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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack, smut. explicit.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities.

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020. 12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show. How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice. It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter.

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola. It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. Things have just been—” Crazy? Out of this world? Some kind of wonderful? “—hectic.” He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek. It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind.

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants. “It’s fine , Jay.” The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help. “I know you’re a busy guy. Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks. You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances. A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts.

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying. Not at first, anyway. But when he does? He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter. So you were a little bit better than him. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self. He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.

“You’re mean,” he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it. “And yet you love it.”

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice. He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?” You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his. It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago. “I’m good, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.

“Yes, Mom .”

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!”

“Do you even know how old I am?” Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged. They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages? Where you grew up? Your real names? That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen? Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?” You’re chuckling at your own genius. He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve . Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him. It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

It’s a joke. Obviously , it’s a joke. He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry. It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too. “I have something to tell you.” There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity. Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push. “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.” A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted. You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent. He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening. “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…” How does he start? “I’m not just… some guy.” Okay, that sounds bad. He’s backtracking. “I mean, I’m a guy. I’m normal.” This is going so poorly. His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip. “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy. I’m actually like, uh...”

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly. He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart.

“Jinny?” It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation. Still, nothing. He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way. “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own. You’re trying to be serious, he thinks. “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?”

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.” A beat. He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission. “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault. It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!” He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.” He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice. Somehow, it feels different. Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity. “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?” Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him. “Of course not. You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this. He’s a million miles over the moon. You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ? Didn’t you hear what I just said?” There’s no venom in your words. “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.” There’s that unabashed need to hear his name. He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.”

“Is your real name Jinny?” He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin. Jinny’s just my nickname.”

“Well, Jinny—” He says it dragged out and silly. “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first. He snorts. “I live in Seoul .”

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked. It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more. At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020. 10 PM.

Does he smell bad? Should he have showered first? Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail. They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?” Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.

“Are you nervous?” Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face. He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. “Of course he is.” Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!” The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.

“Shouldn’t you get going?” It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet. He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on. The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room.

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love. He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.” You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it. It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet. There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun. His heart stutters in his chest. He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance. It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband.

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are. It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist. You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed. He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume. Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home. You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips. Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw. He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence. They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head. He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas. It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district.

“Your laugh is even better in person.” You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.

“Yeah?” Can you see the hearts in his eyes? He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils.

“Yeah. But don’t let that get to your head, mister.”

“Already has - sorry.”

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red; how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty. He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour. You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny. You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down. You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face. There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him. You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on.

“Open up!”

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough. He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting. He probably looks stupid as hell.

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound.

“Too hot?” You coo, feigning surprise. You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you. “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing. It burns on the way down. “You eat one now.” He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.

“I don’t like squid,” you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours. You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago. He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food. You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen. He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover. You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?” You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip. He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you. “Of course.”

“I won’t post it anywhere.”

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t. Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth. You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose. “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his. You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb. It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp. “No need,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you. He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces.

“We’ll see about that,” you return, equally as soft.

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again. It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills. He should’ve booked you something later in the day. Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea?

“Right.” He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides. He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now. The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move. It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart.

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab. You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect. You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.” There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back. It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.” There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection. Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall. Mozart would be proud.

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud. The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening. He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard. “I know.”

“You do?” He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.” You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin. “Can I kiss you?” Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.

“Hm.” The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined. It’s better than his wildest dreams. It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful. You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River.

“I’m sorry.” It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation. He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this. He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible. Needs it like he needs air - or more of you. Either or.

“Thanks.”

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers. He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down.

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor. You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours. He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.” A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020. 2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior. There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else. No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival. Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away. You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,” Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily. “You haven’t even been inside. Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back. It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.

“It’s a candle,” you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots. “What for? Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has. I know your birthday.”

Right. Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge.

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical. He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear.

“I had them before I met you.”

“Right.” It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him. This is how the two of you are. Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity.

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?”

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold. If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.

“Fine, fine. Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride. It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him. You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary. There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him. There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece; there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground.

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space. Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti. A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should. Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact. There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen: limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise).

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?” He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles. You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank.

“Maybe.”

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork? Really?”

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up.

“What’re you doing?” You join him even as you ask. He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer. He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?” Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love. You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm.

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?”

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube. He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?” Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows.

“No.” Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.

“Why not?”

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear. It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.” He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle. He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves.

“Better?” You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world.

“Much,” he hums, unashamed.

“Welcome home, Kook.” The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest. He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet. There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room. It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game.

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game. He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in. He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew.

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.” He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.

You don’t move. He wonders when the last time you slept was.

“Jinny,” he repeats himself, a little louder this time. There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations. It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of.

Get it together , he scolds himself. In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No! Not yet.” You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly. It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.

“You want to sleep out here?” He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.

“No!” A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face. You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely. There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch. He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair. “I have a gift for you.”

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken. He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes. He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?” You’re looking at him with the strangest expression. He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does. It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him. “I do.”

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart. It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.

When he kisses you this time, it’s different. It’s urgent but not rushed; he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations. His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours. You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw. Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose. He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach. Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.” You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most. He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap. “You’re my dream girl, you know that?” The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands.

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind. You really could read him like a book. He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,” you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Show me how sorry.”

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south. He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you.

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan. “Seriously - dream girl.”

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church. They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh. His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?” He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile.

You’re impatient though - always have been. “Straight down the hall. Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight. Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen. He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,” he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.” You say it a lot. He wonders if you really know.

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea. It’s not enough, though. He wants to show you - needs to show you.

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious. “Are you sure you know?” The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes. “Maybe?” You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do. It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?” He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach. It’s like a switch has flipped. For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour. A force to be reckoned with . “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer. You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?” You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one.

“Yes,” you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted. There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed. You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,” he says simply. It’s gone before you can think twice. Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was. The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist. “Please don’t hide from me.”

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?” He means your tattoos, of course. They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream. There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink. Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green. Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows. He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion. You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.” He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out. “My mom’s a big gardener. She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?” The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?” That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way. You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,” he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,” you retort - or try to at least. You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with.

“ Nicer , baby.”

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close. He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily. It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening; it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say.

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat.

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong. He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds. He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth. He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.

“Can you do that for me?” He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting. “What?”

“I said—” It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain. He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries. “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion. It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.

“Kook.” You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life. Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.”

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him. Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought. You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—” He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“What do you need? Ask nicely.”

“M-more. I need m-more .” A hiccup. “Please.”

“Like this?” You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat. “Or like this?” The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times. “Maybe like this?”

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.” Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system. He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb. Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him. He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.

“Give me another, okay?”

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit. The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers. There’s too much stimulation. You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook. Jungkook .” His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips. He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot. He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving.

“Come on, baby. Let go.” The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut. You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort. “That’s my girl.”

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you. He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest.

“You did so good.”

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.

“I want you.”

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest. “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.

“I know what you meant,” he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately. “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep. Patience is key, remember?”

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there. It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed. “Fine.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.” It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave. “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly. “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs. He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.” You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more. Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly. The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place. “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes. the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic). this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple. as always, let me know your thoughts. xo

tag list. @letmebeyour-sun @teawithbucky

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herb-whump · 3 years ago

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Summer Job

I'm dying its 2 am god help me

Taglist: @albino-whumpee @torture-as-lovely-as-you

Let me know if you want to be tagged in other stories than Don't get far away Precious or not cause i do not know shit about taglists

CW/ manipulation and abuse mentions and threats, slight rape mention

Mikołaj went to sleep finally, squeezing himself next to the mattress on the hard floor. It wasn't pleasant, and he always woke up a little cranky afterward.

- Honey. - A familiar voice woke him up for good. It was his mom, softly smiling at him - I made breakfast... it's not much but you still gotta eat something.

- Okay... - Mikołaj sighed, blushing a bit. His mom still treated him like a little boy sometimes.

He sat down at the table next to his little brother. There wasn't much for breakfast. Some buns bought on the end of the day sale, with cheese and tomatoes, and cheap black tea to drink. Mikołaj looked down at the cup, the water was muddy, it wasn't of the best quality around these parts of the city.

