#but when that wall hits ... and it could be because he feels particularly self-conscious or he PICKS UP ON A VIBE

[joons]

"[Elvis] always appreciated compliments rendered him, the gifts he received or the considerations extended to him. Only when he thought an ulterior motive was behind the act, did he withhold his feeling."

!!!

[areyouwell]

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations. 

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck. 

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel. 

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously. 

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids. 

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck. 

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one. 

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath. 

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child. 

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever. 

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine. 

“Rough–” 

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket. 

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse. 

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about. 

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on. 

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things. 

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.” 

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability. 

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you. 

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…” 

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing. 

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now. 

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count. 

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side. 

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly. 

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep. 

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm. 

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots. 

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest. 

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo. 

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks. 

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up. 

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short. 

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern. 

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky. 

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic. 

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another. 

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building. 

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough. 

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic. 

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out. 

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile. 

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end. 

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood. 

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now… 

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face. 

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. 

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body. 

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information. 

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you. 

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination. 

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge. 

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission. 

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his. 

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too. 

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen. 

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face. 

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.” 

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding. 

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye. 

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here. 

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling. 

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay? 

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

 toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition. 

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed. 

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight. 

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod, 

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing. 

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now. 

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?” 

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest. 

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent. 

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips. 

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright. 

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake. 

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks. 

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief. 

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first. 

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head. 

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind. 

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for. 

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it. 

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory.  “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo���.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question. 

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply. 

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips. 

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.” 

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably. 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation. 

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world. 

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

Obviously. 

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did. 

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you. 

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’   

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?” 

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable. 

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition. 

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it. 

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers. 

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest. 

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle. 

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further. 

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly. 

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate. 

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you. 

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Seo Haesu for the First Time

Requested. G/N. Here are the the miniscule crumbs!

There's a guy sitting at your usual table.

Not that you own the table, or you were particularly fond of that spot. But routine breeds familiarity and you've been coming to this gimbap restaurant for years now; you know the owners by name, and that table is as good as reserved for you.

(Except it's a casual little hole in the wall that doesn't take reservations, and this is just you being bratty.)

Nevertheless, despite your table being taken (as is every other one) - the food is too delicious, ingredients too fresh, price too cheap, and it's too awkward to back out now that the kind ajussi behind the counter has spotted you.

With a sigh, you ask the guy if the chair opposite is taken, if he minds you sitting there and he gives you an almost imperceptible shrug.

"Thanks," you murmur, dropping into the seat.

.

.

He's really quiet and kinda rude.

You notice his overgrown bangs pricking into his eyes because he's openly staring at you. Head propped up on hand and lazily chewing, observing you with a half lidded gaze.

He doesn't even try to hide it.

"What?" you ask defensively, eyes narrowing and folding your arms.

That annoying shrug, the small lift of shoulders, comes again and you feel like hitting him.

"Creep," you mutter, pulling out your phone and keeping your eyes glued to it because at least that's something to distract you as you wait for your food.

You think you hear a huff of laughter but you don't bother to look at him.

The next time you lift your head, the seat is empty, and there's not a crumb left on his plate.

.

.

Misfortune strikes you again and again when you find the guy at your table every single time.

What's worse is all the other seats are taken. Every single damn time too.

He seems to have lost interest in you after the first meeting and instead diverts all his attention to his food.

There's a few things you notice:

1) He eats like it's his last meal. Packing away more food possible than you thought a guy of his size could on a regular basis.

2) He loves tuna gimbap. The banchan he seems to pick at and reluctantly finish, but he eats rolls and rolls of gimbap like it's going out of style.

3) You're actually impressed. As would anyone if they saw someone wolf down thirteen rolls in front of them.

He finds you staring that particular day, and his arm comes round to protectively cover his food, raising his eyebrows in challenge. As if to say 'Get your own.'

"I've got my own!" You growl, answering him out loud.

You gesture to your own gimbap, your own special that the owners know exactly how you like it and double filled at no extra cost.

His eyes zero in on your food, and he's much more interested than he was on the first day and all the other times since then. For a moment you think he's going to launch across the table and swipe it for himself.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then tells you, "That looks good."

It's the first time you've heard him speak. His voice is raspier than you expected. You don't bother to respond and eat your own food at record pace out of spite.

.

.

He watches your food, not you, each time afterwards. Picks at his tuna gimbap with the same bored air as the banchan and eats like it's a chore instead of the previous fervour.

"You know you can order something else, right?" You say, fed up with your involuntary companion.

He shrugs, the air of resignation around him cancelling out your urge to roll your eyes.

"Here." You slide a couple pieces over to him, surprised at yourself for your kind gesture but if it means he's going to stare less and make you feel less self-conscious, then it can only be a win.

WIth his chopsticks, he brings your gimbap to his nose, gives it a sniff and looks directly at you.

"Seo Haesu," he says, a faint smirk on his lips before popping it into his mouth.

He closes his eyes, chewing carefully and savouring the flavour.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Dinner Date Chapter 25

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 25: Most Girls

Chapter Summary: Steve is very attractive. Staking a claim, though, is too complicated. What to do…

Chapter Word Count: 906

A/N: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this, but it’s kind of cute and I’m still working on stuff. Please enjoy and hopefully I will see you with something more substantial next month <3

~

Steve did end up in the weirdest situations sometimes.

Like, even for him it wasn’t normal to have no less than three people hit on him in the span of a single morning, and yet here I was, watching a particularly pernicious panther of a woman latch on with teeth and refuse to let go.

Maybe I was a little bored if that sounded like more fun than seeing this lady lay her perfect nails on his arm and not take a hint about it until he sloughed her off. Admittedly it was a nice manicure, understated with a very pretty color and shine, but still. The first person to hit on him was forgettable, but I missed the gym bro; at least he had been kind of sweet about the whole thing. To the point I was a little jealous– if Steve was single, I bet he would have gone for him. As well he should, but it was hard sometimes not to feel like dead weight when looking at such a nice and handsome guy flirt fairly sweetly with my boyfriend.

Not so with this one. She had a good body she obviously took the time to care for, an absolutely gorgeous sleeve tattoo of skulls and flowers and other things covering one of her well-toned arms, and she wasn’t so self-conscious she couldn’t immediately do a U-turn on her run and come talk to Steve with a flushed face and fly-aways in her pretty red hair. However, Steve was not into it, and still she pushed. It was grating, but hard to know how to deal with when Steve had forgotten his phone at home so we couldn’t fake a text, and I couldn’t just wrap my arms around his other one to make a point. Then again, if I did that, she’d probably spend enough time laughing at the thought that we could make a clean getaway.

It would probably be better than listening to how she was ‘so different’ from her co-workers and friends and would rather spend a weekend watching sports and drinking beer than going out for wine and mimosas, and did she mention all the self-defense and martial arts classes she took? It was…fine, if that was what she liked, but I was a little offended on behalf of the very nice co-worker I once had shared cubicle walls with who loved brunch and sundresses, and who also loved baseball so much she could recite stats at the drop of any of her very fashionable hats. Or the lady in payroll who had negative interest in comic books, who nevertheless sought out advice and spent lunch breaks doing research on them because her nephew was coming to live with her and she wanted to help him feel at ease, so she dove into what he liked so they could have something to talk about.

‘Girl’ was such a stupid category; what even counted for what ‘most’ liked anyway?

Steve nudged me and I looked up. “Time?” I asked, and because the lady was looking at me like she didn’t know what to make of me, I pulled out my phone in case I did have to pretend to be on the way to something.

“Yeah, don’t wanna be late,” Steve said, catching on, and I stood up. I gave the lady another glance and felt taken aback at just how disappointed she looked. Sort of…lonely. It made me a little sad, honestly.

“I really love your tattoo,” I said, because it was a work of art and I imagined that had been ninety-percent of Steve’s focus when trying to find something to talk about that wasn’t dating. “It’s beautiful.”

She actually gave me a nice smile. “Thank you,” she said. She nodded at Steve, and after they exchanged polite goodbyes, she went on with her run.

“She wasn’t so bad,” Steve said as if trying his best to concede a point in her favor.

I rolled my eyes and walked right next to him. “She made you uncomfortable.”

“Honestly I wonder if that’s just my default with people these days,” he said. “That guy was nice and still I… Maybe I’ll just never get used to people hitting on me.”

“It probably sucks.” I bumped into him. “Sorry I can’t be a good possessive partner and stake a claim in public or whatever.”

He snorted and when I looked, he had a little wry smile. “Why do I get the feeling even if we were public, you’d let me fend for myself?”

“Eh, I might if you really wanted me to.” I looked around and, seeing no one looking, dipped my head against his shoulder in a very brief but very blatant show of affection. “By the way, sorry but I am like most girls. I hope that isn’t a dealbreaker.”

He snorted, and his smile grew. “You? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m also like most women, most men, most boys, and most other genders, because most girls, like most humans, are actually really fucking weird,” I said. “Hope you can deal.”

He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “Wow. I don’t know how I’ll handle the shock of this completely unexpected revelation about you; I– ow did you just twist my nipple?!”

I smirked and moved away from him, even though we were coming out to a busier street and he couldn’t get away with returning the favor. He did move to get closer to me though, scowling and looming, and I laughed. “I sure did,” I said and grinned at him. “Stop the sarcasm though and I’ll save the rest of it for when we get home.”

He grumbled and rubbed his chest. But he did, notably, stop the sarcasm.

~

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[dominimoonbeam]

So, I know I literally just hit you up for my latest fix - I mean FIC, and I’m having quite a lot of fun drawing fanart for said fic, but finding out Sam won the popularity vote has an itch of the worst kind for my fav redacted character… and I was wonderin’… I got it in my head it that one of the few scars that Sam has, since he’s such a skilled healer, is from the night he was turned, where the car impaled him, cause, you know, Alexis and all… and I was thinking of a moment where Darlin could be feeling a bit self conscious about all their scars, and he could show them his in response, maybe as a point of proving they were more than their scars or something… I’m just really craving some Sam/Darlin hurt/comfort and fluff and you’re sort of my go-to source *bats eyes* ❤️

You are speaking my language!! The language of hurt/comfort! haha

This has a weeeeee bit of steam. I might have gotten a little carried away. Hope you like it and that it hits the spot!!! I really love the idea of Sam having a scar from the car crash! Thanks so much for this ask, Samada!

