin showing through, and he was just sighed and rubbing his stomach happily.

“It’s – it’s just something new I tried out,” Louis croaked out.

“Well, your first try was incredible,” Harry said, “Seriously, I feel like I should undo my belt – “

“Let’s watch a movie!” Louis said, and picked up his plate. He reached out and took Harry’s, too, and Harry just looked at him.

“Movie?” he asked, and Louis nodded.

“Yeah, I thought we could watch a movie,” he explained, “Thought that would be fun. I got Hulu Premium so. No ads anymore, woo.”

Harry just looked at him, and shrugged.

“Sure, sounds fine by me,” he said.

“Great!” Louis said, “I’ll go put the food away and then you can pick something out.”

He left the dining room quickly, and then dropped the plates into the sink. He turned the tap on, letting water rush onto them, but he had no intention to clean them yet. He just gripped the sink, shaking his head.

Was he a bad person? Did he have a weird fetish now? Was he objectifying Harry?

No, no. That was crazy. Finding a chubby alpha attractive is not a fetish. That would be fucked up. He wasn’t a bad person for thinking Harry was very, very hot, not in spite of his weight but because of it.

So why was he losing his mind over watching Harry eat? Why was he getting hot everywhere at the mere thought of the being able to open up all of Harry’s too-tight buttons and riding the alpha into the fucking sunset?

“Louis?” Harry called, and Louis pressed his hands over his face.

“Uh huh?” he called back.

“You good in there? Need help?”

“Oh no, no, I’m fine!” Louis shouted back, and then shut off the water that was close to flooding his sink, “Just – give me a sec.”

He rushed back into the dining room, and then as quickly as he could he brought all the food back into the kitchen, covered it in plastic wrap, and managed to shove it all into his fridge. The fridge door barely closed, but he managed to make it work. When it was shut he straightened himself up, smoothed down his shirt and hair, and then went back into the living room.

Harry was on the sofa, Louis’s TV remote in one of his big heads. He had his legs casually spread and one big arm slung over the back of the sofa, and he smiled when Louis came in.

“Hey, I found this new rom com, I don’t know if you’re into that, but personally I love – “

“That sounds great,” Louis agreed, and quickly sat down on the couch as well. He so, so badly wanted to cuddle up into Harry’s side, but he didn’t know if that was proper fourth date etiquette, so he just stayed close to Harry but respectfully far, just touching Harry’s arm as he leaned back. Harry gave him a quick look, but didn’t say anything.

Louis shot out a hand, patted Harry’s knee, and then retracted his hand lightning fast.

“’Kay, you can start the movie,” Louis said.

Harry nodded and pressed play on the remote, and the beginning credits of the movie started a few minutes later.

Louis tried to enjoy the film, but he just kept squirming in his seat, unable to get comfortable. He sat with his legs crossed, his knees tucked to his chin, both feet on the floor and his hands in his lap like he was in an Internet article on proper posture. None of it was comfortable, because he knew he really wanted to sit in Harry’s lap, press himself into his soft side, or at that very least move Harry’s arm so it was slung around Louis’s shoulders.

After about an hour of fidgeting around, he looked at Harry.

“Hey, I’m a bit peckish,” Louis said, “Do you want dessert?”

Harry glanced at him, and Louis was fully expecting him to say no. He had never had dessert with Louis before, and they had just finished eating an hour ago, and Harry had eaten a lot, and –

“Sure, that sounds good,” Harry said, “What do you have?”

“Chocolate cake?” Louis said, “Apple pie?”

“Oh, wow,” Harry said, “Homemade, too?”

“No, just store bought this time,” Louis said, “So I’m sure it’ll be far better than whatever you had at dinner.”

“Can’t even imagine that,” Harry grinned, “Sure. Do you mind getting a slice of each? I’ll nibble a bit at both.”

“Sure thing,” Louis said, and then promptly got up and scampered to the kitchen.

He got the cake and pie out of his already struggling fridge, then cut a thick slice of both the cake and the pie and set it on a plate. He also cut himself a thin slice of cake and then brought both plates into the living room. He handed Harry his dessert, and the alpha looked up at him, confused.

“Is this all for me?” he asked, and Louis nodded.

“Sorry, I’m really shit at cutting decent portions,” he said, “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

Harry just nodded, and Louis sat down next to him, digging into his cake. He tried to focus on the screen, but instead, his eyes kept flicking back to Harry.

Because Harry was eating quickly again, and he was making those fucking noises. Those moaning noises, if not a bit hushed now. He was alternating bites between the cake and the pie, fork digging between moist chocolate and golden brown apples. Louis managed to swallow down all his cake, and still, he just held his plate in his lap and watched Harry eat all his dessert. When he was done he sighed happily, and then glanced at Louis.

“Sorry, could you get me one more little slice of the pie?” he asked, and his cheeks colored, “I didn’t eat lunch today, and it’s so good.”

“Sure thing!” Louis said a bit too quickly. His skin was heating up again, and he went back to the kitchen. He cut into the pie again, a slice that probably was not little, but Harry didn’t protest when Louis brought it to him. He picked up his fork again and ate his pie, hunched forward as he somehow managed to still focus on the movie.

When he was done he set the plate on the coffee table, next to Louis’s equally empty cake plate, and then licked at a bit of sugar on his thumb. He sat back, leaning into the couch again, and that’s when Louis heard the weakest little pop.

It came to him in pieces. He saw something small hit his coffee table and then fall onto his carpet. He stared at it, and the longer he stared the clearer it was that it was a button. A little, pearly button. And then he looked back at Harry, whose eyes were wide and cheeks were bright red, and he realized the button on the floor looked the same as the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

And there was now one button missing, right in the center of Harry’s belly. The gap left behind was wide, revealing pale skin, but it was quickly covered by Harry’s hands.

“Oh my god,” he gasped out, “Oh my god, fuck. Fucking fuck.”

Louis just stared at the alpha, who had gone beet red.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have eaten that much, that’s so fucking disgusting, I – “

But before Harry could anything else, Louis had swung himself into the alpha’s lap and grabbed his face in his hands.

“Harry,” Louis said, his voice rushed out, “I really, really need to kiss you right now.”

Harry started at him with wide eyes, his mouth open.

“You – what?”

“I need your mouth on my mouth. I need our tongues to battle. God, Jesus, let me fucking kiss you.”

“I – “ Harry choked out, “Sure, yeah, okay.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Louis breathed out, and then was leaned forward, pressing his mouth hard to Harry’s.

The alpha was slow to respond at first, his lips barely moving, and then he was kissing Louis back hard. His mouth still tasted like sweet apples and chocolate, and his lips moved fast and hungrily, kissing Louis hard. His tongue flicked at Louis’s lips, and the omega gasped, leaning in to kiss him harder. He felt Harry’s big hands on his back, clawing at Louis’s shirt, and Louis groaned weakly. He pulled his mouth away form Harry’s lips, and instead started kissing his round cheek instead.

“God, you’re so hot,” he breathed out, “You’re unfairly, stupidly, illegally hot.”

“I – I am?” Harry said, and Louis groaned.

“Yes, you dumb, dumb alpha. I wanted to fuck you the moment you spilled your drink on me at Niall’s party,” Louis said, “Did you not catch on to me nearly presenting to you on the couch right before the bloody New Year’s ball dropped?”

“You – you wanted to fuck me?” Harry choked out.

“I wanted you to fuck me, but close enough.”

“Why?”

Louis stopped kissing Harry’s face, and just pulled back, frowning.

“What do you mean, why?” Louis said, “Because you’re a tall, gorgeous alpha and my biology makes me want to fuck tall, gorgeous alphas. Also you’re funny and sweet and – Jesus Christ, Harry, why wouldn’t I want to fuck you?”

“Seriously?” Harry said, and his voice sounded weak as he stared at Louis, “Louis, I’m fat.”

Louis just stared at him, and then brought his hand down and slipped it into the empty space where Harry’s button had broken. He felt the warm skin under, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he gently squeezed the flesh underneath.

“Harry,” Louis said slowly, “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I really, really like the way your body looks.”

Harry blinked at him, his big eyes confused, and he frowned.

“But why?”

“Again with the fucking questions, Harry, Jesus,” Louis sighed, “I don’t know why. I just think you’re fucking hot and your belly is hot and your thighs are hot and your ass is hot and your hands are hot and just – I don’t have a reason, it just is what it is.”

When Louis was done he was panting weakly, and Harry was still staring at him.

“Oh,” he managed, “That’s – oh.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then looked up at Louis again.

“I used to be skinny, you know,” he said, “Like, really skinny. And – uh – no one’s really wanted to go out with me since I gained weight, so – “

Louis swallowed thickly, and then held Harry’s face in his both his hands again.

“Fucking idiots,” he breathed out, “Idiots, all of them.”

He pulled back a bit, taking a second to scan Harry’s body.

“I mean…who the hell would turn down all of this.”