- thank you, mom... For the breakfast - he smiled a little and the woman nodded. - I have to go to work soon so I probably won't eat a lot.

- But it's Sunday, I thought you would stay home today. - Magda frowned - You already work too hard during the week. You should get some rest.

- I was hoping we would go hang out today...! - his brother pouted, not happy.

- Mom, Tymek, I have to, and it's not a big job either. I will try to be back sooner today, I promise.

Magda wouldn't push her son anymore to stay, so she just sighed with a pained expression.

He ate one bun and drank the tea as fast as he could. Got a change of clothes and left the house, with a simple "I love you" while leaving. A man from another block of flats said he will pay him for repairing his shower. The man was an acquaintance of his. While they weren't friends, they talked a bit, and Mikołaj accidentally confessed to having this dire situation with money.

He knocked on the front door, to soon be greeted by the man. His name was Josef, and he was a middle-aged man, with short brown hair and round glasses. A kind face and from what Mikołaj could gather, he was a father to two kids, and after a divorce.

- Here you are! I was waiting for you. - Josef chuckled softly and invited the boy inside, showing him what was wrong with the shower, which Mikołaj started working on almost immediately - You know Miko, You need quick money right?

- Yeah, kinda... - Mikołaj bit his lip. - stupid shower head...

- Listen here, I know this guy, he has a work agency. He mostly hires young strong men like you, you work abroad, and earn much more this way. Usually only for about a month or two.

- w-wait really? - Mikołaj stopped for a bit. It sounded... A little shady to say the least. But he did worse things and if a kind father is recommending this, maybe it's actually a good opportunity. - Can you give me the guy's number? I will call him today if I can.

- Sure thing Miko. - The man smiled.

After finally fixing the shower, Josef wrote down the man's number on a piece of paper, paid Mikołaj, and sent him home. But before he returned to his mom and brother, the boy sat down at a secluded bench in the local park. He stared intensely at the number Josef wrote down. He was still debating if he should call it. But he didn't have many options at this point. He slowly put the number in his phone and rang.

- Good evening, how can I help you? - the voice belonged to a young woman, it was calm and soft.

- Uhm... Good evening. I've heard of job offerings in this agency. My friend, Josef recommended I call.

- Ah! Yes, yes! Of course! So you will need to send us your resume and talk in person of course - The woman explained everything

Except what the job abroad actually was. But Mikołaj didn't think much of it. If it made money and wasn't prostitution, he was in.

It was some time for the in-person meeting to happen, but it wasn't at all what the boy had imagined.

The man sitting before him was not much older than Mikołaj himself, 30 at most, but Mikołaj gave him 26. He had dark black messy hair, medium length. Brown eyes and wore sunglasses on his head. Golden chains on his neck and other expensive jewelry. He looked rich, to say the least. Not to mention the place of the meeting. Almost empty office room, in a freshly built business complex. Most of the spaces in it were just put out to be rented.

- Hi Mikołaj. - The man spoke up with a giggly, yet deep voice - You can call me Vasya. You're just going to sign those papers and you're hired for the month. If all goes well maybe we will hire you for a month more. - He slid a few papers on the table.

- N-no questions? I thought this was an interview... I mean don't get me wrong please, I'm just really surprised. - He chuckled nervously, slowly looking down at the papers.

- No questions. I think your resume said enough and just from looking at you, I think you will be a great fit. We need healthy, strong young men. It will be a physically taxing job but you wrote you did many jobs like that.

- I guess... - With shaky hands he took the papers in his hands, trying to comprehend what he was actually signing. But seeing the pay, stated at the end was enough to make him stop reading, and just take the pen. He signed it, never asking any more questions. This much money will get them a better flat and food for sure.

Even if the job was gross or heavily taxing, he will bear it. It's only a month, right? And if it's great, he can work for two months. That would secure their life for a long time.

He came back home with the news and a smile on his face. He burst through the door and hugged his mom tight

- O-oh dear! You got the job I presume. - his mom laughed and tousled his hair with a gentle expression. - I'm just sad you're going to be gone for a month or two.

- Mikołaj! So you're going? Is.. it bad I kinda hoped you wouldn't? You go out every day almost...

- I'm sorry Tymek. I really am. I promise after I come back, we're going to move to a nice place and I'm gonna spend much more time with you. - Mikołaj smiled softly, trying to comfort his little brother.

- I suppose... But you really promise, right? - he noded - Okay. Please call us every day though!

- I will. They will come to pick me up by bus the day after tomorrow, so I have to start packing soon. - the brown-haired boy hugged them both again and went to the other side of the room to search for a bag to pack.

The departure day came soon. It was a warm June morning, Mikołaj was standing at a bus stop near his house, waiting for the work bus to come. Clutching his bag in his hand, he looked up at the bus stop screen for the time. It was a little late, but when he looked away from the clock, the bus was coming from the other street. It stopped and opened its door.

- Mr. Kasperczyk? - The bus driver looked at him suspiciously - Show your ID

- Sure. - Mikołaj nodded and showed his ID, the driver promptly inviting him on board.

He walked into the bus, full of young men, probably not much older than himself. Some sat alone, sulking or sleeping, some laughed together in pairs. Seems normal enough. Mikołaj sat down in an empty seat and tired, pressed his head between the window and the seat, slowly falling asleep, still clutching his bag.

He slept through the whole journey, only the familiar face of Vasya, seemingly his new boss, waking him up.

- Wakey wakey sleepy-head. You all have to settle in your rooms. - He smiled. He had a charming aspect to his demeanor, but it kind of made Mikołaj uneasy. He nodded and stood up.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to treat Vasya, so he'd rather avoid him.

- I will visit all of you in the evening after dinner, okay? - Vasya waved them goodbye and jumped right back into the bus. Was he on it the whole time and Mikołaj didn't notice? Maybe.

The boy looked around. The building was clearly a worker hotel but didn't look too cheap. It looked cozy, and the receptionist informed them they had all separate rooms. She also gave them the keys, and information regarding breakfast and dinner hours. It was all provided for. Mikołaj got a room on the second floor. He opened the wooden door, to see a comfortable-looking room, it was small, smaller than their already small flat but it was more than enough for him. The bed had a birch wooden frame, it was made, and covered with a soft beige blanket. Next to it was a big window and a nightstand, and a wardrobe, all made from birch to fit with the bed. The bathroom was also private. the door was on the right of the entrance, it was also pretty tiny, but it had a shower, toilet, and a sink, all relatively clean, so what more could he ask for?

Mikołaj put the bag down next to the bed and sent a quick text to his mom that he got there safely, and first taking off his shoes, he laid down on the bed. It was soft... and so comfortable. He cracked a little smile, he will buy a similar bed for himself when he gets back for sure. No more back pain and cranky mornings. He could lay in this bed for an eternity... almost forgetting what he was actually here for. Work. Physical work at that.

He rolled around on the bed until dinner time came around. It was probably the first time in forever he would eat an actual dinner, usually, it was just lunch, sometimes breakfast. The boy jumped from the bed and stretched a little.

- Foood... - He smiled, his belly growling from just a thought.

The dining room was pretty small, for sure all of the workers from the bus did not end up in the same hotels. He looked around. The tables were for two, max five people, and it was a buffet. A buffet... all you can eat one. Ah, how he wished it was like this every day at home. Or that at least he could share with his family but alas.

The buffet tables were filled with food, it wasn't the most expensive kind, but it made mikołaj salivate at the mere thought. Sausages, bread and a toaster for it, tomatoes, cucumbers, eggs, and different jams, cereals, and porridge, fresh fruit, coffee, tea... It was a feast for Mikołaj, and afterward, he returned to his room, full, completely forgetting the visit from Vasya was supposed to happen. So he was relaxing in his room until a knock snapped him out of the light mood.

- Yes?

- It's me. I said I'd come. - It was the man's voice, giggly as always. Mikołaj opened the door and let him in. - You probably want to know what is the job right. - he chuckled a bit, and closed the door, yet still positioning himself as if he was guarding the door.

- well... Yeah, and when do we start? - Miko sat down on the bed again, staring intensely at Vasya. - It's not like prostitution is it?

- No, we wouldn't trick you into prostitution, oh my! - Yet his face looked suspiciously calm. - But you would be surprised what people pay for nowadays. Good money! Tell me little Miko, you're probably used to being beaten up huh?