Posted on ao3 as well as right here!

<3

tags: scars, insecurity, self-doubt, general Darlin issues.

Does It Change Anything?

Darlin often wished that they had just jumped into bed together from the start. The longer they went like this, tender and affectionate but keeping their clothes on, the more they realized what a complete mess they were—emotionally as well as physically.

Things had been heating up but now Darlin was the one nervous, the one tossing cold water on their make out sessions. They had never been particularly shy before. They’d never seen a reason to be. They had scars and there wasn’t much chance of hiding all of them.

But Sam…Sam was a vampire. His skin was perfect.

When they made out, Darlin found themselves making sure he was always on the side of their neck without all the bite scars. When he stared at their face for too long, they looked away, turning the side of their face with the scar through their lip and eyebrow away.

They’d been wearing long sleeves all the time and when his hands wandered… fuck, it was so good but they jerked away when his fingers grazed the slashes on their side.

They silently screamed a themself to knock it off. They weren’t this person. They didn’t care. They’d never let themself care about this stuff before. But in the months of going slow, the idea that Sam didn’t know what he’d signed up for had crept into their head. What if they were going slow because he did know and wasn’t attracted to them? Could they blame him?

At least he didn’t know their brain was a mess, right? They just needed to knock off the shy shit. If it went bad, if he wasn’t interested, then they’d survive it but they couldn’t stay in a holding pattern forever and it wasn’t like they had a shot in hell of hiding the scars.

-

They kissed.

Sam backed them up against the wall, his hands on their hips. Their pulse was in his head, louder than his own. He kissed their jaw, dipping his head into the curve of their neck. His lips had barely brushed skin when their breath hitched and their hips bucked. He let them push him back just like always. He could have stood like a wall against them, but he never wanted to remind them he was stronger than them like that. If they wanted to push him, he would let them, just like he let them pull him back in for another kiss.

He used to think they were sensitive about his mouth on their neck for the obvious reason—he was a vampire and they’d been bitten cruelly before. But they didn’t seem to mind if he went for the left side rather than the right—for the side with less marks. Still, Sam thought it could be for the same reason, for the memory of pain, and kept in mind not to go there. But it wasn’t just the neck. Somehow over the weeks, Darlin had gotten tense. Oh, the kissing was good and Darlin was obviously into it. He could hear it in their pulse, just like he eventually heard it turn into panic and close off.

His hands slid up their sides, under their shirt, seeking skin under his fingers.

They moaned against his mouth, sucking his bottom lip.

Sam groaned, hands moving higher. His fingertips brushed the ridge of a scar and everything changed.

Darlin jerked against him, like they would have stepped back if they weren’t against a wall, their hand grabbing at his wrist. He stopped. So that was it? He had begun to suspect. But why? At least they weren’t afraid of him. “Darlin,” he exhaled, voice low from their kissing.

Darlin huffed a breath and smiled even though it didn’t reach their eyes. “We should probably…” They started and he watched them flounder for something—for a distraction.

His heart ached. “Darlin,” he said again. “You don’t need a reason to slow down if you want to slow down,” he reminded.

“I don’t,” they said defensively, he heard their heart beat faster.

He smiled, studying the way they flushed and their pupils dilated when they snuck glances at him. They wanted him and that felt amazing. But then they looked away, lifting a hand to tap their knuckles against their lips like they were thinking. But they always did it the same way—always when he was looking at them straight on. They turned to the side, the same side, always blocking the scar on their lip. He fucking loved that scar.

They were self-conscious. How had he not realized it before? Maybe because one of their first times meeting they’d been shredded to hell by two vamps and he’d had his hands all over them? They hadn’t seemed shy then. “Darlin…” he reached out and took their hand, the one they had close to their face, gently pulling it away and tugging them toward him. They looked so vulnerable sometimes, and he had realized it was only when it was just the two of them. If he asked them outright if they were uncomfortable or shy, he knew they’d deny it on instinct. A rough life had taught them to hide anything that felt like weakness. With his other hand he touched their face, thumbing their bottom lip and the scar there. Their breath came a little faster, heart beating a song of panic instead of lust. “Every time I see this scar, I want to kiss it,” he admitted, voice low.

Darlin’s eyes widened a fraction and he knew he was right, even if he still didn’t understand why. They were about to say something negative, he could tell by the way their eyes flicked down and their breath gathered in their chest like a storm. Sam kissed them to prove it. If he’d somehow let them think he wasn’t attracted to them, then he’d fix that. Their pulse sang for him again and a moan rumbled in their chest, almost a growl.

His hand slid up their hip again, slow, touching the first strip of skin above the waist of their jeans and reveling in how they shuddered. “Darlin, can I touch?” he asked this time.

They hesitated. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was still there, and then they nodded like they were bracing for something—throwing themself at the wall.

Sam leaned back to look at them, their eyes a mix of desire and fear. Not afraid he’d hurt them, this wasn’t that. Then afraid… Oh. He looked at his own arm, his hand still framing their jaw, thumb under their lip. He had never considered the contrast between them. His skin was vampire perfect, almost unreal, and even before he’d been undead, he’d been a healer. He’d never left a cut to scar. Not until that one day between his life and his death.

Sam sighed and took a step back from them. He saw the instantly alarm on Darlin, but before they could say anything, he pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it. He hadn’t meant to hide it. He hadn’t even thought about it.

Darlin’s gaze roamed exposed skin and then caught on that big, jagged scar in his side. Alexis hadn’t let him heal it. She had decided to kill him instead and it had scarred like the bite that made him—the only scars he’d ever have, but the one in his side was thick. He watched their face the whole time. He could see them realizing how big of a wound it had been, how it had ended his life. They hurt for his hurt and if it was possible, he loved them even more. “Does it change anything?”

“What?” Darlin was surprised, gaze flicking up to his, confused.

“Do you want me less?” he asked, never doubting their answer.

Darlin’s face pinched in offense, mouth opening to reply before it hit them. No. Of course it didn’t matter. They fingered the hem of their shirt. “I have more…”

“Do you think it will change anything?”

Darlin chewed their lip, hesitating another second before peeling off their shirt and dropping it. Sam looked. He’d seen them before but not like this and not since that night he’d healed them. Their skin was a story of survival in scars. It hurt to know they’d gone through all of that, but he was so impressed and proud of them for surviving it. “You’re incredible,” he said, and he meant it and if they didn’t hear it this time—if they didn’t believe it this time—he’d keep saying it until they did.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

deancas highschool au, 1.8k.

dean's pretty sure it all comes down to being sam's fault.

kid had walked into their last scooby doo marathon without warning at eleven friggin' pm, startling both cas and him (because they watch scooby doo like it's meant to be watched — with all their concentration, goddammit) and consequently causing dean to knock over the bowl of popcorn and get its contents all over (and some inside) the couch.

fast forward from there to the next time dean asked mary if cas could sleep over, and her immediate condition being that they conduct the grand bingewatch (a necessary element of the dean-cas sleepovers) in dean's room instead of the living room, as she could not possibly handle finding more popcorn under the cushions of the damn sofa than she'd already been fishing for, the last two weeks.

so there.

it is absolutely and indisputably sam's fault that dean is right now half-propped up in bed next to his best friend, with a laptop on his lap and fellowship of the ring playing on it, unable to think about anything except the way their arms press against each other, knees brush, and cas's head ends up looming too close to dean's shoulder to not be resting on it.

oh, and how good cas looks in the almost-dark, lit by whatever's happening — dean knows exactly what's happening — on the screen.

just because.

it's past two — which translates to way too late for a gay awakening o'clock — but dean's pretty sure if his heart keeps beating at this rate till morning, he's going to wake up in an ambulance.

this has never happened before. being this conscious of wherever they're touching, this excited about it, or this intent on stealing glances when he's sure he won't be caught. (okay, maybe that one's happened before but it's beside the point.) put together, it is alien and disconcerting.

and dean's not an idiot. he knows — he thinks he knows what's happening. and he knows it's not supposed to feel like a switch flipping because these things — and that's about all of the clarity he can afford — happen over time. and yet it's like he's walked headfirst into a wall on this weird, weird night.

the only thing he knows for sure is that he's never felt this way before. not towards cas, not towards anyone.

well, there's also never been an anyone (else).

but screw semantics — dean's terrified.

and it's entirely sam's fault, obviously, which is why the next time dean sees the little bastard, he's going to —

"dean."

it's cas, interrupting his very subtle, manageable breakdown in his endearingly familiar why-aren't-you-already-paying-attention-to-me voice.

dean hits pause, pressing the spacebar and turning to face his cas-shaped dilemma in the eye. "what, you sleepy already?"

"of course not." cas's tone is haughty, like one of somebody who hasn't been the first one asleep in a single sleepover in the past. dean takes the blow with grace, because he friggin' deserves that. he's been ashamed of himself every, single, morning-after. "i was just wondering if the movie," cas tilts his head towards the screen. "isn't disturbing your parents or your brother. i don't think we've ever watched anything past midnight in your room before."

trust me, dean's brain supplies, i know.

but cas does have a point. there's plenty of loud noises in lotr, and the walls aren't particularly thick. and the last thing he wants right now is for dad to come see why they're not asleep yet, and find them friggin' huddled together on a single.

not that dean minds it.

"well," dean frowns. "what do you suggest? it is sorta late to switch to sleepover games, by the way, if you were planning on saying 'never have i ever'."

"we could use your earphones." cas says, like it's the most obvious thing. "and neither of us ever win in 'never have i ever', dean. or lose, actually. we know each each other too well. why would i suggest that?"

but dean's already stuck on a previous part of cas's sentence. "m-my earphones?"

cas blinks at him. "yes?"

dean swallows.

"unless you want to play 'never have i ever'?"

dean swats at cas for that, which the latter tries to dodge by pushing dean with both hands, until dean's wriggling and swearing at him to stop trying to put him through the wall because either they really are cosied up in that little space, or being in the middle of a really important realization makes you go soft on your opponent.

when cas finally lets dean go with a self-satisfied grin, dean only falters for a moment before planting the laptop on cas indelicately and knee-waddling to the end of the bed to get to his desk.

he finds his extremely well-used black earphones soon enough and returns to his spot, where cas shifts hardly an inch to give him his due space, resulting in dean well and truly sandwiched between the wall and cas, because his best friend is a jackass like that. and of course, the only reasons dean leans further towards cas with practised annoyance etched on his face is because it's the kind of annoying he's supposed to be, and it's october and the wall is cold.

cas, on the other hand, is really not.