He squeezed Harry’s broad shoulders, then his soft biceps, then his hands went down, and he rested them on the tight, round swell of the alpha’s stomach, and his mouth went dry.

“All of…this…”

He stared for a bit too long, and he realized what was happening a second after Harry gasped weakly.

“Lou – Louis,” the alpha stuttered out, “Are you wet?”

Louis blinked.

“I think I am.”

“Oh my god,” Harry got out, and then grabbed Louis’s waist, leaning forward, “Oh my god.”

He was about to press his mouth to Louis’s again, but Louis brought his hand up before he could.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Louis said, pressing his finger to Harry’s lips, “Level with me. You’re not on a diet, are you?”

“I’m really not,” Harry said, and his eyes went wide again, “I’m also not allergic to vanilla. That was a lie, the other night. I fucking love vanilla ice cream.”

“God, you’re so stupid,” Louis sighed, “I want your dick in me.”

He choked after he said it, his eyes going wide, and Harry just stared back at him for a few moments. And then suddenly Harry was grabbing Louis around the waist and standing up from the couch, hoisting Louis up with him. Louis yelped and squeezed his thighs tight around Harry’s middle, staring down at the alpha.

“Bedroom,” Harry said, “Where’s your bedroom.”

“I – “ Louis said, “I have like two rooms in this apartment, it’s right there,” he said, and feebly pointed to the door on his left. Harry gave it a glance and then tightened his grip on Louis’s waist. He started to move towards the bedroom, but then Louis’s eyes widened and he tapped Harry’s shoulder.

“Wait!” Louis yelped, and Harry looked at him nervously.

“What?”

“Pause the movie,” Louis said, “If you let it autoplay my recommendations will be fucked up for days.”

Harry just stared for a moment, and then chuckled and grabbed the remote off the couch and paused the TV. When he was done he kissed Louis on the forehead.

“You’re so cute,” Harry sighed, “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

And God.

Louis had missed being stupid, ridiculously, grossly in love.

#drabbles #the formatting is fucked but I'm lazy I'll fix it later lmao #larry fanfic #larry fan fiction #thick alpha #chubby 1d #Anonymous #ask

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centuryofdean · 5 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of When Lightning Strikes. As a constant reminder, I do not own any of Tolkien’s characters. I do not own his story line or plot. All I own are the changes and my own personal Original Character Laurel.

This is my first fanfiction blog. I do post my work on other fanfiction websites. If you are interesting in knowing more about it, send me an ask or a message.

I am looking to get more into requests as well! Send an ask or a message with a request on a one-shot or drabble and I will do my best to do that for you. Currently the fandoms I am familiar with / willing to try and write for are:

The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings Harry Potter Supernatural Marvel the Madalorian The Witcher Night Huntress (Series written by Jeanine Frost) Anita Blake Vampire Hunter (Series written by Laurell K. Hamilton) The Hallows (Series written by Kim Harrison).

Thanks everyone! Enjoy the next chapter below!

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language and Violence

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Kili

It took a time to explain the severity of the situation. By time I finished the story, the sun had rose. All the while, I ensured that every part of her I could touch without undressing her was dry. One by one the rest of the company awoke. Bilbo took a look at her and agreed with my assumption of her race; he also thought she may be a Hobbit.

Not once did she stir.

"So," Thorin announced once everyone woke and was gathered around, "our journey has come to a minor bump. We must build a sleigh of sorts so that we can transport her with us. This… woman is Kili's companion forward on. Once we reach a town we will assess her condition and see if she is fit for this journey or not."

Most of the dwarves jumped to action, going into the woods and gathering materials.

Once I explained to him of the dream—and the one that happened just before she fell from the sky—he agreed that it was no coincidence that I have been seeing her for years, and she suddenly appear to me. As for how she got here; not even Gandalf was able to come up with an explanation.

In a matter of hours the camp was packed and ready to move. Dori and Bofur got Nori to help them compose of the simple sleigh. It was big enough for Laurel to lay on and someone else to keep an eye on her. Though I wanted nothing more to ride with her, I felt it would have been better for Oin to keep watch of her health. We were able to dry her clothes, but a chill still ghosted over her skin and a fever on her forehead was starting.

Throughout the day when we took breaks for the horses to rest or to refill our water skins, Ori would sit in front of the sleigh and draw pictures of Laurel. One time I stood above him and watched as he tried to capture her likeness.

"What sort of tunic is this," Ori pinched the various hued green short tunic. "I haven't seen anything of the sort before. It's hard to draw it. The runes are very odd as well."

I knelt down beside him, looking between her and the forest around us. Was this the clothing she wore when she hunted? "I think this is her hunting attire," I murmured, "it allows her to disappear into the trees."

Dwalin was watching from a distance, "I dunno how she'd hunt in tha'. Too heavy."

I also pinched the material, amazed at how thick it was compared to my own jacket I wore.

"Let's continue forward," Thorin called from the line of ponies.

At the end of that day we were camped for the night once more. Thorin tried to stay in an abandoned home that appeared to have burned down, but Gandalf insisted to camp closer to the woods.

When a conclusion was not met, Gandalf stormed off into the night leaving us. Glolin created a fire in a matter of minutes. I gathered Laurel placed her in front of the fire with blankets surrounding her.

"Brother, watch over her while I take watch of the ponies," I muttered. "Have Bilbo bring me some soup when it's ready."

There was a big enough pasture on the edge of the woods that the abandon house had to keep the ponies mostly kenneled while they rested for the night. My body sagged against a tree trunk, eyes dropping with tiredness. Now that Laurel was actually here I didn't really want to sleep anymore, I much rather stay with her until she woke. Alas I couldn't fight the need for sleep.

The sound of a snapping branch in the woods startled me. It was quite loud and very close. I rose and glanced at all the ponies to see if they were startled as well.

There was two ponies missing.

Before I could go look to see if they were the ones that made the noise in the woods, Bilbo was climbing up the hill with a bowl in his hand. "I brought you some of the soup that Bombur made," he forced a smile.

"Bilbo," I muttered, "we are missing ponies."

A loud unfamiliar laugh crackled through the night. In the distance a large fire could be seen in between the tree trunks, one that was not ours. Each of us slowly crept through the woods, trying to get a better look at what was happening. In-between a couple of trees was our ponies, tied in a rope barrier. Next to the fire were three large trolls.

Bilbo chirped, jumping behind me. "Bilbo," I pushed him towards the commotion. "Take this blade and cut the ponies free. This is one of your burglary moments!"

"What if they catch me," he urged more importantly, "what then?"

"Go ahead and start," I motioned, "I will get the rest of the dwarves. We will defend you if anything happens."

Without a second look to him I jumped to action, running past the remaining ponies and to the camp we had set up. Everyone turned to look at me while I started to catch my breath, "Trolls. Stole the ponies!"

"We left them alone for only a few moments," Balin grunted, "how is it they stole all he ponies in just a few moments? Without making any noise?"

"Not all," I remarked, "just two. Bilbo is going to try and cut them free. We must go aid him!"

One by one they rose, grabbing all of their weapons. One glance at Laurel told me she was asleep and wouldn't wake for a while still yet. A few tree branches and leaves were lying on the edge of our camp, so I gently laid them across her to try and hide her from anyone who happens to walk by. It would be good enough until we returned. Dori put out the fire to hide our location.

Together we rushed to the tree line quietly to watch. The three trolls were large, eight dwarves tall and about five dwarves wide. Bilbo was the size of their hands. He crept behind the one, where the ponies were standing and tried to cut through the rope.

In the center of their area was a tall fire underneath a pot and spit.

"I 'aven't ate ponies in a long time," one of them exclaimed. "Tonight will be a good supper indeed."

"Tom," another called, "grab one of the ponies and prepare it. The pot is almost ready for meat."

Just as the troll called Tom turned around to grab a pony, Bilbo yelled and fell into the rope dropping the knife. A groan left me softly, what kind of burglar drops his weapon and gets caught?

"What's this," Tom shouted as he picked Bilbo up by the leg, dangling him high for the other trolls to see. " I've never seen one of these bafor'!"

All three started to argue about what he was. "When do we attack," Dwalin asked quietly.

"We wait to see if he gets away first, or if the sun will rise before," Thorin stated.

"He don't smell bad," the troll that was stirring the pot muttered, "might as well throw him in as well."

The last troll drew a long blade from his waist and pointed it at Bilbo.

"Attack now," Thorin muttered disdainfully. At once all the dwarves surged forward with a cry of battle. The trolls were startled, the one dropping Bilbo.

The arrows at my hip were made of wamara and plentiful, along with the strong sword at my hip. Fili and I jumped the nearest troll, stabbing it and shooting it with the weapons we had. It flinched and started to swing it's large hands. The rest of the pack of dwarves were similarly attacking the other two monsters.

Suddenly I was knocked to the ground, air leaving my lungs and me breathless for a moment. With another arrow knocked I took aim for the nearest trolls throat.