Mikołaj's face turned white, and he gulped, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He knew just from looking at him, didn't he? Or was it the giant barely healed wound on his eye the giveaway. Either way, the boy didn't like it one bit.

- What do you mean? - He finally spits out, not looking at Vasya anymore.

- It's simple, people pay for getting one of you, for ten hours, to do whatever they like. The rules are simple, no fatal injuries or rape, or else they deal with me and that's not going to be pleasant. I'm not a monster, I wouldn't let random people actually hurt you! - He said with a grin. - If customers like you, you get paid more usually. You can also agree to do sexual things but you don't have to. It actually doesn't pay that much around these parts.

- So you... You send us to be basically abused for ten hours and you pay us for it. What... What the fuck is wrong with you?

- Careful with those words, pretty boy. - the grin disappeared from the man's face, sending a chill down Mikołaj's spine. - You don't have a choice anymore. You signed your fate away for at least a month! If you break the contract, this family of yours will probably end up on the street soon. Time is ticking, you better do something. I'm giving you a generous offer!

- Sh-shut it. - He bit his lip. Vasya was right, they were on the verge of homelessness. - Okay. It... it's only one month.

- If they like you and you agree maybe tw-

- I know! Fine, holy shit, I will do it! Just... Send the money directly to my family alright?

- Will do that. I hope you stay for longer little Miko! Ah, you have an appointment already tomorrow, at noon, you will be escorted by a taxi from here. Good night and good luck! - He smiled and left the perplexed boy in his room.

#Summer Job #herb writes #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump blog

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sweetcatmintea · 5 years ago

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So I’m a Vampire now...

Hello hello! It’s flash fiction Friday again! (Hurray!) Guess who still hasn’t learnt to stick to a word limit: This creature! (I’m so sorry <u<;;;;) Anyways, this kinda snuck up on me and I couldn’t think of anything better than this little vampire drabble. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated ^u^

FFF is hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial

Prompt: Deep End Words: 1665

----

“And we’ll have fun fun fun unt- Michael, put the rock down.” I hoped my voice conveyed how done I was with his reaction. Michael stood, back to the old jeep his mum let him borrow when he mowed the lawn, arm raised, poised to bash my head in with a sizable chunk of concrete. Vanessa wondered back to him from the direction of the mostly closed shops, an eyebrow quirked above her glasses.

“I swear to god, put the rock down. I’m not here to gogurt you.” Why do I have to be friends with an idiot?

He held firmer to his makeshift weapon. “Prove it. I can see the blood lust in your eyes.”

I pressed a palm into my forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. “Yeah, my eyes dilated. Y’know, that thing that happens when you are happy to see your friends. Go repeat bio. If I was gonna slurp your guts, I wouldn’t be singing the beach boys and waltzing up to you like a door knocker asking for money. Especially not after I asked you for a lift.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at me. “Unless that’s what you want us to think. I know you Jessie. You’re sneaky.”

“Oh my god, why are you so dumb? Vanessa, can you PLEase talk some sense into him.”

Vanessa knocked the rock out of his hand, pitching it across the desolate car park before he could react. She should go into a ball sport. I don’t know, baseball or something. It clattered somewhere in the distance.

“Michael, stop being weird. We both know Jessie could have pinned you before they got turned. Your noodle arms can barely open a particularly sturdy container. You’re just making them feel unwelcomed. And being a trashy friend.”

“All true.” I nodded. “Plus, it’s not like I chose to get turned. If that loser Josh hadn’t done me dirty last week, I’d be at home feeding my Tamagotchi. Has he even reported me missing yet?”

Michael mumbled a sheepish apology. “Sorry, I was just worried you’d gone off the deep end all blood lusty or something…”

I waved it off. I wasn’t really angry. It’s not like we’d exactly been in this situation before.

Vanessa shook her head, giving me a one-armed greeting hug which I, of course, returned. “He hasn’t mentioned it. I mean, you have been reported missing. That was a whole thing that happened with your parents and then us pretending like you weren’t texting us because how do you tell someone their kid is off getting the lowdown on being undead, but yeah, not reported by Josh.”

“What a soggy zit. I swear, when I get my hands on him.”

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Michael and Vanessa shared a worried look.

“What? No. Of course not! That’s disgusting. You think I’m gonna put my face hole anywhere near that slimy weasel and voluntarily drink two thirds of his blood?? Do you know how long that would even take?”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Well, I kinda thought you’d y’know, snap his neck or something now you have super strength…”

“Who’s gone off the deep end now?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not some killing machine. I’ll just dob him in and let him flounder some explanation for how he shoved me at the burglar while we were closing up shop and ran away. He’s lucky it was a vampire and not some lunatic or I’d really be dead.”

Vanessa plopped down on a concrete chock block, sipping her bubble tea and settling in for a long conversation. It was wild, I could hear the jelly in the cup squishing together. Michael sat to her side, patting the ground to invite me to complete the triangle. I obliged.

Vanessa started us off. “So what’s it like? Being all vampirey now?”

“Well, I’ve got cool powers now. Not the powers of being cool, I already had that.”

It was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes at me. I elbowed him in the ribs. Gently. Breaking bones had become a real danger. He snorted a laugh, almost shooting red bull up his nose.

“I got these neato glow in the dark eyes. Don’t know if you can turn that off. They do the cat slit thing though which is interesting. I can see So much more at night. But I think I need reading glasses now? Can’t make out squat near my face in the day.”

Shuffling around in the pockets of my oversized 90s jacket, I retrieved a packet of dried wasabi peas and munched away as I talked.

“I’m like, crazy strong. No kidding, I accidentally ripped my favourite jeans on the second day of being a vampire. Just tugged them a liiiittle too hard and bam, ruined pants.”

“Have you got fangs?” Vanessa peered closer at my mouth. It would have been better to ask that before I started eating.

“Fangs for the memories, even if they weren’t so- nah, I’m just kidding. I got them.” I bared my teeth at them, poking the lengthened canines with an index finger. “They’re sharp as anything. I’ve drunk more of my own blood than anyone else’s ‘cause I keep biting my freaking tongue. Reminds me of being little and sucking a candy cane into a shank. I’m surprised none of us got an impromptu festive tongue piercing off those things.”

“Speaking of blood… Do you need to drink it now?” They both leaned forward, anxious for my answer.

“Oi, quit it with the looks. I’m not going to freaking bite you. I’m not some mindless animal, I’m just me. Just Jessie.”

“Is there a difference there?” Michael’s ribbing was, for once, welcome.

“Hardy har. Yes, I mean, technically, I have to consume blood. But, like, the pamphlet seems to say that it’s basically a supplement more than anything so I’ve just gotta eat normal stuff and chuck back a shot or two after.”

“Okay, two things. First, human blood?”

“Again. Eww. Do you have any idea how many diseases are in human blood? There’s a reason we haven’t literally eaten the rich yet. To be fair, I’m somewhat immortal now so I won’t get sick physically, but emotionally? Imagine the toll.”

“So how do you..?”

“You know you can just go to the butchers and buy blood right? It’s like an actual cooking ingredient. It comes in blocks. It tastes like satan’s toe jam but you just gotta chuck it back real quick. Or, I’m getting a fondness for black pudding. It too tastes like feet but isn’t as bad.”

Vanessa took a thoughtful sip of her drink. ��Okay. Second thing. Pamphlet?”

“Oh yeah, this thing.” I fished it out of my other pocket, passing it to them. The vampire pr committee went to great lengths to make it cute with little cartoon vampires giving advice on this time of change, talking about how your body is changing and the strange things you may feel.

“Aww that’s super cute.” Vanessa pointed to a little vampire on the cover, handing it to Michael when she was finished skimming.

“I know right. Apparently they got tired of the old program where you get bitten and have to have an awkward talk with the weirdo who kinda killed you.”

Michael handed the pamphlet back. “Speaking of, what was it like living with a vampire for a week?”

I groaned. “Oh my god, he was insufferable. At first it was like ‘I vill show you ze vorld, shining shimmering splendour va ha ha’ which was neat but then it got all ‘I’ve turned you into a monster! You will suffer for eternity! Woe is ze life of an immortal. I am so sorry va ha ha’. Which I’m like, yeah you could have at least asked my name first or waited for my hair to grow out a little instead of sticking me with this too short for the long style, too long for the short style do I’ve gotta rock for the rest of time, but all in all, it’s not the worst that could happen so chill a little maybe?”