"what are you waiting for?" cas grumbles, eyes squinty at dean in the dark, and dean makes a face at him, plugging it in (without needing to look, not that he'd've been able to see a thing in the dark anyways), and offering cas the left earplug.

which cas promptly puts in his left ear — the one that's farther away — because he's cas, and things like which earplug is meant for which ear, matter to him.

dean friggin' loves him.

and it's some time after dean's put the right one in his left ear — because he's not cas is why, and their heads are close enough already — and they've hit play and settled into the comfortable silence of watching a movie they've both seen at least five times in the past and dean's actually begun to pay attention, that he absolutely freezes in his metaphorical tracks, the entire world stuttering to a halt as he tries to register that last thought.

he loves cas.

he said it to himself. he said he loved him.

and that's just goddamn it.

he loves cas.

dean's eyes flit to cas, who's watching the movie without having any life-altering revelations, stuffing his mouth full of popcorn every five minutes (a habit dean can proudly claim to have been responsible for fostering in the first place), not smiling but with a corner of his lip pulled up like he ends up unconsciously doing whenever he's really paying attention, his profile only half-lit with colors, and his closeness suddenly so incredibly flustering.

yeah, well. you've known it for a while, the voice in dean's head that's not exactly his, returns. haven't you?

and maybe he has.

or maybe he hasn't, and it really does feel like a switch flipping for some people. people like him who're zoning out watching lord of the rings one moment, and smitten with their best friends the second.

it doesn't really matter either way, does it?

it's 2:37 am when dean turns his head to the movie again.

inarguably far too late for anything to matter to dean other the fact that he knows. the fact that he knows that he's in love with cas. and the fact that he is.

(maybe he can think of ways to ask him out tomorrow.

or next week.

or maybe he'll chicken out a thousand times until he finally ends up stuttering his way through a severely practised-in-the-mirror confession eight months later, and cas will smile that smile he reserves for dean, and say he can't make it friday because of astronomy club, and dean'll blush even harder because he knew that, he knows that dammit, and then cas will suggest thursday instead, and thursday will be too soon and way too terrifying and just perfect. and then they'll live happily ever after.)

but dean's got all the time in the world to sort out — read: lose his shit over — the maybe's.

right now? being in love with cas is enough.

and being here, watching the last sixteen minutes of one of their mutually favorite movies in bed with his best friend and love of his life, is perfect.

*

dean does end up falling asleep first, yet again, cause turns out achieving self-awareness and spontaneous living-in-the-moment prowess don't do shit to help with being less of an embarrassment.

but this time, he gets to wake up with an arm slotted around his waist, and a warm castiel curled up close behind him, still fast asleep and breathing in light puffs down dean's tshirt, so maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to chalk this one up as a loss after all.

doesn't mean cas still won't be a smugfaced little shit about it though.

but then, that's probably one of the things dean winchester loves about him anyway.

[obae-me]

Hi! I was wondering if I could ask for a hc about the demon brothers reacting to an mc who has low self-esteem and uses dark humor as a way to cover it up? Thank you, and I hope have a nice day!!

Thank you for your request! I love angst solved with fluff, and with someone who struggles with low self esteem this is pretty self-indulging. I really hope you like these! 💜

Lucifer

Being more observant than some of his other brothers, he notices MC’s behavior rather quickly.

It really hit him when they missed class one day, bombing an important test. When he came back home he went straight to their room, ready to scold them for hours.

When confronted, they just shrugged and joked about it, saying that they wouldn’t have done any better anyway seeing as how dumb they were. They laughed like it was a fun joke, but Lucifer was taken aback. This wasn’t how humans normally joked around, right?

Being the Demon of Pride, he didn’t understand how anyone could put themselves down so easily.

He noticed more darker jokes like that popping up in casual conversations more and more frequently, and now he had a mind to put a stop to it.

It started with the subtle gestures. The way he talked to MC more softly. The way he sometimes walked next to them with a gentle hand on their back. How every so often he would rub the top of their head anytime they did something good. However, anything he did didn’t seem to be slowing the behavior. So he needed to be more direct.

He approached MC on a night that the self-depreciating humor was especially bad. He met them privately, and lifted their chin with one of his gloved hands while the other rested on MC’s shoulder.

“The House of Lamentation has an image to uphold...so of course we would never have let you in here if you would not have fit in that image.” His face was serious, but his eyes were gentle. “While you are in my presence, know that you...even while being human...are a magnificent being. So I expect these jokes to cease.”

He will now give MC compliments more often than not, and if he ever hears them make another dark joke about themselves, he’ll say their name sternly, and will wait for them to say something different.

Mammon

Doesn’t pick up on it for the longest time. Ever since MC came to the Devildom, he’s always been teasing and jabbing them, calling them names but with nothing harmful behind it.

Anytime he would call MC dumb or stupid they’d always laugh with him and agree, so they must’ve thought it was funny!

It wasn’t until he joked around with MC about how “typically dumb” they were being, not knowing that MC had just went through a particularly tough day. They tried playing it off, but felt different. The joke didn’t feel half as funny after MC smiled a crooked smile and their eyes went watery.

He tried following them to their room but was turned away. Left shut outside the entrance he always seemed to be allowed in. All because of some joke he made. All the things he had previously said struck him in that moment. Had he ever really said anything good about MC since they had been here?

He couldn’t make jokes like that anymore.

Now instead of “stupid human” he would tell them how smart they were to have him around. He would tell MC how cool they were to be hanging with the one and only Mammon. He didn’t let just anyone stick with him, so if MC was there, they had to be special.

Of course all the compliments had to have him in it, but the new smile MC seemed to show appeared much more genuine.

“Hey, human! I mean...MC. You can’t go saying sad stuff about yourself anymore, even if they’re jokes! Because...because...The Great Mammon wouldn’t hang out with people who were actually that scummy! That’s right, you’ve got some great potential, you could even be my apprentice! So don’t...say stuff about yourself like that anymore...”

MC seemed to now find all sorts of new things they had never had before. A new jacket just their size on their bed. A new phone case slipped into their bag. All sorts of gifts just happened to show up anywhere they went. Mammon’s way of saying he cared, since he could never bring it up with words.

Levi

He knows the feeling of low self esteem. He feels like a dirty, good-for-nothing shut-in. But when he heard MC make similar jokes, he couldn’t take it. He was mostly confused. MC had so many things he didn’t, so many things he was envious of, so why was MC of all people feeling that way?

He invited MC to his room to play games, planning on letting them win so maybe they could feel better. Unfortunately he has a hard time letting go of his true try-hard nature, and ends up winning anyway.

MC just laughs at their loss, claiming that it’s just another thing to check off their Loser list. They’d be the winner at losing, on the bright side.

Levi can’t take it anymore. He grabbed the controller in MC’s hand, put it aside and turned off his console. He couldn’t really look MC in the eye, but had to let them know how he felt.  “MC...I can understand me feeling that way but...you’re wonderful, you have everything I don’t, so I don’t want to hear you say anything bad about yourself when-when I’m obviously worse!” 

He’ll attempted to put himself down even more to try to lift MC up. Which MC didn’t tolerate in the slightest.

They argued for a while over which of them was worse, which luckily was short lived. They both sat down in silence, neither of them wanting to make eye contact. That was until Levi gently grabbed MC’s sleeve, tugging it, his face against their shoulder. “Y-you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in my life...I-I won’t let anyone put you down, not even yourself.” He goes on and on about a specific anime plot, where the one of the main characters has to fight their childhood friend because they’ve been put under a curse. After the ramble, he makes sure to clarify by meaning that no matter what you’re going through, he’ll make sure you’re safe and happy. 

They make a new game with each other that anytime one of them says anything bad about themselves, they have to say something equally nice about themselves. The person who loses has to give their favorite possession away. Maybe that’ll keep them from saying anything bad in the first place.

Satan

He’ll read MC like book, so to speak, but he has no idea how to handle it. He’s only read about similar personalities in his stories and occasionally with Levi. He doesn’t know how to best approach MC about it.

He’ll plan it out, probably like a battle plan. If he wants the best possible outcome, he’s going to need everything just right. The perfect setting, the perfect circumstance.

He settled on what he was sure was the perfect outcome, a rainy Devildom day. It was the weekend so everyone was either at home or out having fun. He knew MC was home in their room, so he headed there with several books he was sure they would enjoy.

When MC let him in, he was sure their face was redder than usual, and their eyes a bit more puffy. “Have you been crying, MC?”

“No that’s just how my ugly face looks.” And they laughed.

The plan was totally trashed now. Satan flared up with anger, dropping his books all over the ground. He took MC by the shoulder and pinned them against the wall. He was mad. Mad that someone like MC, someone who made him genuinely feel calm and happy, could say something about themselves like that. Like it was a joke. Like they were a joke.

“Stop saying things like that. How can you just go joking around like you don’t matter?! Do you know how much you mean to all of us?! To me?!” He took a deep breath and loosened the grip on MC’s shoulders, smoothing out the new wrinkles in their clothes. The aura of anger around him subsiding. “I know how to help you out with this, I have some...self help books in my possession. Purely out of curiosity of course. I’ll be here...to read them with you.”

After that Satan makes sure to meet with MC at least once a week to read books together. Stories about overcoming great obstacles, some self-help ones, and stories that make MC feel better in general. 

He’ll also check up on MC frequently, making sure they feel better about themselves, even if it’s just a fraction of what it was before. 

Asmo

It’s not until after they’d made a pact together that Asmo truly understood how MC felt of themselves. Asmo almost felt guilty he didn’t start complimenting them more before then, but guilt didn’t look appealing, but neither did what MC was doing.

He saves up a bit of money to be able to take MC on a massive spending spree. All his treat.

He doesn’t really give MC no for an answer when it’s time, and will drag them to all the greatest Devildom shops. He’ll pick outfits for them he knows will complement them, so they won’t have to be self conscious about their body. 

Will complement MC to heaven and back. Their hair, their eyes, the curves on their body, the way their cheeks look when they laugh. Everything. 

However, all this backfires when MC gives Asmo all the outfits back. “This was fun Asmo...but there’s no point spending money on me when nothing will make me look good.”

