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sehunniepotwrites · 4 years ago

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sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre— would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time!

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions.

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks.

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly.

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip.

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later.

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder.

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue.

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary.

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see.

He really was an artistic genius.

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?”

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type.

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it.

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on.

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel.

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you.

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted.

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch.

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major.

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more.

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference.

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered.

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person.

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?”

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried.

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest.

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave.

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you.

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall.

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees.

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him.

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering?

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings.

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art.

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her.

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.”

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.”

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued.

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away. You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit.

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown.

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe.

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils.

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work.

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.”

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook.

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register.

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose.

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.”

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease.

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down.

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear.

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak.

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone.

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water.

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?”

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.”

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.”

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely.

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?”

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair.

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.”

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was.

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works?

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm.

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued.

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers.

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him.

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body.

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears. It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat.

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t.

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand.

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway.

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s.

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side.

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense.

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that.

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug.

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.”

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her.

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming.

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back.

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile.

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look.

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings.

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking.

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him.

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him.

Putting two and two together, you figured it out.

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.”

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall.

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief.

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain.

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated.

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

Everything was extremely overwhelming.

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.”

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock.

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you.

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for.

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm.

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him.

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears.

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies.

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too.

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst.

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again.

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold.

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same.

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath.

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all.

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful.

It was the start of something new.

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk @hyunjins--laugh @littleflowercrown13 @orange-nimon-cross @radiorenjun @ncteaxhoe @chancrispy

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct x reader #nakamoto yuta #yuta #yuta x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta fanfic #yuta fluff #yuta angst

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fanartfunart · 3 years ago

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Time and Time Again

A little fic about if Ocarina of Time was a big time loop instead of splitting the timeline. (& if Link met himself)

The sky was a hazy orange in Hyrule. The sun was a glowing pale orb behind the clouds of smoke. It choked his lungs... It was nothing like Termina. Unfortunately, it was exactly like his memories. Link stared up at the sky, fiddling with the edge of his backpack.

He glanced in the direction of the Korkiri forest. He hadn’t been back for 7 years... Guilt pricked at his chest and his throat. But he couldn’t go back now. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he did anything to change things from what he remembered. It hadn’t worked out well when he was still a child, why would it now? He sighed. Shaking his head, he walked towards Kakariko village.

He didn’t know why he was here, really. To confirm he didn’t leave Hyrule on it’s own? That it wasn’t some elaborate dream?

He reached into his bag. His old childhood tunic was tucked deep down into his backpack, full of sewn up holes and threadbare patches. Instead, he’d been dressed in a tunic from Termina. (Actually a blue vest that he'd stiched together, unused to the shorter shirts that Hylians so often wore) He imagined that’s maybe why no one in Kakariko recognized him.

He layed out some of his bottles of spring water from Termina in a row. He frowned as he looked through his bag, the Ocarina of Time missing. He glanced at the Fairy Ocarina, taking it out with the rest of his supplies. A few curious people wandered over, watching as he pulled out food. He smiled and waved.

An old man wandered over to him, "What a cute little display."

Link rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. The old man picked up an apple with a smile.

"Oh, I haven't seen one of these in a while, how many rupees?-"

Link shook his head and pushed it towards him, "All free. I'd just prefer to keep the bottles."

"Very kind of you, young man." The old man smiled and gave him a hearty pat on the back. Link coughed from the strength of it. He gave him a small smile in return as the old man walked off to do his advertising for him.

He sat back, playing the Fairy Ocarina, watching as people hesitantly took what they needed. ...He resolved to collect more things later.

The sky had slowly shifted to a more peaceful blue as the night edged closer. It was quiet. He sat on the roof of Impa’s house, dangling his feet over the edge.

He saw them walk into town. He felt time in the town slow with their entrance into town. He didn't really notice it when he was young; the gentle aid of the Goddess of Time. He assumed a lot of those magical things were normal (they were certainly explained to him like they were). He saw it now, though. Like a overly familiar, comforting blanket. His past self's presence, however, was like a itch at the back of his neck.

He didn't plan on talking to him. Or drawing attention to himself. He imagined it wouldn't help. Not worth the potential dangers.

He should have guessed Navi would notice a strange person on a roof. The fairy flew over to him, curious. His younger self turned to watch, straining to see what she did. She picked up speed. Getting closer than he expected she would. (Did she always use to hover this close to strangers when helping him talk to people further away?)

Navi stared at him, and...smiled. Soft.

She recognized him.

A falling sensation flipped his gut. He nearly genuinely fell, gripping the edge of the roof to ground himself. She actually recognized him. Any voice he had before was gone. Replaced by the fact that she recognized him.... By how much he missed her. A carved out hole in his chest.

She turned back as his younger self walked up to the building, tilting his head.

"What are you doing up there? Are you stuck like him?" His younger self called. He pointed at the roof the strange man had always been on.

Link swallowed and shook his head.

Navi spoke for him, just like she used to when the world was too big and too much. "No... I'm just watching the world go by."

"Oh! Okay! Have fun!"

"W-Wait!" Link called, voice cracking. He was getting the strangest version of deja-vu. Except everything was reversed.

He used to think this age... this ambiguous age he wasn't quite sure the actual number for was anymore- meant he was an adult. He didn't feel like an adult now. He couldn't imagine how young he actually was back then.

The green clad boy looked up at him, waiting, just as he was asked.

Link took a moment to gather his thoughts. "You... You're a child of the Forest, right?"

"...How did-"

"Never mind that, you'll... find out."

He could hear his voice echoed, memory and present blending in strange harmony. (Did he really sound like that to other people? He could've sworn his voice was deeper).

Link took a breath, "Um, make sure to tell your friends, hi. Give them a big hug. For me. I used to know some of them."

"Oh, really?! What's your name?"

Link picked at the shingles of the roof, frowning, "You can call me Grasshopper... One of my friends used to call me that."

The young boy tilted his head, then shrugged. "Okay Grasshopper!"

"And kid? ...Don't forget to be young again every once in a while... It'll be over before you know it..."

"...Ookay?" His younger self muttered, clearly confused. Link guessed it was a reasonable response....

His younger self looked exactly like he did now. They looked the same age. And yet... He was so young. It was just an illusion of maturity. He wondered if there was any older version of himself looking back at him now and realizing he was just...so young.

He sighed, "Stay safe out there, okay kid? ....If you need any tips about anything, come find me."

"Uh...I'll try. Er. Bye!" His younger self waved and Navi hovered next to Link for a quiet moment longer, keeping an eye on the retreating boy.

"Navi," Link said, in a hushed voice. She looked at him. His voice slipped from him once again.

"I know." She whispered back. She bumped his shoulder and he smiled a little.

"Mn..." He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the block on his voice with it, "You better make him rest more often... my sleep schedule is still wonky."

"You and I both know how hard that is. Once you have a goal in mind, it's hard to stop you."

Link laughed, shrugging, "Can't help it, I guess."

She shook her head, part exasperated, part fond. She tapped his head, "It seemed you turned out fine... I guess I better help that happen."

Link snorted and glanced towards the retreating boy. "Yeah... goodbye, Navi." He muttered, feeling a weight lift from his chest as he uttered those words.

She nodded, "Goodbye, Link." She zipped away, bopping his younger self on the head when she got to him. Link guessed probably in response to whatever bad plan he'd already begun concocting.

Link felt something wet leak down his cheek as he watched them leave. He really had said goodbye to his childhood now, hadn't he? He flopped onto his back, looking at the stars.

He frowned, blinks of memory drifting up into his the forefront of his mind. "Oh by the Golden Goddesses, now I got to stay in town for a year so he can come ask me things don't I?"

#loz link #loz navi #navi #oot #orcania of time #loz #legend of zelda #fanarts fanfic #time travel

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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

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The Art Teacher and The Winter Soldier - Part One: Morgan Stark’s Secret Plan

Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Some stories about Bucky Barnes and an art teacher...

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: None! Although there are spoilers for Falcon and The Winter Soldier if you haven’t finished that!

Author’s Note: Hey hey! I’m finally writing and posting again! I recently graduated from college with a degree in art education, and I just thought it would be cute to see Bucky Barnes date an art teacher, so here we are! This isn’t going to be a normal series, just kind of little snapshots of Bucky’s life with an art teacher. Also, this series follows the events of Endgame and The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, except Tony lived, other than that it’s pretty much the same. I hope you enjoy!

Here’s a link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Scarlet Witch, and Iron Man walk into an elementary school… sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

Bucky heard Sam mumble beside him and felt a smirk make its way onto his lips.

“I thought the minivan was enough for a bad joke,” Bucky added, and Sam had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter, a startling cough erupting from his chest.

Tony had asked a few of the remaining Avengers to go with him to the opening night of Morgan’s elementary school art show since Pepper had been scheduled for a meeting.

Morgan’s work had been voted on by the other students in her grade and selected as the best in kindergarten, which didn’t surprise Tony. The Stark’s were always the best at everything they attempted.

Tony had wanted to invite everyone he knew, but he was under strict instructions from his daughter that only a few could come.

The girl in question sat contently between her Uncle Sam and her Uncle Bucky, small right hand gripping onto Bucky’s left, as her left hand held a small bouquet of flowers.

Her smile grew when she felt the minivan take the familiar right turn into her school’s parking lot, and she strained to make herself taller to see the brick building slowly getting bigger as Tony pulled the car into a spot.

Tony turned the car off as the Avengers piled out and onto the concrete, Bucky turning back to offer his hand to Morgan. She quickly grabbed onto it and jumped out, giggling as she almost dropped the flowers.

“Here,” he gestured to the flowers, opening his hand. “Let me carry those Moe.” She nodded and handed the flowers to him with no hesitation, leaving his side to run to Tony, who turned just in time to catch her and lift her above his head before propping her onto his hip. Her giggles echoed across the parking lot, and Bucky noticed a few people shooting smiles their way.

“You comin’ Buck?” Sam called, already climbing up the stairs into the school, and Bucky smiled in response, jogging slightly to catch up with the group.

“You guys are gonna love it here!” Morgan called from the front of the group, still holding onto her dad as they walked into the building.

Wanda glanced over at Bucky and Sam, stifling a laugh.

“Yeah, you two will fit right in.” Bucky smiled and rolled his eyes, and Sam lightly shoved her with his elbow, causing her to let out a small giggle.

“Alright kiddo, lead the way,” Tony prompted as he placed her back onto the ground. Normally, this would cue a few moments of whining and begging to be picked back up, but she was focused on other things tonight.

Yes, Morgan Stark had a plan.

She walked proudly down the decorated hallways, making sure to point out the artworks her friends had made as she marched the small group of Avengers to her artwork.

Bucky was quiet as they walked, stopping every now and then to look at a few pieces done by older kids.

He was easily reminded of Steve, and their time growing up in Brooklyn.

He thought about the journals he’d buy for Steve on his birthday, or a new art material he’d see in a shop while out for a walk that he couldn’t help but buy. Steve would have loved this, would have been right at home talking art with the very animated five year old leading the group.

Bucky smiled to himself as he began to move with the group again, not missing the various drawings of superheroes plastering the walls. He knew he wouldn’t find himself here, immortalized on paper by a child who saw him as a hero, and his smile drops, but only for a second as he sees Morgan stop before throwing her hands up and screaming.

Tony jumps to find out what’s wrong, but before he can squat down to her level she is running full speed towards a woman in a skirt with polka-dots all over it, and when she turns to see who is screaming Bucky can see that her shirt reads “Your greatest work of art is you!” He smiles at the sentiment and watches as Morgan launches herself into the arms of the woman, who is now crouching in order to better receive the hug.

The force of a very enthusiastic five year old knocks the woman onto the floor and she laughs with Morgan as they part.

“Hello to you too Morgan!” She says through more laughter and Morgan waves, now seemingly shy as she steps back beside her father.

Tony moves into action now, extending his hand to help the woman off of the floor. She graciously accepts, and Bucky notes the shy smile that washes over her features.

“You must be the art teacher we hear so much about,” Tony says as she lightly brushes off the back of her dress.

“Yes, that would be me! And don’t worry, I know who all of you are,” she adds, her smile widening as her eyes meet each Avenger’s. Bucky feels himself starting to blush when her gaze lingers on his for just a bit longer than his counterparts.

“Even if I lived under a rock it’d be hard not to know who you were. Morgan talks about you all the time, and she tells quite the story.” Tony laughs and lightly ruffles her hair, to which Morgan responds to by swatting at his hand.

“You’re telling me. I ask her to tell me bedtime stories.” This cues a round of laughter from the group before Tony turns to each member.

“Well, just to be formal about it, I’m Tony, and this is Sam, Wanda, and James,” Tony says, and the woman shakes all of their hands, making sure to tell each one how wonderful it is to meet them.

When she slips her hand into Bucky’s, he wonders if she feels the small jolt of electricity that he does, but he ignores it as she smiles at him.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he tells her, and that same shy smile rests against her lips as she nods. He’s sad to let her out of his grasp, but even he knows that it would probably be weird to sit and hold her hand.

When she turns back to Morgan after telling the group her name, Bucky catches Sam staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and Wanda too. The duo are standing in similar stances, arms crossed over their chests with their eyebrows raised at his actions. When Morgan has pulled her teacher out of ear-shot, Sam turns to Wanda and takes her hand before dramatically mimicking Bucky.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he chirps in a lovesick voice, and Wanda gasps as she places her hand over her heart. “Oh, Bucky!” She adds, and Bucky can feel himself blushing as he pushes past both of them to catch up with Tony and Morgan.

He tries not to smile as he hears their laughter trailing behind him.

When they catch back up with Morgan, she is proudly standing beside her artwork as Tony is bent down to take a picture of her beside it.

Bucky smiles, shifting the bouquet of flowers he still holds from one hand to the other as he watches the scene.

His heart stops though, when he sees the drawing.

It’s… Him.

Morgan drew him.

He remembers the picture the drawing is supposed to resemble, remembers standing very still as Morgan tried to figure out how to use her new kids camera. She had yelled “Don’t move!” each time he tried to shift his weight so that his knees weren’t locked for too long.

“She was prompted to draw someone she looks up to,” he hears quietly beside him, and the voice of the art teacher pulls him from his thoughts. Bucky turns to her in disbelief, and he sees that she is smiling up at him.

“I think she picked a pretty good subject for that prompt,” she adds, and Bucky can feel his breathing becoming shallow as he holds back tears.

He slowly walks over to the drawing to get a better look, and he sinks to his knees, a tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

“Uncle Bucky! Why are you crying?” Morgan asks beside him, and all he can do is wrap her in his arms, dropping the flowers on the floor as he squeezes her to him. She giggles but wraps her arms around him too, before wiggling in his grasp to reach for the flowers on the floor.

“Here, give these to my teacher, they’re her favorite!” She whispers in his ear and he nods. This kid could have asked for a trip to the moon and Bucky would have built the rocket himself.

He quickly wipes the tear off of his cheek, turning to take a picture with Morgan beside the artwork at Tony’s request before standing and listening to Morgan’s teacher as she begins to speak.

“I know you probably already know this, but Morgan is very advanced for her age. Most of the other students in her class completed this project in a day, but Morgan worked on this for a few class periods. She even drew from observation, using a picture she brought in. I don’t normally teach that until fourth grade.”

A moment of silence passed as the group of Avengers stood in awe of the little girl before them.

“Here, let me take your picture together before you go,” she offers, and Tony gladly hands his phone over to her. The group bends down around the artwork, making sure to keep it, and the artist, in the center.

“Thank you all for coming,” she adds, as she hands the phone back to Tony, who in turn thanks her before leading the group back out of the building.

Bucky stands still, watching for a moment as Morgan turns around to wink at Bucky, gesturing to the flowers in his hand.

Her plan was in motion.

“Bucky? Is everything okay?” He hears behind him and he turns to see the art teacher, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, a small look of concern sewn into her eyebrows as they arch together.

“Yes. Sorry, um, I think these are for you. Your favorites, so I’ve heard.” Bucky states as he hands the bouquet over to her. Her face lights up at the gift, and Bucky smiles as their fingers ghost over each other as the bouquet is exchanged.

“Oh, thank you. And tell Morgan I said thank you as well.”

Bucky nods and starts to walk away, but finds himself stopping and turning back to the art teacher, who is already looking at him.

“Hey,” they start at the same time and Bucky laughs as he nervously slips his hands into his pockets.

“Would you wanna, grab some coffee some time, or something?” He rushes out, and the smile that erupts on her face makes Bucky’s heart speed up.

“Yes!” She squeaks out, and her excitement catches both of them off guard. “I mean, yes,” she adds, composing herself, which makes Bucky laugh again.

“Here,” she starts, pulling a pen hanging off her lanyard into her hands and balancing the flowers under her arm.

She gestures for Bucky’s hand and he holds it out to her. She glances up to him and he blushes again, quickly pulling off the glove. She smiles and grabs his hand, clicking the pen as she carefully holds his palm open to write her number down.

She pats it gently when she’s done.

“Just… text me, okay?” She whispers, smiling up at him before releasing his hand to turn to a parent who’s just walked up, flowers still held in her right hand.

---

The ride back to the compound is relatively quiet, until Morgan catches her Uncle Bucky looking at a string of numbers written on his hand.

She taps his shoulder and he looks at her as she gestures for him to lean down so she can whisper in his ear, “My plan worked! You’re welcome,” before leaning back against her seat, arms crossed and a look of satisfaction playing on her lips.

#TATATWS #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #white wolf #marvel x reader #marvel #em writes #woo new writing #woo art teacher #woo bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29: You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place.

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement.

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!”

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time.

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!”

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds.

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table.

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal.

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed.

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate.

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years.

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket.

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer.

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting.

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched.

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath.

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug.

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute.

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing.

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went.

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet.

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table.

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis.

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now.

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was.

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now.

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma.

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that.

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay.

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all.

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof?

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND.

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in.

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone.

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket.

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies.

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back.

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself.

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better.

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers.

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands.

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard.

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda.

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid.

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued.

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food.

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little.

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought.

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…”

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster.

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness.

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions.

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while.

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process.

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas.

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist.

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

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@falsemood

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@cpmansion

@killjoyjay

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@green-call

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanderssides #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate September - Day 12

Day 12 - You meet your soulmate in your dreams every night.

Pairing(s): Romantic Remile, Romantic Moceit, Romantic Dukexiety, Past Romantic Dukeceit

TWs: sexual language, mentions of childbirth, Remus being Remus, swearing

Emile Picani knew something was up with his soulmate.

Their link, as almost all did, formed when they were twelve. And right off the bat, when his soulmate kept flitting in and out of sight, he knew their first meeting would be interesting. Emile had sat up from his dream bed to see a young boy with raven hair that shone a dazzling blue in the light, and pale skin adorned with freckles that stood out like stars in the night sky.

So sue him, Emile was going through a poetic phase.

He’d walked over to start up the conversation, “Soulmate! Do you, how do? My name’s-”

Was as far as he got before the boy disappeared. At first, Emile panicked; what happened?! Did his soulmate hate him on sight and wake up-

Oh, there he is.

The boy reappeared, taking in Emile as he looked him up and down with his mocha coloured eyes, “Oh, you’re still here, babes. Cool.”

Huh. Interesting response, but Emile trusted in fate, extending a hand again, “As I was saying before you got spirited away, I’m Emile Picani! What’s your name?”

“Nice Ghibli reference. I’m Remy Duke,”, he yawned, reaching for Emile’s hand lazily, “Nice to meet you. So like, you’re my soulmate? I’m like, not just dreaming?”