“Aw, poor guy. He doesn’t sound that bad.” Vanessa was much less, judgey, than me. I kinda felt bad for ripping on the man.

“Okay, he’s not terrible, but the lamenting. God, the lamenting. ‘Woe is me, I have seen so many seasons I can not even remember my age.’ Why don’t you just get a calculator and subtract this year from your birth year? Then you can know that bit. ‘Oh, but ze isolation! My human friends are long dead and buried!’ That’s super sucky bro. Why don’t you make some new friends and ask if they want to be turned? Or like, go on immortalsingles.com and get a butt touch buddy? With the internet age, it’s a lot easier to connect. ‘oh but who could love a monster like me? I haven’t even seen my face in five hundred years va ha ha.’ There is a Whole genre of people online (and in line) for that. And just, update your mirrors. Get a cheap one and it won’t have silver in it and you can see your face again. I kinda think he just enjoys lamenting. If he’d get with the times, things wouldn’t be half as unpleasant for him.”

“You’re not a very empathetic listener, are you.” That’s a lot coming from the guy who was going to stone me fifteen minutes ago.

“Hey! I hooked him up to the internet and gave him my number. I didn’t just leave him.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say Jessie.” Michael got up, brushing his jeans off and stretching. Vanessa and I followed suit. One thing remained on my mind. Something I needed to prepare myself for.

“Okay, before we head home, I have one last, very important question.”

They looked at me quizzically.

“Has anyone been looking after my Tamagotchi?”

-----

Tag List

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer

#Flash Fiction Friday #fff31 #writing #writblr #vampires #story #short story #original story #literature #More at my deviantArt SweetCatMint

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ithehellisbucky · 5 years ago

Text

I’m Me Too

Peter Parker x Reader

Requested by: Rachel Wing or Rei Hane

Word Count: 1,623

You were dead. Well, technically you were dead, but at least not anymore. You died on a bench 3 blocks away from your apartment building watching the second season of Glee on your iPhone 6. A noble death, if you really think about it.

Then, seemingly seconds later, you were sitting half on a crying toddler's leg and a half on his frantic mother's. As most people would do you frenziedly jumped up and walked away from the family, confused at what had happened to get yourself in the position. You ran into your favorite ice cream place, only to look around and notice that it wasn't an ice cream place at all, it was a bar. A bar where several college students were staring at you.

And then one of them gets up and walks towards you "Y/N?"

"Liz?" It was Liz. high-school Liz. Psychopath dad Liz. Liz. "I- I thought you moved to Ohio or something. And, um I thought you were seventeen."

"Yeah, I did but after I graduated High School I came back to NYC, to go to NYU."

"When did you graduate high school, and when did you turn 21?" You responded.

"I graduated high school four years ago and turned 21 last years. Um, why are you asking me this?" Liz replied quizzically.

"Um, that's impossible. Last time I checked you were born in 2001, and it's 2018." You exclaim chuckling slightly.

Your laughter is quickly ceased when you see Liz's facial expression. She whispers with horror two terrifying words: "It's 2023."

Your face drops and you go into shock, running out of the bar. "No, no, no, no, no, no." You say to yourself as you run into the street, looking around and noticing all the changes around you.

"Y/n!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Liz screams at you.

"Peter." You whisper, then everything goes black.

The first thing you see when you open your eyes is a teenager wearing about 10,000 pounds of makeup scrolling through her phone about three feet away from you. The second thing you see is your mother, crying, and your father sobbing even louder.

"Y/F/N, look, oh my god she's awake!" Your mother exclaims, a brilliant smile plastered on her tear-stained face.

The teenager looks up, a tortured grimace of celebration resting on her features. "Your awake, you're finally awake." She whispers as if talking too loudly would put you back in your slumber.

You embrace your mother, then apprehensively ask her "Where am I, and who is she?"

The look on your family's face takes you back to that moment with Liz. It's 2023. It's been five years. Which must mean "Y/S/N?"

"Yeah, it's me. It's me." Y/S/N says.

"Y- you were 11, now y- you're-"

"Sixteen, yeah I know. Pretty crazy isn't it?" She exclaims a smirk on her face, attempting to mask her tears.

"N- no." You gulp "I- I'm older, why did this happen to me! What happened to me!"

Your parents silently sob as they watch tears roll down your face- but you don't care, it was your life that was taken from you. Not theirs.

You lunge out of the bed and rip the door open, running for your life down the long hospital corridor, feeling the pain in your arms and legs; and the stabbing feeling in your gut.

You make it about ten paces before you fall to the floor in agony, realizing that you have just been hit by a car and that you really have no business sprinting.

Your mom rushes up to you and kneels, putting both of her hands on your face. "It's okay sweetie, you're gonna be okay, it's going to be okay; we're going to be okay."

It was the day. Five days after the blip, and everyone was going to meet up again. They politely asked you to leave the hospital, as your injuries were mostly healed from new technology that was invented in the last few years (besides a bulky medical boot, or whatever it was called). You had to leave because the hospital was stock full of people. People whose lives were shockingly interrupted by the reappearing people and gotten hurt in the process.

The hall was empty for about twenty seconds, you were standing in the corridor wondering if you were in the wrong place, then suddenly all the doors burst open. Hundreds of people ranging from their tweens to their twenties poured into the hallway.

You immediately started to look around for anyone you knew- but you couldn't find anyone. You probably stood in the passage for a decent three minutes before you saw anyone you knew, and then you saw only people you knew.

Jason, Abe, and everyone else seemed to be alive; but then you realized who wasn't. As you begin to have a panic attack for the missing people you run into an Asian woman who appears to be in her early twenties. "Oh my god, I'm so-" You pause after you see her face. "Cindy."

"Um, yeah," Cindy responds. "It's so nice to you Y/N! I'm so glad you're okay."

"Well, I'm kinda not." You say, gesturing to your boot. "But thanks for the sentiment.

"Um, sorry," Cindy says, as she looks over her shoulder. "Listen, I'd love to catch up, but I really have to find someone. I'd love to catch up later, but um-"

"Yeah, I totally understand." You guys weren't crazy close or anything, and she obviously had somewhere to be. "Yeah, uh, same phone number, you know where to find me."

"Bye." You exclaim.

That awkward encounter aside, everything was way less eventful than what you had expected. Some teachers had stopped and said hi, and you ran into several of your old classmates. Everything seemed perfect, except for three very important, very missing people. Your best friends.

MJ was a sister to you, Ned was a brother, and Peter was an awkward love interest that fell straight from a Netflix rom-com into your loving arms. Into your metaphorical loving arms, as you two weren't actually dating, you just had sexual tension by the truckload.

After looking for the trio for over 15 minutes you began filling with dread, what if they survived the blip? What if they didn't want to come? What if they were dead?

"Y/N?" You turn around to face a tall girl with curly hair and circles under her eyes. MJ. Snarky, artistic, unapologetic MJ.

"MJ?" you hear yourself say, but don't feel come out of your mouth.

"Yes, it's me, of course, it's me; if you know someone with the same face as me please let me know, I think it'll benefit both of us more in the long run."

Only MJ could say something that obscure that was just obscure enough to release some of the tension that was harboring between us at this moment.

"I'm me too." You stutter, in a half awkward, half shocked way.

The two of you embrace, the pain and heartache bubbling over the surface and coming out as tears. Salty, messy, heartbroken yet hopeful tears were pouring down your face as the events of the past 5 years have finally caught up with you.

After locking yourself in a hug for a minute and a half you hear a sharp gasp and then a hitch in someone's breath from behind you.

You turn around in confusion, but once you see who it is the emotion that hits you is release instead.

A battered and bruised teenager, cuts on his face and neck, and probably on the rest of his body which was covered by flannel and blue jeans. His brown hair looked greasy and freshly washed, somehow at the same time, as if he washed it for the first time in years, but one wash couldn't suffice.

Peter Benjamin Parker.

A teenager burdened with glorious purpose.

A teenager who was forced to grow up far too young.

A teenager who has had to fight the biggest threat that the universe has ever had to face.

A teenager who was broken and tired, yet alive.

A teenager who was still a teenager.