Asmo dragged MC into the brightly lit fitting room. He took both of MC’s hands in his. “MC, that kind of talk is not attractive! You can’t say such things when you’re as beautiful as you are! Trust me, there’s no one as beautiful as me, but...you’re a solid second place.” He’ll place a soft kiss on MC’s hands. “You’re stunning, so stunning I...I...I’m going to buy all these things for you right now, and anything else you want I’ll get! Shopping always cheers me up!”

It’s not like him to think of anyone else other than himself, so he got himself all worked up and flustered. But anytime he thought of MC...anytime he imagined that they thought of themselves any less of how he thought of them. It left a bad feeling in his chest that he needed to get rid of. 

Won’t give MC any sort of time to deny or joke around any longer. He’ll compliment them now all the time, making sure they know just how amazing they are.

Beel

He surprisingly pick up on it immediately, even faster than any of his other brothers. The things MC does and says remind him of things he felt when Lilith... He couldn’t let MC do that any longer. 

He tried to solve the problem at first by changing the subject any time any sort of joke like that came up. It didn’t seem to help. Whenever MC had the chance they would make some sort of joke. He couldn’t just try to distract them to help, he needed to fix this. 

He decided maybe it would help their mood if he were to take MC to a fancy restaurant. Just the two of them, so they could talk about it. He didn’t like talking too much but there would be food too. Eating always made him feel better.

While eating, they heard MC make a joke pertaining on how they don’t belong in a place so fancy. Suddenly the food in Beel’s mouth didn’t taste as good anymore.

He’ll stand up and come right over to MC, pulling them out of their chair and into the tightest, most protective hug they had ever had in their life. Bringing MC so close to him, he almost completely covered them with his own body. Some other demons were staring, but he didn’t mind. 

“I’ve always loved food, but ever since you came to the Devildom, food always tastes like a gourmet banquet every time...but when you say stuff like that, MC...it reminds me of Solomon’s cooking.”

MC laughed while against his chest. The laugh sounded different, it sounded happier than when they made those dark jokes. He wanted them to always sound like that. He would do almost anything to keep that sound so joyful. 

Beel squeezed them tighter.  “If you keep joking like that...food won’t taste as good anymore...” 

Learns all of MC’s favorite meals and snacks so they always have something on hand for when MC needs a little boost.

Belphie

He notices MC’s behavior and their sense of humor and tends to be the enabler. He has that same type of humor, so it’s hard to stop, even if he doesn’t want MC to do the same thing.

He feels guilty about this and so he avoids MC for a while, not really knowing that this is making it worse. Whenever he shows up for meals or meets them during class he sees that avoiding them has made the jokes even worse.

He doesn’t want to talk about all the nightmares he’s been having about MC. About all the awful things that happen to them, either by his hands or something he couldn’t stop. He wanted the nightmares to end, he wanted all the self-bad-talk to end. All so he, Beel, and MC could finally have that happy dream. 

 So he takes MC up to the attic, having preparing the bed so it was covered in plush pillows and incredibly soft blankets. Anything he used to make him feel better.

He wraps MC in one of these blankets without a word, and then shoved them towards the bed. He was still learning how to be gentle with a human.

He’s not really good with words, he’s quiet when he’s awake and when he’s asleep, which is most of the time, he doesn’t need to say anything.

So he lays in bed with MC, grasping the blanket he put around their shoulders tight.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I just wanted...you to stop...So stop.” He attempted to be his typical brisk and demanding self, but it fell short. He sounded upset. He picked up one of the pillows in the pile, pointing it at MC like a weapon. “Stop.” He bopped them on the head with it. “Stop. Or I’ll continue to hit you with my pillow.”

He’s not joking. If at any point after that MC makes any sort of joke to try to cover the fact that they said anything bad about themselves, he will gently hit them with his pillow, giving them a long silent glare until they stop.

[vegalocity]

Secret kisses and Touching 2, 14, 22, 23, and 44. Secret Silktea relationship, except both spider fam and Monkey fam actually know! Half of them don’t care enough to say anything (Pigsy,Tang,Spider Queen,Wukong,Syntax) while the other half wants them to reveal it when they’re ready (Min Yi,MK,Mei,Goliath,Sis) - Pixel Anon

Affection meme

49. secret kisses

2. running fingers through hair

14.putting an arm around the other’s waist

22.falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

23. carrying the other one in their arms

44.sitting on the other’s lap

this took me forever to put together because for some ungodly reason i couldn't figure out the scenario

so i decided on a little vignette compilation of sorts

--

They knew what they were doing.

Of course they knew what they were doing. It was in either of their best interests to keep this a secret. Just because the clan had stopped their crusade to take over the city and their queen had dialed down the ‘revenge’ ideas, didn’t mean there wasn’t still bad blood between his clan and Sandy’s family.

And it wasn’t too difficult, it just meant that when they were all working together for some greater threat or whatever that they’d have to be sneaky. It was easy stealth was one of Huntsman’s greatest Attributes and suspecting Blue of anything was like suspecting a small dog of knocking over a bulldozer.

It wasn’t too hard to simply keep their hands to themselves. Or at least, it wasn’t hard for Sandy, Huntsman was quickly finding his self control lacking in regard to being in such a situation with his… well, with him. But could anyone blame him? Blue was more or less the hottest guy he’d ever ran into before and he was kinda-sorta DATING him! How could he not want to climb that like a tree at all times?

Especially when he was always being so stupidly fucking charming. Sure the ‘needlessly nice’ stuff wasn’t something he particularly appreciated, but it was starting to grow on him, if only on the amount of restraint he must have to keep it up all the time.

Soooo yeah maybe he was purposefully pushing their luck a little, but in his defense he wanted to see how much desire based frustration it would take before ol’ Blue would just pin him against a wall and make him regret wondering.

--

Syntax had shooed him away from being a nuisance at his worktable, so naturally, Huntsman had to go be a nuisance at someone else’s worktable. Thankfully Sandy was far more agreeable to the company, and thankfully the bid of ‘Bugging Syntax first’ kept his alibi solid. He wasn’t just going over to see Blue he just wanted to be a louse and his normal target had already locked him out of his room. And so nobody really suspected anything when he started to peer over Sandy’s side to watch him tighten this or that thing on this or that device.

And it was pretty damn fun to see just how much of a ‘nuisance’ he could be. This particular bout resulting ih Huntsman being pressed against the car engine Blue had been working on, feeling the orange hair slide between his claws and messing up the stylized mohawk and shuddering when he felt those huge hands almost entirely encompass either of his thighs while keeping him aloft. He hissed through his teeth as he felt Blue give one of his legs a testing squeeze and rolled his hips forward a bit-

“Fish Demon? I need to get another set of eyes on these schematics or I'll actually go insane.” By the time Syntax looked up from his clipboard Sandy was working on the engine again and Huntsman was leaning against his work area and had barely had the opening to whip out one of his knives and his portable sharpener.

Though Sandy’s hair was unable to be fixed and fell to a side as he smiled at Syntax and took the offered blueprints from him.

--

He wasn’t a big fan of those domestic snatches of time, he wasn’t.

It was mostly an instinctual response, Spiders were pack bonders, so of course when his internal senses started categorizing Sandy as ‘pack’ then he’d relax without intending to while being pulled in with a hand on his waist.

Which was definitely the reason why he was curled up to Sandy’s side, the cool slick feeling of his scales strange against his more leather-like skin. That stupid instinct was the only real reason why he felt so comfortable and like he could practically fall asleep like this.

He felt Blue’s hand gently start running up and down his side and dammit that wasn’t playing fair, it wasn’t his fault that he had been having sleeping problems lately and was rapidly getting drowsy.

He could feel Blue’s hum as the world started to drift away-

“Hey Sandy what do you think- Uhhhh”

“Oh, hello Xiaotian.”

“You know you’ve got a spider on you, right?”

“Oh yeah, Looked like he was having some paranoia problems, took a bit of wheedling to get out but Huntsman here was up for like four days straight ‘till now!”

“Did… Did you slip him your sleepy tea?”

“Of course not! That would be super unethical! Also I'm pretty sure he’s still semi conscious and passively listening without any critical thought right now since he only just dozed off and would probably wake up angry if he overheard anything like that!”

“....right… so anyway-”

--

The brat knew.

Dammit he knew the brat knew. She definitely fucking knew.

He should have known better than to try anything with that Professional Snoop underfoot. But He’d had plans with Blue before having to get stuck with the brat tonight because the Queen needed Syntax’s expertise and the Sister was on shift at work and Goliath already had plans doing who knows what, and he was stuck with Minyi since he ‘didn’t have any plans’

He’d dragged his feet on the idea of cancelling with Blue, but he’d fucking done it so nobody could say he didn’t contribute to the upkeep of their clan’s youngest. It was just his luck that Sandy had been fine with coming over instead, and the brat had overheard some of the conversation and got excited about ‘Mr Sandy’ coming over to visit. The brat had insisted on stringing some of her fake flowers into his hair before he arrived, after dubbing him ‘suitably pretty’ (her words) she’d done up her own hair as similarly as she could because he certainly wasn’t helping her with her weird pre-’company is coming’ rituals.

And… Blue was a hit with the brat. He had an infinite amount of patience for the inane childish babbling, stooped low so she could string the remaining fake flowers in her possession (why did she have so many fake flowers?) into his beard, and offered to fix dinner for the lot of them (which was for the best since the brat was such a picky eater she could barely stomach some of his specialties)

And… he was not jealous of a six year old for how she was able to crawl into Blue’s lap while the lot of them watched some inane mystery show for the character drama alone since the brat called and explained the mystery within the first three minutes.

Blue was a bit awkward on the sofa, it made sense, Goliath would normally sit on the floor for how the height and width of the couch was not designed with bigger demons in mind, and Blue was considerably bigger than Goliath. So while the brat was cozy as could be in the place of honor, Huntsman was stuck perched on the arm of the couch as to not be crushed into it trying to squeeze in beside Blue.

Not that that would be a wholly unpleasant experience, but the presence of the brat made it go from tempting to awkward. Nonetheless, part of Sandy trying to get comfortable had included one of his arms resting on the back of the couch, and while it seemed the brat wasn’t paying attention, it slid down to wrap around his shoulders.

When the time came Minyi didn’t need to be told it was bed time for her, she loudly announced it herself, changed into her pajamas, and after saying goodnight to the both of them went on with a

“I am going to sleep now! And I will not be out of my room until morning so if anything were to be happening I certainly won’t know it, because I will be asleep.”