Emile shook his head, “Nope! It’s really me! I hope you’re not disappointed- Ah, sorry, my pops says I shouldn’t say stuff like that-”

“He’s right, you shouldn’t.”, was the blunt response he got.

Sensing that he might’ve made his soulmate uncomfortable, Remy elaborated, “My ren says you should totes avoid negative thinking. Like, if you keep thinking you’re disappointing me, you’re only gonna like, reinforce that idea. And being that anxious is not a good look on you, sweetie.”

Emile wasn’t sure what to think, but the advice made him feel… really happy, actually. His soulmate cares! He went to thank him, but Remy had disappeared again. Dang. Emile waited until Remy returned, humming to himself when he heard his soulmate’s voice again,

“Whoa, you like Steven Universe?”

Emile’s smile glistened with delight that Remy had recognised the tune of Independant Together, “Yeah! Who’s your favourite character!? Mine’s Steven!! But if I had to pick a gem, I’d say Spinel’s my new favourite!”

Remy rolled his eyes, but Emile read the gesture as a fond one, “Cool.” . He figured his soulmate wouldn’t answer further but then Remy continued, “I like Buck Dewey. He’s totes underrated. As for the gems, like, there’s no question babes. Garnet’s the best.”

Thankfully, Remy was able to stay for the rest of the night until the two of them realised it’d be morning soon.

“Oh, before you go, maybe we should find out where we both live! That way we can-”

Remy shook his head, “Nah babes. Let’s make this fun. It’s like, way too boring if we make things THAT easy.”. He noted how upset Emile looked and took pity, “Tell you what babes, how about every time we meet, we both get one yes or no question. Make it a game. First one to guess where the other lives wins.”

Emile smiled, mirroring Remy’s playful one, “Alright then! Can I go first?”

“As long as you’re quick babes.”

“Oh, right!”, Emile cleared his throat, “Are you in the US?”

With a dramatic, yet monotone sigh, Remy retorted, “Unfortunately-”

“Remyyyy!”, Emile chuckled, “You’re breaking your own rule. It’s yes or no, silly!”

Remy rolled his eyes, but the sigh he gave had nothing but fondness, “Alright, alright. Yes.”. He stretched his arms, “Same question to you babes, you stuck in this crapsack of a country too?”

“Yes.”, Emile answered, “Unfortunately.”

The chuckle he got back from Remy left him with a smile on his face as he awoke that morning. Emile wasted no time in brushing his teeth and heading to breakfast with a spring in his step to tell his fathers the great news.

Unknowingly just a few miles away, another young lad awoke and dragged himself lazily down the stairs where his father and ren were having one of their early morning romantic tension arguments.

“The knife’s the pussy option, Virge!”, his father Remus had chided, shoving a handful of trix into his mouth with his bare hand, “Knives don’t do shit!”

Remy’s ren, Virgil, massaged their temples in frustration. Going by the shade of their face being somewhere between embarrassed tomato and devil’s asscrack crimson, Remy figured they’d been on this tangent for the last hour or so.

“What the FUCK do you mean ‘knives don’t do shit’?! It’s a fucking KNIFE, dipshit! What the fuck is a spoon gonna do!?”

Virgil yanked the cereal from Remus and began pouring him a proper bowl, to which the messy man scoffed, “Virge, you’re not thinking about the bigger picture!”

“What bigger picture?! We’re talking about which would be best in a casual alleyway fight, right?! Just bring a goddamn knife!”

Ah.

Context.

Gotta love it.

Remy walked undetected past the two of them to go digging in the hall closet dryer for his favourite shirt while his father made his case.

“That’s predictable, babe! You’re not thinking about the psychology of it, Virge!”, Remus protested, “Look, any bozo can grab a knife, big deal! Your chances of being intimidating with that alone are, what, four in ten?!”, he bullshitted, gesticulating wildly as he picked up a spoon, wielding it like a cutlass, “But if you pick a spoon!? Thats like saying “Hey I’m fuckin’ crazy”!! I’m not gonna go up against the mother fucker that picks a spoon! You know how crazy that looks!?”

“Very much so, yeah.”, Virgil deadpanned, making direct eye contact with Remus who returned that glare with a wink.

“Careful, last time you gave me that look, we had to start buying baby clothes.”

Virgil scoffed, but it was hard to hide the exhausted smirk they bore, “Oh fuck you. Take your cereal and sit down.”

Remus did neither of those things, instead wrapping his arms around Virgil’s waist and pulling them closer, “I mean, if you wanna-“

“Like, maybe we can keep the horny out of the kitchen?”, Remy piped up, watching his ren damn near leap out of their skin while his father burst into laughter.

“No promises!”, Remus jested, taking the bowl of cereal Virgil had made for him and downing it like he was chugging cheap beer at a frat party. Virgil sighed in exhaustion but gestured for Remy to have a seat at the table, “So, how’d your first soulmate dream go, Rem? Did you get a name?”

Remy slung himself into his usual seat at the table, “Yeah. His name’s Emile Picani.”

The immediate silence was palpable for a second, even Remus didn’t dare make a sound when Virgil spoke up, “Remus, wasn’t your ex’s name Janus Picani?”

Remy hadn’t seen his father in a flight or fight situation like this before; sure there was this one time in WalMart, but he didn’t have a melon baller, two packs of toilet paper, and a plunger at hand like that time. Instead, his father was armed only with a banana he had snatched from the fruit bowl and taken a bite of. With the peel still on. Speaking with his mouth full and earning a disgusted eye roll from his partner, Remus finally managed to offer a response.

“It’s probably not the same guy.”

Janus Picani unknowingly echoed his ex boyfriend under his breath, inaudible to his son.

Of all the names Emile could’ve given, why’d the surname have to be Duke? He had never told his husband Patton about the whole ex-boyfriend thing; Janus thought it best no one ever knew lest he be judged harshly. Sure, he’d never exactly cared what others thought - and many did share his opinion that holding off ANY romantic or sexual activity until you met your soulmate wasn’t always entirely healthy or doable - but the idea of Patton possibly being let down or upset by the news…

Janus didn’t want to think about it. No, he wouldn’t entertain the thought. After all, he had breakfast to make, fried eggs to watch over, toast to be ready to butter when it popped up.

Besides, Duke was probably a common surname, right?

Probably.

Maybe..

Hopefully.

“Did Remy tell you where he lives, sweetie? We can always drive you over to meet him after school if it’s close enough!”, Patton chirped excitedly from the seat next to his son, unknowingly setting Janus even more on edge.

Please say he’s across the country. Please say he’s in another state. Please say he’s ANYWHERE but close by-

“Oh, we’re making a game of it!”

Janus’ curiosity peaked, but his anxiety remained on hold just in case.

“Every time we meet, we get to ask one yes or no question, then whoever guesses the other’s location first wins! Isn’t that exciting!?”

His enthusiasm was contagious. Patton was practically bouncing in his chair, “Oh that’s so cute!! It’s just like a romcom!”, he began, then corrected, “Oh, unless you’re both platonic, don’t worry kiddo, that’s fine too-”

“Thanks popstar, but I um,”, Emile flushed a little, hiding in his pastel yellow cardigan, “I really like him. I know it’s dumb ‘cause we only just met but… but he’s so cool!”

Janus listened in on his son’s adorable recounting of the encounter; how the two had talked about cartoons for hours, and the oddity of Remy flickering back and forth from the soulscape at first. The curiosity in Janus won out as he finished cooking their breakfast and brought their plates to the table.

“He sounds like a lovely young man,”, Janus led with, hoping to at least quell some of his fears, “Do we get to know what he looks like, perhaps?”

Patton gasped excitedly, “Yessss!! Then if we pass him on the street, we can say hello!”

Thankful for Patton’s backup, if not for the same reasons, Janus nodded and Emile enthusiastically took out his notebook to start trying to draw his soulmate from memory,

“Well, he’s got really gorgeous eyes! And lots of freckles!-”

His pencils were almost combusting at the sheer speed Emile was working up the more he got excited about his soulmate. His fathers both unknowingly thought back to his adoption; he’d been so shy at first, barely able to look either of them in the eye, but after just a couple of weeks being allowed to express himself creatively in ways he hadn’t been able to do before with his birth parents, Emile had grown into the same excitable young lad they were watching right that second. Wordlessly, Patton slid his hands into Janus’ hold, who sweetly returned the loving gesture with a soft lacing of their fingers together.

They were inches from leaning in for a kiss momentarily before Emile excitedly announced that he was done, “This is him! Isn’t he the coolest?!”

Janus scanned the drawing, noting both his son’s artistic talent and feeling a small burst of relief. The kid didn’t resemble Remus at all. For now at least he could sleep easy knowing he wouldn’t have to face his ex again.

Janus ate his words three months later.

Emile and Remy had continued to meet within their dreams, playing their guessing game as always until, thanks to Patton’s help, he managed to guess close enough to Remy’s location. True to his word, Remy had given Emile the address and lo and behold, they were only a couple of miles away from each other.

Janus couldn’t say he wasn’t happy for them, he was thrilled in fact. However, as he stood at the front door of Remy’s parents house staring at the face of his ex boyfriend, he couldn’t deny the urge he had to run away immediately. The moment of silence was unbearable. Perhaps he could pretend he didn’t know- “Well shit, it IS you, Snake Face!”

Nevermind.

Janus resisted the urge to scratch at the eczema that adorned the left half of his face, clearing his throat, “It’s good to see you too, Remus.”

Patton and Emile were shocked by the revelation, while Virgil and Remy were entirely unphased. Though Remy was certainly more preoccupied by his soulmate.

Emile was so much cuter in person; his jade green eyes, his honey skin, the cute puff of purple hair, the dorkiest Disney themed sweater Remy had ever seen. It took him a second to realise he was staring too long and blocking the door.

“Oh, uh, come in or whatever, babes.”

He reached out to lead his soulmate into the house, followed by a gaggle of awkward parents.

“So, Jan, darling,”, Patton piped up, “How do you and um-“

“Remus!”, the man grinned.

“You and Remus know each other?”

Janus was about to answer with a well crafted lie when Remus beat him to the punch, “Oh! Dee’s my ex!”

The immediate silence that followed from all six occupants of the house was so much worse than Janus had anticipated. Emile sported an expression of shock, and he didn’t want to hazard seeing Patton’s face. Seeing how disappointed he’d be that he’d lied to him-

“Oh! Well that was ….. Un-ex-pected!”, Patton punned, earning mostly groans but a hearty chuckle from Remus. Janus looked over to his husband, stunned to note that he didn’t seem angry. Perhaps he’d been worried over nothing after all.

Virgil was first to speak up as they offered the others a seat on the sofa while Remy and Emile were excused to go play video games while the adults talked.

“So I take it you didn’t tell your..“, Remus stalled, hoping Patton would fill in the pieces.

“Husband.”

“Husband,”, Remus began, “that we used to hardcore date back in the day?”

Janus felt his stomach lurch as Patton shifted beside him; neither farther away nor closer to him. Perhaps that made it much worse.

“In my defense, Remus, we both knew it wasn’t exactly anything serious-”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. It was brief, but Janus noted the flash of disappointment in Remus’ eyes. Not exactly that of a hopeful ex lover realising they didn’t have a second chance, mind you. More so someone who clearly had wanted a close friendship, or at least SOME kind of meaningful relationship with the man he’d grown close to.

Man, Janus felt like such a bastard.

“Apologies, Remus. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh-“

“It’s fine, Snake ‘n’ Flake,”, Okay maybe Janus didn’t feel too bad, “I mean, it stings a little but whatever. We both found our soulmates, so who cares about what we got up to on campus-”

Patton cleared his throat politely, but firmly, “Sorry to interrupt but um, Virgil, was it? How long had you known about it?”

Janus knew that expression; Patton’s “I want to know how much of a fool I’ve been” face was unmistakable. Maybe he was mad at Janus after all.

Virgil snorted, playing with their hoodie strings in a stimming gesture, “Dude, his opening line when we met was “I hope you don’t mind that this ass has some mileage on it.”. Remus doesn’t do subtlety.”

Maybe if Janus wished hard enough the floor would eat him alive. Patton gave a quiet, thoughtful nod and the conversation diverted unexpectedly after that. Not that Janus wasn’t relieved, but the way Patton seemed to pivot so quickly into another topic felt all too much like he was avoiding the whole thing. Janus may be a coward, but seeing his husband try to act like the information wasn’t hurting him was so much worse. He dug his phone out of his pocket and feigned surprise,

“... Would you excuse me, I have a missed business call, it won’t take a second.”

Virgil and Remus watched him go, Patton giving him the smallest nod in acknowledgement for now as the conversation swerved back into more parenting talk.

Janus wasn’t sure how long Patton would give it before he came out to the front porch to talk; they’d had the system in place ever since they realised Emile would get curious and listen into their conversations sometimes. Missed business calls for Janus, another long catch up with his Aunt Patty for Patton. Both were code phrases for the same thing: we need to talk.

Patton had given it five minutes before he’d come to check in on Janus. The quietness of the surrounding neighbourhood let them indulge in the tinkling from an obviously homemade wind chime dangling above the porch.

“..... I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me.”, came Janus’ quiet admission under the warm sun rays that tickled his already partially dry skin, “Or worse. That you wouldn’t want me if I told you-”

“That’s ridiculous, Jan.”

Patton rarely interrupted anyone - purely out of politeness and the goodness of his heart - but he wouldn’t stand to hear his husband of eight years talk about himself that way, “If you keep talking bad about yourself I’m going to physically fight you.”

There was no bite to his words, but more a firm tone that settled Janus’ nerves somewhat.

“I suppose, but still. I understand that you’re most likely upset with me. I lied to you. And admittedly to Remus as well, but that’s-”

“I’m not upset.”

Pat gently caressed Janus’ rough cheek, paying his skin condition no mind as he reassured him, “I am a little disappointed.”, there’s the fatherly tone, “But none of this would ever be enough to make me leave you or anything if that’s what you were worried about. You’re stuck with me.”. Patton shot Janus a sunshine smile and the cutest blep he’d ever seen, to which the latter felt his heart positively melt, “And you’re stuck with a snake boy.”

The way Patton laughed ignited his bones and sent every nerve ending in his body soaring on high. By Gods, he loved him. Of course, Janus knew he loved Patton since they’d first met in their dreams - both being rather late to establish their connection at their early 20s - from the moment he’d laid eyes on him and heard the words, “Hey there! I’m sorry it took so long to meet you! I guess I was .... Patton-Pending!”.

“Seriously, where’re all there snake jokes slithering their way out of?”

Janus held in a snort-laugh, “Ah, I used to own a pet snake in college. She escaped the first night I stayed in the dorms and caused a minor lockdown. Once I got her back, the nickname got spread around like wildfire thanks to Remus calling me Snake Face affectionately for months.”

Janus’ sigh screamed exhaustion, but his tone spoke of fondness. Patton chuckled sweetly, “At least he didn’t mean it in a mean way. Otherwise he’d be hiss-tory if I got a hold of him!”

Goddammit, Janus was weak for his husband’s awful puns. Stifling the belly laugh that wanted to break out of him in favour of a curt snort of amusement, “I can take care of myself, fangs you very much.”. Their mutual punning session went back and forth until a knock at the door behind them reminded the two that they weren’t at home. Virgil’s voice came from the other side of the door,

“You both alright out there?”

Patton quickly called back, “Yep! We’ll be right back in a second!”

“Cool, I’m making hot cocoa, just lemme know how you like it once you’re done.”

Janus sighed and stood up. He already began to feel tense again, but Patton gently rose and took hold of his hands,

“You should apologise to him, y’know. Remus, I mean.”, Patton clarified, “I know you noticed.”

Patton didn’t clarify further, he knew Janus knew what he meant. The way Remus had covered up how much what he’d said before hurt. Besides, he already had something to apologise to the eccentric trash rat for anyway so..

“I know. Can you keep Virgil company for me in the meantime?”

Patton nodded enthusiastically, “Of course! They promised to show me their tattoos later anyway!”

Janus wasn’t surprised his husband was enthralled by something so artsy, chuckling softly to himself as he and Patton rejoined the others only to walk in on the Dukes rather intensely making out just shy of the kitchen island. Patton averted his eyes while Janus rolled his and just cleared his throat undeterred.

“I do hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

Just like this morning, Virgil nearly leapt out of their skin and embarrassedly ushered Remus out of the kitchen. Patton decided to swap in and help Virgil prep the drinks, while Janus sat with Remus in the living room once again.

“I owe you an apology, Remus.”, Janus took a deep breath in, “Actually, I owe you two.“

He hazarded a look at Remus, anticipating perhaps shock or surprise, but instead the human embodiment of a muscle cramp was trying to sit upside down on the sofa next to Janus. If he were honest, Janus was more disappointed in himself for not assuming Remus would be the same mangey gremlin he’d been used to.

“You’re aware I’m attempting to be serious?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re going to continue sitting like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you aware that talking to you is like attempting to win a game of “But Why?” with a three year old?”

“Mhm!”

Janus massaged his temples and Remus, thankfully, relented. He didn’t remove himself from the seat and sit like a human being, he simply flicked Janus in the side.

“You act like I’m a bitch to talk to, but fucking hell, cutting the umbilical cord was less taxing than this.”

The snarky remark did get a chortle out of Janus, “Ah, then Remy’s..?“

“Yep! Fresh outta my insides!”, Remus cackled. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Charming.”

“Nah, that’s my brother, I’m more….. the Demented type.”

“I’m aware,”, Janus retorted, “I remember having to drag you across campus to get your stomach pumped after the Everything Cocktail you downed at the annual Halloween Party.”

Remus let out a barking laugh and nearly slid off the sofa, “In my defense, the hot sauce, caramel, chicken strip, coffee, shrimp, marinara sauce, peanut butter, and six spoons of… was it horseradish or mayo?”

“Horseradish.”, Janus shuddered.

“That’s the bitch.”, Remus continued, “They weren’t so bad. The celery was what fucking sucked ass. And the carrots.”

Ah, the nostalgia.

Granted, the trip down memory lane was the most wonderful mix of chaotic and bumpy, but the longer he took to address the issue, the worse Janus felt. He must’ve let his expression slip because Remus immediately stopped his rambling and finally let out a tired exhale,

“Listen, if what you said earlier is still eating at you like a piranha in your gut, then it’s fine. Really. I mean sure, it sucked cactus dick knowing you didn’t feel as serious about us as I did at the time, but-”

“It wasn’t true.”, Janus cut in, “What I’d said. I was trying to soften the impact, I suppose. You did and still honestly do mean a lot to me, Remus.”

There’s the shock he’d expected. Remus’ eyes were trained fully on Janus, waiting for a sign of deceit, but thankfully, he detected nothing.

“Huh. Cool.”

It was pretty lackluster, but Janus could tell Remus was glad. At least for now.

“Actually, I wouldn’t get too comfortable yet, I have another apology to issue. Or, I suppose, another lie to set right.”

Oh boy. Janus inhaled, he’d gotten this far. No backing out now.

“When we broke up, I told you it was simply because I didn’t want to date you anymore. Then the week after, my soulmate miraculously appeared in my dreams. But that was a two faced lie.”

Remus cocked his head to the side, wincing while he tried to shuffle around and get comfy due to his gravity defying seating arrangement.

“So…. what happened for real?”

Janus sighed, “.... The week before we broke up, I met him in my dreams. Patton just appeared, and I fell in love instantly. I… I felt awful. Like I was cheating on both of you-”

“Jan-”

“Please, Remus, let me finish.”

Remus sighed, crossing his arms, which looked rather comical when upside down.

“I know you and I always said there’d be no shame if the connection eventually happened to emerge, yet when I saw him there for the first time I just-”

“You felt guilty anyway.”

It was Janus’ turn to be surprised as Remus finally rolled off of the sofa to climb back on and sit… less like a cryptid.