In only a moment's hesitation, you run to each other, at least as fast as you could consider the bulky boot on your leg. When you touch each other you stop and wrap your arms around each other, breathing softly as your face inch closer together.

Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, your lips meet. As you kiss your mouths open, your tongues dancing in a way that only the two of you know.

*Click*.

You both turn around in sync, to see a wide-eyed MJ and a Ned, holding up a phone that seems to have taken a photo of you and Peter's make-out session.

"Oh my god, Ned! Your not super old!" You say running to him. "When did you get here?!"

"I was, um... Standing next to Peter."

You turn back to face Peter. He's blushing up a storm, and all you want to do is turn back around and kiss his precious lips again.

"What the hell are you doing, go back over there and kiss your man!" MJ says like the proud Mama Bear she is.

Your turn around to kiss him again, but Peter beats you to it. His mouth is on yours, kissing you in a loving and supportive way.

Amidst all of the romantics, you slip out a word: "Peter."

In a count of four heartbeats, Peter responds with: "Y/N."

Within the chaos of the reunification of everyone around you, and the perilous doom of 5 days before, all you needed to communicate was the way your mouth moved together, and those two enchanting words.

Requests are open!

~Taglists are open~

Permanent Tags: @natasha-danvers

Marvel:

Young Justice:

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littlemarvelfics · 6 years ago

Text

Come Back... Chapter Ten

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: about 1,700

Warnings: none

A/N: This is it y’all. The last full chapter of Come Back… Thank you guys SO much for all the support on this one. The next thing on my to write list is a Steve Rogers series. If you want a tag for that let me know! Also, let me know if you want to be moved from the Come Back list to a different tag list. All tag and writing requests can be sent in here. You can find the series masterlist here and my main masterlist here.

Previous Chapter

After you made it back to the inn, you flung yourself on the bed and let the tears fall. You knew you had messed up. You knew it moments after walking away from Bucky but it didn't change anything. He might not have ruined your life then or now but you weren't wrong when you said it had all been a mistake. Being 16 and in love didn't mean the two of you could just pick up where you left off. You had gotten over him once, you could do it again, right? You got out of bed and took what was left of your makeup off before taking off your dress and getting back into bed. It was too late now anyway. Bucky probably went back into the reception and continued on with his night like nothing happened.

Bucky left the reception shortly after you did, he couldn't find it in himself to be in a party mood. He thought back to what you had said. He never thought you took the breakup that hard. He always assumed you went the romcom route, having a good cry and then moving on with your life immediately after. It killed him that he was the reason for any pain in your life. And here he was doing it again. He loved you. He loved you more than he ever thought possible. But more than that, he knew you. He knew you weren’t happy. He could see it in the way your smile faded just a little when someone asked you about New York or your job. But he also knew that after the countless arguments with your parents, you weren't about to just give up. Bucky got himself ready for bed and tossed and turned until his phone lit up with a text from Steve.

I’m taking her to the airport tomorrow. 10 am. Don't be late.

Bucky smiled to himself. He wouldn’t ask you to stay again. It wasn’t fair to keep pressuring you. But at least he could say goodbye, even if it killed him inside.

You sat in Steve’s car, both of you silent as he drove you to the airport. You had told him you could find another ride but he insisted on it until you finally caved. So far, neither one of you had brought up the night before. Steve pulled up to the airport and walked you in. You knew you at least needed to apologize about last night.

“Steve, I am so sorry about last night. I cause a scene and then I bailed and-”

Steve stopped you before you could continue.

“It’s okay Y/N. There wasn't a scene that anyone noticed and I understood why you left. But I do need you to know that Bucky wasn’t trying to mess anything up for you.”

“I know. And he didn't actually. I was just upset and overreacting,” you said.

“I am so glad to hear you say that because…” he trailed off, pointing behind you.

You turned and saw Bucky standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets.

You turned back to Steve and rolled your eyes.

“You just can’t help but meddle huh?” you said with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, pulling you in for a hug.

You knew you were gonna miss Steve. You had missed him before and this trip just made it worse. Besides Bucky, Steve had been your best friend for years. Even when he was the smallest guy in your class, he was always looking out for you and doing his best to protect you. You helped each other through everything big or small. He helped you fill out the application for NYU and you held his hand when he had to bury his mother. Steve was there when your parents would fight and you were there when his house was too quiet.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes.

“I’m gonna miss you too buddy. But you know I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

Steve kissed the top of your head as he released you, wishing you a safe flight and heading back out the door.

You turned back to Bucky and started talking before he could.

“I’m sorry Bucky. I was a bitch last night and I didn’t mean the things I said. I was upset at the situation and I just started yelling at whoever was closest and that was you.”

Bucky gave you a small smile, forgiving you instantly.

“It’s okay Y/N. I just wanted to see you off. I didn’t want to leave things like that.”

“Me either,” you replied.

Bucky took a deep breath, preparing to let you go. Instead, when he opened his mouth, something else entirely came out.

“Stay. Stay here with me, please. We can make this work Y/N. We aren't kids anymore, I love you so much. When I picture my future, I picture you. We can figure this all out together. Come back, stay with me. Move in with me and write what you love again.”

You attempted to speak but Bucky stopped you.

“I know you’re gonna say something about money but don’t. I can help you.”

You tried again to object but Bucky wasn't having it.

“I have money now, you'll have money later. Even if you don’t, it doesn't matter Y/N. You’re dreams and your happiness are so much more important. I really think I can make you happy Y/N. I love you, please just give us a chance.”

“I can’t Bucky! I can’t come back here. I can’t fail again. I need to do this. I need to prove to myself and my parents and everyone else who called me crazy for going to New York that I’m not a failure. I’m sorry Bucky.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and walked away from him once again, tears filling your eyes.

-one month later-

True to his word, Josh kicked you out almost immediately when you arrived back in the city. On such short notice, the only place you could find was over budget and the size of a shoebox. You were determined to make it work though. Until you walked into your office building a week later and found out you had been fired. Your articles weren’t doing well enough anymore and they no longer had room for you on staff. Leaving you with the smallest of severance pay and a bruised ego, you set out to find another job. Finding a writing job had proved nearly impossible so instead, you found yourself here, at a shitty hole in the wall diner, waiting tables.

It seemed that today the universe had it out for you. Twenty minutes into your double shift, a kid spilled a soda on you, leaving you sticky for the rest of the day. Not long after that, a customer ‘accidentally’ grabbed your ass and somehow your boss got mad at you for ‘inappropriate behavior’. The rest of your shift dragged on, getting stiffed on tips and tables, leaving you worried about making your rent on time this month. And to top off your horrendous day, halfway through your walk home, the skies opened up and left you drenched.

You walked into your building and saw the elevator was down for maintenance. Throwing your head back and groaning, you started up the stairs to your apartment. When you finally got to your door, you were shocked to see Bucky sat in front of it. When he looked up and saw you staring at him, he pushed up off the floor and moved out of your way so you could unlock the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you. Please, can I come in?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You unlocked the door to the cramped studio apartments and immediately felt embarrassed for Bucky to see it. Money was tight so decorating or repainting wasn't an option, leaving you with grungy looking walls and tattered second-hand furniture. Books were piled everywhere, along with boxes of clothes you hadn’t been able to find space for. Suffice to say, you didn’t exactly look like you were killing it. You were about to tell Bucky you needed to change out of your wet clothes when he started talking.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you this past month. God, Y/N, please come back home with me,” Bucky blurted out.

“Bucky! We’ve had this conversation a million times. I can’t!”

“You can!”

“Are you crazy?” you asked.

“Probably,” he conceded. “But do it, come with me.”

“I can’t do that,” you said dismissively.

“You don’t think you can do it but you can! You can do whatever you want!”

“It’s not what I want!”

“It is what you want! I know you.”

“You don’t know me. Not anymore Bucky.”

“Come back with me. We can work, we’ll live together, we’ll be together. It’s what we both want.”

“No!” you yelled, losing your patience with this conversation.

“I want to be with you. Here or back home. Where ever you want, name the place and I’m there. I just want to be with you. We can start over!”

“There’s nothing to start.”

“You can count on me now! I know you couldn't before and I know you're probably scared and to be honest I am too. But I am ready to be that guy now. The responsible guy that you can count on.”

“No!”

“I love you. We’re supposed to be together. I knew it when I met you when we were eight years old. I know it and you know it.”