She smiled widely at Huntsman and closed her door.

Nosey little brat.

--

Tang huffed a quiet laugh as Sandy gingerly began to lift Huntsman into the air, his broken leg not quite able to be splinted just yet, let alone looked at properly. It seemed the lot of them had suffered some pretty nasty injuries from this last threat (and no doubt it would have been worse if their team and the Spider Clan hadn’t joined forces) including Tang himself despite being on the sidelines for most of it, he was pretty sure his shoulder was dislocated, and the cut on his forehead was still sluggishly bleeding all over the right side of his face, but compared to some of the others he was basically fine.

So once He was able to pop his arm back into place (Ouch) he took to handling cleanup with the only other ‘perfectly normal person’ here, a woman maybe a few years his junior, he’d seen her every so often with the Spider Clan (or rather, with Syntax) but he didn’t know her name.

“Do you think they actually think they’re being subtle?” Her words caught his attention and he turned to glance at the woman. She was in the middle of splinting Xiaojiao’s broken wrist and at Tang’s questioning glance, she nodded at Sandy and Huntsman. Oh!

“I’m sure Sandy thinks he’s the pinnacle of subtlety” Tang responded. He was pretty sure the ‘thing’ that had developed between their friend and the most brutal of the Spider Clan was the worst kept secret on the team since Red Son had started hanging out with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao on the weekends.

“They are so cute when you just walk in on them.” Xiaojiao said around a snicker. “Like how they jump apart like when you flip a magnet over to the matching side.”

“Does your team have a betting pool? My brother organized one for the clan, and if they do anything damning within the next month i win the pot.”

“No! Ohh man we should get one started up! Hey Pigsy! You wanna make a betting Pool for Sandy and Huntsman’s secret romance?”

“Why the hell would i want to do that?”

“Finally have dirt on Sandy after decades of him never being embarrassed about anything ever?” Tang offered with a shrug.

Pigsy thought for a moment and shrugged back before going back to fussing over Xiaotian. “Sure. Who’s bettin’ what?”

--

send me stuff!

[dreadpoetssociety]

Fevers Don’t Exist

TW: Fever ? (I’m not sure what counts for triggers so pls lmk if I miss anything)

Prompt: hi!! could u do one maybe where like, the reader is an actress on supernatural and she plays like their younger sister on the show or something and she gets sick at a con or something? Thanks !!

NOTE: Hey guys, I’m alive!!!! I know I have a lot of Spencer prompts atm, but it’s really hard to write them when I’m not like, hyper focused on Criminal Minds. I am going to try though! So sorry I’ve left so many of you in the wind, I am a very inconsistent person, my bad. But here’s this! It’s REALLY bad because I’m terrible at being realistic but like idk it’s something.

I really don’t even know what to put for tags on this. 

()()()()()() 

Ah, September. You knew what came along every September, and looked forward to it for the first eight months of every year. Secaucus, New Jersey. You loved every con you went to, truly. Everyone was so nice, you love staying in hotels, panels are such a great time, the whole thing. It's a great experience outside of the set to get connected with fans. And, they loved you almost as much as you loved them. You were typically closer in age, since you were still just a teenager. You also started out as a fan of the show before somehow snatching a role, so you really were with them at one point. Everything that excites them excited you just as much. And, you loved making friends with them. You weren't allowed to be reckless with your phone number, so you made a snapchat that you shared exclusively with con goers, whom you made swear to secrecy. It was like a club, and you just enjoyed genuinely talking to everyone. But, when you woke up that first morning, you knew it was going to be a long day. Your body ached, and you were still pretty exhausted. You had a fever, but didn't really know if it was a fever because you were still young, and God forbid you ever decided to recognize the signs of you being sick. It was almost like a form of denial, not knowing. You were sweating, but freezing, and your throat felt particularly dry. Your headache rested underneath your eyes for the most part, to which you just blamed on being tired. Your stomach didn't hurt, but you definitely weren't hungry. Even though you hadn't felt exactly 100% the past days before, and you obviously weren't feeling right now, you just deduced that it was all because you were tired, and had a late flight in. As a responsible person does, of course. You didn't even bother taking any medicine for it, because hey, you obviously weren't sick, you'd feel better in a bit, and you didn't have any, so why waste the time, right? 

You groggily got dressed and met up with "the boys" (even though they were all older than you) for the free breakfast downstairs, in a separate room, since fans did happen to stay in the same hotel. You grabbed some Cheerios, only to conspicuously throw them away after. 

"You good, Y/N?" Jared asked out loud, gaining the attention of Jensen, Misha, and Alex. You could feel their eyes burning through your skin. Or, maybe that was the fever. It had to be their eyes, you convinced yourself, you didn't have a fever. You were fine. 

"Yeah, why?" you asked, faking the perk in your voice and confused eyes. Your eyes felt really heavy, you noticed. 

"You just... You look exhausted. And pale." he said, "And you threw away that cereal without eating any of it." 

You looked down at yourself as an effect for what you were about to say, "Wow, well that's one way to make me self-conscious. I thought I looked kind of poppin'." you laughed slightly, trying to play it off. 

"W-wait, no that's- that's not what I meant! You look fine, I just-" he was embarrassed. You and the others chuckled.

"I'm kidding. I'm all good, just went to bed late, y'know?" you smiled. It was hard to try and mask the rasp in your voice, and doing so made you feel the need to cough, so you downed some water until it dialed down a bit. He nodded. In your mind, you blessed your acting skills, thinking you got away with it. What you didn't know was that Misha, Jensen, and Jared, as fathers do, knew every trick in the book, and each noted to keep an eye on you. Not to mention, they'd been acting far longer than you had, and could just tell when one switches into a character. They all figured that if you weren't sick now, you would be in days to come, and exchanged glances with each other, while Alex innocently continued to chew on his toast. 

"Well, if you're tired, I don't think you have a panel or anything for another hour or something, maybe you could catch up on some sleep then." Jared suggested. You shrugged.

"Nah," you said, "I've got photo-ops in like, twenty minutes. I should actually probably get going. I'll catch up later!" 

You left with a wave, and disappeared into the hotel somewhere. You stopped in your room, allowing yourself finally to set free the coughs living in the back of your throat. You blamed it on your throat being dry since you didn't drink enough water. Not on germs. So, you grabbed two water bottles from the small fridge in your room, and left, making your way towards the convention center.

  You felt slightly better during photo-ops, which just confirmed in your mind that it was impossible that you were sick right now. You smiled and talked to everyone. There was one girl, who introduced herself as Meredith, who stuck out in your mind. She gave you this super cool hand painted keychain, which you very excitedly put on your keys instantly.

"Dude, I've been looking for a cool keychain. Not just one of those janky ones you find at like 7-11, like a cool one. This is so exciting." you smiled genuinely. You had just recently bought yourself a car, and thought that your keys looked a little lonely, and searched for hours on Etsy for something to spice it up a bit. A weird obsession, thinking about it now.

She laughed, "I'm glad you like it!"

"Hell, yeah! Now, are there any poses you wanna do? Or do you just want to hit that casual look? I could make it look like I'm meeting you." you stupidly rambled. One of your traits that was so widely known was how funny and awkward (in a good way) that you were. It took you a long time to get to that point, though, because you were always anxious about meeting others. You still are every now and then, but it's different here. 

"I was just hoping to get a hug." she said, "If that's okay with you." 

"Yeah, that's cool!" you wrapped your arms around each other and shot the camera a grin. The girl looked a bit confused. 

"Hey," she said, quietly, "are you like, okay? You feel really hot."

Nervously, you replied, "Oh, no, yeah totally fine. I'm just wearing two layers, and it's getting spicy in here."

"Yeah," she answered, "don't push yourself, okay?"

"I won't, thank you. It was really nice meeting you!" 

"You, too! Thanks!" she waved goodbye and you moved on to the last few people in line. She was right, though. You realized that you felt worse than you did when you walked in. You thought it had gone away for a while, but now it was just amplified. You noticed you were cold again, but that you were sweating as well. It must've just been the temperature in the room. These conventions aren't always able to keep a steady temp in the entire building, right?

This day, you didn't have much to do. Most of your events were on the other days to come. You had one panel in a few hours, and then a panel with Jared, Jensen, and Misha a few hours after that, and then bam, the day was over. You just had to get through those two events. Just two. 

Two, events. And both were an hour. So, two hours out of the day. Rookie work. Yet, as your panel approached, the headache had expanded from under your eyes to anywhere that there was space to hurt, your throat ached and so did your lungs from how much you were going off somewhere to cough in privacy, your body felt heavy, you couldn't tell if you were hot or cold at this point it was some weird combination of both, your stomach hurt just slightly, the world was moving around you a bit more than it usually would, and the fever you "didn't" have had climbed a degree, probably two. And, at some point during the day, you got pretty congested. You felt like you could just fall asleep at any moment. Jared and Jensen happened to be walking by where you had been waiting by yourself, away from any congoers or employees, and noticed that even though you were leaning against a wall, you somehow were still swaying.

"Y/N?" Jensen called out, worried. You heard him, you knew you were supposed to respond, but didn't know how. Maybe you did have a fever, and maybe you sort of let it out of control. It was like you were comprehending them, but not at the same time. You heard everything, but it just swept right through your feverish mind. The walked in front of you and examined you within seconds. You felt Jared's cold, really abnormally large man hand sweep your hair back and land on your forehead. 

"J, she's burning up." you felt another hand on your face. You, quite exhaustedly, swatted it away. They couldn't figure out how it'd gotten so bad so quickly. You were sick this morning, but not to this degree. They knew then that you had just shrugged it off all day, and your teenage fever brain probably didn't even think to take any kind of medicine or anything for it, even if you were trying to hide it.

"I'm good. Just tired. Fevers don’t exist." you finally mumbled, taking a few deep breathes, which you hadn't really been able to do in a bit without being rudely interrupted by a bone-shaking cough. It felt nice, almost. The boys sighed at you and shook their heads. 

"Y/N, you should go back to your room and get some rest. We can bring you some stuff that'll help." Jared suggested. You shook your head and opened your eyes, which somehow felt even heavier.

"Nah," you said to them, "I've got a panel, I think, in like, I ‘dunno, some minutes or something. Something I-" you pushed yourself off the wall to try and make your way somewhere, but stumbled a step or two, which result in Jensen and Jared instinctively to grab you in order to keep you steady.