“Same thing happened the first time I saw Virgil.”

Remus snickered at the further shocked expression Janus sported.

“Yeah, I know. Me, King Garbage, Lord of the Thots, no brains or remorse…. feeling guilty. But I get it. It’s really different the first time you see ‘em. Either way, you shouldn’t feel bad for feeling worried or being scared, Snake Face. Although it does hurt like a skewered ballsack that you lied to me about it though. So..”

In retaliation for such a heinous crime, Remus reached over and grabbed Janus’ fancy lil hat, and with a practiced ease that had his ex both enraged and astonished, ring tossed the thing through the small opening in the window, landing it in the small decorative bird bath just outside.

“...... Remus Duke, before I beat the everloving shit out of you for old times sakes,”, Janus uttered lowley, threatening but with a familiar fondness that reminded Remus of their days causing havoc on campus and speed bullshitting essays like it was their birthright, “I want you to know that that little stunt was incredibly impressive...”

Upstairs, oblivious to the conversation and scuffle their fathers were enthralled in, Remy and Emile had mostly been playing games, watching cartoons and chatting away together. They’d just put on some Adventure Time when Emile looked over at Remy, noting he was falling asleep. Emile considered trying to do the same to surprise him in their dream space when Remy jolted back awake.

“Oh shit, how long was I out babes?”

Emile shook his head, “Not long. Does… that happen often?”

“Like, all the time. My sleep cycle is a roulette wheel, I’m sure of it.”, Remy lamented, shuffling closer to Emile on the edge of the bed, carefully not to knock over his laptop.

“Do you think our parents are getting along? I’m gonna like, throw hands if they ruin things with their adult bullshit.”

Emile shyly shuffled closer, leaning his head upon Remy’s, who savoured the feel of the slightly taller boy’s coiled hair against his forehead. Downstairs, Emile could hear a scuffle alongside his Papa’s worried attempts to calm down whatever was happening, and began to recognise Virgil’s annoyed interjections. He wasn’t too distressed however; his father’s upbeat tone and what sounded like Remus’ maniacal cackle assured him there was probably nothing to be worried about.

“Something tells me they’re getting along just fine.”, Emile smiled brightly at Remy, “How about one more episode then we can go check?”

----

Hoooly shit this took ages.

I promise I’m workin to catch up, I’m gonna do this or die tryin’!! For small clarifications:

- Virgil is NB/Agender and uses They/Them

- Remus is a Trans Man and uses He/Him

I didn’t specify much for the other characters purely because I could see them being anywhere on the gender spectrum, they can be whatever you prefer to read them as.

I really dunno how well this one read if I’m honest, it just kept branching from cute Remile focused fic to Families’ First Meeting kinda thing???

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

#remile #dukexiety #moceit #dukeceit #remy sanders #emile picani #cartoon therapy #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #soulmate september #fanfics #my fics #this took so long aaaaaaaa

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years ago

Text

Red Alert

Thanks to @youneedsomeprompts for this prompt! Color Symbols: Angst: Red: Danger On a side note, Tumblr PLEASE stop ruining my formatting from google docs to tumblr.

Sam and Natasha both make a suggestion for Steve to talk to a new therapist that might be more on his level of understanding his situation.

LINK

There was a prickle in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake. An itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. Nothing he did would stop it, even for a second. It practically lived in the back of his head, active every second of the day. It didn’t care if he was on a mission, running drills, helping citizens, out with friends, or trying to relax at home.

Steve Rogers always felt like he was on guard. That there was constant danger around him. That he couldn’t quite relax fully. That prickle in the back of his head never allowed him to relax either. At the slightest noise, rather it was the ice settling in the freezer, a cough down the hall, or an odd-sounding car passing by his apartment, Steve felt like he had to investigate the noise. He had to check it out and make sure the ice wasn’t a bug listening in on him or the cough wasn’t an intruder trying to attack him.

It interrupted him at all hours of the day, never allowing him to truly sleep. He slept, a few handfuls of hours here and there when his body allowed it. When he was truly exhausted, when the serum was on its last legs and scraping the bottom of the barrel, Steve found he would pass out for hours. Days even, if he was exhausted enough.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a true, peaceful night's sleep. Actually, he could. He’d just rather not remember it and feel the hallow guilt and pain erupt in his chest. He’d rather focus on the here and now because that’s all he’s had left.

It’s Sam who approaches him about it when Steve shows up after a group therapy session to join him for lunch. He looks exhausted, he knows he does. There are bags under his eyes, he’s pale, and his focus is waning. He has to force himself to listen to what Sam is talking about, watching his mouth move and taking in the words without truly listening.

“Steve!”

Steve jumps as fingers snap in his face, blinking. “I-I was...I was listening.”

“Uh-huh.” There’s no frustration or anger on Sam’s face, just concern as he settles back against the metal seat. He watches a few people walk by, fingers drumming on the table. “You haven’t been sleeping again, have you? Feelin’ on edge?”

Steve shrugged, which was his way of saying yes without truly saying it. It was hard to ask for help, but he didn’t need help. He just needed to rest.

“Figures. You’ve been watching that office window for the past ten minutes.”

“I...wasn’t,” Steve tried to weakly defend, but it fell on deaf ears. “I was just… There was a blinking light up there. Thought it was…” He shrugged, letting the sentence hang off.

“Morse code or something? I get it. You’re stuck in danger mode. You’re on edge. You’re strugglin’ with so much, Steve. It’s okay.”

There was no arguing with him, he was right and Sam knew he was right too. Steve just couldn’t think of anything to counter it, to help his friend not worry so much about him. “No, you’re right. I just...I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I find myself waiting for the danger, constantly on edge. Nat says I had a panic attack the other night when Bruce accidentally flashed a light in my eyes. I don’t remember it.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like being you, Steve. You got this...superhuman abilities. Your strength is one thing, but your senses? They’re so advanced and even for back then, all the new sounds and smells and sight. But compared to today where it’s all flashy and you didn’t grow up with it. It’s overwhelming. You’re overwhelmed, you’re…” He paused and looked up at his friend, trying to find the right words before settling on being blunt. “You have PTSD, Steve. We’ve talked about this, remember? Can’t keep workin’ yourself stupor. You deserve a break.”

PTSD - yeah, Steve knew all about it. Once Sam had told him it, in the kindest manner possible, Steve looked up everything he could. Everything matched - the symptoms, the exhaustion. How he was constantly on edge. He’d talked to a few people about it, even a therapist that Pepper had recommended but how could he get to someone’s level who wasn’t him?

Who didn’t understand him? Someone who had lived through one of the worst wars in history, who’d lived and lost hundreds of people he considered friends, crashed a plane into the ocean, and woke up in a new century? He’d lost everything. His sense of a home, his friends, his family.

Nothing could compare to that. No one could get on his level to understand beyond the war. Yet his understanding of war differed from others and while they’d matched on a level about it, it wasn’t fully. It wasn’t to a full degree that Steve could latch onto.

“You know,” Sam was saying, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “There’s someone in Shield that Nat was talking about that might be able to help you. You might want to ask her about it.”

“Sam, no offense, but I’m not sure there are many who can help a hundred and one-year-old soldier from World War Two.” Sam rolled his eyes at him and Steve shrugged again. “I just need a break. I need to try to relax. Get out of my head. Get this stupid prickling to stop.”

He’d scratched the back of his neck raw a few times because of it, just to have it heal over an hour later.

“The options are there, man, alright? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just...just call if you need anything, alright? You gonna be good?”

There was the concern, the near pity in Sam’s expression as he got up to leave, coat was thrown over his arm. Steve squeezed his hand and forced himself to nod. “Yeah, man, I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”

Three missions later, two training accidents resulting in him breaking a finger, three sleepless days, and five skipped meals later, Steve found himself staring at an office door with the placard reading Dr. P. Carter.

She came highly recommended by Natasha who refused to say more on the matter of who this P. Carter was. He’d tried to google this Peggy but got nowhere with results beyond obituaries.

This was ridiculous. There was no way she could help him. Or anyone could. He’d just needed to go, making take that horse tranquilizer Tony was teasing about and go to bed.

The second he went to turn away, the door opened. Steve almost kept walking until he heard her clear her throat.

“I was wondering if you were going to come in, Mr. Rogers. If that’s...okay I call you Rogers?”

The accent is what caught his attention. Enough to make him curious to turn around. Peggy Carter was...gorgeous. Sharp high cheekbones, honey-coated eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, brunette curls running down her shoulders. She looked amazing in her jeans and a white t-shirt - the last thing he expected a therapist to wear.

“You knew I was out there?” he mumbled.

That was a stupid question, of course, she did. She possibly had cameras and it’s not like he was a quiet person in this big body. Sometimes he felt so huge in this body, wishing he’d been smaller. Just without the ailments.

“I heard some muttering and you were my only appointment today. I figured it was you.” She replied gently enough, leaving him a little more curious about her. She didn’t treat him like others had like he was a sleeping bear about to be poked.

Something about her eyes told him she understood him. Or he was imagining it so much because he was desperate to have someone who could understand.

He had to give his friends credit. They tried. They fully tried to help and he was grateful but if something didn’t work out for him, Steve almost instantly lost hope.

It was always Cap or Captain. Rarely was he called Steve outside of his friends. Everyone saw him as this guy on the mantle and not himself. Not Steve Rogers, a man who's hurting and doing his best to pack it all in for another day.

“Didn’t realize I muttered. I…” He swallowed, tongue darting out as he looked her up and down. She was a few inches shorter than him and posed herself in a manner that was inviting. She wasn’t dangerous, but she could be, he figures. “How do you know Natasha? She...recommended you.”

“Natalia? Oh, she’s a personal friend of mine. We’ve worked on a few cases together.” Peggy’s hand held out to him, an invitation. “I’m Margaret, by the way. But my friends call me Peggy. Would you like to sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

He could run, he could bolt out to his bike and run for the hills, but he didn’t want to. Strange enough Steve found himself taking Peggy’s hand and giving her a firm shake, just as she did him. “My friends call me Steve.”

“Well, Steve, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you to sit down at the very least. We don’t even have to talk. I just don’t want you riding that death trap like this.”

Steve snorted as he followed her and eased into a comfortable couch in her office. “It’s not a death trap. It’s my pride.”

“Oh, I can certainly see that. Personal custom work to resemble a bike you must’ve used before? Very rarely do you see that, but it’s still a death trap. Excuse me for liking the cushion of walls when I’m speeding down the highway.”

Peggy’s red lips twitched into a smile at his snorting laugh, handing over an unsealed bottle of water. Steve took it without question, taking a few sips.

“No wonder you like Natasha...she says the same despite loving a bike herself.” Steve sighed as he took a few sips, grateful to have something to do with his hands. “Look, Miss Carter...I’m unsure of what Natasha told you or what you want to do with these sessions but they never...end well for me. Sure, the other people are great, but they don’t understand. ”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Steven, but you do make a great point. They don’t understand because they’re not on your level. Your closest group of friends outside of those you serve with are the vets down at the center, right? Men you served with but perhaps were not close to?”

At Steve’s nod, Peggy smiled. “I’ve been there - I mean I see you there. I…”

She looked almost frustrated, eyes darting to the window and closed-door before pulling out an old file from her drawer. It was stained with coffee and yellow with age, a familiar symbol stamped on top. SSR.

Steve’s heart leaped to his throat as he looked down at it, but didn’t dare touch it when she held it out to him. “What is...this?”

“I figured to get you to trust me, we need to be on the same level, correct? I need to be open and honest and while I haven’t lied yet, Natasha and I haven’t been fully honest.” She sighed when he didn’t take the file and opened it up, handing him a page stamped with a date, shortly before he joined the military.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, looking over the information. “You were an SSR Agent, but... you’re…” He waved his hand over her. “You have to be ninety-eight!”

“Excuse me, ninety-seven, thank you,” Peggy snorted. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to comment on a woman’s age?” Oh, she shouldn’t find that blush attractive, but she did.

“But to answer your question, Steve, yes, I am...old. I was an SSR Agent. You see, shortly before you joined Project Rebirth, I was the prime candidate. After rescuing Doctor Erskine from Schmidt’s clutches, I received the serum in private. Colonel Phillips, Erskine, and Howard Stark, and I all agreed this shouldn’t be public because we were unaware of the consequences, and well - you know how they saw women in those days.

The serum, we thought, did nothing. I was shipped off to war shortly after, so we had never met. It seems fate kept it that way, even as I joined Phillips and helped the 107th. I’ve met other Howling Commandos - Dugan, Jones, even Barnes. Yet, somehow never you.

Still, the serum, before I ramble off. We thought it did nothing until after the war. I wasn’t aging. I could...heal faster than normal, but it wasn’t to your level. I had been shot with one of Schmidt’s weapons, it should’ve vaporized me on the spot, but instead, it activated the serum.

Then...then you died. Or so we thought. Howard used me as a near experiment to see if you could survive and I agreed because you deserved to be found, dead or alive. You deserved some sort of burial at the very least, but we...as you can tell, it went nowhere.

So time went on, we went on to form Shield. I left shortly before you were found - as fate would have it seem so we did not meet. I left because...I wanted to do things outside of Shield. I wanted to help people. Of course, if they need me, they call me, but I would rather not play Director at this moment. I enjoy doing my own things - I rather ask for forgiveness than permission. When the Battle of New York happened, I was out of town. Once again, fate decided we shouldn’t meet. When Natasha found me, she wanted to introduce us right away. She thought...I could be of assistance. I could be friends with you but I didn’t want this forced. I wanted to meet you, Steve but I wasn’t sure how without fate deciding we aren’t worth it.”

Steve sat there, stunned, pillow in hand. He found himself kneading it, staring down at the files. Every single thing matched up with what she said. The serum, a more watered-down version. Going to war. He could remember Dugan pouting because some lass named Carter ‘stole’ his whiskey - aka won it in a bet. He could remember Barnes insisting he meets this Carter. He could remember a red dress in a bar, a kiss of fire whiskey on his lips. Her soft body…

“We had sex,” Steve spat out, blinking down at the paper. He heard choking and his head snapped up, watching Peggy cough into her arm.

“Excuse me? I think I’d remember if we had sex, Rogers!” Peggy half-shouted, her face turning a shade of red.

“Apparently not. It-it was...it was before I died. The only time I’d truly slept in years. The night before I died. We met at the bar, but both of us were so tipsy. I’d have...something Howard invented that...that got me feeling a bit tipsy. We shouldn’t have done it, I should’ve said no but your kisses were so addicting. It’s not that I didn’t want you. I just...didn’t want you under the influence of alcohol for us both. I wanted to remember it clearly.”

Peggy stared down at the cold coffee, red nails drumming on the table in thought. “I remember now. It was your first time. You were so...so awkward. In the most charming manner. I had to teach you everything, including how to undress me. It was...It was charming, Steve. One of the best nights I’ve ever had. If I had known it was you…”

She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. “You were so loving and careful, especially for your size. I wanted to protect you, strangely enough.”

Steve found himself standing, the papers falling to the floor. He found himself standing in front of her, mind racing. She understood him on a level he’d thought he’d never find. They were the same, they had the same serum. They’d lost and loved. They just weren’t destined to meet until now.

“I know this is supposed to be a therapy session,” he mumbled, still standing awkwardly in front of her. “But can we drop that and...and just go talk? Outside of here?”

“Because you want to nail me on my desk?” Peggy teased, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. That wasn’t a no. She stood and held his hand, being gentle with her touch. “Of course, darling. I think we have lots to catch up on. I’m glad for once fate has decided we deserve to meet and it wasn’t with one of us dying on the battlefield.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Hurt/Comfort heavy on the hurt #It makes no sense #PTSD

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suituuup · 4 years ago

Text

unspoken 4/4

On the second day of her fourth and last year at Barden, Chloe meets an oddly quiet girl and finds herself drawn to her despite her silence. Asperger’s Beca.

rating: T

word count: 3,600

ao3 link

Cries crackle through the babyphone, cutting through Beca’s dream. Her eyes blink open and she feels her wife shift beside her, a soft sigh carrying above the cries.

“I’ll get her,” Beca murmurs, dropping a kiss to Chloe’s shoulder before slipping out of bed.

“Thanks, babe,” Chloe calls after her as Beca sleep-laden limbs drag her across the hall.

Despite the ungodly hour and how exhausted Beca feels, a soft smile pulls at her lips as she bends over the railing and gently plucks her daughter from the crib.

“It’s okay Peanut,” she whispers, brushing a kiss behind her ear. She carries her to the bedroom just as Chloe sits up, transferring her into Chloe’s arms. Spencer latches onto Chloe’s boob right away, her cries quieting down to soft, content coos.

The baby wraps her tiny hand around Beca’s pointer finger as she feeds, and Beca isn’t sure how much more cuteness her heart can take before it bursts.

It had never crossed Beca’s mind before she and Chloe’s relationship got serious that she would ever become a mom. Beca had lived in her own bubble until then, spending most of her life alone. Not being able to really speak from age 5 to 18 prevented her from bonding with anyone, and she’d never imagined she would fall in love, let alone make someone fall in love with her.

But Chloe… she wasn’t just someone. She managed to see past Beca’s social challenges and accepted Beca’s unconventional comfort zone instead of coaxing her out of it like people had tried to in the past, starting with her dad, who never attempted to understand her.

Beca trusts her wife with everything she has, so when Chloe told her she was convinced Beca would be an amazing mom despite her autism, Beca believed her.

Over the course of Chloe’s pregnancy, Beca became hyper-focused on everything she could learn about babies and motherhood. Some things could naturally only be learned through practice, but knowledge has always been her way to keep her fears to a minimum.

And when Spencer came into the world, Beca learned another way to love that is beyond what she’d ever felt before. For someone who had spent most of her life being told she didn’t feel like others typically do, Beca was terrified she wouldn’t be able to love her own child the way she was supposed to.

But as soon as she held her daughter in her arms that day, it was instant and overwhelming, and to this day the best thing Beca’s ever experienced.

As they’re taking interview after interview to find a nanny for Spencer before Chloe’s maternity leave is over, Beca brings up her desire to start working from home, and take care of Spencer while Chloe’s at work.

Chloe’s favorite part of the day is whenever she gets to come home to her family. Beca is usually cooking dinner while Spencer does what fifteen-month-olds usually get up to, like playing with her cubes, crawling at full speed to stuff she’s not supposed to get into (ie: Chloe’s make-up bag) and making cooking anything a challenging affair, or chatting to herself.

Tonight, Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere is playing throughout the house from their expensive wireless speaker (Beca doesn’t kid about music-related stuff so the sound is incredible) and Chloe toes off her shoes before padding to the kitchen. She stops around the corner, a wide grin breaking across her face when she sees Spencer dancing in the middle of the room in nothing but her diaper, while her wife sings along to the lyrics with a spatula as her pretend-microphone.

Chloe’s caught filming half a minute later, flush rushing to meet Beca’s cheeks when she sees they have an audience. Chloe laughs and pockets her phone (that video is definitely going up on social media later) just as Spencer whirls around when she realizes her mama’s attention shifted to something else.

“Mamamamama,” Spencer babbles, toddling over and extending her arms up towards Chloe. They’re both mama for now, and are not pushing Spencer to call one of them mommy, figuring she’ll decide on her own later on.

“Hello my sweet girl,” Chloe gushes, blowing a raspberry into Spencer’s neck and drawing a giggle from her daughter. “I’ve missed you.”

“Mama dance,” Spencer requests, and Chloe can’t say no to those sparkling blue eyes. Not that she’ll ever say no to dancing, anyway.

She takes Spencer’s left hand and starts to sway to the music, her daughter’s delighted laughter filling the kitchen. Chloe stops once she’s standing near her wife, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. “Hello.”