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated it like a mantra, trying to block out Bucky’s words.

“Don’t say no just to make me shut up or to make me go away. Only say no if you really don’t want to be with me.”

You looked into Bucky’s eyes and saw the desperation and slight hope there. You thought about the past month and the few days you were back in your hometown. You need to make a choice, once and for all.

Next Chapter

SERIES TAGS: @slender–spirit @lovely-geek@amandamartinez3568@justreadingfics@midnightdream83 @that-bearshark@nutellaninja210@antivancharmer@rosiethebaker@kimskew@oliviaadamswrites @alisonhepps @maddie-laufeyson @part-time-patronus@violetrose90201 @steebrogurz @merlinlover@optimistic-babes @eternity-in-my-pocket@madebyleftoversouls@stupendoussciencenaturepanda@cantwaitforinfinitywar2 @queenophelia

EVERYTHING TAGS: @sea040561@jamesbarnesappreciationsociety@quotemeow @janeyboo@randomparanoid @hauanjsdbkss

#come back fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine

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pllandcompany · 6 years ago

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline (Part One)

Summary: Hospital!AU. It’s Family Day at Sanders-Stokes Memorial and Patton’s parents are in town…and they want to meet Virgil. Meanwhile, Roman and Logan have their first couple’s therapy session.

Warnings: discussion of medical procedures, mention of past gun violence, mention of past addiction and drug use, past eating disorder mention, anxiety, nausea mention, some swearing

Pairings: QPP Moxiety and Romantic Logince

Tagged: @ziallwarrior @thefallendog @apologieslogan @trueunreal @flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @crofters-jam @jakesmolbean @band-be-boss-blog @ab-artist @asylia-5911 @backatthebein @oonagh-una

Notes: I can’t stay away from this ‘verse! I feel like I’m writing too much in it but it’s all I’m inspired for lately. This definitely isn’t as heavy as the last series so enjoy a breath of fresh air! Also, peep those resourced Cartoon Therapy characters!

Despite his penchant for ice cream, his occasionally childish ways, and eternal love of cartoons, Dr. Patton Parker was an adult, thank you very much. He enjoyed alcohol. He could change a flat tire, make a mean spinach omelet, hold a detailed conversation about politics, and suture a mitral valve defect in utero faster than anyone he knew.

That did not stop him from jumping joyously into his parents’ arms when they arrived knocking on his office door.

“MOM! DAD!” His shout drew the attention of the entire nurses’ station, one of them spilling their coffee. Patton gasped, hands immediately flying to his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” The nurse nodded and waved, still looking rather pleasant for someone who just lost their source of energy.

“You must be well-liked around here. Spilled coffee in my office is practically an HR offense,” his dad joked, patting his son on the shoulder. “Yeah, you could say that,” was the stammered response, a blush quickly spreading across his face. The three shared a quick chuckle before Dot, Patton’s mom, swooped in to fuss over him.

“Oh sweetie, come here, let me look you over. Oh, you look so tired, are you sleeping? And what have you done with your hair? You’re practically bald on one side!”

“It’s called a side cut for a reason, Mom. Virgil and I got it together. You should see his; it was bright purple before he started growing it out. Department head and all, he’s going for a more professional look.”

“Oh right, he did get that promotion! Oh, we’re so proud of him, son,” Larry, Patton’s father chimed in. “Can we sit?”

“Sure!”the fetal surgeon beamed, closing the door behind him. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re both here! I needed to see you, more than I realized.”

“I can only imagine. We were so worried when you told us about what happened with that awful shooting. Oh honey, are you all right? That must have been horrible to go through, do tell us if you’re all right?” Dot brought both hands up to his face, fretting over the worry lines around his mouth and eyes. “You look so tired. Are you sleeping? Are you eating?”

“Dot, don’t overwhelm the boy. He’s a Parker! Therefore he’s strong. Right, son?” Larry eyed him with a soul-searching gaze.

“But you can tell us if you’re not! You don’t have to be all right for us if you’re not, sweetie.”

“He’s fine, darling, you don’t need to fuss over him.” They bickered back and forth momentarily while Patton briefly closed his eyes, blocking out their chatter. This is why I could never tell them about my depression, he thought to himself. Their extremes made it difficult to confide in them; Dot with her incessant worrying and Larry with his stubborn insistence that Parkers never ever got overwhelmed. Patton was grateful, of course. They were wonderful parents.

They just were a bit…much at times.

“I’m fine, you guys. Really, Virgil and I are both good. You don’t need to worry, Mom, we’re good.” Patton’s trademark smile spread across his face. His heart rate began to slow once Dot finally calmed down, leaned back, and rested her hands in her lap. “Okay, sweetie, I believe you. Speaking of Virgil, though…could we possibly…meet him?”

Patton could barely stop his jaw from dropping. “You…you want to meet him? Really?”

“Of course! We were so excited when you told us you’d found someone who was accepting of your sexual orientation. I mean, aside from us, of course,” Dot clarified, grabbing Patton’s hands in hers. Patton fought the urge to roll his at the memory of his mother's reaction to his coming out as asexual. The next day, she proceeded to throw an all out ace themed dinner party, complete with napkins, paper plates, and a tablecloth with– you guessed it – aces of all suits printed all over them.

"I had to buy out their whole stock to have enough to pull out just the ones with aces on them!" He clearly remembered her bright tone and elated expression as she held up the discarded napkins to punctuate her point. He could also vividly recall the way his father stood back, a silently fuming dichotomy to her cheerfulness. They had ended up fighting that night after Patton "went to bed" over Dot's overindulgence.

It's actually not a great memory for Patton. The grounded, calm, accepting conversation they had as a family three days later about his future as a member of the LGBT community was all he really needed.

Dot's voice brought him back to reality. “Knowing that someone loves my son for who he is makes us over the moon with joy. Of course I want to know who that person is.”

“Only if he wants to,” Larry added, “…but we really hope he does.” Patton observed how his dad was practically vibrating with anticipation. He smiled again, simultaneously thanking the universe for his accepting parents and praying that this wouldn't end up in another ace decorated disaster.

"As long as he's okay with it...of course you can meet him. But I have to check with him first, you know? It's a big step, I just want to make sure he's ready."

"Oh, my thoughtful, caring son. Of course, we're in town for the whole weekend so you just let us know!" Dot exclaimed. "Come on, honey, we've gotta go check in to the hotel before 11!" Larry chided sternly, grasping his wife's hand and leading her out gently. She turned to face Patton and walked backwards out of the room, talking the whole time. "Call us later, sweetie! We'll do dinner after we watch your surgery! Oh, I can't wait to see you in action!" As he tried to rush them out of the office, Larry ended up slamming directly into another nurse who had yet another coffee hit the ground. "Oh no, I am so, so sorry! But hey, like father, like son, am I right?" Larry attempted to elicit a chuckle out of her but the nurse just glared at him, her chocolate eyes dark pools of irritation. Patton was on his feet in a flash, grabbing a stray surgical towel from his cabinet to help clean up the mess. "I am so sorry," he whispered.

"Dot, come on. We need to get out here before we start barreling over patients," Larry grumbled, his face red with embarrassment. "Bye, sweetie!" Dot called out over her shoulder, while being practically dragged by her husband.

"That your parents? They seem so opposite," the nurse mumbled, blowing her wiry curls out of her face. Patton looked up and nodded. "Yep, that's them. They're a crazy pair, for sure."

"Must be overwhelming to have them around." She sat back and watched Patton watching his parents sprinting down the hall.

"Yes, it is. And I wouldn't change a thing."

****

"Dr. Courtland to the ER lobby. Paging Dr. Courtland to the ER lobby." Virgil mimicked a crackly intercom voice while Roman walked up to the waiting room desk, his lips pursed in annoyance.

"Virgil, I was with a patient, this better be good." He eyed the trauma surgeon sternly, hands going to his hips.

"I don't know, see for yourself if what I called you for is good enough," he shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing vaguely to something behind Roman. He turned around, his expression of confusion instantly melting to excitement.

"Remy! Are you seriously here right now?"

"In the freakin' flesh bro." The younger man smirked and opened his arms. "Come hug me, I wasn't kidding about the flesh part. I'm squishable now."