"Like hell we're letting you go to that, Y/N, you can't even form a sentence, or stand for that matter. You're out of your mind. We're going to bring you back now, we'll take care of your panel thing." Jensen stated pretty sternly. You were about to fight back, and they could see it, but you coughed a few times, and they could almost feel it in their own chests. You just nodded in defeat.

"Yeah, maybe I could just like, sleep, for an hour or two." you whispered, tiredly. The two were still holding you steady, and could see you already falling asleep before even going anywhere. 

"Or six, by the looks of it." Jared joked lightly.

"Poor kid." Jensen said to Jared as the were walking out of your room. They helped you get there, and you were gone before you even saw the bed, "Why do they always have to pretend like they aren't sick? Look where it gets them."

"Don't know, man. You can't talk, though. You literally tell people you are immune to illness." Jared laughed quietly, shutting you door.

"Well I am. I am the perfect example of health. I don't get sick." 

"Yeah," Jared rolled his eyes, "Right. Watch you catch what Y/N has. You practically carried her all the way here. There's no way you're escaping it." Walking towards the center, the back way of course, Jensen scoffed, "Please, germs take one look at me and know not to mess this up. And, by the logic, that means you're already infected, too. So, tell me, princess, what sort of soup do you want spoon-fed?" 

Again, Jared rolled his eyes, and the two laughed. They weren't making fun of you, they were making fun of each other, and knew that you would've wanted in on that action.

"Y/N probably would've destroyed us if she heard that. Something along the longs of 'You want me to tuck you in? Carry you bridal style?'" Jared pitched his voice a tone higher for it. Again, the two men laughed.

They made their way backstage of what's supposed yo be your panel, and informed the crew about what was going on. They were just going to fill in for you, probably tell a few embarrassing stories.

When they made their way through the curtain, the crowd shouted. They were obviously excited to see the two leads, but also were obviously confused. "Alright, you're probably confused." Jensen stated the obvious, "Because obviously, we look nothing like Y/N, and thank God she does not look like us." The crowd laughed.

"Anyway, Y/N can't make it today. She's really sick-" the crowd cut Jared off with a unison "awe." People yelled out that they hoped she felt better, tell her to take care of herself, and so on.

"Yeah, poor kid looked like she was just going to fall asleep right where she was standing. She literally tried to come anyway, like, kid, you're making no sense. Y/N couldn't really fight against us, though, so she's sleeping now." Jensen explained, "So we came here to chat in her stead, but just know she really was planning on coming. That kid loves you guys." and again, the "awe" rolled through the crowd. 

"If she wasn't sick, she could totally kick both your-" the last word was cut off, but was implied anyway, someone screamed from the crowd, which resulted in laughter.

"Yeah, probably. Even if we were stronger than her," sarcastically, of course, "she'd still beat us. Kid's too fast, and I'm too old." Jared laughed.

In the last ten minutes of the panel, Jared decided to give you call. Not only to check in on you, but so you could at least say hi to your crowd. When you heard the phone ring, you groggily opened your eyes and aimlessly reached for it.

"Hello?" you answered. Jared almost frowned at how sick you sounded, even with just one word.

"Y/N?" Jensen stepped in, "It's Jensen."

"Unfortunate." you sighed exhaustedly. It was joke, a really tired one, but still enough to make the crowd laugh.

"We're here at your panel, we thought you might want to say hi." Jared said loudly, holding the speaker of his phone to the microphone. 

"Panel?" you asked. Panel? What panel? Your delirious mind was clearly confused, "Who's that?" 

"Y/N, the con. The convention panel?" Jensen actually sounded worried. They probably should've thought to give you some sort of medicine to do something about the fever you had before they'd left.

"Oh," you closed your eyes again, almost falling asleep, before remembering finally what it was they meant, and after a moment, "Oh! Crap, the panel thing, I'm late."

"No, Y/N, stay there, we've got it covered remember? You can't come. You can say hi to them, though." Jensen interjected quickly.

"Okay, hi guys." you just followed as told.

The crowd responded with a series of hello's. 

"'M really sorry. I hope they aren't boring you." the two men could practically hear you closing your eyes. The crowd responded in inaudible chatter. Jensen and Jared walked from the mic for a second.

"Sorry if we woke you, kid." Jared apologized, having just realized they probably could've left you alone, "W also just wanted to check in. See how you're doing."

"How are you feeling?" Jensen asked, but got a mumbled word in response, "Alright, well, just go back to sleep, we'll be up there soon." 

Jared hung up the phone, and the two began to answer the last few questions and close up. They waved their goodbyes to the crowd, and started heading back your way.

"Jensen, you got any over the counters with you? Thermometers or anything? All I've got is Advil, and I don't even know what's really bothering her yet other than that cough and being tired."

"Yup. Danneel always makes me carry literally an entire medicine cabinet, just for these moments. I'll go get 'em and meet you there. It'd probably do her some good to eat something, too. I don't know if she's got like, a stomach virus thing going on, though." Jensen answered.

"I'll see what she'll say and let you know." 

The two parted ways, and Jared made his way to you. Even though he'd only talked to you just a few minutes before, you were dead to the world by the time he opened the door. The room was boiling, and Jared looked over to the thermostat to see that you'd at some point put it on to 90 degrees. 

"Jesus, Y/N, I know you've got a fever, but damn." he said, more so to himself than to you. He looked over at you after turning it down to see you curled beneath what looked like any blanket you could find. He came over and started removing the blankets slowly, and shook you gently to wake you up.

"Y/N, wake up for a minute, it's Jared."

"'Mm." was all you said, until you realized your layers of warmth had been moved, "What're doing? It's cold."

"Y/N, you're dripping in sweat. It's the fever making you cold."

"I don't have a fever." you retorted, "I'm good. Just tired."

"Kid, you've been tired the whole day. You've been sleeping this whole time." he tried rationalizing.

"I have?" you questioned, closing you eyes again. Jared put his hand to your forehead again. Somehow, it was warmer than the first time he'd done it before the panel. It was then that Jensen finally appeared, a whole bag of things in hand, "Could you bring the thermometer over?"

"Yeah, gotcha." He walked over and rummaged through the bag at the same time, pulling out a thermometer.

"Y/N, we need to take your temperature." Jensen said.

"No need." you said, "'M not sick."

"You are so obviously sick, I'm not asking." again with that stern voice. Jared gave him a "Hey, she's sick, back off a little" sort of look, but it had worked, and you let them take your temp. They were almost shocked when the thing beeped at 103.

"Should we take her to a hospital? That's way too high." Jared asked. 

"If it gets any higher, yes, but let's see if we can bring it down first." Jensen replied.

"No hospitals." you demanded, opening your eyes and glaring at them. 

"We aren't bringing you yet, Y/N, but I need you to eat this so you can take some meds." he held out two pieces of toast that he must've brought from his room. You hated toast even when you weren't sick.

"I'm not really hungry." 

"I know, but it'll help. You haven't told us what's bothering you yet, either." Jared responded.

"Nothing's-" you coughed a few times, a bit violently, "bothering me." "We can see that." Jensen said sarcastically.

"Everything's bothering me." you whispered, giving up.

"Your stomach hurt?" Jensen asked. You waved your hand from side to side to signal a so-so, "Think you'll get sick at all?"

"No, it's not like that, I don't think." you breathed out, another cough escaping you. You took a few bites out of the toast. It made you uncomfortable, but it was then that you realized you probably felt that way since you really hadn't eaten much that day or the one before, which probably contributed to the splitting headache. It didn't go away after, either though. You pushed yourself up. You almost fell over, but Jared put a hand out for you.

"Alright, good. Take this. I'm going to be frank, it tastes disgusting." Jensen handed over a small cup of liquid, "Sometimes, if you take it like a shot, it helps. But you shouldn't know how to take shots, but if you do it, I won't judge." And so you did, causing the two to chuckle slightly at you. 

"You were right, about the sleep thing." you slumped back onto the bed heavily, like a brick.

"When am I ever wrong?" Jensen asked, "Don't answer that, actually."

But you were already sleeping again, and the boys decided to stay nearby for now. The next panel wasn't for another few hours anyway, and they just didn't want you to be alone. Also, incase you were wrong about the toast, and it decided to make its return. Jared's phone began to ring loudly, to which he very quickly tried to answer so his obnoxious ringtone wouldn't wake you up again, not that you wouldn't have just fallen back asleep anyway.

"Misha? Hey, what's up?" Jared answered. Jensen walked over to hear what was going on on the other side of the line, but Jared just decided to put it on speaker.

"Where are you guys? I haven't seen you all day. Felicia, Alex, and I are going out for lunch, we were wondering if you guys want to come. I tried calling Y/N, but she didn't answer, so." he rambled.

"That's because Y/N's not feeling well." Jensen said, giving him a solution to his predicament of not being answered, "We're with her right now, so we'll have to pass."

"She's sick? Is she okay?" 

"Yeah, I think so. She's just got this crazy fever we've been trying to bring down. Thinking about it now, Jensen, we should probably check it again." 

"A fever?"

"It's been at 103 degrees for like, two hours. At least for what we know of. She's probably had one all day, but as a dumb teenager does, she just tried to ignore it." 

"If it goes up you should-"

"Yeah, we know," Jared said, "we're trying really hard to avoid that, though. Also, she'll definitely fight against it, I don't know." 

Jensen, from the other side of the room at the sound of a beeping thermometer, could be heard on Misha's end, "It went down, finally. 102.2."

"Thank God, I was getting worried."

"Should I come there? Do you guys need any help?" Misha asked.

"I mean you can, but I think we're good. She's just been trying to sleep it off the whole time, so not much is really going on." Jensen was closer to the phone now, "Like, she's got this cough, a headache, and you can hear how congested she sounds, but mostly I think she's just exhausted. I honestly don't know how because she's just been sleeping for hours."

"Fatigue."

"Yeah, poor kid. I don't think I've ever seen her so tired, it almost makes me tired to be honest." Jensen joked.

"Maybe you're just getting sick." Jared slipped in.

"Not possible. I am immune."

"Nobody is immune, Jensen." Misha sighed.

"I'm not nobody." he shrugged. 

"Alright, well, we're going to get lunch then. If you need anything let me know, and tell her I hope she feels better." Misha concludes.