“Hey you,” Beca greets with a grin. “Good day?”

“Mhm. Glad to be home.”

As Chloe suspected, Beca is an amazing mom, if not a little bit overbearing sometimes. She shields Spencer a bit too much, while Chloe is the type of parent who lets her kid fall down or take a tumble whilst discovering new things.

So when Spencer trips at the park under Beca’s supervision a few months later, resulting in a trip to the ER, Beca is a mess. Upon getting to the hospital with Aubrey, Chloe is told they had to restrain and tranquilize her wife as she had started hitting herself and spiraling.

“Restrained?” Chloe echoes in shock.

“The psychiatrist on call has been paged, ma’am.”

Anger bubbles up Chloe’s frame. “She doesn’t need a freakin’ psychiatrist, she has autism!” She pinches the bridge of her nose, blowing out a breath. “Can you just… take me to her?”

While Aubrey stays with Spencer, Chloe is taken to the room her wife’s kept in. She strides over to the bed, laying a hand over Beca’s. “Oh my god, baby…”

It hasn’t happened often in the decade Chloe’s known Beca, but she knows from Beca’s blank look that she has shut down.

“Can you please untie her?” She asks the nurse, tears rising to her eyes. “It’s only making it worse. I promise she won’t hit herself while I’m here.”

“Ma’am…”

“I’m--I’m not a f-freak,” Beca’s voice trembles, barely audible.

The words break Chloe’s heart into a hundred little pieces. She hastily sits down on the edge of the bed before her legs give out on her, sliding her hand into Beca’s. “Of course not, my love. Nobody thinks that, I promise.”

“Chlo,” she croaks out, panicky eyes fleeting from Chloe to her hands. “I want out.”

Ignoring the nurse’s protests about calling security, Chloe quickly unfastens the soft restraints and climbs onto the bed, pulling Beca into her arms and brushing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re okay, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a long while before Beca is able to talk. “Is Spence okay?”

“She’s fine, Aubrey’s with her.”

“I-I looked away for a s-second.”

“I know, babe. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

“O-okay. Can we go home?” She croaks out. “I just wanna go h-home.”

“Yeah, we can go home.”

Spencer conks out on the ride home. After putting her to bed for a pre-dinner nap, Chloe heads to the master bedroom to find Beca lying on her side with her back to the door. She crawls across the mattress and spoons her from behind, pressing a kiss to her covered shoulder.

“She’ll fall and hurt herself many more times, without it necessarily being our fault, babe,” she murmurs. “It’s what kids do, and you have nothing to blame yourself for.”

Beca sucks in a sharp breath. “When it happened-- I completely lost my footing. I panicked. Another mom had to call a cab for me b-because I-I couldn’t. Everyone was looking-- judging.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispers, squeezing Beca’s waist. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re an amazing mom and you do so much for Spencer, even things that are extremely difficult for you, like going to sensory overload places like the playground. I’m in awe of you every single day, Bec.”

The door creaks open before Beca can reply, and Chloe glances over her shoulder to see Spencer toddling in.

“Hey munchkin,” she greets softly, rolling onto her back as Spencer climbs onto the bed with some difficulty.

She’s sporting a large band aid across her forehead. “Mama okay?”

Beca smiles. “Mama’s fine, Peanut. C’mere.”

Spencer snuggles into her side, unknowingly stitching the cracks in Beca’s heart back up through her affection and unspoken love.

“We’ll be back at three, alright?” Beca says, smoothing her palms over the lapels of Spencer’s coat.

“Yes, Mama.”

Beca musters a smile, even though her heart feels extremely heavy this morning. It’s Spencer’s first day of school, which means she won’t be spending the day at home, and Beca is already experiencing separation anxiety.

She’s also scared Spencer might have a hard time at school, just like she did. The fear is most likely triggered by her own PTSD because there’s no reason her bright and socially able daughter doesn’t make friends.

“I gotta go,” the four-year-old announces, glancing over her shoulder as her classmates enter the building.

“I know, I know.” Beca swallows the lump in her throat and hugs Spencer tight. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” She hugs Chloe next, whispering the same before happily bouncing to the entrance.

“She’ll be fine,” Chloe murmurs, her hand sliding inside Beca’s as soon as she pushes to her feet.

“I know. I just--” Beca sighs. “I’m gonna miss her.”

“I know.” Chloe presses a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s go home. I’m sure I can come up with a few ways to distract you until three.”

Beca flushes hard at the innuendo, breaking eye-contact while Chloe simply cackles.

“What do you say, Spence?”

Sheepish blue eyes flick up to meet Chloe’s, before they move back to Andrew. “Thank you!” She pads to her pile of gifts and sets the newest wrapped present on the table, standing on the tip of her toes to reach.

“Wow, you and Beca sure know how to throw an awesome party,” Andrew’s mom comments with an impressed sort of nod as Spencer and her son hurry to meet the other kids inside the blow-up T-Rex taking a third of their backyard.

Spencer has been obsessed with dinosaurs for the past year, so it was only natural she’d want that theme for her birthday party. It became Beca’s near sole-focus for the last four months, as she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. To her credit, it really was.

“Yeah, my wife really outdid herself,” Chloe says with a smile, her eyes doing a quick sweep of the small crowd to track down Beca even though she knows Beca is probably in the backstage section of the event. “I’m going to see if she needs a hand. Help yourself to drinks and food, Caroline.”

Chloe heads back inside the house and rounds the corner to the kitchen to find Beca staring at the cake with a frown on her face.

“Everything okay, babe?”

“I forgot to buy candles,” Beca mutters.

“Oh, well I think we have some over here,” Chloe says, stepping further inside the kitchen and standing on the tip of her toes to reach the top cupboard. “Ah-ha, here you go.”

Beca wrinkles her nose as she takes them, then shakes her head faintly, and it’s like Chloe can read her thoughts. There’s something that doesn’t sit right with those specific ones, but Beca will use them anyway because she feels ridiculous about being so picky.

After eleven years together, Chloe knows what can trigger Beca’s Aspie side, and one look at the cake tells her what’s wrong.

“Aubrey isn’t here yet, I’ll tell her to stop on the way to buy green candles, ‘K?”

Green so they can match the dinosaur on the cake and not pink like the only ones they have.

“N-no, it’s not--it’s not--” Beca lets out a frustrated sigh, her nails digging into her palms. It seems to take a lot of internal debating until she can finally utter out, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Neither is Aubrey stopping on the way to buy candles, I promise,” Chloe assures Beca, stepping closer to rest a hand on her lower back. Chloe’s touch has always been one of the things that ground Beca, and her shoulders slump as she puffs out a breath.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Chloe smiles. “Spence is having so much fun. You really threw an amazing party.” She leans in to kiss Beca’s cheek, rubbing her back. “Wanna join us outside?”

She feels Beca’s muscles tense under her palm as Beca purses her lips, eyes flicking towards the window. No matter how much social progress she’s made since Chloe walked into her life, she’s still shy around near-strangers and sensory sensitive. A bunch of loud and hyperactive children can be a meltdown trigger. “Um, maybe in a little bit.”

“Okay. No pressure.”

Beca only comes outside when it’s time for the cake, retreating inside after Spencer blows her candles. Chloe didn’t think until now that Spencer really notices Beca doesn’t act like her friends’ parents, but she’s proven wrong later that day as she helps her daughter carry her presents to her bedroom.

“Mommy, why is Mama different?”

Chloe pauses, setting the pile of boxes on the floor and joining Spencer at the foot of the bed.

“Mama has something called autism, baby. It means that her brain interprets things differently than you and it can make it hard for her to talk, listen, understand, play, and learn. That’s why she’s sometimes in her own world, or why she doesn’t like to interact with people.”

“Oh,” Spencer lets out, clearly mulling it over. She eventually looks to Chloe and asks, “Is it dangerous? Like cancer?”

“No, absolutely not. Mama is very healthy.”

Spencer’s shoulders slump, and she musters a smile, nodding. “Okay.”

Smiling as well, Chloe pushes Spencer’s hair back from her forehead. “She loves you so much, sweetheart.”

“I know. I don’t care that she’s different, I was just wondering why.”

After tucking her daughter in, Chloe pads downstairs and into the living-room, where Beca is reading on the couch. She hums when Chloe curls up into her side, freeing her arm to wrap it around Chloe’s back. “All good?”

“Mhm, yeah. She had fun today. You threw an amazing party.” Chloe lifts her head from Beca’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Beca nods. “Sorry I didn’t socialize much, I-- It was a lot.”

“That’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for.” She nuzzles Beca’s cheek. “You know I don’t mind entertaining people.”

Beca chuckles. “Oh, I know. Sometimes I wonder how someone as talkative as you fell for a girl who could barely put a sentence together.”

“Opposites attract, I guess?”

Beca simply hums, feathering the tips of her fingers up and down Chloe’s arm. Chloe decides to keep Spencer’s question for herself, knowing Beca might feel self-conscious about their daughter noticing her unusual personality.

Beca is the one to break the silence. “Do you ever think about having another kid?”

Her question makes Chloe’s thud harder, and she lifts her head from Beca’s shoulder to look at her. “Do you?”

Beca snickers. “I asked first.”

“Yeah, I do,” Chloe replies with a smile. “I’ve actually been experiencing quite the baby fever ever since Samuel was born.” Her godson, Aubrey’s four months old baby boy. “We still have three vials from Spencer’s sperm donor.”

Beca looks at her with sparkling eyes. “Are you okay with carrying again?”

“I am, but are you sure you don’t want to?” She knows Beca is sceptical, concerned about giving their baby autism even though Chloe has assured her many times it wouldn’t be a problem if that were the case.

“Yes. I’ve given it some thought and-- I just don’t see myself being pregnant.”

“Okay,” Chloe agrees quietly, reaching up to cradle Beca’s cheek. She kisses her softly, grinning. “I’m really excited.”

“Me, too.”

Chloe’s been acting weird ever since they left Beca’s work Christmas party.

She doesn’t say anything on the cab ride back, and heads directly to their bedroom when they reach home. Beca pays the sitter and goes to check on Spencer to make sure she’s still asleep.

“Chlo?” She calls out softly as she lingers in the bedroom doorway, watching for a moment as Chloe takes off her earrings and her watch. Her confusion only enhances when Chloe doesn’t answer, triggering a wave of anxiety. She’s never been good at picking up on other people’s emotions, but after living over a decade with Chloe, she can tell when something is off. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chloe mutters. She reaches behind her to undo her zipper, but can’t quite reach. “Can you give me a hand?”

Beca crosses the room to step behind her, dragging the zipper down. She searches Chloe’s eyes in the mirror, bracing her hands over Chloe’s upper arms. “Talk to me? Please?”

“She likes you,” Chloe eventually provides, turning around and sitting on the edge of her vanity. “It’s pretty obvious to anyone watching.”

“W-who does?”

“Amanda,” Chloe says. Beca’s new assistant at the label. “She was flirting with you all night.”

“I…” Beca’s eyebrows knit together as she thinks back to the party. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” She sighs, her eyes softening as she slides her hands into Beca’s. “And I don’t want to be jealous, because I know you’re just oblivious when it comes to that sort of stuff, but it’s not… exactly easy to watch someone so attractive flirt so openly with your wife.”

Guilt coils in Beca’s belly. “I’m sorry, I-I had no idea.”

“I know that, and I don’t want you to beat yourself up for it, alright? I’m sorry I gave you the cold shoulder instead of telling you right away. I think my pregnancy hormones are just making me more possessive than usual.” She scrunches up her nose. “I was ready to pounce on the woman.”

Beca giggles at the imagery, leaning forward and burying her face into Chloe’s neck. Her arms wrap loosely around her wife’s waist as she remains close for a few beats, basking in her proximity.

“I’ll talk to her,” she murmurs. “Let her know I’m definitely not interested.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable to do that?”

Beca lifts her head, grimacing. “Can’t I write her a card?”

Chloe’s laughter chases away that guilt and Beca finally relaxes. “Sure.”

Beca’s hand curves around the gentle swell of Chloe’s belly. “You said Amanda was attractive but I frankly have no clue what she was even wearing because I was too obsessed with how beautiful you looked tonight. I honestly don’t even remember what she and I talked about.” She kisses Chloe gently, resting her forehead against hers. “I love you. Every time I think about you throughout the day, which happens a lot by the way, I feel like I need to pinch myself. Sometimes I think about seventeen-year-old me watching people date in high-school and feeling sad that she’d never get to know that. I wish I could go back to tell her that it’s all going to be okay, that somewhere down the line, she’ll meet this incredible human being who won’t make fun of her for not being able to talk, someone who will be amazingly patient and understanding with her aspie side and who will love her with her whole heart.”

Beca sometimes has trouble finding the right words, but not tonight. They just pour out of her heart, like they often do when it comes to Chloe.

“Bec,” Chloe croaks out, reaching up to cradle her jaw. Her eyes are misty with unshed tears and she puffs out a breath. “You suck for making me cry.”

Beca laughs, pressing a few kisses to Chloe’s exposed collarbone as she hugs her. “Let’s go to bed, wife.”

Chloe is completely and utterly exhausted, but the happiness radiating through her whole body makes it totally worth it.

She glances down to Elliot, rubbing her palm over his stomach. “Are you ready to meet your big sister?”

The door opens a couple minutes later, Beca walking in with Spencer. The six-year-old gasps softly, her eyes alight with wonder as Beca picks her up so she can take her first look at her baby brother.

“He’s got the same hair as me,” she observes with a smile. Chocolate hair, like Beca. Spencer had Chloe’s eyes, and Chloe was looking forward to finding out which shade their little boy would end up sporting. “He’s so little, Mommy.”

“He is,” Chloe murmurs. “Do you wanna hold him?” Spencer’s head bobs up and down in an excited nod. “Alright, go sit in the chair over there.”

Beca sets her down and grabs the nursing pillow off the foot of Chloe’s bed, setting it on Spencer’s lap once she’s all settled. She carefully plucks the newborn from Chloe’s arms and sets him down on the pillow, crouching in front of the chair as she keeps her hand under his head to support it. “What do you think, Spence?”

“He’s so cute,” Spencer gushes, her reaction bringing fresh tears to Chloe’s eyes. She grabs her phone off the table and snaps a few pictures of her family, smiling widely. “When’s he coming home?”

“In a couple days,” Beca says. “We might need your help to read him stories or sing him to sleep.”

Spencer nods dutifully. “K.”

Compared to Spencer, Elliot is a heavy sleeper so far, which is pretty great because Chloe feels like she could sleep for days. She wakes up bleary eyed one afternoon after a nap, her son or wife nowhere in sight.

Following the soft voices and coos carrying from the living room, Chloe ventures down the hall, stopping in the doorway as a soft smile slips on her lips.

Elliot is chilling on his playmat while Beca and Spencer color on the floor next to him, oblivious to Chloe’s presence.

Chloe observes them for a moment, her heart fit to burst as she realizes how perfect her little family is, and how far Beca has come.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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gundhams-pandemonium · 4 years ago

Text

The Dating Game

@fandom-goddd and @bakablyat

[Chapter One of my Shinsai Salmon Mode fic, Dm me for the Ao3 link. Nothing Explicit BUT some implied V3 spoilers]

"... A dating game?" He echoed the bear's words as he lay on his dorm room's bed. It was already strange to wake up in a locker, introduce himself to fifteen other people, and have a mechanical bear talk about how the 'original program changed' and this was 'a different mode'.

[Something about a killing game... Shuichi would rather not think about that too hard]

It was quite frankly... a mess. He should probably get to talking to people if he expected to find love. At the same time, how was someone supposed to find love in ten days?

[However there was an undeniable feeling and even partial truth that he knew these people. Like when Momota (who instituted on being called Kaito), someone he supposedly never met, called him 'sidekick' and it just felt right. Or how Akumatsu, the girl he woke up in the same classroom as, commented she was proud he took off his hat... it was odd to be with familiar strangers]

A knock at his door brought him to his senses. He opened, cautiously peering out until he saw the enthusiastic Piano Player.

"Hey! Shuichi!" She gave him a motivated greeting, her smile wide.

"Oh, hello Akumatsu," He returned her smile, though his not nearly as big.

"You know you can call me Kaede, but nevermind that. So, come on tell me, who do you have your eyes set on," She gave a teasing poke to his shoulder. He only stepped back, face flushed red.

"E-eyes on?" She hadn't already begun this 'dating game', did she?

"Mhmm," All of sudden her eyes went wide "You have started talking to the others, right?"

"Umm, No But- Hey!" He was grabbed and now being dragged out of his room.

"Nope, come on! Let's find you someone nice to hang out with," Soon he was released and following behind her.

He really was being dragged into this, huh?

"Hmmm, I see Kaito is with Maki. Kiibo is over there talking with Rantaro while Kokichi is spying on them. Himiko is being fought over by Angie and Tenko. Well, at least they look like they're having fun," Kaede talked about his 'potential suitors' (her words not his), her arms crossed as she carefully considered everyone. The detective only looked over at whomever she was talking about and began to feel tension in his chest. "Ooo maybe- wait no Tsumugi is taking a rest in her room last I knew. We were running in the gym, to try something new for the both of us, and I think I wore her out".

"Um, I don't want to be seen as being too pushy but maybe we can hang out?" At least comparatively she seemed very approachable, and he already felt semi-comfortable talking with her.

"I would love to! But... well actually, I'm about to go spend some time with Kirumi. However, Miu wanted something to eat first and I wanted to see how you were doing so it worked out. But, I don't think we'd have enough time to 'hang out' 'hang out', make sense?"

"Yeah, that does..." A little disappointing, but he wasn't going to be upset at her. Really, he should be thankful she's making an effort for him otherwise he'd probably still be contemplating in his room.

"Hey! Anyone not busy!" She called out and Shuichi really wished he had his hat to hide under. "Well that didn't work- wait! Shinguji, are you with anyone right now?" Her energy knew no bounds as she spun on her heels and headed toward her attended 'target' dragging the other teen behind her.

She was speaking to the long haired teen who'd been sitting quietly on the bench; from what the detective could recall his full name was Korekiyo Shinguji, and his title was the Ultimate Anthropologist. He was a bit strange, but he had no obvious qualms with him.

Korekiyo's eyes looked up from the book he held in his hands and glided from Kaede to lock with Shuichi's. His golden eyes piercing, and though he couldn't see due to the black zippered mask on his face he could imagine a smirk to go along with it. As if the detective was something to study-

He blinked his thought away, not sure exactly where they came from. Afterall, he'd hardly had a conversation with him. How could he guess if he was smiling much less what his thoughts were.

[At the same time, the idea in his head remained. And though it wasn't up and fore front it hadn't fully left him]

"With anyone? " He repeated, turning back to her.

[How.. How long were they looking at each other? Was it not really long at all? Was it in his head?]

"Yeah, for the game we're currently in," She replied, hands on her hips.

"Kehehe, no. I'd been reading, and when I wasn't I was just watching all around. This place is truly beautiful isn't it?"

The pianist in reply bit her lip, and Shuichi couldn't help feel the response was slightly... strange. Well, all people were different. Just because someone talks differently then how you expected didn't mean they were bad or anything.

"It is a nice day out, and you know who you can enjoy the day with! Shuichi," She splayed her arms out like the woman showing a prize on a quiz show. And before Shuichi could tell her anything else she raced off.

Well, she gave him no other choice. At least, despite his odd demeanor, he didn't seem cruel or crude [There were many crude people he decided against... dating]. Actually, sitting and reading a book was quite a common thing that he liked to do himself.

[He could hear Kiyo reading aloud. A text he couldn't focus on due to getting lost in his voice. Another odd, sudden, thought that he pushed back with anything else of this nature that appeared in his mind]

" I believe your friend just 'set you up' with me" The anthropologist brought a hand up to his chin, resting his palm against it.