"Oh, Remington, you stop it, you are beautiful!" Roman flowed into his arms and held tightly, grateful for the gentle give of muscle under his fingers. He leaned back and took in his brother's full face and bright eyes. "I am so proud of you. You've done so well in recovery."

"Let me tell you, sis, it has not been easy, like, at all but...I think this time it's gonna stick. Like mashed potatoes to my ribs," Remy playfully slapped his chest, eliciting a shake of the head from Roman.

"I see your twisted sense of humor hasn't changed."

"Did you really expect it to?" Remy smirked a second time, his expression softening at the unshed tears in Roman's eyes. "Hey, Ro, it's okay. Anorexia is a bitch but I'm a bigger one. It didn't take me out, I'm here."

Roman sniffled and tried to regulate his breathing. "I know, I know, it's just...can we sit?" Remy nodded and Virgil guided them to a private family room, sensing their need for a moment alone. Roman took a second to silently thank him before closing the door and turning to his brother.

"Please tell me this is not the room where you tell people that their folks are dead and shit," Remy deadpanned, looking mildly horrified.

"Fine, I won't tell you then," Roman responded, wiping his eyes and attempting to smile. Remy cocked his head to the side in sympathy. "What's with all the tears, Ro? I swear to you, I'm okay." They sat down the couch next to each other, Remy's body slightly twisted to face his older brother.

"It's not just that. I mean, I am so happy about that but that's not all of it," Roman's voice was watery, suppressed emotions fighting to be released.

"Is it about...you know, the...shooting?" Remy mumbled the last word, afraid to upset Roman further. "Virgil told me you got shot. Fuck, Ro, that had to be insane."

Roman stared at the floor. "Oddly enough, what happened afterward was worse," he whispered.

"You're not...are you sick? Is it Alz-"

"No, Remington! It's nothing, just drop it! You're here and you're healthy and well, I wanna talk about that." Remy nodded his heads, hands up in surrender.

"Okay, take a chill pill, yikes, we'll move on." The room was quiet for a moment before Remy spoke up again. "Hey, where's that dreamboat doctor that you were sort of an ass to while he was saving my life? I want to see him, I'm sure he'd appreciate me getting my shit together and not wasting his work. Btw, did you and him ever end up hooking up? I hope so because let me tell you, the freakin' unresolved sexual tension between you two was thicker than molasses in winter-"

Remy was cut off by the very audible sobs coming from Roman. He froze for a moment, the gears turning in his mind as to what was unraveling his normally unflappable sibling.

"Oh my God, please tell me he's not dead." Roman shook his head vigorously, still too choked to talk. "Is he sick? What the hell happened to him, Roman? Tell me!"

Roman tried his best to cease his crying and actually answer his now panicked younger brother. "He...he ran into some trouble after the shooting. Everything...it hit him pretty hard and he struggled."

"Trouble, like...the drug-related kind?" Roman nodded. "He's in rehab, Rem. I'm sorry."

"No....no, oh my God, no, he seemed like he was doing so well. He was so solid when he talked to me about recovery; it was part of why I took it so seriously when I went to treatment."

Roman laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well, he's good at that, making you think everything is okay when it's not, when the world is actually crumbling to pieces right in front of you and you're too damn blind to see it!" He looked up and realized he was yelling by the shocked expression his brother wore. He took a deep breath and began again, willing himself to calm down. "We were...are involved. We actually have therapy together tomorrow. It'll be the first time in two months that I've seen him."

"What? Why so damn long? He needs you, Ro, you can't just, like, desert him."

"I know, but...I'm so...angry with him! He lied to me about so much while nearly destroying himself in secret when I could have helped him! And I love him wholeheartedly, more than I can bear sometimes but...how can I trust him? How can I trust anything he tells me?"

Remy smiled sadly, taking his elder sibling's hands into his own. "Ro, that's totally what you're going there tomorrow to find out! Look, if Logan is anything like I was in a relapse, he wasn't himself at all. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, sweetie, you get to see the real him and I promise there is nothing better than that. So give him a chance to show you who he really is. Besides, y'all went through hell together, that totally has to mean something."

"Yes, but I want us to be together because we're meant to, not because we're trauma-bonded."

"And I'm sure he does too. He wouldn't invite you into his private torture time if he didn't want you there on some level." Roman raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Private torture time, Rem?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "Look, therapy sucks, okay? I get that's it's useful and necessary and saves lives and shit but that doesn't make it suck any less! And you don't just invite anybody to watch you break down slowly. Notice I didn't invite you to any of my sessions."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Roman tried to joke despite himself.

"Not important!" Remy quipped, holding up a hand in Roman's face that he swatted away. "The point is Logan invited you to his so go and, yeah, be honest and shit but...hear him out too, okay?"

Roman chuckled to himself. "I can't believe the day has arrived where I'm taking advice from my little brother." Remy stood up, gathering his bag. "Well, believe it, Princey, you know I know my shit." Roman paused, a fond look crossing his face. "You haven't called me that in years, Rem."

"And I am totally stealing that, thanks dude," a gravelly voice called out from the doorway. The brothers' heads made a synchronized turn towards one Virgil Davidson who was leaning in the doorway wearing a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. Remy looked sheepishly at Roman's indignant expression, one that faltered slightly when he read the mild distress on Virgil's face. "You need the room," he said sympathetically. Virgil nodded in silence, the unspoken knowledge dawning on everyone in the room and eliciting a gasp from Remy. "You said-"

"I never said anything, Rem." He wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders and felt him shudder. "Oh my God, we have to get out of here, like, stat or whatever. I cannot be in this cursed place a second longer."

"They don't actually bring the body in there, drama queen," Roman said in amusement, leading his brother out of the "cursed" room.

"Oh, haha, Mr. Pot Meets Kettle. Whatever, let's go get lunch in the cafeteria. I want see that hot scrub nurse again, damn, he was a tall drink of chocolate thunder."

"That...that doesn't even make sense, Rem."

Virgil watched them walk away, shaking his head at the last of their conversation. He entered the room alone and shakily sat on the couch, stomach roiling with anxious nausea. He had to calm himself before he made himself ill. 4-7-8, Davidson. Just breathe. Family Day was always overwhelming for him, to a point where he usually called out and opted to visit his mother's grave instead. This year, he had overlooked the upcoming event and forgotten to make arrangements in time, an oversight due to his adjustment into his new position, no doubt. He tried to make the best of it by facilitating the surprise arrival of Roman's brother but even that proved to be difficult and isolating, only driving home his lack of a sibling or any tangible relatives. Seeing people happy with their parents and siblings while everyone in his family was either dead or in jail triggered him to no end. No one would be visiting him today. No one would be watching his surgeries...well, usually no one would. Again, this year was different. This year, he'd be meeting Patton's parents. Patton's loving, overbearing, borderline smothering parents. Virgil, who had never known real love until his partner Patton was now going to meet the very seat of his creation and hopefully measure up to the high standards they most certainly held for their incredible son. Virgil, the child of two addicts, raised by his single, hoarding aunt was supposed to be deemed good enough not just for Patton but for Patton and his family. Right. He can do this. He's Chief now. He's been through hell and back, much worse than this. He'll make them see he's worthy...right?

Virgil's head spun as his mind churned out about hundred different ways this could all go horribly wrong.

#sanders sides #logince #moxiety #romantic logince #platonic lamp #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides au #sanders sides surgeon au #my writing

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parkerrogersgirl · 7 years ago

Text

Happy Accident Part VI

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,685

Warnings: Steve being cute, fluff, more fluff, swearing, not quite smut, but THINGS ARE GETTING STEAMY Y’ALL (SMUT coming in Part VII)

Summary: After he saves you from being injured at the gym, THE Steve Rogers asks you out. Little by little, you start falling in love with every part of him, his quirks, his old-fashionedness, and his charm. But are you ready to let your guard down and let him in?

Author’s Note: HI EVERYONE! This is my first ever fic, so please give me feedback in my asks and like/reblog! And I will be taking requests, so feel free to send me some of those. Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! On another note, I have to mention @sis-tafics because this fic probably wouldn’t exist without her support. She encouraged me to write this, and I’m eternally grateful. Thanks, Jill! Also thanks to the marvelous @my-emotional-selffor pretty much inspiring me with her KILLLLLLLER Chris Evans fanfic! And thank you to @lonelyvampirequeen for becoming my editor!