"Drop all yer weapons," one called out loudly, "or I rip 'is arms and legs off."

In-between two fingers on each hand was one of Bilbo's. The beast was pulling on his hands and arms causing our Hobbit friend to groan and fidget. "I'll do it," the troll muttered again, "drop all the weapons."

Begrudgingly each of us dropped the weapons in our hands.

One by one we were tied at the feet and wrists, then bagged to our necks and tossed into a pile off to the side. Our weapons were collected and tossed in a pile next to the ponies.

"William, how many dwarvies do we want ta start cooking," Tom exclaimed excitedly.

"I don't know," the cook muttered, "but do we want to skin them, chop them up, or boil 'em alive?"

Time seemed to drag along as the trolls argued back and forth on how they were going to cook us. Half of us were picked up and tied to the spit to turn and cook slowly.

How were we going to get out of this mess? Closing my eyes I prayed to the Valar that no one was messing with Laurel and she was alright.

Bilbo stood quickly in his sack, eyes darting everywhere. "You don't want to be doing this. Very bad business, eating dwarves and Hobbits."

"It is very good business, and food," William muttered, poking Bombur with a branch as he turned over on the spit.

"No very bad business, especially the lot of us. Infected, everyone," Bilbo stuttered, eyes still raking the woods around us.

Infected with what? No one here has aliments! Some of the dwarves agreed with me, muttering about nonsense. The trolls were bickering back and forth about eating something infected. Dwalin grunted about being as healthy as a horse. Thorin kicked him and gave him a look.

"I've got parasites as big as me arm," he changed his tune, rolling over and looking ill.

The rest of us joined, moaning and groaning about being sick.

"Don't listen to them you fools," William muttered, "they are trying to trick us into freeing them. We're going to eat every last one. We better hurry before the sun comes up."

A small gasp could be heard faintly before one of the trolls, Bert as he was called, grunted. "Ow, something bit me," he muttered, looking all around for something that could have bit him. A tree branch shook, causing all of us to look towards it.

As quick as lightning, something shot out from between the leaves.

Previous Chapter << Chapter 3: Falling into a New Reality

Next Chapter >> Chapter 5: Fuck, I’m Dreaming Again

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #kili x oc #kili x reader #when lightning strikes #when lightning strikes masterlist

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forwhycas · 6 years ago

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Skirts

A quick little drabble! Dedicated to my thirsty friends who begged me to write this, probs a few spelling mistakes

**************************************************************************************************

It was a stressful day at work, ever since your boss left for maternity leave you were doing both your job and all of your work and hers on top of that. Most days you came in early and left late. It was hard to spend your off time with Gwill. His schedule was hectic with his new movie coming out, and with your boss gone and you stepping in, you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks really. You were about 4 hours into your day when your cell phone rang, you knew it was Gwill, he was the only one who ever dared to called you at work.

“Hey babe, I can’t really talk for long, I’m on lunch in about an hour though.”

You heard a bunch of cars honking in the background.

“Well that’s good because I’m about to walk into your building, and I brought you your favorite”

Your heart started to beat fast with excitement.

“Chicken noodle soup?”

You smiled when you thought of the little café a few blocks over that always had fresh chicken noodle soup everyday, Gwill and you sometimes meet up their for your lunch breaks.

“You got it kitten! I also have a flask full of bourbon, but that’s for the train ride home later”

You chuckled.

“It’s gonna take you forever to get up here, the elevator is busy this time of day, I’ll see you in a few though.”

“Ok babe, love you!”

“Love you too dork!”

You hung up with him, and tried to focus on the stack of stuff that needed to be proofread in front of you, you heard a knock on your office door and in walked Gwill. Holy fuck his scruffy little beard was back, you wanted to melt into him right then and there. You jumped out of your chair and ran to him, he of course welcomed you with open arms. You immediately kissed him, reaching up on your tip toes to reach him, his arm reached for your but giving it a squeeze.

“Hi”

You smiled up at him.

“Hey their shorty, we can’t keep spending so much time apart, when does your boss come back?”

You pulled away from him and his hand collided with your ass, making you giggle as you sat down behind the desk.

“Another three weeks then I can go back to working from home again, she’s giving me a weeks vacation, so three weeks then a week off.”

He nodded as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, putting the bag with your lunch in the adjacent one.

“You look very sexy in this office, being the boss, calling the shots, must be exhausting.”

You yawned and nodded.

“I’m beyond stressed, I’ve found at least four gray hairs in the last three months, I’m 28, too young for gray hairs babe!”

He laughed at you and got up to close your office door, he started to close the blinds as well.

“Please let me help with the stress, it’s been three weeks since you’ve been properly fucked, you need it, and I need it. Great stress reliever in my opinion.”

Your legs instantly clenched together.

“N…Now? This is my bosses office, I can’t just, Gwill we can’t.”

He started to walk towards you and your legs couldn’t of been more weak, you could feel your chest rise and fall.

“We can and we will, just have to be quiet, got it kitten?”

He started to undo his belt.

“Your wearing that skirt, I bet if I bend you over I’ll see your pretty lace thong. Shall we?”

He reached out for your hand, you grabbed it and he harshly bent you over the desk. Gwill was always in his element when it came to dominating you.

“I was wrong I can’t, we’ll just have to take this off then.”

He pulled at your arm and he walked you in front of the desk. He left you there and instructed you to undress slowly. So you did. First the buttons on your blouse, you tugged at it freeing it from your tight skirt, your through it at him, causing him to smile. You reached behind you unclasping your bra, it fell to the floor and now it was time for the skirt, little did he know you had skipped on the underwear. You turned around so that your back was to him and unzipped the side of your skirt, you bent down and slipped out of it.

“Holy fuck”

You heard Gwill take a sharp breath in. He heard him walk over to you, he sat down in the chair he was sitting in before and motioned you to have a seat on his lap.

“You smell so nice……..I missed this soft skin……fuck, go faster”

You were grinding your hips into his and his buldge was getting more and more prominent through his jeans. Between the material of his jeans rubbing you just the right way, his hands on your breast, squeezing, sucking, biting; you were just about to cum when he grabbed your hips to stop you.

“Alright sweet heart, not yet. Bend over the desk again for me”

You did as you were told. You heard the zipper of his jeans and your legs started to shake.

“Nice and slow, just how you like it.”

Without any warning he thrusted into you, so deep it brought tears to your eyes. Your breath hitched and you let out a small moan, hands clutching at anything they could. In and out, so slow, but with each thrust it’s like he hit while new sweet spot. He stopped and spun you around so that you were facing him, you legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Kiss me”

You demanded, you missed his lips, so soft yet so rough on yours, he picked up the pace when he thrusted back into you, your head fell back and you laid out on the desk as he expertly hit your g-spot over and over again, you thought you were levitating when you finally finished. His hand reached out to cover your mouth as you did. The breath from your body was gone for w few moments. When you came back to reality Gwill’s face was euphoric as he reached his peak.

“Fucking hell, so tight!”

You rocked your hips to meet his making sure he had the best orgasm of his life. He bit on his lip and gripped your hips so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. The office phone started to ring, you had to pick it up, Gwill still inside of you and all.

“This is y/n!”

You shrieked, clearing your throat shortly after, it was one of your co workers asking a question.

“I’m a little busy at the moment, can I call you back in a few?”

You didn’t even wait for the ok you hung up and continued to watch Gwill finish. And it was a beautiful sight, his face always broke out into the biggest smile, his eyes squinted shut and your name being whispered through his glorious plump lips.

“Wow…….best stress reliever I know.”

He pulled out and pulled up his boxers. He handed you your skirt, and helped you get dressed again.

“Did I hit a new spot?”

He asked you, you blushed and nodded.

“Well I can’t wait to find more later, if you’re not home by 8, I will break out the belt, and we both know I love the belt…..”

“I’ll be home for 9……..”

He winked at you and you started to eat the soup he brought you.

#gwillym lee #queen #fanfic

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nothing-but-kpop-dreams · 7 years ago

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Jinyoung Drabble: A hint of baby fever

Request:💟💟💟i know you're busy with school and stuff but could you write a reaction with Jinyoung of GOT7 wanting a baby so bad that he tries to make you convince you and have one ?💟💟💟

Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long! I was trying to make it as cute as possible. I hope you all like it, espically the one that requested it.

It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was out, the flowers were in bloom, and people were more out and about than ever. The scenery was alive and flourishing, basically as live as can be after months of harsh winter. However, it wasn’t these perfect details that made your day, but instead, it was the fact that your boyfriend, Jinyoung, actually had a day off. All the more rare was his urge to be out of the house. Instead of being cooped up in your bedroom catching up on his R&R, he wanted the two of you to be out in the real world shopping and going out to eat and watching movies.

“We still have a good amount of time to kill before the movie, where do you want eat?” you asked pleasantly as the two of you walked hand in hand, navigating the crowd walkways of your local shopping plaza.