"D-dont phrase it like that! Makes it sound so sinister..."

"Oh, really? Kehehehe..." His laugh trailed off.

Great, they were sitting awkwardly in silence. Not something you'd do just trying to meet someone, and especially not someone you were attempting to speed date.

"So, what book are you reading?" Certainly this was a good starting point.

"The Necronomicon," Or not.

"The... what?"

"Kehehe," He laughed. Oh, he was joking? With how serious he sounded he didn't even realise.

Then he turned the book around, for the title to be showcased. It read "The Necronomicon". His mind blanked, was he supposed to laugh too? Was he to question this book? Would he be offended by his shock?

"Not that I believe this book to be factual..." Oh thank- " While spirits are real, you can not just bring the dead to life. Though, it Is amusing in a way to read."

Shuichi felt like he was getting hit by a pillow only to turn around and to get a swift kick to the gut. It wasn't necessarily painful to talk to him, but he couldn't keep up with these constant surprises that blindsided him.

"Where did you find it?" That can't be too outrageous, nor have him completely confused by the answer.

"My dorm room. Monokuma, which refers to itself as headmaster, told me it was a reward. Though for what he did not specify. Curious don't you think? I've never met before yet he implies he knows me well and that I'm deserving of this for something I've done in the past. If it is a present due to my talent... Well I don't see why since my Ultimate Lab is enough."

Once again they fell into silence, though this one was more thought provoking. An intermission, so to speak, to pull the clues together and to start bouncing theories off each other.

"Maybe, it's not that we've been here before but that they've tracked us? After all, I walked past Kaede's Ultimate Lab and it was completely customized to her. And they took us from various places..." Shuichi said, already feeling ridiculous. This probably wasn't what the guy was aiming for, to make actual theories. They were just here for a simple conversation and now he was making him ponder their odd (and slightly horrifying) situation.

"They did kidnap us all for a purpose, and made sure we are Ultimates... They did mention this was like a reality show? Perhaps us being Ultimates, and teenagers, is supposed to draw in the viewers. Make them believe this is something extraordinarily ordinary. Ridiculous really, romance is romance and human romance has beauty in all forms. Whether it be the start of one, the end, or even the middle it holds a plethora of emotions; romance is celebrated in all cultures in some way, whether it be marriage or otherwise. Did you know about the Celtic wedding tradition that later was adopted into Christian ones? You see, they used to throw rice at the newlyweds. It is still done today, albeit rarely due to it affecting birds. The rice was to symbolize growth, expansion really, of the family. So... beautiful. Food has always been so precious but love triumphs that."

The anthropologist rambled on, and he couldn't help but feel enraptured by each word. It was fascinating, and to hear someone he first thought wasn't talkative at all... well it lifted a weight off his shoulder that he would have to lead the conversation.

"You seem to know a lot about romance. Do you read romance novels?"

"Know a lot... ah, you have misunderstood. This is simply what I've gathered from careful observation and analysis. Not from novels, though, if from any books they'd be nonfiction. Those are my prefered choices after all," he looked at the book he'd brought with "And I'd hardly call this a usual book for me... do you like to read, Saihara?"

"Oh yeah, I read from a lot of different genres. Though, as cheesy as this sounds I prefer detective novels. If it's a good one I like to try and put the clues together before the protagonist can,"

"Very cliche as you put it. But what is expected of a detective, you must constantly be prepared,"

"I'd really hardly call myself a detective, I just enjoy puzzle solving. For example, I couldn't solve a murder case in real life or anything but a book I could... I only solved one missing persons case, it was originally my Uncle's and..." Shuichi could already feel a wave of shame and guilt come over him; he didn't deserve this "Ultimate" he was just a glorified puzzle-solver. He ruined someone's life and now he was living in a dream-like world where his only goal was to find love.

"There is nothing wrong with preferring puzzles, nor nothing wrong with only solving one case. You have a talent, and if that is evident in the academy then it doesn't matter what you've done and rather what you will do,".

Shuichi wasn't sure he wanted to do much of anything more with being a detective but... well he appreciated the kindness in the other's words.

"... Observation," Korekiyo stated, as if it made sense on its own.

"Huh?"

"You would make a good anthropologist, or at least it may interest you slightly. It is all about observing, and to solve something you must do some observation," Though his eyes were looking at him, they seemed not to see him. As if looking beyond him "Would you be opposed to being taught about the subject?"

He froze at the question. That was... quite a sudden leap? Although, looking at his fellow classmate, it was as if that is what had been on his mind the whole time. He didn't have anything against learning, knowledge was something he always enjoyed, yet he felt something stop him from immediately saying yes.

Why did his hands suddenly feel so sweaty, and why did his mind buzz with sudden anxiety? He would never deny that social situations were not his strong suit, but something like this hadn't happened before.

Swallowing his fear (and the dryness in his throat), he responded.

[This next choice will affect the rest of your route...]

[Accept ] <-----

[Reject] <------

[Accept] ✅

"Well, you are an expert on the subject! I think learning more on it could be interesting, especially if-"

"Excellent!" Korekiyo blurt out, and for the first time Shuichi saw his emotions shine. It was a sudden burst of energy, one he quickly composed himself to cover up "...this evening, after meal-time, meet me in the library. Preferably around seven and no later than nine. The books will, hopefully, be more informational than the one in my room. I will see you later, Saihara. Be prepared for your eyes to be opened upon seeing the beauty of humanity."

Without another word, or a response, the anthropologist left him.

He certainly got himself into a commitment...

It was lunch, and Kaede proposed they sit together.

"Do you wanna sit with Kirumi? Oh, unless your, uhh, date didn't go well?" Shuichi asked, the bouncy girl shook her head.

“We were fine! But she's serving everyone food, and I wanted to sit with you. Y'know," She gave a wink and a smile "I was wondering how you and Korekiyo hit it off."

"You make it sound so... official," His face reddened and she laughed "I think it went well? We're going to meet in the library at seven," He explained, trying to pull at a hat that wasn't there.

[He couldn't remember ever taking it off... but he also remembers it being in his room...]

"Oh? Really? That's so exciting! See, a date!"

"Well, we all are going on dates... that's the point of this all," He mumbled out.

"But he wants to talk to you more, that's promising! Unless..." her voice trailed off "Do you like him Shuichi? If not then obviously you don't have to-"

"I-its nothing like that!" He cut her off, immediately feeling regret doing so "It's... I'm not sure what to think of him? I've only known him for a few hours. He seems nice, but what if...what if he's just a friend type?"

"Well, I guess you'll have to find out!" She gave her companion a pat on the back. "Don't stress too much, this situation may be strange but it isn't the worst. Keep your head up high, and get to know some people. Even if you are nothing more than platonic, it will be worth meeting him, right?"

"... You're right! Thanks Kaede."

"No problem! Now let's get something to eat!"

"Perfect timing, Saihara," He stepped into the library, the smell of mold already hitting his nose. It was a dirty,dingy place, it couldn't even be argued that it was old in the "cute aesthetic way". His eyes scanned, seeing the piles upon piles of books that were stacked not only on the shelves but the floor.

Korekiyo was sitting in the corner, a small table and a pile of books beside him.

He wondered, silently, if the stuffiness of the area even bothered him slightly.

" How many books is that?" Shuichi sat down across from his, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Hm, just twelve. But they are merely for reference or in case you want to study a topic further. I prefer explaining things myself," His golden irises didn't even seem to dim in the dingy room, as if they were glowing "But where to start?"

He felt more in a college lecture, than on a date. If lectures were between two people, that is. Maybe more of a study group... well it certainly didn't feel romantic. Somehow, that eased his worries. This was to get to know each other, he didn't have to prepare himself for hand holding nor kisses right away.

" Well, I know that anthropology is the study of people, but how about you give me your definition?" This would certainly get him talking.

"Hm, that certainly is a good place to start. Anthropology studies the thoughts behind traditions and customs. It delves into the topic of folklore, and the way differnt tales from all over have similarities. Or even how the same story has differences. It is all based on how people interrupt as well as putting one's own feelings into the tales. It's not just with folklore, though certain anthropologists only study folklore, you would be able to do the same with customs. Anthropology is a truly human study through and through, so your definition isn't wrong just lacking in the specific details, " One would find it hard to read someone's expression when half thier face was covered, But where he lacked his hands flowed in joy. It wasn't overtly distracting, otherwise his point would be null and void, instead in tune with how he spoke. " Anthropology is everywhere, and is constantly changing, which is why my studies will never be fully done. It is why I must observe and research continuously- It may be hard to some but it is merely routine for me."

Hearing him talk about something so passionately piqued his interest. He'd never thought of anthropology as a topic of interest besides mild, but if Kiyo was leading the discussion he sure he wouldn't mind.

The conversation continued to flow; with Kiyo's long rambles and Shuichi asking questions which would either continue the topic in more detail or the conversation to move to a different part of the vast subject.

"Shuichi, have you ever traveled before?"

"Traveled? What do you mean?" That came out of virtually nowhere; though he was discussing field work in different countries, he hadn't suspected being asked himself.

"Taken trips, whether they be on your own or with others. Or, do you tend to stay in one place?" Shuichi was about to explain before a noise cut off his sentence.

"Ding, Dong, Bing, Bong," An almost chilling chime played on the speakers.

[All he could remember was blood splattered on the shelfs, and pooled on the library floor. The victim lay- Wait, what? He wasn't a homicide detective...]

"It is 10 pm, officially nighttime," Monokuma's announcement rang through, the Monkubs chiming in once and a while to add on with little remarks.

"Hm, I suppose we should leave and retire for the night... we shall resume tomorrow, at the same time? "

Tomorrow as well? Well, he could hardly refuse, and he was still curious about the topic.

"That sounds good; well I'll see you then, it was really interesting talking about anthropology with you," He gave a smile, and the other looked pleased.

They went their separate ways, and Shuichi was pleasantly surprised with the outcome of the "date". Whether he'd become friends... or... either way he could see his relationship growing positively.

[End of Day One]

#danganronpa #shinsai #v3 killing harmony #shuichi saihara #korekiyo shinguji

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nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years ago

Text

Sometimes You Lose - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Morgan x reader

Warnings: angst (loads of it), character death, slightly AU Morgan (nervous when confronted with reader’s feelings for him), mentions of blood and gunshot wounds, mentions of guns

Word count: 1724

A/N: Okay, so I was in some rough headspace when I wrote this so, as a result, there is no fluff ending. Rather, it is a solid angst fest. I really struggled to find a different word, other than desperate that fit this one but couldn’t. So it’s in here a few times. Hope y’all like it. And as per usual, requests are open!

Reader and Derek come to the realization that they have feelings for each other, but is it too late?

The case had been going remarkably well, at least considering the fact that you and the team were hunting down a killer. Reid had easily identified the kill zone and the profile had been built relatively quickly by the team. After canvassing the kill zone, and interviewing the two known witnesses, the team had been able to identify the unsub. Hotch quickly divided the team in two and sent one pair, you and Morgan to the unsub’s house, while he and Rossi went to the unsub’s work location. Reid and JJ stayed back at the precinct, where they continued to review the case, in case the unsub wasn’t who they currently thought.

You weren’t thrilled at the prospect of having to spend one-on-one time with Morgan. In the past, the thought alone would have had your nerves dancing with excitement and butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Because that is exactly what you had, a crush.

It wasn’t just any crush though. Your thoughts were dominated by him. You spent many a free moment fantasizing about how you’d tell him about your feelings and how he’d respond. After years of pining for him, you finally decided to tell him how you felt. So you did, a few days ago. In all of your fantasies, you had never imagined any outcome other than a positive one. But, after the way he responded, you should have thought about the negative ones as well.

-Three days ago-

It was late in the afternoon and the team had spent the entire day working on the ever-growing pile of paperwork. You all had just finished a case the night before and had yet to take on a new one, therefore making it a day for paperwork. After a solid hour of casework at your desk, you decide to get up, stretch your legs, and grab a caffeinated drink. After grabbing your favorite soda out of the fridge, you take a seat next to Morgan at the small table.

“Hey, baby girl. Taking a break from the grind?” His deep voice sends thrills racing down your spine.

“Yeah. There is only so much paperwork I can do at once.” You answer, resting your head in your hand.

“I’m glad you chose to take a break now doll, or else I wouldn’t get to share it with you.” His words, accompanied by a wide smile, brought a deep need rising in your chest. A deep need to tell him the truth, to tell him how you felt.

“Derek I, ugh, need to talk to you. I guess I have for a while now. I don’t really know how to say this so I guess I’m just going to say it. I like you, a lot. More than a friend should like another friend. I like like you.” You were rambling out what you had been keeping a secret before you could stop yourself. He didn’t move or speak. He just sat there staring at you.

You stare at him for a few moments, before saying, “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to respond. I mean, I know what I wanted you to say, but I should have figured…”

He suddenly cuts you off with a short “Oh, um-I gotta go.” He quickly stands, sending you a remorseful smile, before leaving you alone in the break room, with your mouth hanging open in response.

It doesn’t take an IQ of 187 for you to realize that you had made him uncomfortable, or for you to realize that he most definitely did not feel the same way as you did.

-----

Ever since that awkward conversation in the break room, you did everything you could to avoid spending time with him. You didn’t want to make him feel as though you were obsessed with him by pushing yourself on him or forcing him into a confrontation. But now, you didn’t have a choice.

After Hotch paired the two of you up, you had geared yourself up for a very quiet, awkward ride to the unsub’s house. Yet again, it was as if the universe mocked you for thinking you knew what was going on.

Derek had only just pulled away from the precinct when he starts talking. “I need to apologize for the other day doll. You caught me off guard, but in a good way.” He sneaks a glance at you, placing his hand on top of yours on the divider. You hold your breath as you wait for him to continue, not ready to believe that he might be saying what you’d wanted to hear from him for years.

“I like like you too, Y/N. And I don’t think that I will ever be able to truly apologize for letting you think that I didn’t feel the same way.” He pauses for a moment, taking your hand and bringing it slowly up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before he continues. “I was, no I am, scared. I can’t lose you, baby girl, I can’t.” His broken voice causes your stomach to clench nervously. You had never seen Derek Morgan be anything but strong.

“I’m here Derek. You’re not going to lose me.” You whisper, caressing his hand, the one that was still entwined with yours, with your thumb. He gives you a small smile, accompanied by a gentle squeeze to your hand.

The rest of the drive goes by quietly, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Derek holds your hand right up until he shuts the SUV off. You both quickly strap on your Kevlar vests before exiting the vehicle. Derek knocks roughly on the door, announcing the two of you as you go around the back of the house.

No one answers and you can make out the sound of him kicking open the door. You test the back door, noticing its unlocked, before entering the house. You draw your gun, moving swiftly through the house when you hear a series of gunshots. You rush towards the source of the sound, catching a glimpse of what you assume is the unsub fleeing the house. Moving to follow the unsub, you are stopped short by the sight off to your left.

Derek is sprawled out on the floor, a desperate hand clutching where his neck met his shoulders. From where your standing, you can see the continuously growing pool of blood oozing out from under his hand. You don’t even take the time clear the rest of the room before you are rushing towards him, shouting for backup, and an ambulance in your comms link. You’re kneeling next to him, your hands covering his in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding before you even comprehend what your doing.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, Derek.” You call as you watch his eyes glass over with pain and unconsciousness. You give him a little nudge with your hip, causing his eyes to clear.

“Baby girl. I’m-” A brutal cough erupts from his chest, causing the bleeding to speed up. “I’m not gonna make it.” His words shatter your already fragile heart.

“Don’t say that Derek Morgan. You’ll make it out of this if I have anything to say about it.” You distraughtly spit out, your hands attempting to spread even further apart, to cover as much of the wound as possible. Tears slowly breach your lower eyelashes, falling steadily down your cheeks.

He weakly lifts his free hand up, using it to pull your head down to his. He presses his lips, dry, cracked, and tasting of blood, to yours. Never would you have imagined this as how your first kiss with him would go.

The kiss lasts only a moment, as another rough cough echoes through his chest. Your eyes search his, willing for this to be all a dream. You’d take having to spend the rest of your life as his friend, with him never knowing how you truly felt, over watching him die here in front of you.

“I couldn’t d-die without getting to kiss y-you.” He stammers out, the act of speaking alone taking a lot out of him.

“Shhhh. Don’t try and talk.” You sob, your chest constricting tightly as you watch the life drain out of him. “Hold on Derek. They’ll be here soon.”

He feebly shakes his head before continuing. “You’re going,” another chest-rattling cough cuts him off. “Going to have to be strong for Pen. She’s go-gonna need you.” You shake your head in an attempt to keep him from continuing, hoping in some desperate way, that if he didn’t finish, he couldn’t leave you.

He coughs again, this time causing blood to dribble out of his mouth. “Tell mom and my sis-sisters I love them.” He manages to bring his hand up to your face, caressing it lightly. “And know, if it we-were up to me, I’d spend the rest of my life with you.” His words are barely audible, but you still hear them. The significance of his words has you sobbing in earnest.

“No Derek. Don’t say that. Hang on for me. Just a little bit longer.” You hope your words will keep him until help arrives but you can see he is at the end of his rope.

“Please, please. Don’t go.” You say longingly, not ready to lose him before you even had the chance to call him your own.

As you watch his chest rise with his last breath, you see all your fantasies fall away, like dust in the wind. No longer can you see the two of you going on your first date or celebrating your first anniversary. Gone are the fantasies of lazy Saturday mornings with Derek in bed, or of the white picket fence, and the two kids. You’ll never hear him say he loves you, hear him call you his wife, or even hear him call you baby girl again.

You fall across his chest, hoping and praying that he will wake up, or that you’ll wake up and it will all be a dream. But alas, it’s no dream. Rather it’s the harsh reality that you have to spend the rest of your life without the one person you truly wanted to spend it with.

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justreadingfics · 5 years ago

Text

His Girl (Revamped Version)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you. Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side.

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Love Triangle, Pining, Smut, Revamped version of first fic written by the author, 18+.

Word Count: 4k.

A/N: Hi!! I’m sorry to say but this isn’t something entirely new. I’ve been thinking about revamping the first fic I’ve ever wrote for a while now. I love the story, but every time I read the original, it made me cringe for several reasons. I like this version better, but I haven’t sent this to a beta and you all know English isn’t my first nor my everyday language, so you may still find a significant number of cringy stuff, lol. If you read it and like it, don’t hold back on the feedback 😊 I’m tagging my permanent list.

Masterlist link on description.

He pays no mind to the loud beating of the music thundering into his ears, nor to the sea of dancing bodies and cheerful laughs around him as he makes a beeline for the bar. Another one of Tony’s big shindigs, one he can barely remember the reason for, if there ever has been one to start with…

He has lost count of how many he had to attend since he had joined the team. He hates it, of course he does. Everybody knows it… Bucky Barnes hates parties. He hates so many eyes which cross path with his, some condescending, some pitiful, others gleaming with fear… or hatred. He hates them all, but he knows he still deserves them all.

It has been a slow process after he came back from Wakanda, where Shuri has finally found a treatment for the trigger words and other horrors Hydra had seen fit to grace his mind with. He still struggles… with social events, with talking to people, with letting them in, showing himself… What could they see if they really look?

He hates parties, yeah… but he goes to all of them. For one and only reason. He takes a seat by the bar and, while he waits for the whisky he just ordered, his gaze roams and search through the crowd, looking for the reason he’s there after all…

You.

It’s been like this from the moment he laid his eyes on you. His gaze always searching, seeking you, longing that the sight of you can ease the ache in his chest that comes with the absence of your touch. To be honest, Bucky can’t understand why you have this effect on him, you two have barely exchanged more than two words and, even if his gaze is always sneakily on you, he shies away whenever you draw near. He rather keep his distance… he needs to.