"We will, thanks Misha." and with that, Jared hung up. For a few more hours, the two hung around. They were there when you woke from some fever dreams, and when you needed a cough drop, or twelve, and wake you up every now and then to check your temperature, which raised and dropped and raised and dropped, but currently was at a very steady 102.4. But, soon enough, it was time for them to leave for the last panel of the day, and unsurprisingly, you tried to follow suit.

"Y/N, we gotta go, but we'll be back in about an hour from the panel." Jared said. You took a deep breath and sluggishly pushed yourself to the side of the bed. Having been sick, and not having sat up in a few hours, the blood rushed from your head, leaving you dizzy.

"What're you doing?" Jensen asked.

"The panel. I missed the last one I should go to this one. I feel okay." you yawned, then coughed slightly.

"Y/N, really, you shouldn't even think about pushing it like that." Jared said. Jensen walked over to you, half on the bed, clearly trying to steady yourself just from the movement of sitting up. The spinning room honestly almost made the toast make a reprise, and you hiccupped, and held your breath.

"Hey," Jensen grabbed a can quickly, noticing, "are you going to be sick?"

Giving it a minute, it went away, and you shook you head no, causing a huge tension to leave the room.

"Alright, well, remember how you said I was right all the time earlier?" Jensen pun the can down.

"No, must've been the fever." you half joked, causing Jared to laugh. 

"Alright- well- okay, shut up. We agreed I'm always right, and that I was right about needing sleep, so I say you need some more." Jensen demanded rather than suggested. 

"Yeah, or at least lay around and do nothing. I can't imagine ever sleeping as much as you just did." Jared joked, pushing you very gently back down, with his hand on your back, knowing you would just hit the bed without it. Your eyes were heavy again, and your throat was painfully dry, and you coughed. Your aching head also agreed with the two of them to your dismay.

"Maybe just a bit more." you mumbled, "A few minutes."

"Yeah a few minutes, sure." Jared smiled, knowing you were probably going to knock out for a few hours once again. You opened your eyes again.

"You think," you coughed, "that they'll be mad?

"Who?" Jensen asked.

Feeling pretty sick, you said, "That I don't go? I don’t feel really good."

Ah, the fever comes to play once again, it seems, but the two felt some sort of triumph now that you've at least admitted to being sick, even if it's been hours. It concerned them, though, if you felt bad enough to admit it.

"No, they'll be fine about it. We'll be back soon. Misha or Alex might come in to check on you, alright?" Jared answered, to which you nodded.

They weren't gone long. You spent half the next day sleeping, too, until you could stand without swaying. You did sneak back to the con, against Jensen and Jared's orders, since you really didn't break that fever and cough for a few more days, only to be caught after a tweet of you at the con was trending and the cast caught wind of it. But, eventually, you were better, and got the chance to help Jared take care of an "always immune" Jensen. And he was more stubborn than you were.

[bansheeoftheforest]

Hey lol, my power just went out and I'm having a moment, do you have any headcanons abt Hyde or Jekyll and his family dealing with storms and outages? Especially if outages and storms are stressful for them? -💙

:o I hope you are okay blue!!!! Storms and outages are scary af sometimes, please stay safe!!

I just woke up after having slept like. 10 hours but I tried my best, if you want more I'd be happy to give you some more hcs, though!

Henry has always been scared of storms and lightning, they had a lot of those growing up and Henry always heard his older siblings talking about the horror stories surrounding storms; campfire ghost stories, as well as the destruction that the storms brought to their city or the people around them. Henry was a very timid and easily intimidated kid so storms came high up on his list of fears.

He only "stopped" being so scared of lightning because of the Frankenstein plays, where the reanimation of the Creature was depicted as having used pure lightning from storms. Henry began to love the concept of lightning out of the context of storms but is still incredibly scared of them both.

Hyde will always deny being scared of storms, most of the time he claims he was brought forth upon the earth of mankind by Satan himself during the century's worst storm. The moment he hears lightning he will quiver in his boots. He is better at hiding it than Henry, though, as Hyde often is good at hiding his fears.

They didn't have to worry about power outages as electricity wasn't commercially available when Henry grew up, so most of the time they just waited out the storms. Most of the waiting out involved Mama and Papa Jekyll gathering all their kids in the living room, putting on the fire in the fireplace, and telling stories to distract them. While Henry was the only one downright afraid of the storms, his siblings also got nervous and needed some distraction too, even if they quickly began to look forward to the storms so they could spend some family time together.

Henry often spent those stormy days in the lap of one of his older brothers. Being 8 years older than him, the two twins were always incredibly protective of him and especially when bby Henry was quivering and sniffling. His sisters were, too, incredibly protective of him and always wanted to help comfort him-- whenever Angus and Ian weren't available, Blair and Lilith would have him smushed between them and they would try to distract him from the thunder by tickling or play fighting with him.

Once Henry got older and began to get into Frankenstein, his family's key phrase to distract him from his panic was to say "Remember Frankenstein? It was a stormy night like this that they created the Creature!". Probably not the best phrase, as his parents did not want to encourage him... To do what Frankenstein did, but it was enough for Henry's momentary panic to turn into a short moment of fascination. On good days, Henry would start rambling about science until the storm was over, on the bad days, Henry would start imagining the Creature outside their window and get even more scared.

Whenever their parents would be gone on business trips and storms would start, Henry's siblings were always prepared to make the best of it. Angus and Ian would try to cook food (they are good cooks, they just end up playfighting a lot), Blair and Lilith would distract Henry, while Freyja, Isla, and Peigi would set up the fire in the living room and get blankets. Chicken soup in front of a roaring fire, cuddled up next to his older siblings, and wrapped in his favorite blanket really helped Henry to deal with storms, and lose his fear of them... A little. He was still scared, but he felt a lot safer with them around him.

He has experienced his fair share of storms in England but the worst ones were in university, just because the classrooms didn't isolate the sounds of thunder and the dorms were quite thin-walled. He knew he was safe but the sweeping winds and lightning did nothing to soothe his worries. Luckily, during classes, he often had Lanyon right by him, and during the evenings he often had both Lanyon and Utterson. In the beginning, neither of them knew about Henry's fear of storms but as Lanyon observed how Henry's pen jumped over the paper for every hit of thunder, the way he trembled, and the way he started to cold sweat, it did not take long for him to scoot closer by their shared desk and put his knee against Henry's in hope of calming him. Storms during the evenings in their dorms were better because neither Utterson nor Lanyon was afraid of giving the physical affection that Henry needed. Lots of cuddles and lots of hugging. Neither were really scared of storms themselves-- Lanyon found them indifferent and Utterson found them fascinating, but neither wanted to see their friend hurting like that.

The Society is large and thickly walled enough for storms to almost be unnoticeable, however, the outages really are not. While most of the Lodgers found it as a mild inconvenience (or a large inconvenience for Tweedy, Pennebrygg, and Flowers), the realization that the storms could bring out their power for days really was not a realization that Henry liked, just because it made him feel so hopeless and defenseless.

A particularly bad storm brought their electricity out for, well, days, quite a lot of time before Frankenstein even stepped a foot into the Society. The Lodgers gathered each other (and Henry) into a parlor, lit candles & the fireplace, and decided to tell ghost stories. Henry tried his best to keep calm as the storm got worse and worse and the thunder and lightning, too, got worse and worse, yet the two Lodgers next to him quickly noticed his stress and nervosity. Quietly scooting closer and trying to distract him. After all, they were much friendlier with each other back then, so it could have been any lodgers.

Whenever Henry, god forbid, is alone during storms, he does his best to replicate the coping mechanisms his family gave him as a kid. Cuddling up in thick blankets and trying to block out the noise, trying to distract himself, or going to someone he trusts in hopes of comfort. Luckily, most of the time it works, even when he isn't sure of which persons he can trust. He has a reputation after all... But the storms sure as hell scare him enough that he does not give a shit about it.

Maijabi is one of the persons that Henry trusts the most, simply because he knows he won't judge him for his fears. Most of the time during storms, Henry scurries off to him for safety. Maijabi, of course, understands his fear perfectly. He lets Henry stay with him for as long as he wants to, and he brews honey and lavender tea for him as well <3

Hyde is not often allowed out during storms-- both because Henry is way too stressed to let him out and because Hyde is way too scared to actually go outside during them. In the few instances where he has found himself in control of the body during a storm, he spends the entire evening seated on one of Rachel's counters in the kitchen while Rachel herself bakes him cookies. Rachel, of course, does not have the heart to start teasing him about being afraid of storms of all things, she is just glad he trusts her enough to... Well... Be in the kitchen with her during storms.

Both Hyde and Henry are sensitive about their fear of storms, they "know" it's irrational and "childish" of them so they are very self-conscious about showing or playing into that fear. Lanyon once made the mistake-- during one of the first storms since Henry and he met-- to joke about Henry's fear for them, which really did not help Henry's self-consciousness about it. Lanyon quickly realized his mistakes and made up for it by comforting Henry a bit extra that evening.

Henry always having people he can trust with his fears and being able to cope with them my beloved <3

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

dandelions

request: if you vibe with it Spencer X Reader lowkey songfic for Dandelions by Ruth B. Spencer is recovering from Cat traumatizing him and the Reader is a baby tech analyst for the BAU. The Reader learns Spencer believes that he’ll never find true love, and so the Reader pretty much corners him in the techy bat cave and makes him dance with her (to the song). Ends with a semi established relationship and Reader let’s Spencer know she’ll love him when he’s ready. :) ❤️

so before we embark on this story, I just want to let you all know that i’m only up to season 4 of CM, but because of tik tok, i know most of the spoilers already, but i’ll try my absolute best

word count: 2,167                                                                                     reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

It was a leisurely night at the BAU, the usual fleeting agents that roamed around the bullpen causing an uproar of commotion was replaced by a serene environment that was inhibited by a few individuals. It was around the time of the holidays meaning most of the agents had either went home to their loved ones or went to the bars to their loved ones, also known as 5-6 vodka shots with a beer on the side. 

The lights began to dim at the office indicating it was close to midnight. My eyes had accustomed to the sudden change of brightness due to the simple fact that Penelope’s office was just a technically advanced bat cave littered with eclectic trinkets from thrift shops. 

I could remember stepping into Penelope’s office expecting an immaculate high tech lair, only to discover a physical representation of Pen’s psyche splattered in all the crevices of the dark room. Apprenticing for Garcia had been the best decision I’ve made considering that my original disposition was to work in counter terrorism where there wasn’t an unorthodox and silly tech goddess. Not only that, but the BAU team had become more than family to me, taking into account that my biological family had abandoned me when I was young. 