“Hm… I don’t know… How about that cafe over there?” He said with no indication of where he was referring to. He didn’t bother to point anywhere and with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, there was no way of telling where he was looking.

“...Babe, where?”

“Over there” he said absentmindedly, now with his head facing in a completely different direction than before.

“Where?!?”

Jinyoung laughed at your distressed state.”Over there!” This time he lifted his free hand and pointed to a business at the far end of the plaza.

That cafe he was talking about was not what you expected to be a cafe. The exterior was as plain as could be. It blended in more with the scenery rather than the peppy businesses around it. It had no flashy lights or signs of any kind, making it almost seem abandoned. The only existence of “decoration” was the small muted title at the top of the business and the open sign at window.

“It seems… interesting.” you concluded

“Interesting enough to try out?” His question was one he wasn't waiting for an answer for. Before you could open your mouth, he was already dragging you to the place.

The cafe was a quaint space. For the most part, if you’ve been to one cafe, you’ve been to them all. This cafe was no different than any other generic chain. The interior was made up of faux brick walls covered with paintings by local “artists”, book shelves placed to give the place a cozy feel, couches and bean bags by the entrances, and more than enough counter space for books and laptops. And not forgetting the final touch, a cafe wouldn't be a cafe, if it didn't smell intensity of coffee.

Considering the boring exterior, it was easy to see where the focus was. Not only that, but it seemed as though many others enjoyed the atmosphere. When the two of you walked in, the place was practically full with people. Just the line to make an order was one that made your feet hurt just looking at it.

“Hmm the line is pretty long and there are a lot of people here? Are you sure you really want to eat here?” you asked in a hushed voice.

When it came to dating an idol, confined and crowded spaces were usually what you avoided. The fact that Jinyoung was already out on such a busy day was enough to put you on edge over being caught.

“Yeah! I don’t mind waiting around.” Jinyoung hummed wrapping his arms around you and leading the two of you to the end of the line.

Something was definitely up with him, but back hugging in public? That was even more out of the norm for Jinyoung. But you weren’t going to question it. You were going to take in every second of this moment. Who knew when something like this was going to happen again?

“So what are you going to order?” Jinyoung whispered in your ear.

“I think… I think I want the chicken soup. What about you?”

“I’m just gonna get the grilled cheese.”

“Oh that sounds good too!” you said realizing just how hungry you were

Jinyoung laughed. “You might as well order that for yourself too. I don't want you picking off my plate like you always do.”

“Aw, but then I don't get the best of two orders!” you whined playfully, making him laugh some more.

One by one the customers in line finished their orders and you had yet to make up your mind. the entire time you were just annoying jinyoung with your incessant debating.

“Well hurry up and make your mind.” he told you once you were next to order.

When the time came, you panicked and ordered the same thing that Jinyoung did.

Next came time to sit somewhere. Your eyes scanned the packed cafe. The couches were filled with hipster teens like animals at a watering hole. The section of tall bar stool like tables looked cute, but also uncomfortable. Adding to that, they are right by the windows. That would mean putting Jinyoung in the spotlight for a sea of passing people outside. Your poor baby already looked suspicious being the only person with a sunglasses and a face mask in the middle of a cafe, the last thing you wanted was a mob of people over the two of you if Jinyoung so much as revealed himself in order to eat. The basic tables in the center of the cafe were the only real option… with almost every table being taken.

“Oh! Over there!” Somehow Jinyoung was able to spot an untouched table in the corner of the cafe, almost hidden by a bookshelf. it was the perfect spot

“I really like this table.” you said with a sneaky smirk. “I feel like I can spy on everyone and no one will suspect me.”

“Even better, no one can see us do this!” Suddenly Jinyoung’s lips crashed into yours, giving you a heck of a kiss before you pushed him off.

“Jinyoung!” you could only gasp with a stupid smile. “ I thought no kissing in public? That is one of your rules.”

“I made the rules, so I can break them.” he smiled before leaning in for only a peck, now realizing he really should tone things down some.

Now calm, the two of you began talking over mind less things. You laughed over Jinyoung’s new gossip with GOT7 and your gossip over your coworkers. You spoke about the new tv series you started and Jinyoung blabbed about the book series he was still trying to get you to read with him. The two of you talked about every little thing you didn't really have the time to talk about.

For the most part, there was no real direction in your conversation, but even with the unpredictable topics, Jinyoung hit you with a curve ball.

“Babe, tell me again how you feel about having kids.”

You paused for a moment, but answered as usual “... I’d like to have kids… but eventually like we agreed the last time we talked about it… Why?”

Jinyoung leaned back a bit and scooted you closer. “Look through the books.” he said ominously.

Doing as he instructed, you sat where he did a moments ago and looked through the small space between some books. You could clearly see a family a few tables away. It was a mother, a father, and a baby girl. The child was probably a year old and she was the cutest thing you had ever seen. The parents cooed over their baby, who had the pudgest arms and roundest cheeks. She had the ruffliest dress with the cutest little pig tails and she was nothing but smiles.

“Isn’t she cute?” Jinyoung was practically squealing

“Awwwww she is!” you smiled

“I can’t wait till we have one of our own.”

“Yeah, years from now we are going to have the cutest baby!”

“I hope they have your cheeks.” Jinyoung cooed, his fingers reaching out and pinching your cheeks… hard.

In that same moment your fingers went after him. “And I hope they have your ears!” you grunted with revenge, pinching his ears as hard as he pinches your cheeks.

The two of you began a battle of playful jabs at each other like actual children. If it weren't for the bookshelf blocking you two, you would most likely have the attention of the entire cafe.

The little war came to an abrupt end when your waitress make an appearance. Within the presence of food, all sense of conversation was out the window.

Lunch for the most part was silent, the two of you put much of your focus into devouring your meals.

The food was delicious as it looked and once done the both of you were too full to move.

“Ah that was good… but back to what we were talking about. I was hoping we would have a baby sooner than a few years… How about a year or two?”

“What?!? No! That’s too soon don't you think?”

“Nah! If anything we should have had one already! What do you want to have first, a boy or a girl?”

You stared at him in a sense of total confusion. No matter how long you stared, his expression of content didn't leave his face “Who are you and what have you done to my Jinyoung?!?”

He laughed. “I am your Jinyoung! C’mon look at the little girl again. How can you look at her and not want to be parents?” Again he directed our gaze over to the family a few tables away.

The trio was as adorable as ever. The young mom was spoon feeding her baby piece of cake. The baby giggle over the little sound effects her mother was making for the spoon. The entire time the father was recording with his cellphone. He had the proudest smile on his face as he watched over his two girls. Witnessing such a picture perfect moment really made parenting look worth while.

However, you had to be rational. “Baby, we aren’t even married yet!” you reasoned.

“So? Tons are people are having kids before getting married. There isn't anything wrong with it!”

“Jinyoung you can't be serious.”

“I am! Beside, we’ll be married eventually. Why does it matter if we have a kid before that?

“We aren't even public yet”

“That's even less important.” he said just so casually. “Honestly, I am genuinely not wanting to bother going public till our kid is in college.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Jinyoung was the rational one between the two of you but what he was saying was so beyond random and off the rails. Sure you had talked about marriage and kids before, but at the time you on waiting a few years.

“How are we even going to have time for a baby? I barely see you now! And then you still need to do your military service!”

Jinyoung simply shrugged. “The whole military thing is only two years and I have breaks every now and then. Plus GOT7 is doing good schedule wise. I can JYP ask for a year or 2 off and the guys and I can do solo stuff and whatever.” He seemed ti have an answer for everything

“Where is thing coming from?”

“My love for you” he snickered as he watched your expression of overwhelming confusion deepen. “Do I really have you that wound up?”

“Yes!”

He just laughed some more. “Just take another look at the family.”

You did so, so emotionally exhausted that your rested your head on Jinyoung’s shoulder to spy on the family.

The mom and dad were in complete awe over anything their daughter did. And the baby was in joy over every bit of attention they gave her. You could feel the love between them from across the cafe.

You could feel Jinyoung’s arm wrap around you “I want that to be us. It doesn't have to be now. I was only joking about the in-a-year thing… but I want that to be us one day.”

Your arms wrapped around him returning his embrace “And it will… years from now, but I want that to be us too”

“Yeah… but you know… The sooner the better.” he chuckled

-Admin Boat

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 7 years ago

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Request: #19 for the Drarry drabble prompts, please! Draco speaking to Harry if possible, but either way is fine, thanks :) :) -- ( @restlessandordinary )

Prompt: “I want to take care of you”

Rated: T

Warnings: Cursing, Light angst, Mentions of nightmares, (my constant use of italics for emphasis)

Words: 4.3k

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I just wanna start off by saying yes I have a lot of other requests, and I’m getting to them! I promise! But my stupid brain said, “Hey let’s write something a few hundred words, maybe 1k words, just to have something to post to the blog so I stay active” before writing a 4k behemoth of a story. Hope you guys like it?