But he’s completely and utterly infatuated by you. Not like he remembers much of his life, but he’s damn certain he has ever felt this way about anyone. Ever. He can’t stop thinking about how you held his left hand with no sign of hesitance when you two were introduced. He was so entranced by you that he’s sure he has held on to your touch longer than socially acceptable, and yet you didn’t make a move to let go before he did. He’s obsessed by the way your hips swing from side to side when you walk, by how you always looks straight into the eyes of whomever you’re talking to, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh and a small and adorable snort comes out of you… yeah, your laugh! The most amazing sound Bucky has ever heard. And there’s always a smile on your lips, for everyone.

Except for him.

Why, after that first time you two met, wouldn't you speak to him again? Fear… That’s the only possible explanation in Bucky’s mind. Of course you would be frightened by him…The Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, the Assassin… He may be called the White Wolf now, but it doesn’t erase what came before…

With the whiskey now in his hands, his lips barely touch the glass when he finally spots you.

There you are, his reason, across the room, laughing while Sam says something. At that moment and every other moment, Bucky wishes he could be the lucky bastard who’s able to make you laugh like that. He takes a minute to take in the sight of the woman who he keeps up all night thinking about. You have your hair styled on that way you always have at parties. Bucky knows you choose that style because it’s easier and then you can do your hair yourself, oblivious to the fact that it drives him crazy with want to dive his fingers through your locks and tilt your head so he can ravish your neck with kisses and intake the sweet scent of you…

He gulps as his gaze falls down your body and he notices what you’re wearing that night. A long black dress. The side slit goes high enough to make Bucky’s heart speed up as he takes in the exposed skin of your thigh. The deep V neckline isn’t doing any good to his mental state either…

God, you’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you.

Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side. Holding your hand the way Bucky only can in his dreams. The lump is thick on his throat at the reality.

Steve Rogers. Captain America.

His Stevie. Bucky’s best friend and brother, the punk who started a fucking war with the rest of the World to defend him. The one who introduced you to Bucky.

You…

His girl.

And that’s the reason why, besides the fact he damn sure scares the shit out of you, Bucky would never get to touch you, feel your skin on his. Breathe you in… Taste you…. The reason why he avoids any kind of close contact and is happy to worship your image from a distance. He can’t , by any means, give in to his feelings or get closer to you. He can’t take that chance.

He’s been fighting… against himself. He’s been dating around, trying hard to get you out of his head out of his very soul if he’s going to be honest. But all he accomplished is to compare every single woman he’s seen with you, and wonder how it would feel if you were the one he was holding, kissing, making love to.

“Jesus, you’re so screwed.”

Drowned in his thoughts Bucky has missed the redhead approaching, martini in her hand, sitting on a stool next to him with a smirk on her lips.

“What are you talking about, Romanoff?” He tries to play the ignorance card, knowing damn well that it would be pointless. The stunning spy is able to read his mind like no other, Steve included. Maybe it’s their shared past, the one they never speak of, but lingers in the air. The ex-assassins simply understand each other.

“Please Barnes, you’re wounding me.” Natasha rolls her eyes and brings the drink to her lips.

Bucky bites on his lips before letting out a humorless chuckle, “That obvious, huh?” He says, defeat in his voice and a hint of worry that his secret may not be as hidden as he thought.

“To me, yes”. She shrugs before spending a moment observing him, while he goes back to watching you across the room, hand in hand with his best friend. With a sigh, Natasha kindly places her empty hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “Just be careful, Bucky. Neither of you have been much discreet lately. Everyone else is a bit dumb, but I don’t know…”

Bucky snaps his head back to her, as his eyebrows knit close together, spotting the rare sympathetic smile on her tightened lips.

“What do you mean? In what way she’s not being discreet?”

The empathy on Natasha’s face falls and is swiftly turned into a familiar glare. Letting out a huff, she stands up and turns her back to him, leaving Bucky behind, mumbling words that his enhanced hearing catches as “Stupid Super Soldiers. No Serum in the brains, for sure”.

He’s left confused as he watches Natasha joining the rest of the gang who is now sitting by a round table close to the dance floor. As usual, she takes the chair next to Clint and orders for another drink. Bucky moves his eyes to Steve, who has his back to him, sitting across the Widow, leaning forward to say something to her. She responds by pointing to the bar where Bucky stands.

Steve turns his head to his best friend and whey their gazes meet, the blonde grins and waves, calling Bucky towards the gathered group.

Finding no way to decline the offer, Bucky sighs before he nods and heads to the table that is also accommodating Sam, Wanda and Maria Hill. Getting close, his heart rushes to his throat when notices that the only empty seat is the one next to you, who have your back turned to him.

“Hey Buck, come here and take a seat, the food is amazing,” Steve says with a mouthful, pointing with the fork to the mountain of food in his plate.

The fact that his fellow Super Soldier is the only one eating – the exorbitant amount of food- makes him think of the skinny kid from Brooklyn who could barely finish a whole glass of milk. The memory brings a warm smile to Bucky’s face, which fades as soon as he spots your stiffened shoulders as you glance nervously at the empty seat beside you, still avoiding to look at him.

“Ahm, I don’t know pal, I’m not really that hungry” Bucky replies, brushing the back of his neck. The last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable by imposing his closeness.

“Oh, come on Tin Can, grace us with your broodiness… It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. Or do you already have a broad waiting?” Sam asks, emphasizing the outdated slang in an attempt to tease his centenary friend.

Missing how you take a long sip from your own whiskey, Bucky pretends to be amused by the conversation and makes a face to Sam. He can’t find it in him to prolong the subject or to say no the puppy eyes Steve always wear to break him and never fails, so he pulls out a chair and takes his seat. Right beside you.

Steve goes back to his food and the group goes back to chatting. The words are far from the focus of his attention as it’s so damn easy for him to feel the heat irradiating from your body, so close to him all he has to do is... Bucky’s glad for Sam and his never stopping mouth as no one seems to notice how his whole body flinches when his right thigh ever so lightly brushes against yours under the table. He quickly pulls his leg away, but not before goosebumps spring unbidden across his skin at the brief yet burning touch.

He’s expecting you to move the chair closer to Steve, to prevent any kind of contact with him to happen, but… but instead, she leans back on his touch, seeking the overwhelming sensation again, brushing her leg against his and leaving it there.

All the sound around him fades away, replaced simply by the thundering sound of his beating heart.

Every single inch of him is completely stiffened when he rests his hand on his leg and by the corner of his eyes he sees you furtively doing the same thing. Feeling a rush of boldness and a lack of better judgment, he moves it closer to yours until your pinkies link between your laps. He feels dizzy when you softly caress his finger with yours and all of a sudden, like it’s the most natural thing to do, he has all of his fingers tightly interlocked with yours.

His holding hands with you under the table cloth and it’s so damn hard to breathe now. Bucky’s mind runs in full speed, matching his heart, but yet, for that moment, time seems to freeze and everything’s slow motion as a forbidden, yet beautiful promise takes over his senses.

No… It wasn’t fear the reason why she kept his distance from him… She’s touching him, he has her soft hands on his. And it feels so right…

“Are you ok, Barnes? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Bucky’s stupor is swiftly interrupted by a familiar voice in the far distance. It’s Natasha, of fucking course.

The unwanted attention makes you quickly remove your hand and back away your leg.

Bucky feels empty.

“Ahm, Yeah I..I guess I need another drink, I’ll be right back” Bucky’s chair screeches against the floor as he stands up and leaves the table, choosing to ignore Natasha’s suspicious look. To his relief the rest of their friends are apparently unfazed and oblivious to anything.

In need of a place to calm his restless state, he heads to the rooftop. Getting out of the elevator, he takes in the fresh air, relishing into the breeze of the night and, watching the city lights, the puzzled events of the last couple of minutes keep running over in his mind. You touched him… he can still feel the burning where your skin met and he knows that you were as much affected by it as him… What the hell’s happening?

The quietness of the rooftop is broken by the elevator ding behind him. His heart jumps when he turns his head and spots the person coming out of it. He can’t. He can’t hold back a second longer anymore, and without even thinking, he takes two quick steps, closing the distance between you and him to press his lips against yours. As he pulls you to him, you immediately kiss him back, one hand tangling in his lose locks, while the other snakes up his chest.

Without breaking the sloppy and needy kiss, Bucky pins you against the nearest wall. He’s so drunk in your taste, he doesn’t want to let you go…Not again. Not now. He feels the whiskey you’ve been drinking mixed with your Chapstick and something sweet, that he knows it’s all you and he thought he would never get to taste.

Finally…

Both of your arms circle his neck while one hand still holds the back of his hair in a grip. You gasp for air and Bucky takes the chance to ravish your collarbone with a trail of hot kisses, reaching your pulse point to lightly bite on it. You let out a moan and while you tighten the hold on his locks, Bucky realizes he has never listened to anything as beautiful.

“I need you… Please.” You’re breathless when you whisper the words to his ear, reaching down between your bodies to palm the bulge straining his pants.

If Bucky had a tiny bit of control until then, it is completely lost now with the husky plea coming from your lips. He captures your mouth once again, and moving quickly, he travels his hand up your exposed leg through the dress slit, burying his fingers under the band of your underwear to find the velvet skin already damp. He lightly brushes the little nub there and the sensation pulls a primal groan from him and a deep sigh from you through the kiss.

Tangling his tongue into yours, he pulls the black lace material down and when it falls to your knees, you wiggle your legs to let it drop to the floor before you step out of it. Without breaking his lips from yours, Bucky quickly goes to his belt, as you pull the skirt of your dress by the side slid up to your waist. When his erection springs free, Bucky holds your leg up to open you for him and just can’t waste anymore time as he guides his impossibly hard cock to your wet entrance.

It’s almost too much… the sensation of being inside you, so damn close, the velvet heat tightening around him…a kind of intimacy he only dreamed about. You cling to him as he slowly pushes himself further and the air leaves him a sharp exhale when he bottoms out. Only then, your lips detach from his as your breaths come out short.

Keeping your leg locked around his waist, he uses his metal hand to support himself on the wall, while you maintain a firm grip on his shoulders. You two exchange gazes for what feels like the first time and for a moment you just stay like that, staring to each other, studying every little inch of each other’s faces… Getting acquainted… Body and soul, Bucky suspects, as something entirely new and powerful grows inside him. A sense of calm, of peace, of belonging…

When he starts to move, he goes slow at first, allowing you two to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. You fell so damn good around him, better than any day and night dream he ever had, he realizes, as his flesh hand leave your leg, secured around his waist, to pull down the shoulder straps of your dress. One, then the other, dropping down your arms and exposing your breasts to him.

Beautiful, so damn beautiful, it makes him breathless…

He watches as your eyes close and your lips part a little, whimpering in sheer ecstasy, when he grabs one of your breasts into his hand, never stopping the slow and deep move of his hips. He gently massages the soft flesh, and can’t take his eyes off your face as the slight shift of expressions in synch with his actions shows how much pleasure he’s giving to you.

“Oh, Bucky…”

Hearing the whisper of his name in your mouth, especially in such a sinful way, makes his heart melt and his cock twitch inside of you. His thrusts grow faster and the two of you become a mess of heavy breaths and moans. Bodies glued together, your skin is hot against his and your breathe tingles over his neck. It’s perfect. And it feels so right, so damn right, when your pussy clenches around him…

He needs to feel it again and the frenzy you both share boosts when Bucky’s flesh fingers meet your clit. He circles the nub in fast, harsh circles as you tighten your leg around him for support. A slight change in the angle and the extra stimulation makes you let out a scream of pure ecstasy. He feels it coming as your cunt grips his cock in the most delicious way.

Your whole body shakes against him as you let out a wanton moan, signaling your climax. As you fall apart, Bucky’s fingers leave your heat to hold you tightly by your waist. He knows he isn't going to last much longer, he just can’t, even if he wants to have you like this forever, breathless in the pleasure he’s provided you with while he can feel your heart thunders against your chest and your tongue brushing over the skin of his neck.

“I need to taste you,” you breathe and it startles him for a second when you push at his chest, forcing him to pull out of your pulsing heat.

His mind goes blank when you sink to your knees and grip the base of his cock, coated in your arousal, and your mouth wraps around the throbbing tip. He watches down in awe, supporting himself with both arms on the wall. Your soft lips around his cock makes him lose his fucking senses and a few bobs of your head is already too much for him to handle.

“I.. I’m … gonna…. ”, Bucky tries to warn you, only making you grab his ass and clutch his hips still, not letting him pull away from you.

He groans loudly and can’t hold back anymore before you take everything he has to offer, not missing a single drop of the most powerful orgasm he ever had.

Struggling to breathe and gather his thoughts again, Bucky offers his hand to help you get on your feet and pulls you in a tight embrace as his forehead leans against yours, sharing the blissful state.

He loves you.

If he didn’t know that before, it’s pretty damn clear now. He loves you and this love will ruin him. Of that he’s sure, while he holds your half naked body to his.

When breathing isnt’t so hard anymore, you’re the first one to speak.

“I love Steve… I really do.”

Bucky’s eyes close and he sighs at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Yeah, I know, I love that punk too,” he responds matter-of-factly in a sad smile.

“You must think I´m a-” A sob breaks through your lips before you have the chance to continue.

“Shhh,” He whispers as he cups your face and uses his thumb to caress your cheek and wipe the tears falling down. “Never,” he assures you, shaking his head, “I would never think anything like that of you.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” you add, pleading for him to believe, and Bucky hates to hear the sorrow in your beautiful voice.

“I know sweetheart, I know…” He tries to sooth you, even if his own heart is breaking at how ashamed you seem to be of what just happened, prompting his own guilt to tighten his throat.

“I don't want to hurt him,” You add. “But you…” The whisper is low as you lean your face against the touch of his hand, shutting your eyes. “God, I can’t take you of my mind ever since I first saw you, not matter how hard I tried. I’ve been going crazy,” You breathe hard as your eyes open and you look up at him, gripping hard the back of his suit with your hands.

Bucky’s heart beats harshly against his ribcage at your confession. “I know the feeling,” he says in the steadiest voice he can manage, keeping the brush of his thumb on your cheeks. “All I think about is you, all the time.” He almost can’t believe he’s actually telling you this, “I-I´m in-”

You don’t let him finish when you abruptly part from him, ceasing any kind of touch. The pained expression in your face is nothing but a plea, one that begs him: “please don’t say it”.

He doesn’t. He sulks in a breath and doesn’t say he’s completely and desperately in love with you and it feels so right even if he knows how damn wrong it is.

You bite on your lips and a heavy silence falls upon you as you fix your dress and hair, allowing him to put himself together, too. Your head drops, before you lean down and take your underwear from the floor.

“This can’t … won’t happen again,” You manage to make your words convincing, standing up in front of him as your jaw clenches, holding the small piece of black lace tightly in your hand.

Bucky shuts his eyes and nods. He knew this was coming, but the fact does nothing to ease the pain of hearing those words.

When he feels your grip on his chin, his eye pop open. You two stare at each other for a long moment, sharing the words, the ones forbidden to be said out loud, before you lock your lips together again.

As he pulls you to him, he focuses on every move, every touch, every sensation. Your tongue brushing against his, how he can feel himself and you through the sweet taste of your mouth, your skin, the shallow breaths and small whimpers, your hand into his hair… He clings to all of it. Memorizing how you feel, holding the sensations into his mind… his heart.

Bucky feels your hand slipping inside a pocket on his pants before you break the kiss and, without looking at him again, you run past him towards the elevator.

He sighs, bringing his fingers to his lips, as if this way he would make the phantom of your touch last longer… His gaze turns to the city lights when he hears the elevator going down and he places his hands inside his pockets.

His lips turn up in a longing smile, already missing the touch of yours, while his fingers play absent-mindedly with the piece of lace he finds inside his pocket.

He knows it would all come eventually, the sorrow, the guilt, the heartache. The pain. But at that moment, all he feels is you…

You….