Catch up here!

Masterlist

You stretch as you wake up, your back popping in about 100 places. God, that felt nice, you think to yourself. It was 10am on a Saturday, and you didn’t have to be at work until 4. You yawn, picking up your phone to check your notifications. You gasp, horrified to see that you had fallen asleep before sending your text to Steve. He, however, had texted you about twenty minutes ago.

Steve <3: “Good morning, babe. We’re going to head out in about 45 minutes or so. You can go ahead and call me if you’re up before then. If not, I’ll call you tonight when we’re back.”

You open the selfie camera on your phone and fix your hair, making sure you don’t look that bad. You smile as you call Steve via FaceTime. He picks up after the first ring. Your eyes widen as you see him in his stealth soon.

He grins at you. “Hey, gorgeous! Man, am I glad I got to see you before we head out. How’d you sleep?”

“Not nearly as well as I did the night before. The bed was missing something… or someone,” you wink at him.

He groans, “you’re killing me over here, doll. I do have good news, though.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “oh yeah? What’s that?”

“This is gonna be a fairly quick mission, I should be home tomorrow afternoon or evening,” he grins at you.

You squeal, “well, sweetheart, I think you just made my day. By the way, that outfit you’re wearing now is making me feel a lot of different things,” you wink at him.

Steve looks around, shifting his weight in his seat, “God I can’t wait to get back.”

“Why’s that?” You smirk at him.

“Oh, baby, when I get back, I’m going to love you so hard. I’ll spoil you.”

You moan softly, crossing your legs as you feel wetness between your legs, “Steve, is that a promise?”

“It sure is, doll. Hope you’ll be ready for me tomorrow.” He winks at you.

You look into piercing blue eyes, “honey, I’m ready for you now.”

He reaches down, adjusting himself again, “baby, the things you make me feel shouldn’t be legal.”

You raise an eyebrow quizzically, “and what do I make you feel?” You hear a voice overhead on his end, and he winces.

“That’s a story for another day.”

“Does that mean you have to go?”

He frowns, “Yeah, sorry, babe. I’ll text you once we’re back so you won’t be too worried about me,” he smirks.

You sigh, “okay, honey. Just stay safe, okay? I love you.”

“I promise I’ll be safe. I love you, doll!” Steve grins as he hangs up.

You set your phone down as you take out your laptop and start to do homework. You do everything except your paper, procrastinating since it’ll be your hardest assignment to get done. You fall asleep reading for psychology and end up dreaming about Steve. You wake up about an hour later, cursing yourself. The only thing you remember from your dream is being in Steve’s arms. Laying in your bed now, you could still almost feel his arms around you. You sigh, smiling as you open your book back up and get cracking on your paper. You struggle with writing it, making a note in your calendar to meet with your professor to get an opinion on the rough draft.

You write all 1,500 words in about three and a half hours, cracking your neck as you quickly undress and get in the shower before work. It was about 3:15, so you had about 25 minutes or so to get ready. You dry off and put on a white shirt and black jeans, blow drying your hair before you curl and hairspray it. You put on pink lipstick and mascara, adding a little bit of eyeliner. You smirk to yourself, wishing Steve could see you like this. You don’t send him a picture because you know he needs to focus on his mission, so you take a picture, reminding yourself to send it tomorrow.

You take a chance, slipping on your snow boots just in case. You put on Steve’s coat, sniffing it a little. Why did I just do that? You wondered. It did smell really nice though. You quickly grab your purse and phone, leaving your apartment and locking the door behind you before getting on the elevator. You get to the lobby and see it snowing hard. Thank God I wore my boots.

You start making the trek over to work, glad it’s only a few blocks. You arrive early and see that fucking Linda is the manager today. You unwillingly make pleasantries, giving off a fake smile as she shows you pictures of her STUPID grandson. You order a coffee, knowing you’ll need it in order to get through the next 5 hours with Linda. She takes her time making her coffee and you ask God for the will to not kill this woman. You can’t hang out with Steve if you’re in prison, you chastise yourself. That thought alone is enough for you to smile at Linda, taking your coffee from her as you head to the break room.

You debate with yourself for about 10 minutes on whether or not you should text Steve just to wish him luck, deciding against it. You lock your phone and purse in your locker before you put on your apron, walking out of the break room and going behind the counter. Work drags on, with even more assholes than usual. Your favorite part was when a mom asked for a mocha with no coffee for her little one. SO YOU BASICALLY WANT A HOT CHOCOLATE!?! There were a lot of days you wanted to quit, but you also desperately needed the money in order to eventually pay off your student loans. When it got slow, Linda would corner you about her grandson starting to ‘talk.’ Excuse me, lady, it doesn’t count as talking if it’s just noises. Get back to me when the kid tells you to shut up. Then I’ll be interested. You zone back into the conversation as you hear Steve’s name.

“... and Sarah told me about that Steve, I absolutely cannot believe you’re sleeping with Captain America!”

You shake your head, unsure you heard her properly. “Excuse me?”

She looks at you, confused. “I thought the two of you weren’t in a relationship, I thought it was just sex.”

“And what the hell would make you assume that? The fact that I haven’t known him for that long? So what? I don’t just sleep with guys for fun. I’m in an actual relationship with him.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Linda stammered

“Thank you for your apology.” You smile sarcastically at her, taking the order of the customer that has just walked up as Linda walks away.

The customer looks at you as she pays, “Soooo I saw that whole exchange. I don’t know how you deal with her. You were so calm. If she had said something like that to me, I probably would’ve said some things that got me fired.”

You shrug as you start to make her coffee, “I’m not worried about it, although he wouldn’t put up with it. He would have gone off on her. It’s fine, though.” You finish her coffee, adding extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top of her Frappucino.

“Aw, thanks so much!” She smiles and waves as she goes out into the cold.

You don’t go on your break until an hour before you’re supposed to leave, because your asshole coworker took a nap and his ‘alarm didn’t go off.’ You go in the break room and unlock your locker, removing your phone to see a message from Steve.

Steve <3: “Hey, baby. We just finished the mission, everything went great. We’re gonna stay here for the night because everyone’s too tired to do anything. I’ll be back tomorrow, can’t wait to see you.”

You smile, incredulous that one text from this man could brighten your whole day.

You: “Hey, honey. I’m on my break now, but work has been a mess today. Thank you for texting me, it made everything better.”

Steve <3: “I’m glad I could do that for you. Why has work been a mess? :(“

You: “It’s just something Linda said, I’ll tell you when you’re here tomorrow. I can’t wait until you’re back.”

Steve <3: “trust me, doll, I can’t wait, either. I miss you so much.”

You: “I miss you too <3 my break is over, mind if I call you when I get off?”

Steve <3: “nothing would make me happier. Good luck with the rest of your shift. I love you, (Y/N).”

You: “I love you too, Steve.”

You lock your phone back up, going back behind the counter. Thank God I only have 45 minutes left in this hellhole. You only have two customers the during the remainder of your shift, trying not to fall asleep when it’s slow. Why is a coffee shop open till 9 on a Saturday, anyway? Who even gets coffee this late? Pretty sure most people are partying or home Netflix and chilling.

The clock on the wall says 9:00, and you groan as you run to the break room and hang up your apron. You get your purse and phone out of your locker, walking back toward the front door and calling Steve as you get outside.

Steve picks up, “hey, doll, did you just get off work?”

“Yeah, it was a long shift.” You yawn as you start to walk down the street toward your apartment, “and I wish you were here, I don’t like walking home alone at night.”

He sighs, “I know. I’m sorry, babe, but I’ll be back sooner than you know.”

“It’s okay, I got back safely.” You turn into the walkway of your apartment complex, seeing Steve standing in front of the door holding a bouquet of roses.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added!):

@sis-tafics @my-emotional-self @thankyouforanonymity @gatorgal94 @supernaturaldean67 @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @victoriawilson23 @rissbennett @summer-winchester @lonelyvampirequeen @princess76179 @srgntjbarnes @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @jcc04220 @sarahp879 @lostess-souless @samanddeanmyguardianhunters @ilovethefandomwho

#Steve rogers #steve #rogers #Steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader fluff #Steve rogers x reader smut #Steve rogers x you #captain america #captain #america #captain America x reader #captain america fanfic #Steve rogers fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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