Draco Malfoy was not one easily surprised. Hosting a Dark Lord in your home for a year, being raised how he was to imitate polite social structures, to be ready for absolutely anything- most things he had been through helped Draco learn to expect the unexpected. So when something happened, not entirely unexpected- some would even say it was expected- Draco was confused as to his clear surprise on the matter. To be thoroughly clear, Draco was not surprised to be forced into attending his eighth year of Hogwarts by the Ministry. He was not surprised to be separated from the regular school into a 'fifth house,' if you will, made entirely of the eighth year students. He was still unsurprised when McGonagall practically forced him to room with his once-rival Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy was surprised that he had somehow developed feelings for the one and only Harry Potter. Some would say it was a long time coming, with emotions always rolling high between the two of them. Some would say it was to be expected when living in such close quarters to a guy you had expected to be completely different but was pleasantly surprised to find out he wasn't. Some would even say, "Draco, stop staring at him right now, you literally look like a creepy stalker." Draco Malfoy would ignore these said people. Draco was seated in the library, observing Harry with one of his trio members, Hermione, while they studied, laughing occasionally. He was happy seeing him with such a carefree expression, so different from his usual one nowadays where it so often looks like a combination of grief and self-loathing. He studied the way Harry's eyes lit up every time he laughed, or how he was only pretending to study, either never turning his page or turning them too often to be believable. Draco may have been staring for a tad too long. When Ron came to collect his girlfriend, Harry waved the two goodbye and glanced down toward his books as if he actually planned to study now that he was alone. This lasted about thirty seconds before he shook his head and started glancing around the library for something more interesting to focus on. Draco quickly dropped his head, propping his book slightly as if he wasn't spending his entire day staring at the golden boy. Though, he jumped once a book was dropped onto his table, glancing up to notice the very same boy standing in front of him. Draco just stared, his mouth parted slightly, refusing to believe that he was surprised yet again by this gorgeous boy. "Hey. Uhm, Hermione just left," Harry began sheepishly, sticking a thumb out and pointing behind himself, shrugging slightly, "I figured I could study with you? We're not- not enemies anymore, right? Like, we're friends? This is okay?" A slight blush rose on his cheeks and the boy looked downward, seeming smaller than he actually was. Draco quickly realized how self-conscious the boy was being, and sat up straight, reaching a hand out to pat on Harry's arm. "Yeah. Come, sit. Maybe you'll actually read something this time instead of just pretending to." He hadn't meant for the words to come out, to reveal the extent of his Potter-watching, but Draco rolled with it as if he didn't just reveal something horrifying. He watched Harry blush more, lowering his head as if attempting to hide a small smile that spread on his face, pulling on the seat across from Draco and slipping into it. "Yeah. That'd probably be a good idea if I plan to pass any of my classes." Harry replied sheepishly, and Draco couldn't be more glad the Gryffindor boy wasn't put in Slytherin at that moment or he would have held what he said over him constantly. Either that, or he just didn't realize what it meant that Draco had said that. Either way, Draco wasn't going to correct it.

Harry and Draco began studying then, Draco leaning over every once in awhile to help Harry, pushing him into studying after one uttered, "It's been five minutes and you're still on the same paragraph, Potter?" It seemed to spark something in Harry, to push and do as much as possible before Draco leaned over to check his progress again, correcting some things or sometimes just reading over his notes. Draco quickly realized Harry hadn't ever had a study partner that challenged him to work, to do so much in a certain amount of time. Hermione likely just sat near him and made sure he was working without actually giving him the incentive to work. "Draco," Harry cut off his inner monologue, and Draco glanced up, eyes slightly wide. "Uh- I just wanted to say thank you. I wasn't even thinking of how much work I was doing. I just finished this entire assignment and-" Harry paused to chuckle, running his hand through his hair, "That was the easiest Transfiguration essay I've ever written." Draco smirked, letting his eyes fall away from that gorgeous smile directed at him lest he fall apart right in front of the man. "You just need the right study partner, study techniques." Draco glanced up again, smirk growing as he adds, "In your own personal challenge to beat me, you were too distracted to notice how terribly boring the words you were writing were.” He watched as Harry flushed adorably once more, and Draco smirked slightly to himself, taking that as his own victory.

“You knew I was doing that then?” Harry mumbled toward his essay, and Draco was unsure whether or not Harry actually meant for him to hear it.

“It was easy to notice, you had the same spark in your eye that you usually did whenever we were about to duel in the schoolyard.” Draco winked toward Harry as he sat up straighter, beginning to pack his belongings. “Anyway, I’d say this was a successful day. We should head back to our room. Perhaps I’ll see you here tomorrow, after dinner? We could study some more.” He watched as Harry practically lit up, standing and shoving his own books and papers into his bag in no semblance of an order. Draco forced the smile that was threatening to emerge down, refusing to show his amusement toward the reaction.

---

Harry looked the worst he’s ever been. And that’s saying something considering he had previously died before. He was curled up in bed wearing only an overly large Harpies T-shirt and grey pants, his lightweight sheet curled and tangled around his feet, tissues surrounding him like a halo. His nose was bright red, eyes bloodshot, and was rubbing his face against his pillow as if it could end his suffering.

“Please,” Harry begged for the thousandth time this morning.

“Potter, I’m sorry. Madame Pomfrey said that you’ll have to pass this one through. It’s healthy to work through being sick once a year so that your immunity doesn’t turn to shit.” Draco reiterated once more, carrying over their trashcan and placing it next to his bed. Harry just groaned, shaking his head and glaring at Draco.

“Fine!” He spat angrily, and Draco took a deep breath, shaking his head. “At least bring me Herm- no, Ron! Bring me Ron, please please please!” Harry begged, sitting up on his elbow to look at Draco with puppy eyes. Draco was impressed by how much energy he had left still to beg.

“If I bring Ron in here you’ll guilt him into bringing you the flu-over potion. No.” Draco insisted, matter-of-factly, and Harry just fell backwards onto his bed with a groan, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands down his face. Draco let his guard fall slightly now that Harry wasn’t looking. It hurt him to see Harry in so much pain, to see him beg and plead for something that could help him feel better yet Draco denies it to him. He felt like such an evil person again.

“I need to get to class, Potter. I’ll bring you your work for the first half of the day around lunch, alright?” Draco reassured him, patting his leg before turning around and walking toward the door. Just as he opened it, he heard his name being called softly, and Draco turned slowly to glance toward Harry, who was sitting up slightly and looking a tad guilty toward him.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. You’ve helped me a ton already, with the soup and tissues and everything. So, thanks.” Harry rubbed the back of his head, and looked the sight of the poor, sickly little boy that Draco just wanted to take care of.

“Of course, Harry,” Draco replied quietly, walking out the door quickly and closing it behind himself. Walking down the stairs to the common room, Draco grumbled and shook his head toward a waiting Hermione. “He’ll be okay. Just feels horrible.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched her track the movement with her eyes. “I don’t know how the muggles go through it every single time.”

“Well, they have medicine, of course.” She replies easily as they begin walking, exiting the common room on their way to their first shared class. Draco furrows his brow, tilting his head.

“What? They can’t have the flu-over potion. That’d go against every Statute.” Draco replied, glancing toward her with an overly confused expression. She just chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“Of course not. They have muggle medicine. It definitely doesn’t work as quickly or as well as the flu-over, but it helps cover symptoms so that they’re not in constant pain while administering extra doses of antibiotics into their systems to help fight the sickness.” Hermione said quickly, turning a corner and glancing toward Draco’s focused face. “You know, Harry could probably use some of it.”

“But- Madam Pomfrey says he’s not allowed to have medicine lest his immunity become utter shite?”

“He’s not allowed to have magical medicines, the one that ends the flu completely and suddenly and gives his body no chance of a fight. Muggle medicines just help the body fight it.” She says quietly, glancing over and smirking before winking toward him and taking her seat in class.

Draco sat, thinking this over. Hermione was suggesting Harry receive some muggle medicine to help, but if she knew all of this already why hadn’t she done so in the first place? Why was she telling him? He glanced back toward her with a worried yet still confused look and she just sighed, rolling her eyes and withdrawing a piece of paper from her bag, shoving it toward him.

“Go order some medicine. I’ll grab yours and Harry’s work from this class. Hurry, before the teacher sees you!” She whispers quickly, practically shoving him out of his seat. He takes the note, rushing out of class, glancing down to notice an address and a list of medicine that would be best to order. Draco rolled his eyes but smiled softly as he began toward the owlery quickly.

Picking up his “express” shipped box from a large owl in the Great Hall, Draco immediately turned and began toward the kitchen to collect some hot soup for Harry that the elves hadn’t put on the actual tables for the school. Draco walked, if a bit fast, but kept his composure as he carried a medium sized box in his arms, glaring at anyone who happened to give him a side eye for his predicament. He finally reached the portrait of the fruit, glancing both ways before tickling the pear and slipping into the kitchen. Some elves noticed, but most were tending to their own work as Draco set the box down gently on a nearby table and asked, kindly, for a bowl of soup for someone who was sick.