His girl.

~~~~~~

The end.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #angs #bucky barnes series #cheating #angst #bucky angst

864 notes · View notes

buckleyirondad · 4 years ago

Photo

2. In The Hands Of The Enemy “Pick Who dies”

Peter has to choose who to save, Morgan or MJ.

AO3 Link

It was dark.

Michelle couldn’t see a thing, even when she strained her eyes.

She tried not to concentrate on that, or the rapid speed of her heart, instead she curled her arms around Morgan, who was tucked up against her chest, fighting through hiccupped sobs.

The truck took yet another, sudden turn, and Michelle’s shoulder collided with the interior.

She bit down on her lip, hard, ignoring it.

Morgan cried, “Mimi...”

Michelle brushed a hand through her hair, shushing her, “Yeah?”

She sniffled, “Is Petey coming?”

“I think so.”

Morgan sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Michelle hushed, “But I’m here, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

It had been a normal day, up until they were snatched and tossed into the back of a truck.

Michelle picked Morgan up from Kindergarten, like every other Friday. She loved doing it, it was calm among the chaos that was her life - with most of her time devoted to exam season, that was hurling towards her, and the constant lingering worry, that came hand-in-hand, with loving a superhero – picking her boyfriend’s little sister up, was somewhat normal.

Then it took the worst possible turn.

They started their usual walk back to Peter’s apartment, hoping he’d be finished picking up groceries for May, by the time they got there, and they could head off together to the Ice Cream Parlour.

Michelle had felt uneasy, halfway through the journey. She’d mindlessly pulled Morgan closer and walked faster.

She didn’t have a sixth sense like Peter, but she did have something he didn’t, and that was common sense.

She’d noticed, in the corner of her eye, two men, on the side of the road – dressed, head-to-toe, in black individual suits. She didn’t want to be labeled as paranoid, but in the movies, that would be a red alarm, and it was.

The general public knew that Morgan existed, but her family never shared photos of her, and she didn’t appear at events.

Pepper dealt with the press, and people snapping the occasional picture. It would get harder when she started school, but for now, they had it under control; the staff, the parents, and even the kids, at her Kindergarten, were incredibly understanding.

Tony and Pepper believed she deserved anonymity, she was too young to understand the downfalls of being in the public eye, but she could decide, what she wanted to do when she was older.

Michelle respected that.

Still, even with all those precautions, Morgan was still a target.

Thinking on her feet, Michelle had diverted, down an alleyway, pulling Morgan along, while scrambling for her phone.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Before she could press her panic button, they were grabbed.

They never even saw the faces of their abductors, it happened, in a flash.

They took her phone.

There was only one thing she could do – protect Morgan.

The truck came to a halt, and voices followed, joined by the unmistakable sound of doors closing.

Morgan shifted, “What’s—” She sounded so young, she didn’t deserve this, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve stopped—”

The doors at the back were thrown open, with heavy hands, the hinges squeaked.

Michelle jerked, cradling Morgan’s head close to her shoulder, shielding her from potential harm, while trying to adjust the bright light beaming in.

A man barked, “Get out.”

Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat, and slowly, slid forward, climbing out onto the solid ground while holding onto Morgan, who intuitively locked her legs around Michelle’s middle.

Michelle looked ahead, trying to paint of picture of where they were.

They were surrounded by abandoned apartments, there were signs, explaining that they were ready for demolition.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Michelle turned, and as soon as she saw him, her heart leaped, into her throat.

It was Mac Gargan. Weapon smuggler turned murderer.

He was involved in Peter’s infamous ‘ferry mishap’ that Michelle had heard about, a few times.

Also, in the five years when the universe was half empty, he’d managed to escape jail, and he hadn’t been seen since. Tony was looking for him, considering he had an obvious distaste for Spider-Man.

He stood proud, with a smirk, “Hello, hello, hello…” He sang, “Nice to meet you.”

Michelle bit her tongue, staying silent.

She studied him.

Gargan had a long jagged scar that snaked around his eye, which was bloodshot. He laughed humourlessly, motioning to it, “Admiring the view, sweetheart?” He asked, “You’re never gonna guess who’s responsible for this?”

He prodded her forehead, with his finger.

“Your boyfriend.” He howled, “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Her mouth dropped open, “You—”

He interrupted, “It wasn’t easy finding out.”

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip, “Toomes?”

“Bingo.” He applauded, “It took a while, a few…untraditional techniques, but he caved, in the end.”

He buried his hand, in his pocket, drawing out Michelle’s phone.

He barked an order, “Passcode, now.”

Michelle hesitated.

Gargan’s snapped his fingers and one of his goons stepped forward, a gun raised.

Gargan jerked his thumb in Morgan’s direction, “Passcode or her head?” He shrugged, “Guess you have a preference.”

“1-0-0-8.”

The gun was lowered, and Gargan sneered, “Thank you.” He stepped aside, “I’m gonna give your little boyfriend a call, then we’ll have a catch-up.” He pointed to his guards, “They’ll take you where you need to be.”

Michelle looked at them.

They were emotionless, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their mouths set in a determined line. Michelle’s eyes hadn’t properly adjusted, to the outside world, but the main difference, she could see, between the pair, was one of a few inches taller than the other.

One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her aside, “This way.”

The other chipped in, “Don’t try anything.”

They were led into one of the buildings and up the staircase. It was, at least, twenty stories high, but Michelle refused to put Morgan down, not for anything.

Her stomach twisted, churning violently, the closer they got to the roof. Stepping out onto it, sent a chill up her spine like she’d stepped over somebody’s grave.

The taller guard, watched them, like a hawk, not letting them out of his sight.

The other was a chatterbox and wouldn’t shut up about how hungry he was.

Gargan stepped through the door, after a while, wearing a valiant smile, “Peter’s on his way.”

Michelle stood straight as she slowed her breathing, “He’ll stop you.”

“Well, darling, he sounded scared shitless, so I doubt it,” Gargan cackled, he dropped her phone and cracked it, under his heel, “He won’t be long.”

He spun around, muttering to his chattering goon, “Take her.”

Michelle shuffled back, “What—”

The man sped over, manhandling Morgan, attempting to drag her out of Michelle’s reach.

“Mimi—” Morgan tripped to keep a grip on Michelle’s shoulders, “Mimi!”

“No—” Michelle pleaded, “No, Morgan!” The taller man grabbed Michelle’s flailing arms, holding her back, “Let me go! Morgan!”

Morgan kicked and screamed, “Mimi—"

Michelle turned her attention to Gargan, “Look do whatever the fuck you want to me, Gargan!” She yelled, “Just don’t touch her.”

“You’re not making the decisions here, Missus.” He tutted, “I am. If you don’t want accidents to happen, then you’re going to have to listen to me, and so is she.”

Michelle erupted, “She’s five!”

“I don’t care.”

Michelle slowed her breathing, “Morgan—”

Morgan sobbed, “Mimi…”

“Look at me.” She hushed, “You’ve gotta stay still—”

“—I’m scared.”

Michelle stopped fighting the grip around her, “I know, but you’ve got to be super quiet.”

Morgan stilled, “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“See. That wasn’t too hard.” Gargan nodded, to his men, “You know what to do.”

Morgan was marched over, to the far left of the roof, near the edge.

Michelle was taken the same way, leaving a good, eight meters, between them.

A heavy thump cut through the silence, nearby.

Gargan ran to the edge, peering over, “Oooh...” He twisted, rubbing his palms together, “We’ve got company.”

Michelle bowed her head, “Oh, Peter.”

Peter leaped over, clearly jumping over from the building opposite, he landed, down on his knee.

Gargan brought his hands together, in a singular clap. “10 out of 10 for effort, but the landing was a solid 4 out of ten 10.”

Peter stepped up, with a look, in his eyes, that Michelle had never seen before.

The fury written across his face should have been enough to make Gargan falter, but he stood, strong.

Morgan cried out, “Petey!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Stop this…” He snarled, in Gargan’s direction.

“No.” Gargan held out a hand, “Backpack now.”

Peter swung it off, tossing it over.

Gargan caught it, with ease, “And the rest.”

Peter shrugged, “I’ve got nothing else.” His poker face wasn’t half bad, but Michelle knew him too well.

Gargan raised his hand.

Morgan’s shriek tore through Michelle’s head, she turned, “Morgan!”

The guard was dangling Morgan, over the edge.

Unconsciously, Michelle stepped aside, but stopped, when something cold was pressed against her temple.

Peter’s face contorted, “Stop!”

Gargan took out his gun, pointing it in Peter’s direction, “The rest.”

“Okay…” Peter removed his web-shooters, throwing them aside, with shaking hands, “Okay.”

“Good boy.”

The gun, against Michelle’s head, was lowered, and in the corner of her eyes, she watched as Morgan was pulled back.

Morgan’s voice broke, “Petey!”

“It’s okay, M.,” Peter said gently, “I’m here now, everything’s gonna be alright.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her.” Gargan mocked, “That’s just mean. I’ve been waiting for this day.” He kept his gun raised, “I’ve wanted to kill you, for some time, but then, Thanos beat me to it. How envious I was. Now, you’re back, and I get to do it again! I could tear you apart, limb by limb, or perhaps, drown you, on the same route the ferry was that day.”

“I take full responsibility for what happened on the ferry.” Peter threw his hands out, “But this has nothing to do with them!”

“Oh, yes it does.” Gargan took a step closer, “Because, I’ve had time to study you, Peter Parker, and if I’m right, killing you, will never be enough.”

Michelle closed her eyes, she knew exactly where this was heading.

The guard’s arm tightened around her front, and she was dragged up, off the ground, her feet scraped across the surrounding wall.

She couldn’t help but look, at the drop that awaited her.

One firm push and she’d be gone.

Morgan was in the same position, and her panicked screams would haunt Michelle, no matter what happened next.

“No!” Peter shook his head frantically, “Stop this, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan let out a harsh whisper, “Choose.”

Michelle’s eyes were on Peter.

He was acting strong, but it was all a front, inside he was crumbling.

Peter’s voice wavered, “What?”

“Choose which one dies, or both of them will.” Gargan held a hand back, “Your mentor’s daughter or the girl of your dreams.”

“Kill me!” Peter cried, with zero hesitation, “Kill me and be done with it!” Peter’s chest, rose and fell, with rapid breaths, “Please…”

Michelle hated that Peter thought laying down his life was the ‘fix’ to the situation.

Gargan shook his head, “That’s not the decision I gave you.”

Peter thumped his fist off his chest, “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan looked at his watch, “It’s their time you’re wasting.”

Peter lunged forward, pushing Gargan’s chest, “You can’t do this!”

It dawned on Michelle, later than it should have.

Peter wasn’t only fighting, he was stalling.

Michelle had spent months getting to know Peter’s family, and surprisingly, they’d become part of hers too, even Tony Stark.

Of course, they were coming.

A dark thought crossed her mind.

She knew they’d speed over, as fast as possible, but there was a chance, it wouldn’t be enough.

She was being held, off the edge of a roof, with Morgan.

They didn’t have time.

Gargan pushed Peter back, “Both of them?!”

Peter retched, a hand on his stomach, “No!”

“Then pick!”

“Please, please, I’m begging you.” Peter’s throat cracked, “Take me instead, kill me, torture me, I don’t care!”

“You’re keen.” Gargan chuckled, “They must really mean the world to you.”

A pause.

“Choose.”

“—Stop!”

“Choose!”

Michelle coaxed, ignoring the drop below, “Peter—”

Peter ignored her, “Please!”

She tried again, louder, “Peter!”

He darted his eyes over but looked down.

“Peter, look at me.” She begged, “Hey, loser! Look at me, please!”

Tears welled in his eyes, “MJ—"

She softened her voice, “Listen.”

He shook his head.

She calmed her voice, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—"

“It is.” She nodded slowly, “It has to be.”

Peter tilted his head to his shoulder as a sob tore through him.

“I love you—” She stammered, “More than you know—”

“I—” Peter pressed a hand to his chest, “I love you, too.”

Gargan waved his gun around, “Ah, young love.”

Michelle’s breath caught, “No—"

“Shut up!” Peter clenched his fist, “This is—”

“Peter!” She cut in, “Stop, just—just look at me, nothing else—” She stammered, “Nothing else, just me.”

“MJ—"

“It’s not your fault, any of it.”

Peter’s shoulder slumped, he momentarily looked to the skies, for a miracle, but he looked back to her.

“Let me go—” She managed a weak smile, for him, “Please.”

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto her.

“So…” Gargan trailed off, “Who will it be?”

Peter muttered, with a cry, “MJ.”

Gargan tapped the back of his ear, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Peter gasped, “Michelle.”

Michelle’s feet raised, off the wall, and before she knew, she was falling – she didn’t expect it, to be so fast.

She never hit the ground.

Strong metallic arms looped around her, “What?” She looked, but there was nothing there, despite being able to feel it.

Tony’s familiar voice spoke up, “Need a lift?”

“Stark?”

The familiar red and gold flared into view, as Tony’s suit became visible, “The one and only.” He flew down, guiding her down onto the sidewalk, he retracted his mask, “You okay?” He asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I think so, how—” She studied, “How did you do that?”

“Retroreflective panels, Harley’s idea.” He said, “Pretty neat.”

“Yeah…”

“Still got a few bugs.” He shrugged, “It works better with planes.”

She stepped forward, throwing herself around him, in a hug.

“Oh!” He curled an arm, around her.

She stepped back, “Sorry—That was—"

“You were thrown off a roof.”

“I was—” She yelped, “Oh, My—They’re gonna—They’re gonna think I’m dead.”

“Not for very much longer.” He pointed, “Rhodey’s got a clear shot.”

Michelle whispered, “He made him choose.”

“What?”

She peered up, “It’s Gargan…”

Tony’s cheeks turned grey, “Oh…”

“He made Peter choose, between me…and—”

“Morgan?”

“I had—I had to convince him—” She blurted, “To—choose me.”

Tony sighed heavily.

“He was fighting against the whole thing—” She explained breathlessly, “But, but it had to me, Morgan is wor-“

“Let me stop you right there.” He cut in, “This isn’t about worth, MJ.”

“It had to be me.”

“No. It shouldn’t have been an option, in the first place.” Tony squeezed his hand around her arm, “If you hadn’t convinced Peter, to choose you – he would have fought against it until the inevitable happened. Do you realize how incredibly brave that was, of you?”

“I guess.”

“You saved Morgan, and you knew where that was going to lead you.”

“I had to—” She sniffled, “I love her, and Peter, he’s just..”

“You and Morgan, mean more than the world to him."

“I know.” Michelle fumbled with her hands, “Can you take me up?” She asked, teary-eyed, “I—I need to see him.”

“Of course.” He stepped forward, locking his arms around her, “Hold on.” They flew up, fast. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was less vomit-inducing than swinging with Peter.

Michelle could see Peter, knelt on the ground, cradling Morgan, in his arms.

Gargan’s goons were unconscious, laid face-first, with their arms sprayed behind them.

Rhodey was standing, his gauntlet raised in Gargan’s direction.

Gargan's smirk dropped, as soon as he set eyes on Michelle.

Peter didn’t look up, his face was tucked against Morgan’s shoulder.

Tony touched down, carefully helping Michelle onto her feet.

Morgan lifted her chin, she hiccupped, “Mimi?”

Peter sat up straight, to see, his throat cracked, “I—” His lower lip trembled, and his words were lost.

Morgan leaped out of his arms, “Daddy!”

Tony retracted his armor, catching her mid-run and hoisting her up, into his arms, “Oh, Thank God.”

Michelle swayed forward, uneasy on her feet.

Peter gradually got up, into a standing position, he stared at her.

She sprinted forward and crashed into his chest, tangling her arms behind his back, cradling him close.

“You’re—” He nestled his face against her shoulder, “You’re not—"

“I’m here, I’m okay.” She ran her hands, up and down his back, “I’m alive, nothing happened—"

He sank, in her hold, “I’m so sorry—"

“You did the right thing.” She stood back, laying her hand on his cheek, “I promise, you did.” She nodded, “I love you, so much—"

“I love you.” He pulled her back in, “I never want—”

She shushed him, “We’re okay.”

#whumptober2020 #no.2 #in the hands of the enemy #pick who dies #marvel #spideychelle #petermj #michelle jones #peter parker #morgan stark #tony stark #irondad #mcu fanfiction

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hitsuackerman · 4 years ago

Text

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.18

a/n: all i can say is... BRING BACK CHRONOHAUL :) hope ya’ll like the chapter!

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 19

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love @dirtypride @blackymomo03 @azzie @purple-rabanito @meximorrita @awesomeee19 @celestial-kanzakii @laure-lo @team-wang-puppy @aydience-world @choros-main-hoe @but-kairis-not-that-smart @colorseeingchick (i cant seem to tag again :( hope this lands in your timelines!)

“Kurono.” Overhaul snapped. “We’re done for the day. Take Eri-chan to her room and give the new toy to keep her busy.”

Finishing the last part of the job, Kurono pinned Eri’s bandages and carried her. Watching as Overhaul left the room, he felt the little girl trembling in his hold. The past few days, his boss had been a little harsher on the girl and it showed when he opened her up without being warned. Patting her head, the flinch did not help in the tense aura surrounding the base.

Once he locked her doors, he walked down the dimly lit hall and passed by Overhaul’s office. The faint sound of him typing away in his laptop made him stop in his tracks. It was rare for him to even look at his laptop. Something must be bothering him more than ever, for sure.

Knocking on the door, he was told to come in and entered silently.

“You’re on the laptop.” He commented and lazily flopped on the sofa. Taking his mask off, he rubbed his face and leaned on the back rest.

“I can see that.” Overhaul’s eyes remained glued to the screen. “Is there something you need?”

“D’you talk to her yet?” He yawned and stretched his limbs. Legs ready to bounce should his boss show any sign of rage.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Just askin’.” He shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with his fingers. “Eri-chan’s in her room now and the toy still didn’t lighten her mood. Not that it ever works.”

He merely hummed and continued typing.

“Mind if I ask what exactly happened?” Kurono sat up with perfect posture. His legs angled to the door, ready to make a run for it. The tension was too much. Even for the precepts. He could care less about the budding lovelife his boss had but the limit was drawing near. Hearing the laptop slam close, Kurono stood up and inched his way to the door.

“You have absolutely no business learning what happened behind those closed doors. But, if it pleases your curiosity, the woman mentioned her time with Ackerman.” Overhaul impatiently tapped his index finger on the desk. The other hand massaging his temple. “Satisfied?”

“What else did she say?”

“She said that her emotions aren’t there for the bastard and that she has her eyes set on someone else.”

For someone who played shogi skillfully, Kurono had to admit that his friend was as clueless as the word could imply. Using all of his strength not to twitch his eye at the ignorance being displayed, he let out a sigh and went back to the sofa.

“So why be pissed about it? Clearly she’s interested in you.”

“I am not pissed. I am merely agitated at the turn of events.” He stopped tapping his finger and stood up. Exiting himself out, he decided a long bath might cool his head.

“You do realize she only did that to rile you up. You’re losing to her game, Kai. I bet a shit ton of cash that she wanted to see if a reaction would suffice and looking at you now, she got exactly what she wished.” Kurono talked the fastest he’s ever attempted in his life. “I’ll also bet my money that you ignoring her only adds to her growing problems.”

“And what makes you say that, Kurono?” He was now facing the arrow-haired man. Fists clenched tightly.

“One of the men saw her entering Nighteye’s agency.”

“THAT Nighteye?” He cocked a brow and took a step closer to the sofa.

“Yes. Her car remained parked for quite some time. By the time she left, I was told she was speeding towards the precinct.”

Gathering his thoughts, Chisaki found himself seated across Kurono. His bird mask resting on the table between them. The surgical mask now on full display showing the shadows his face offered. Without realizing it, his brows were furrowed and teeth gritting.

“If it’s bothering you, why not just call her or send a message.” Kurono shrugged.

“If she has been spotted entering the agency, chances are she’s been part of the heroes schemes all this time.” He was nodding to himself. “And she had the audacity to act like she was part of nothing. Smart move for her but not careful enough.”

Squinting at the train of thought he had just heard, Kurono rested his elbows on his thighs.

“So, you think she’s teaming up with the heroes?”

“She is.” He leaned on the back rest.

“She told you?”

“Not outright.”

“What gave her away then?”

“The night I left, she mentioned how the heroes don’t have a clear map of the base and only an outline. That was either a slip or intentional. From the turn of events, it may have been accidental.” The memory of that night, having his body so close to yours made him fiddle with the hem of his gloves. The scene of having your flushed face so near to his made him smirk under the black mask. Glancing at the calendar, though there was no need, it had been three days since the both of you contacted each other.

“Do you think we’ve been bugged?” Kurono asked. His eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other.

“No.” Crossing his arm against his chest, he let out a long sigh. “Not yet, at least. But knowing them, it’s bound to happen and they will use (y/n) for that.”

“What do you intend on doing?”

“Buy me a new sim tomorrow, Kurono. It’s best if communication is cut. The Quirk erasing bullets are nearing its completion. Any upcoming hindrances would disrupt the plan.” Taking his phone out, he checked for any messages. Seeing as there were none, he turned it off and threw the sim card across the table. The small plastic landing inches away from the edge.

“You’re not going to overhaul it?” This was something he was not expecting.

“No. Burn it.”

“You’re…” He took the sim into his hand. “You’re really serious about this.”

"Those rats are on the move. The chances of her bugging our base is high. Knowing she's not the type to refuse, it is best to cancel out any communication." Picking up his mask, he let out a silent sigh and wore the said item. "No need to fret, Kurono. I've already prepared the necessary actions."

"Knowing you, there's no need to fret." He too took his mask and wore it as well. Fixing his hood, he stared at his friend. "What about the Fukuo Kai case?"

"That is in two months. The hype would have died down." Standing up, he fixed his coat and motioned Kurono to follow him out. "Besides. If (y/n) really has an interest in me, she would know the perils of harboring emotions. Let's go. I'm famished."

"Pardon?" Kurono stopped walking and stared at the back of his boss.

"Even the strongest villains need nourishment."

"Oh, uh, sure." Not sure what to do next, he rubbed the hems of hood. "Shall I ready the car?"

Seeing the nod, he blinked himself back to reality and went separate ways. Walking towards the garage, the blue-haired man replayed the events. He wasn't too sure but he could feel how your mannerisms were slowly rubbing off of Kai. Not that he minded, it was just… weird.