As Draco waited he opened the box, glancing in to see several different rectangle boxes with the medicine stored inside them, reaching in to grab a few and read the ingredients, directions, and everything else the boxes mentioned. He sighed, dropping the two he held into the box as an elf appeared sometime later with a rather confused expression, levitating a platter of hot soup in a stasis charm and Draco’s own lunch tucked together, placing it on the table so that Draco is able to levitate it himself.

“Thank you very much,” Draco remembered to say, smiling down at the elf who was holding her ears against herself, looking very much awed at the sentiment. He picked up his box, glancing at the tray following him, and made his way through the castle toward the eighth year common room. He stepped inside, ducking slightly while stepping through the portrait since he happened to be taller than most around here and had seemed to grow even more than he had been when he attended previously, and glanced around the common room. He wasn’t surprised to spot Hermione sitting on the couch with a textbook on her lap, and he made his way over to her, sitting and placing the box on the couch between them.

“I was reading over a lot of these medicines, and I just wanted your opinion on which ones I should give to him? It seems I can’t give him doses of each one, but I don’t know which to pick?” He opened the box, revealing the twenty-three boxes and bottles of medicines, and watched as she leaned over to glance inside the box before her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, sucking in a breath.

“Okay, first of all, let’s not kill Harry with an overdose of cold medicines.” She said quietly, reaching in to shift through the medicines. “I’ll say- this one and a bit of this one, but that’s it.” She glanced up, her eyebrows still raised, as she takes in the sight of Draco. His hair might be a bit mussed from constantly running his hand through it in worry, with a tray floating behind him and a box full of medicines, and she sighed and settled down as if she was finally going to say something that she had been holding back for a long time.

“What is it,” Draco asked quietly, leaning forward and furrowing his own eyebrows. He watched her hesitate before she replied.

“You should tell him, you know.” She had whispered it so quietly that he had barely heard it, but his heart immediately dropped to his stomach and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Tell who, what?” Draco asked slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Hermione as she fidgets slowly, her eyes downcast onto the brown carpet.

“Tell Harry. That you like him.” Again, it was said so quietly, but it felt like a punch to his gut. He immediately stood, reaching for his box, intending to just walk away and leave this conversation behind. Hermione reached out quickly, snagging his wrist, and he glanced back to her to see her pleading eyes. “Please, I won’t say anything to him, it’s not mine to tell. Don’t worry about that. If you don’t want to tell him it’s fine, it’s just-” She hesitated, biting her lip as she withdrew her hand, “I think it’d be better for everyone if you did tell him?” Draco shook his head, standing and situating the box in his hands.

“How could it be better for everyone? It would make things awkward, it would make Harry want to be around me less. I understand that hiding feelings aren’t exactly Gryffindor traits, but just because we’re all living together and sharing a common room does not mean that I am a Gryffindor by any means.” Draco began to walk away, ignoring the softly called, ‘That’s not what I meant!’ and walking upstairs toward his room in a bit of a huff.

Entering the room, he glanced toward Harry’s bed, spying him sleeping finally. He quietly set the box of medicine by his bed, levitating the tray to sit on a nearby table before studying Harry. Draco quickly waved his wand, nonverbally vanishing the tissues that had stockpiled since he left, and began a slow process of untangling the bed sheets from Harry’s legs before lifting it and pulling it up toward his chest. Draco studied the red-nosed face of sleeping Harry, and glanced away before standing again.

“Dra-co?” Harry murmured, his voice scratchy as he slowly opened his eyes, turning his head as if it hurt to wake up. Draco immediately Accioed over a glass, tapping his wand against the cup and filling it with water before helping Harry sit up, holding out the glass for him. Harry took a few big swigs, though stared at Draco over the top of the rim the whole time. Handing the glass back over, Draco began walking to place it on the nearby table with the food as Harry spoke up again. “Did you grab the homework? I don’t see it?”

Draco hesitated, blinking a few times. He had meant to ask Hermione for the homework as well as the advice on the medicine but he had gotten too distracted to ask. “Oh, no. Hermione has that, actually. I can go grab it in a second so you have something to work on when I’m gone.” He said it so matter-of-factly that he hoped Harry wouldn’t notice how he had forgotten the one thing he promised to bring. “But while I’m here,” He walked over to the box on the floor, withdrawing the two rectangular boxes that Hermione had picked out and brought them over toward Harry, whom he noticed now was wearing his glasses once again, “I have these medicines that will hopefully help you. It was Hermione’s idea, considering you’re not allowed any magical medicines, but muggle medicines should be okay. It won’t completely get rid of the problem immediately, but it’ll help you not feel like you’re dying.” He watched Harry’s face, a mixture of confusion and amazement, settle on Draco before looking back down to the boxes and grabbing them.

“You didn’t have to do this…” Harry trailed off, furrowing his brow and looking back up to Draco once more. Draco forced himself not to squirm, instead turning and levitating the bowl of soup over.

“I didn’t. Like I had said, it was Hermione’s idea.”

---

Draco shot awake, sitting up quickly in bed and breathing heavily. He didn’t know what exactly it was that woke him up in the dead of night- that was until he glanced over and noticed that a few pieces of glass had shattered from accidental magic on Harry’s side of the room. Draco slowly slid from his bed, placing his bare feet on the floor and wincing at the feel of the cold stone. “Harry?” He called quietly, though received no response. He waited a bit longer before standing and beginning a slow walk to his side of the room.

Vanishing glass pieces as he got near, he looked down to study Harry’s face, which was set in a grimace. Nightmares, it seems, again. Draco knelt beside Harry’s bed, reaching a hand out slowly to place his hand against Harry’s burning hot face, furrowing his brow in worry. After living with him most of the year, graduation coming soon, he was still unsure of what to do about the nightmares. He never woke Harry up, afraid that he wouldn’t exactly appreciate it, but more and more recently he had started sitting next to Harry’s bed while trying to soothe his unconscious body into better dreams whenever Draco woke up and realized what was happening. He began humming a small lullaby that his mother used to sing to him as a kid, brushing Harry’s hair back from his face and watching as Harry’s body slowly relaxed and his face took on a restful pose instead of the one scrunched in pain.

Draco, now almost nodding off himself, pushed against the bed to help himself stand, glancing at Harry once more before turning and beginning to walk back toward his bed.

“Draco?” Harry called softly, and Draco tensed up, hoping that he was just sleep talking. Turning slowly he eyed the form of Harry laying on the bed, though startled slightly once he noticed Harry’s eyes were open. “I hope it’s you, all I can see is a green blurry shape,” Harry joked, sleepily smirking as he propped himself up and reached for his glasses. Draco felt frozen on the spot, unsure of what was going to happen, if Harry was going to be mad or if he was going to figure out the extent of Draco’s feelings for catching him in this.

“So, it is you.” Harry joked again, pushing himself to sit up completely, looking at Draco with a smile for a few silent moments until it falls away and he sighs. “Look, I know it’s a bit awkward right now but I wanted to-” He hesitated, biting his lip and looking away, “I wanted to talk to you about something?” Draco stood there for another moment before sliding his mask back on and straightening up, smoothing his green silk pyjamas down and nodding toward Harry. “Look- no. That’s not what I want!” He began, grumbling angrily before running his hand through his hair. “I was hoping since it was late, since we both woke up, that you wouldn’t have that- that-” He hesitated, trying to find the word, clenching his fists around his bedsheets. “That mask on your face. That says you don’t care about anything, that shows nothing but contempt. That you hide behind! Because I’ve seen what is behind it, Draco. I love what’s behind that mask.” He sucked in a breath after finishing, closing his eyes and resigning himself to what he said. Draco startled, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he stood there for a bit longer before finally speaking up.

“You’re right, Harry,” Using his first name, which he doesn’t do too often, caused Harry to finally open his eyes and glance toward Draco. “I hide behind this mask because I’m afraid that no one will like who I am behind it. Or I’m scared because it’s too compromising for some people to know how I truly feel, since they can take advantage of that.” He watched Harry for a moment longer before taking a small step forward. “But I know you wouldn’t do that to me. I know you would never take advantage of me.” He finished in a whisper, watching a wide range of emotions flicker across Harry’s face.

“So if it’s not that, then is it the first one you said? You’re afraid that no one will like who you are behind it? You’re afraid that I won’t like the real you?” Draco shrugged, glancing toward the ground. “I have another question-” Harry started, biting his lip as Draco glanced back up and let his eyes rest on Harry, letting his mask fall slightly, as much as he was able to before being afraid. “You treat me so nice. Nicer than most of the others? At least, it feels like that. Hermione said something but- I don’t know.” He bit his lip again, glancing away. “I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

“No, you’re right,” Draco admitted quietly, closing his eyes and lifting his hand to rub his face. He remained quiet for a bit, then peeked through his fingers to see Harry staring at him as if waiting to elaborate. He sighed, shaking his head before continuing, dropping his hands. “I just want to take care of you.” He said finally, wincing slightly. Glancing away, he misses the look that passes over Harry’s face when he says this.

“Come here,” Harry responds quietly, opening his arms. Draco hesitates, but slowly moves over and sits on the bed, and Harry pulls him into a tight embrace. “You help me study so I don’t fail my classes, you brought me medicine and soup when I was sick- you help soothe me when I have nightmares. You do take care of me Draco.” Harry whispers against his ear, squeezing him a bit tighter. “And, through all of it, I’ve seen who you really are. Who you could be if you tried to be. And I’ve-” Harry hesitated, backing away but keeping his eyes off of Draco. “And I’ve fallen in love with you through it all. But I feel bad, because it’s one-sided, isn’t it? You’ve been taking care of me, but I’ve done nothing for you.”

Draco immediately started shaking his head, raising his hand to place on Harry’s cheek, letting his thumb rub against Harry’s cheek for a moment before raising Harry’s head so that his eyes fell onto Draco’s own. “You’re wrong. You’ve done so much for me Harry. Because of you, my bullying stopped. Because of you I’ve gained some amazing friends. Because of you, I feel love and compassion. Real love, not the fake kind that was force fed to me growing up.” Draco leaned closer, looking deeper into Harry’s emerald eyes. “I want to take care of you, Harry. You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through. And it makes me feel good, knowing that I can help you during times like these. Even in small ways.”

He watched Harry tear up slightly before the boy rushed forward, crashing both of their lips against each other. Draco felt himself begin to drown in emotions, in the rolling waves of love and compassion and just pure want. They kissed like it would be their last, like they had been starving and this was the only way to survive. And once they finally parted, Draco opened his eyes to see the love he felt reflected in Harry, and whispered, “I love you too.”

#draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #hp universe #drarry #prompt #requested #writing:requested #light angst #fluff #hopefully

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thefloorisbalaclava · 7 years ago

Note

If it's okay could you do “Enough with the sass!” and “Tell me you need me.” for the drabble requests and for Hanzo please. ;)

I’m sorry this took me so long! I hope this makes it worth the wait. Like I said, I know you’re working on some art for this and I just tried writing a little story about it using the prompts! Its a little over 2,000 words.

There wasn’t a day that went by that Hanzo didn’t thank hislucky stars for you. You were the one to help build him back up. When he was athis lowest point, you were there. When he lashed out unexpectedly, you refusedto leave his side. The anger inside of him was never meant for you and you knewthat. There were times when you felt like you weren’t good enough, butsomething told you to stay.

You rolled over and watched him sleep, a child-like innocencereplaced the hardened lines of his face. You smiled as you tucked his hairbehind his ear. He mumbled and grabbed your hand gently, holding it to hischeek before going still again. There was a time when a good night’s sleep forhim was almost impossible. Even when you two weren’t living together, he wouldcall just to hear your voice. You were the only one who could soothe him backto sleep. Now that you were here with him, all he had to do was wake up andlook at you.

You couldn’t fall asleep again, so you got out of bedquietly and went downstairs. You expected it to be quiet out at this time, butit was quieter than usual. When you looked out the window, it became clear asto why—snow. Everything was covered in a sheet of white and snow still fell asyou looked on excitedly. You were snowed in with the love of your life, niceand warm.

Rapid, frantic footsteps coming down the stairs made youturn around. Hanzo stood on the last step staring at you. His hair had fallen intohis face adorably and you bit back a laugh.

“You were not there when I woke up…” he said sleepily. “…Iwas worried.”

You held your arms out to him. “Come here.” He smirked andwalked to you, wrapping his arms around you immediately. “I’m here,” you toldhim. “I’m not going anywhere.” You always knew what to say to make his toughguy exterior melt away.

He sighed and bent so that he could rest his head on your shoulder.“That is good to hear. So good.”

“I love you, Hanzo,” you said. He always seemed so surprisedwhen you said it.

“I love you, too.”

“It snowed,” you said, and he looked at you.

“Did it?” You nodded and led him to the window. “So, it did.”

“You don’t seem very happy about it.”

“Well, I was planning on going out to get something today.”He closed the blinds and crossed his arms over his chest. You hugged him from behindand kissed his back. He was always so warm.

“I’m sure whatever you wanted to get will still be theretomorrow.” You laid your head against his back and felt it rumble as he spoke.

“I wanted to get a cake.”

“A cake? That can definitely wait.”

“No. I think I’ll brave the snow and walk to get it.”

“There has to be at least a foot of snow out there.”

He turned to you. “I can handle it.”

You held your hands up. “Okay tough guy, but don’t comecrying to me when you get sick. You’re gonna be laying right there on the sofawhining for everything and all I’ll say is: I told you so.”

“It is a very important cake. I am willing to risk my healthfor it,” he said, and you rolled your eyes.

“Risk your health? You are so dramatic.”

“The cake is for you.” He pointed at you and sneered.

“For me? I never even asked for cake. What if I’m not evenin the mood for cake?”

“Enough with the sass!I am going to get a Christmas cake and you will not stop me.”

“Fine. Can we at least go back to bed for a few hours beforeyou risk your health for a cake?” You walked to the stairs and held your handsout to him which he gladly took.

“Yes. You should know that Christmas cake is very importantto me.” After climbing into bed, he held you and told you all the importance ofChristmas cake in Japan. You felt horrible for teasing him about it now.

“I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“I can take a few jokes,” he assured you. “I know you’lllove the cake too.”

“I do love strawberries.”

“Oh no, those are mine,” he said confidently.

“Hanzo…you said the cake was for me!” You slapped his chestand he chuckled.

“Yes, the cake. Isaid nothing about the strawberries.”

“We’ll see,” you murmured before curling up against him again.“So warm.” Your eyes began to close.

“Sleep now,” he said before kissing the top of your head andfalling asleep himself.

When you woke up, Hanzo was already gone and you panickedfor a moment before remembering the cake. Of course, you worried about him outthere in the snow. You looked out your bedroom window and saw that the snow hadslowed but not stopped. Hopefully, the bakery was open, and he hadn’t made thetrip for naught.

You tried distracting yourself by doing things around thehouse, eventually deciding on watching Christmas movies. You checked your phonerepeatedly—no new messages. Now you were really starting to worry. You had noidea how long he had been gone before you woke up, but it had been a littleover an hour since you woke up. “Hanzo, where are you?” you whispered.

You looked out the window again just in time. You spottedhim making his way up to the door, his head almost completely tucked into hiscoat.

“Hanzo!” you yelled as you opened the door. He made his wayinside, shaking himself free of snow and getting some on you in the process.You gasped and told him to stop. When he unzipped his coat, you saw that he wassmirking. “Troublemaker.” You walked up to him and held him out of his coatthen brushed the snow out of his hair. “No hat? You’re just begging to catch acold, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I have the cake.”

“What took you so long?” you asked. “I was starting to worry.”

“I had a special request that took a bit longer.”

“Hmm…are you sure you didn’t take the long way home, so youcould eat all the strawberries?”

He scoffed. “I assure you, the strawberries are still on thecake…for now.” He held up another bag. “We must eat before dessert.”

“Can I at least see the cake?” you asked.

“Uh…no.” He turned and walked into the kitchen to put thefood down. “I am going to change out of these clothes.”

“Good idea.”

He kissed you then grabbed the bag with the cake in it. “Iknow what you were thinking. Clever but not clever enough.” You pouted as helaughed his way up the stairs.

You set the table and put the food on plates for the both ofyou. When he comes back downstairs, the cake is not with him. “I’m not telling you,”he said before you could ask.

“You don’t play fair, Mr. Shimada.” He only winked playfullyand sat down to eat, his face giving nothing away. You ate silently but youreyes wandered to him often.

“It is impolite to stare,” he said suddenly and you down atyour plate. “Do you like the grey?” he asked, scratching at his beard.

“I love it,” you answered truthfully.

“Am I too young to be so grey?”

You shook your head. “It’s perfect, Hanzo.”

“Do you like the way it feels when I kiss you?”

You blushed and nodded. “Yes.”

“All over?” he teased.

“Hanzo! If this isyour way of trying to distract me…it’s working.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Finish your food.”

“I wish you could see how red you are right now.” You lookedup at him slowly and pouted. “That only makes you cuter.” He continued eating,smiling proudly to himself.

“I’m done,” you said. “I want to leave room for cake.”

“Well, I am still eating so you have to wait.”

“Fine,” you groaned. He ate slowly, teasing you and enjoyingevery second. Eventually, he put his fork down and wiped his mouth.

“Okay, I am finished.”

“Finally,” you mumbled.

“There’s that sass again.” You cleared the dishes and waitedfor him to get the cake. “Let’s go.” He stood and waited for you. “We’ll havedessert upstairs.”