Taking the sim from his pocket, Kurono weighed out the options of burning or keeping the small object. Kai or even Overhaul wasn't too fond of keeping mementos, but his sense of gratitude was always strong. His ways of repaying debts were always admirable, no matter how absurd his methods may be.

Once he was now seated in the car, he knew exactly what to do with it.

The following day, Tsukauchi took his seat beside you. A brown paper bag now resting on your desk. After the heart to heart talk inside your car, you are more than glad that nothing has changed. He still treated you as his partner, as well as his close friend.

"Here are some updates for the Fukuo Kai." Reaching out for a folder, Tsukauchi pulled it with his fingertips till he finally grasped it. "We have detected some movements in their western branch. Me and the 4th division will be checking them out 3 days from now. Care to join?"

Checking your schedule, it was vacant and you agreed.

"So what're your plans now?" He asks while grabbing a small chip from your meal. "Nighteye?"

"Yeah. They’ll be discussing who’s who within the eight precepts.” Despite trying your best, you couldn’t help the slight slumping of your shoulders. Slowly nodding at the words that left your mouth, you chuckled and shook your head.

“Are you debating whether or not to tell him you're a part of the scheme?”

“I can’t but I feel like he’s caught up. I tried to call him last night. Yes, I know it’s cheap of me. But, his number was unavailable so…”

“He probably was off doing villainous deeds.” Tsukauchi patted your head and dragged his seat back to his cubicle. “He’d be a real jerk if he won’t contact you within the next few days. Trust me. Not even bad guys can resist the temptation of women.”

“You’re making me sound like a prostitute, Nao~” You commented while checking your emails. For now, nothing caught your eye. The occasional spam emails were present and one from Hawks but you could save that for later. Any more birdmen was not in your priority.

A few minutes passed and you were now engrossed in typing reports. When the lights of your company telephone lit up, your eyes darted to Namase’s door. It had been a long time since the both of you conversed, or let alone saw each other. The fact that he was calling you only meant bad news. Recalling every case you left unsolved, you were quite confident that this was nothing worth worrying about.

Picking up the phone, you braced yourself.

“Namase?”

“Bet you’re wondering why I called you, right?” Right. You forgot. This man held no filter whatsoever. “Well no need to worry. I just had to inform you that we received an anon caller. Do you wanna put him on the line?”

“An Anon caller? For what case?” You grabbed a pen and paper.

“For the Arson case.”

“Can you put him on the line?”

“Sure~”

Namase put the Anon caller thru and you waited till you were sure he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Hello?” Even if you weren’t sure whether or not you should receive this call.

“Is this (l/n)-san?” His voice was low but clear enough for you to hear. “I think I have some good information about the fires.”

“I’d love to hear it but I had to hand over the case to the HPSC not too long ago. I can give you their hotline number if you want.”

“They scare me. I would prefer it if it was you who passed the message to them. Are you free later at 4pm?”

“Let me just check my schedule.” You knew you were free but you felt the need to look up the person. “Can I have your name, if that’s alright?”

“Tetsu.”

“Okay, Tetsu-san. Where do you want to meet up? Is a cafe alright? Or do you want a private room in the precinct?”

“A cafe please.”

“Alright, We can meet by the Nooks and Books. ’ll be the one wearing black. I’ll see you later.”

With no greetings, the line ended and you put the phone down. Gathering your stuff, you began to skim through each article you recently read about fires. Granted it had been a while since you last heard any news about fires, the tip was or could be useful. Of course having to talk to the HPSC was something you were not looking forward to.

“Nao, I’ll be taking my leave now. Anything you want me to bring when I come back?” You peaked into his rather messy cubicle. “Geez. Calm down with your cases, buddy.”

“This is only for the meantime.” He scratched his neck and stared at the scattered papers and folders. “I’d like a creampuff, though. A creampuff sounds nice in these trying times.”

“Aight. I’ll bring you a box later.” You said as you exited the floor.

It only took a few minutes but you were now seated in another desk. One where you wished you were not a part of. Greeting the heroes who had just entered the meeting room, you smiled at the sight of Deku and Mirio.

“(l/n)-san! Long time no see!” Deku greeted you and took the vacant seat beside you. “How’s work?”

“Work is work. How’s school? Are you holding up? Must be difficult to juggle this raid and academics.”

“It is but we have supplementary classes so I can manage.”

“Your classmates with Uraraka, Asui, and Kirishima, right?”

“Yeah!”

Exchanging a few more small talk with the heroes, you locked eyes with the hero sitting beside you. The scruffy hair, eyes that looked like they haven’t slept a single second, and the trademark scarf resting on his shoulders. Giving a shy smile, Aizawa merely responded with a lazy nod before Nighteye finally entered the room.

“As you all know, today’s agenda will be task distribution. Let’s get on with the details now, shall we?”

The tasks were distributed rather well. Fatgum Agency would be accompanying the front of the team. Right alongside Nighteye and Aizawa. The other heroes were tasked to stay outside and guard the entrance for any possible nuances that might occur. The police staff were divided into two groups. Being given ample time to assign which officers would be in the outer and inner group, you merely nodded and took the list of names.

‘Great. More work.’ Flipping the pages, most officers were people you had worked with before. At least things wouldn’t be so difficult.

“(l/n)-san?” Nighteye snapped your thoughts away. Adjusting his glasses, he rested his elbows on the desk and leaned in. “How’s the task of bugging Overhaul?”

“I haven’t been in touch with any of them for a few days now. I will be trying this week if the situation allows.”

“Alright. If that succeeds then things will go much smoother and will surely pick up speed. Best of luck. Any questions?”

“Are there any updates about the League of Villains being tied with them?” Deku asked.

“As of the moment, there’s no movement from them. So, it’s safe to assume that they only have minor participation in said event.” Nighteye replied without batting an eyelash. He really was confident in this raid.

Feeling guilt rushing through your veins, you shifted in your seat and silently exhaled. Once Nighteye gave the adjournment, you scurried out of the room and made your way to the cafe. It was a bit traffic but you would still be able to arrive on time. With the cafe being near the station, parking would be no trouble.

When things were now settled, you were now walking towards the cafe and found yourself now standing in front of the cashier and saying your order. Taking your number, you looked for a private booth and sat there. It rested in the corner so Tetsu wouldn’t be too uncomfy.

When the clock struck 4, you were now staring at the lobby waiting for that Tetsu to arrive.

Sure enough, a man with a hood entered the cafe and made eye contact with you. Seeing as he walked towards your booth, it was safe to assume that this was Tetsu.

“Are you Tetsu?” You asked the man wearing the hood. With the sunglasses and mask, you could only make out such little skin his face had.

“I cannot stay long. But I came to hand this over.” He slid a small brown envelope. His head hanging low making sure you wouldn’t catch a glimpse at his covered face. “I hope this can assist your case.”

“To be fair, please stay while I go through the contents of this envelope.” Taking the envelope, you slid the content out only to have a sim card laying flat on your palm. “What kind of information does this hold, Tetsu-san?”

“That information is sensitive so you can check its contents before handing it over.”

“But, I’m not part of the Arson case anymore. Would you still want me to hand this in or redact a few messages.”

Overhaul did not mention you were no longer part of the case. Cursing at how blank his mind was, Kurono glanced at the environment before he exhaled deeply.

“I will only say this once, so listen carefully.” He uttered.

“This isn’t about the Arson case now, is it?” Sliding the sim card back, you carefully placed it inside your bag and focused on Tetsu. The words that came out of his mouth made your heart beat faster. Clenching your fists, you braced for whatever he would say next.

“Kai has been on edge and it’s been such a pain in the ass. I don’t know what the hell made you decide to mention Ackerwacker but you got what you wished for.” Kurono’s voice was low. Barely audible due to the cafe’s music. “But, it would be a lie if I said he hasn’t been more human ever since he met you.”

“Can you take your mask and shades off?”

“You’ll probably just arrest me right here.” Kurono took his shades off revealing familiar gray eyes.

“You were that guy from the restaurant?” Your eyes widened at the realization that Overhaul had interfered that early on. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, but ya’ll did me a great favor.”

A slight smirk appeared on his lips as he took the mask off. It felt different having his face exposed after a long time.

“I can see why he took interest in you.”

“Why meet me, though? Wouldn’t this only risk in you being overhauled and shit?”

“I have my ways. Kai instructed me to get rid of his sim card but I don’t know. Perhaps you can make use of it in your private life.”

“Well, to be honest, the heroes don’t fully trust me.” You shrugged. That was nothing new. “It sucks having to juggle work and personal feelings in this particular case. Guess both of us are in a pinch.”

“Perks of being with Kai.”

“You should probably get going… Chronostasis, right?” Putting his disguise back on, a switch flipped in your mind. “Hey you mind if I get your number? If you have one, ofcourse.”

“Why?”

“I like to make my connections.” You winked. When he took out his phone, you in turn took something out of your pocket. Placing it on the table, you pushed the small box towards the villain. “I’ll text you the instructions later, aight?”

“What’s this?”

“You’ll know when you open it.”

With that, Kurono pocketed the small box and left the cafe. When he was out of sight, you rubbed your face and groaned.

“Damn it.”

- - - - -

a/n: hohoho Kurono now enters the picture! hope ya’ll enjoyed this chapter! :) Mimick is still writing down Overhaul’s waiting list! if you guys have any questions or just wanna be tagged :) feel free to spam me! take care!

#overhaul x reader #overhaul #bnha overhaul #mha overhaul #chisaki kai x reader #bnha chisaki kai #mha chisaki kai #chisaki kai #bnha chisaki #chisaki x reader

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cuddlepilefics · 4 years ago

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6. Ice Skating

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Stray Kids

Felix POV.:

Stray Kids were shooting some seasonal footage to add to our christmas album Package. Having lived in Australia for most of my life, I wasn't familiar with wintersports and was really excited for today. That is because today our group will go ice skating. Sure, I was a bit nervous too but it can't be too different from rollerblading. At least that’s what I hoped because I really didn’t want to make a fool out of myself. The company had rented an entire ice rink for our shooting today, so we’d have lots of space. When I had admitted last night that I have never stood on blades before, my members got really excited and wanted to teach me, so let’s see how this will go.

When we arrived at the rink, wrapped warmly in thick jackets, everyone was bouncing happily. There was a small locker-room, where we changed our shoes to ice skates and put on thick gloves to both keep us warm and to protect our hands. Minho and Jisung had finished lacing their skates first and were already on the ice racing each other. Hyunjin soon joining them, all of the yelling loudly while tagging each other. I wasn’t sure whether I had laced my skates either too tight or too loose, the feeling foreign around my ankles. I was the last to waddle up to the barrier, the others were all already on the ice. When they saw me, Chan and Jeongin skated over to me, stopping at the barrier. Both wore bright smiles, clearly enjoying themselves. Being a bit anxious, I grabbed the barrier with shaky hands before placing the first skate onto the ice. It was nothing like expected, the surface being more slippery than rollerblades on pavement. Chan laughed at my shocked expression and I stepped onto the ice fully. Clutching the barrier, I was fighting to keep my balance with Jeongin holding me by my arm. How could they all move around here seemingly so natural?

A few minutes later, I was skating between Chan and Jeongin, our arms linked, so they could keep me from falling. I felt like a young fawn, not in control of my own legs, while my friends steadied me. We slowly circled the others till Chan was confident I had found my ice-legs, so I tried taking a few wobbly strides myself with the others lingering around closely. Seeing me getting steadier with each stride I took the others relaxed Chan giving me some space to practice for myself while cheering me on. I looked over my shoulder grinning back at him proudly, yeah that was too early, as a second later I slipped, crashing to the ground ungracefully. “I’m fine, I’m fine”, I exclaimed loudly, laughing while struggling back to my feet only to fall again. By now everyone was laughing along with me and Changbin and Chan pulled me back up, steadying me till I had my balance back. While Chan went off to race Jisung for making a teasing comment, Changbin held onto my waist, pushing me in a wide circle around the rink. When I felt confident in my legs enough, I took one of his gloved hands off my waist, pulling him next to me so we could continue side by side.

The more time passed, the steadier I got and though I kept slipping and falling often, especially in the beginning, I always laughed it off. After a while, my jeans were pretty soaked but being physically active, I didn’t feel cold. None of us did and we soon took our jackets off to skate in the sweatshirts we wore underneath them. I didn’t expect there’d be a difference but it was much easier to skate without a jacket, simply because there was nothing constricting my movement anymore. Feeling confident, I tagged Changbin before skating away. He followed me, always keeping a small distance between us. I knew he could go faster because I had seen him chase Minho earlier but he made it seem like I had an honest chance of getting away. While we sped past Seungmin, Changbin tapped his shoulder instead and we were suddenly both fleeing from the younger. Soon the entire group was caught up in the game and I realized how much fun ice skating actually is. I could now fully understand why everyone else got so excited when it was announced yesterday.

My mistake may have been being overly confident because I was just skating at a very high speed when I slipped. All I could do to keep from kissing the ice was to bring my hands up in front of me. A sharp pain shooting through my right wrist upon impact. Hyunjin who was closest to me breaking into giggles since the last dozen times I fell I had laughed too. He stopped immediately though when he noticed the tears that had shot to my eyes. Cursing he sped over kneeling next to me. I was hugging my arm close to my chest, the pain not easing in the slightest. From my position he figured where I has hurt and with the help of Chan, they pulled me up by the armpits, supporting me so I wouldn’t fall again. “Hey, you’re ok. We’ll get you off the ice and then we’ll check your hand, ok?”, Chan tried to calm me down and I nodded, sobbing quietly in pain while they carefully pushed me to the opening in the barrier. Everyone else had stopped dead in their tracks, skating up to the barrier when I had exited and watched concerned as Chan sat me down on a bench nearby. Looking at my hand was easier said than done since every time he tugged at my glove, no matter how gently, I cried out in pain. I bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood till we finally had the glove off. It didn’t look too bad. My wrist was slightly swollen but looked fine otherwise. I slowly calmed down, despite my wrist still hurting badly. Hyunjin picked up my jacket, laying it across my shoulders so I wouldn’t catch a cold from sitting in the cold temperature with soaking wet clothes. I thanked him, drying my eyes with my left hand, allowing my right hand to just lay in my lap uselessly.

Chan decided to sit out with me for a while asking the others to just continue without us, so we’d have enough video footage. I couldn’t move my wristed at all and having stopped moving around, I had started to feel really cold, despite the jacket around my shoulders. One of the staff members came over, handing me a plastic cup filled with hot tea from a thermos they had taken along. I thanked them, holding onto the warm cup with my left hand, allowing it to warm my fingers before tanking a small sip to warm me from the inside too. Shaking I leaned into Chan’s side, looking down onto my hands, noticing how large blueish bruises were appearing on my right wrist. “Lix, I know you don’t really like hospitals but I think your wrist should get looked at”, he said calmly, wrapping one arm around my shoulders as I tensed. He was right, I hated hospitals. “It’s ok, relax. They’ll only look at it, probably take x-rays to see what’s wrong. Nothing bad”, he shushed me. “Hyung, please no. Please don’t make me go to hospital”, I whimpered, ignoring how Chan made eye-contact with one of our managers who stood close-by, watching but giving us some space for me to calm down. He came over, crouching in front of the bench: “Felix-ah, your hyung is right. A doctor should look at this. You want it to stop hurting, don’t you?” Yeah, I wanted it to stop hurting but I didn’t want to go to hospital. We were pretty close to our managers and I trusted him, I trusted Chan-hyung even more and I knew they were probably right but I really didn’t want to go. “Lixxie, listen, they aren’t going to keep you. You’ll be back home with us in a few hours and the pain will be a lot better, if not gone completely by then”, Chan encouraged me. After promising we’d all have hot chocolate when I came home I agreed to let our manager take me to the hospital, although I was upset that Chan couldn’t come with me. He had to continue shooting with the others so the footage could be edited to cover up that I was only there for half of the time.

~time skip~

My visit at the hospital had taken hours and it was already dark outside when our manager guided me to the car waiting for us in the parking lot. Yes, I had hated being there but no, I guess looking back now, there wasn’t really a reason to be afraid. The x-rays had shown a fracture in my wrist and my arm was put in a cast from my elbow to the start of my fingers. All the waiting had tired me out and I was hungry, as not to say starving, because I had missed lunch. I hoped the others would have dinner ready when I came back but I couldn’t text them because I had yet to practice how to use my phone with my dominant hand in a cast.

I was dropped off at the dorm and knocked on the door. It opened not soon after revealing a squealing Hyunjin who quickly pulled me into a tight hug. “Guys, we have our sunshine back. The doctors didn’t eat him”, he yelled happily closing the door behind he. I couldn’t help but giggle at the excited welcome I received. The others were to follow suit, hugging me and I looked up at Chan who was standing a bit back, smiling and waiting for the others to finally let go of me before wrapping me in a comforting hug himself. The manager had already texted and informed him about the x-ray results so he wasn’t too fazed by my cast. “No, the doctors didn’t eat me but talking of eating, I’m starving”, I chuckled. “What about dinner first, then hot chocolate and a movie? Who’s in?”, Chan asked, remembering the promise he made earlier. There were sounds of approval and Minho and Seungmin went to the kitchen first to start getting dinner ready. “Oh, Felix, can I draw something on your cast later?”, Jisung gave me puppy eyes and I laughed. “Could all of you draw something? Doesn’t have to be big”, I asked looking up hopefully at my group gathering around the table. “Sure thing, Lix”, Chan chuckled and the others agreed.

For dinner we had fried dumplings, basically leftover dumplings from yesterday fried. Sitting down at the table I noticed a problem that I hadn’t thought about till now. My dominant hand was in a cast. Sighing I tried to grab the chopsticks with my left hand but before I could even make a move to pick up a dumpling, they fell, clattering onto my plate. I blushed before picking them up and laying them next to my plate. There was no way I could use them. I just wanted to get up to retrieve a fork from the kitchen when a dumpling appeared right in front of my face. I stared at it stunned. “Lix, it’s not an ufo, open up!”, Changbin who sat next to me laughed. I blushed even harder, opening my mouth and allowing him to feed me. If I hadn’t been embarrassed before, the squeals from the other side of the table made me hide my face behind my arms. I only dared to look back up after I had swallowed and gave Changbin a grateful smile. He winked at me before putting a dumpling in to his own mouth and I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning away from Changbin, I looked to my other side and at the maknae’s cute face. He had picked up one of the dumplings from my plate holding it up to my lips with his chopsticks. I grinned at him happily before taking it.

That’s how we continued eating, Changbin and Jeongin taking turns feeding me and themselves. There were occasional coos from the other members and I was about 90 percent certain there were also some pictures taken but I didn’t really care. I was hungry and letting my friends feed me was certainly easier than struggling with whatever cutlery I chose. Besides, I found it cute too, how they cared for me.

When the table was cleared, it was Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s turn to watch the dishes and they complied with Chan next to them, preparing some hot chocolate for everyone. Jisung had immediately run off to his room to grab some markers, while I tapped Changbin’s arm. “H-Hyung, this is embarrassing but I’m still wearing my dirty clothes from skating earlier and I-I don’t think I can change that easily”, I mumbled staring at the ground, my face heating up. He had the decency to not laugh at me, seeing that I was really uncomfortable, having to ask for help with this. Instead he just guided me back to my room where I found a small reindeer plushie sitting on my bed and let me pick out what I wanted to wear. I chose sweatpants and gave him puppy eyes to let me borrow one of his hoodies. It wasn’t even much help I needed, he just had to pull the hoodie over my cast and pull it into the right position because it was hanging a bit to one side. The plushie was a get-better-soon gift my members had picked up on their way home to cheer me up and I carried it around me for the rest of the evening.

Jisung was already waiting for us in the living room, colored markers laid out on the coffee table. I sat down next to him holding out my arm for him to start drawing. He drew a cute squirrel in a Christmas hat holding an acorn onto the back of my hand, signing next to it. Afterwards the others all took turns drawing something and writing their name next to it. Hyunjin had turned on a Christmas playlist letting the music play softly in the background till everyone was done and we could settle down for a movie. Minho drew a Christmas tree, Changbin a red ornament, Hyunjin a snowman, Seungmin drew some snowflakes and Jeongin drew a reindeer face with a bright red nose. When Chan called that the hot chocolate was ready, they set us up in the living room, turning off the music and starting the movie The Polar Express instead. Having seen the movie a dozen times, Chan didn’t pay it much attention but rather picked up a marker and gently took my arm into his hand. I didn’t pay attention to the movie either, studying his face as he focused on what he was drawing. Looking down when he was done, I found an adorable little penguin holding a heart, smiling at him before cuddling into my hyungs side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we went back to watching the movie, sipping our hot chocolate and enjoying some quiet time with all members.

#sickfic #fanfic #skz #stray kids #lee felix #whump #comfort #christmas

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