“Oh, this is new.”

He led you upstairs and you gasped when you walked into thebedroom. There were candles all around and rose petals sprinkled here andthere.

“What’s this about?” you asked. “All this for dessert? I ama lucky woman.”

“And I am a lucky man,” he said. “The cake is just there,but I need you to tell me something first.”

“What’s that?” You turned to him.

“Tell me you need me”,he said, voice full of emotion.

“Of course, I need you. I need and want you…more thananything in the world.”

He sighed and closed his eyes in relief. “I feel the sameway about you. Now…you can have the cake…with the strawberries.” He smiled asyou stuck your tongue out at him.

You looked at the cake sitting on the bed. You picked it upand turned to him. “It looks delicious. And all the straw—” You stopped whenyour eyes landed on something that sparkled. It was hidden behind one of thestrawberries.

He walked up behind you and took the cake out of your hands.You turned around and looked at him, tears filling your eyes.

“I need you just as you need me. I want you just as you wantme. And I love you more than you’ll ever know. You’ve seen me at my worst and stillstayed with me. You picked me up from my lowest point. I can’t imagine my lifewithout you.” His eyes glistened with tears and he sniffled. “Will you marryme?”

You nodded. “Yes, Hanzo, of course I’ll marry you!”

He plucked the ring off the cake then wiped it off on hisshirt. “Sorry.” You giggled as he slid the ring onto your finger.

“It’s perfect,” you told him.

He stood and kissed you, his beard tickling you just the wayyou liked.

*A FEW DAYS LATER*

Hanzo called you from the sofa…again.

“I’m getting your soup now!” you yelled from the kitchen.You ended up being right in the end—Hanzo was sick and down for the count.

You brought him the soup and he looked up at you pathetically.You felt his forehead and shook your head. “We have to break this fever.” He coughedand groaned. “Sit up so you can eat.” You helped him sit up and began feedinghim.

“In sickness and in health,” he said before laughing thencoughing. You laughed too and fed him more soup when you he stopped coughing. “Icouldn’t ask for a better caretaker.”

“Is that all I am to you, a caretaker?” you teased.

“What? No…of course not. I only meant—”

You laughed loudly. “I’m joking. I know you what you mean. Iwould gladly spend the rest of my days taking care of you.”

“No. Once I am better, I will take care of you in every wayI can.” He looked down at the ring. “I feel better just looking at that on yourfinger.”

“Well, hurry up and get better so I can kiss you and holdyou all I want.”

“I’ll be better in no time with you taking care of me.” Heate more soup then laid back down. “I love you,” he said weakly.

“I love you too. Get some rest. I’ll be right here when youwake up.”

“I know you will, my love.”

You tucked the blanket around him as he fell asleep again. “Iwill always be here.”

#Hanzo Shimada #Hanzo x Elysia #Hansia #Overwatch #headcanon #scaryhanzo

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ennergetics · 7 years ago

Text

bad first dates | hwang minhyun

(image credit)

sungwoon | jaehwan | minhyun

(contains alcohol consumption and drunken shenanigans. related drabble here.)

you’ve got high hopes for tonight’s date

after all, there’s a good reason why everyone at the office has got a crush on hwang minhyun

he’s a beautiful flower prince in everyone’s eyes, but they’re all afraid of him because he’s quite the perfectionist

minhyun doesn’t yell but god he’s scary when he’s mad

you don’t work directly with him, so it’s through your drinking buddy and minhyun’s close friend kang dongho that you’re set up on a date with minhyun

dongho guarantees you’ll have an entertaining time, texting you while you’re dressing up at home

be prepared for the rest of the night ;)

so you pack a small overnight kit in your bag, just to be sure—toiletries, spare set of underwear (because hey, you’re allowed to dream, yea?)

you arrive at the fusion cuisine / karaoke bar a couple of minutes early, and you’re starting to think that minhyun is more like dongho than you thought

when he arrives right on time, he compliments you on what you’re wearing because that’s the kind of boy minhyun is

he’s smiling as you both order different dishes, and when the food comes, it’s a pleasure to see him light up when he tastes it

“here, have a bite,” he says, lifting his chopsticks to your mouth

and for some reason all you can think about is that grade school myth about sharing food being like a first kiss

you offer him some of your food because it’s good, and you’re mesmerized by his tongue darting out to lick the sauce that’s been left on his lips

he blinks up at you and smiles, thanking you for agreeing to go out with him

“i don’t really go out much,” minhyun says

he’s busy with work, and it’s hard for him to get close to people at the office because everyone has such high expectations of him

and your heart melts even more

the live band starts up and you’re almost done with your meal, so you ask for the drinks menu

“beer?” you say, and he makes a face

“you’re right,” and you flip the page, “it’s not the right kind of night for that”

there you spot a promotion for the brand-new addition to the menu: a bunch of delicious-sounding cocktails for a low price, provided you give the bartender feedback

“we can split these and try them all!!”

an odd look flickers over minhyun’s face but he nods, watching you closely as you make the order

dongho puts the alcohol away like nobody’s business and he grew up with minhyun, so you assume minhyun’s got the same tolerance

how wrong he’ll prove you tonight

you ask for the first drink to be a cute lil tropical fruit blend because you see the candy he keeps in an airtight container on his desk

minhyun looks so happy sipping from the drink while poking the umbrella

“this is juice!!” he says, and you sample the drink with your straw before gesturing for the next one

minhyun gets livelier and livelier and you’re starting to have trouble writing down his reviews of the drinks

he liked the chocolate one best and he reaches around you to tug the pen from your fingers

and he draws a cute little ice cream cone on the page while nuzzling into your neck

you barely feel anything but

oh god

minhyun’s drunk

his ears are red and at first you’re worried he’s angry

so you text dongho like

hey so minhyun??? drinks like we do doesn’t he????

and he replies right after

keep him hydrated and get him to a bathroom after three hours and ull be fine xoxo

minhyun pulls you up to the open mic and

y’all sing a sad love song together

and at first you're feeling soft because his voice is beautiful

then when it gets to the last chorus he screamS OUT THE WORDS

so you signal to the tech booth to cut his mic and you finish the song to loud applause

you both sit down for approximately half a minute before he gets up and pulls you by the arm to the open space

when he finally lets you go he starts to shake his butt like

WHAT IS THIS DAD DANCE AND WHY DOES IT FIT HWANG MINHYUN SO WELL

you have absolutely zero clue whether to laugh or to document it or to be mortified

he grips lightly at your hip and you realize he wants you to join him so you do it once and he smiles blissfully, making kissy faces at you

your co-workers would drop dead if they saw him like this tbh

you get him a glass of water and make him drink it before you go outside to call him a cab

but surprise he pulls you in and asks you to stay

so you do

and you take the elevator with him, supporting him with an arm around his waist

minhyun takes your hand and firmly places it on his butt and your eyes go wide

“butt pat,” he says, closing his eyes with a grin

by the time the elevator dings on his floor, he’s trying to take off his shirt

and you’re pulling the hem down

“no no no let’s get to your room first”

surprisingly he doesn’t leave a trail of clothing behind

instead he removes his socks and his shirt and folds them before placing them in his hamper

he plods to the shower and turns it on but he’s still wearing…his pants…

“i’ll look through your closet for a pajama set, okay, minhyunnie?”

and he’s nodding, which you take as a good sign

“i’ll leave them here on the sink for you”

and you get the last word out beFORE hE STARTS TO DRAG HIS PANTS OFF

and you skedaddle the fuck out of there but not before glimpsing the glorious minbooty

you tuck him into bed after helping him dry his hair

(today you learned hwang minhyun sleeps shirtless the more you know)

and his brow furrows

“let’s snuggle tonight…but shower first”

and his tone is suddenly so serious that you laugh

thank the gods you packed a spare set of underwear

you’ve just finished your night routine when you realize you haven’t got clean clothes to wear

so your eyes dart to the matching pajama top minhyun left behind

it’s soft and smells freshly laundered, though it doesn’t really do much for your modesty

you go to minhyun’s bed and he pulls you into a hug, breathing in deeply

“you smell like me,” he murmurs

“i ran out of soap,” you say, and he squeezes you tight before falling asleep

the next day you wake up to the glorious smell of beef broth

you open your eyes and you see a red-eared minhyun holding a tray out for you

your first reaction is to stand up and help him but you forget you’re not wearing pants

and you blush to your roots before wrapping the blanket around your waist

you follow him back to his kitchen table and you both sit down to eat

“let’s start over?” he says, pouring out a bowl of soup for you

“only if you let me see your dance again”

and he smiles at you and

going on two dates in a row is unexpected but not bad

especially if it means seeing a shirtless emperor ceo hwang minhyun shake his butt in his kitchen at nine in the morning

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one imagines #hwang minhyun imagines #hwang minhyun scenarios #minhyun fic #minhyun #w1 #bulletpoint fic #mine #[ i take requests !! ]#bps: bad first dates #mywriting

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