I grew up with a developed resentment against love knowing that people will always abandon you in the end. Despite my childhood, ever since I’ve joined the team, all that contempt dissipated transforming into nothing but genuine love for the people around me.

And sometimes I held a little bit of extra love for definitive individuals. 

I was closing up a few files on Pen’s computer, rewriting the encryptions on her documents to secure her confidentiality when I peered out into the bullpen, a forlorn and solitary silhouette crouched into a seat came to view. The chair swaying side to side in combination with the lackluster lights made it particularly burdensome to identify the figure. The bullpen had emptied out, leaving the creature to it’s lonesome, adding to the ambiguity of the atmosphere. 

It was only when JJ approached the cryptic individual that it had clicked in my head. Spencer’s hair popped into view as JJ adjusted his desk lamp to give off more light. She had her bag and jacket hanging on her left arm signaling her departure from the office. She conversed with Spencer offering him a cup of coffee which he politely declined with a tight lipped smile. With this response, she patted his shoulder motherly and made her way to bureau’s glass doors. 

The sounds of the rubber stopper hitting the frame of the door indicated that JJ had completely left, leaving the bullpen with the inhabitants of me and Spencer. Although I don’t think he’s acknowledged my occupancy in Pen’s office as he let out a disgruntled sigh, dragging his hands over his perturbed visage. 

In the attempt to leave him to his aloofness, I resorted back to my tasks at hand on Pen’s computer, yet an almost incoherent sniffle echoed throughout the office, catching my ears off-guard. 

I reverted my attention to Spencer once again, watching him pull at his hair while briskly wiping away the dampness that had formed on his face. 

I felt a hefty tug at my heartstrings, feeling as if my chest cavity began to collapse in on it’s self. My esophagus congealed to the sounds of anguish that emitted past Spencer’s lips, feeling destitute as the boy became his own source of self reproach. 

My thoughts fought each other for the custody of my actions, contesting the ideas of soothing the boy or leaving him to his own. It was quite a delicate matter to approach considering the topics that had led him to spiral. 

Spencer Reid had only cared about one thing in the world: his mother and with the recent allegations with Cat Adams resurfacing, he’s been nothing but a ball of disquietude. His intelligence was the only wall that he’d build around himself that protected his unconscious mind from blemishing the utopian reality he had constructed in his conscious mind. It had been the barrier between his internal chaos and serendipity. 

Who knew one woman would be able to decimate the very thing he fabricated since his youth. 

After a few revelations, I became determined to release Spencer of the abhorrent thoughts his mind must of been swarmed in. Messing with bureau’s network, I connected to speakers that were planted in the bullpen that were utilized for broadcasts. 

I leaned over Penelope’s set up, grabbing the mic she hid behind her monitors and connected it wirelessly to the speaker. This ended up emitting a loud echo of feedback that resonated throughout the office, hence catching Spencer’s attention to the ceiling. He looked bewildered at the sudden blare, but settled down as the sound of my voice flooded the room. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid, please report to your nearest tech analyst. Again, Dr. Spencer Reid please report to your tech analyst” I announced, earning a wholesome smile from Spencer as he directed his attention to the office. He waved at me through the open door, chuckling while he stood up to press the wrinkles that had formed on his blazer. 

My heart swelled, growing exponentially vast as his demeanor changed to a more merry disposition. I could already feel the apprehensive twinges begin to appear at my wrists and the ever-growing grin plant itself on my lips. 

Once he arrived at the door frame, he let out an inaudible welcome as I grabbed an extra office chair for him to sit on.

“Long day?” I inquired, reclaiming my spot in my own chair. He leaned back on the spine of the seat, letting out a reluctant chuckle that held more gravity than he wanted to reveal. 

“You have no idea” He replied with a frigid smile. He fidgeted with the tips of his fingers while he gazed at the floor below him. 

“I was 14″ I stated, earning an inquisitive reaction from Spencer. “I was 14 when I decided to reject any form of aid, affection, or remorse from anyone who even came close to knowing me” I admitted, watching his face contort into vulnerability as if my words hit a weak spot in his barricade. “I told myself of the cold reality of the world and that no amount of consolation or love would change that”. I pulled my seat closer to Spencer, making our interaction a bit more intimate and fervent. “That wasn’t until I met you-” I confessed, now acquiring his full undivided regard. “-an-and the team. You guys proved me wrong and convinced me otherwise of my radical theories” I continued. 

I searched for empathy in his eyes, but was met with a distant and doleful gaze while he sucked in his lips as it began to quiver. He took in a sharp breath, maintaining a adamant composure. 

“Spencer, I know it’s been difficult and I’m sorry I can never understand the hardships you must be going through. But, I need you to realize that there are so many people who consider you one of the best parts of their lives” I professed, laying a tender palm on his knee. “That’s including me, you’ve been nothing but the best little genius I’ve had the privilege to be around, even with your constant rambling”. We both laughed at this statement, meeting each other’s gazes as if we were studying each other. “You need to let us in once and while. I don’t like seeing you get down on yourself for things that are normal to feel”

Spencer laid a warm hand on top of my own, squeezing it in acknowledgment before laying his head low once again. “I-i don’t think” He began, pausing in between his phrases to find the right words to articulate. “I don’t think I can ever find true love” He confided, running his fingers through the tangled bits of hair. “After Maeve, Cat, and now my mom, it seems like everything I ever try to love gets ripped out of my hands” He explained. 

With an idea in mind, I scooted away from him and to the computer that was still connected to the bureau’s sound system. I logged onto my Spotify account and began to play Dandelions by Ruth B. The mellow melody streamed throughout the entire room, engulfing the both of us in the beginning verse of the song. 

Maybe it's the way you say my name Maybe it's the way you play your game But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you But it's so good, I've never dreamed of nobody like you

“How about I get your mind off of it for a little while?” I offered, laying my hand out for him to grab. 

“No, no Y/N. I’m not much of a dancer” He dismissed, shaking his head. 

“Come on now doctor” I giggled, pulling at his fingers to join me. “You may not have a PhD in dance, but I’m pretty sure you can calculate the terminal velocity of how you drop that ass” I joked, intertwining our hands as he finally conceded to my antics. 

“Oh god Y/N, I’ll dance with you if you never say that again” He placed a supple hand on the indents of my waist while he centered his feet to match mine. 

After configuring himself, he looked down at me, really emphasizing the height difference between us. “Now was that so bad?” I teased, a toothy grin making it’s appearance on my face. The warmth that was radiating from the both of us made the small gesture more visceral, sending an irrefutable sensation of yearning throughout my entire body. 

Hopefully, it elicited the same feeling for him 

He took the lead, swaying us side to side while the chorus of the song saturated our eardrums, repositioning his hand to the small of my back. He exhaled a cumbersome sigh, lulling himself into my embrace.

Cause I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine And I see forever in your eyes I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

I felt every tap, fidget, or movement Spencer made on the soft skin of my spine to match the rhythm of the melody. My head found asylum in the crevice of his shoulder, letting my hair fall into place as we slow danced. At this moment, I felt reality shift around me at a turtle’s pace, time seemed to have completely marooned, and all I could fixate on was the shallow breaths Spencer would take. 

“Thank you...Y/N, it really does mean a lot” Spencer attested, making me raise my head to meet his hazel eyes. Looking into them was like swimming in a pool of milk and honey while the sunshine eradicated all the bad in the world. “I know I’m not one open up about things like this, but you’re right and you reminded me of that, so thank you” He placed a loving kiss on my forehead, lingering momentarily before retracting. 

“Spencer?” I spoke up

“Yes?”

“I know that you think that love may not be possible for you, but you’re forgetting that Rossi looks at you as if you were his own son, JJ basically thinks of you as her own brother, and I love you too”. I pushed a stray curl that fell in front of him face, caressing his cheek in the process of placing the hair back to where it belongs. “Just like energy, love can’t be destroyed, just transformed” I quoted, settling my hands behind his neck. 

“And you?” 

I hummed in inquisitiveness.

“What do you consider me as?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, beckoning him to continue as I was unable to fully comprehend what he was getting at. 

“You said Rossi thought of me as a son, JJ as a brother. So what do you consider me as?” He pressed, pulling me closer to his chest. 

I could practically feel his breath fanning over my face while a tinted blush blossomed on the apple of my cheeks. “I think that’s another conversation for another dance. Don’t you think?” I suggested in attempt to stray away from his prying. 

“So you’re going to pull me into another dance?” He grinned. 

“Possibly, if you’re up for it of course”

He shook his head chuckling, gently pushing me out, twirling me as he did before letting me rest on his chest. Silence drowned out the room as the song finally came to an end, yet we still stood in each other’s embrace to prolong the occasion 

“Spence, I know that you need time. But just know when you are ready, that I’ll be here for you” I confessed, looking directly in his eyes. 

“I’ll be here ready to love you whenever you’re ready to love yourself first”

I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

[curly-bangtan]

Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook 

.

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he’s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

.

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

.

End

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extras: christmas special

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@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

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02/09/2019

© Copyright 2019

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids. 

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling. 

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness. 

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly. 

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row. 

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes. 

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative. 

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch. 

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge. 

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door. 

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street. 

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead? 

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It���s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks. 

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen. 

“Parker, ugh.” 

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage. 

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted. 

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that. 

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.  

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed. 

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material? 

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed. 

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good. 

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it. 

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business. 

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom. 

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out. 

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with. 

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back. 

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of  ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet. 

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.” 

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before. 

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand. 

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort. 

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease. 

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart. 

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly. 

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.” 

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night. 

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile. 

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant. 

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you  > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude. 

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

*

*

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

[dulce-pjm]

Hi! Could I request a Jin or namjoon arranged marriage! au with “One more kiss.” Thank you!!

of course!! let’s do it ;) took some creative liberties since i got multiple arranged marriage requests, hope that’s okay!! it's rather angsty

namjoon with au #1 - arranged marriage!au and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

rainy day promise

namjoon x reader! ft. bestie!hoseok

word count: 2.4k (i’m honestly so proud of myself for not making this a borderline oneshot)

genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage!au, (very very slight) historical!au and wartime!au

summary: when namjoon’s away, all you can do is worry. 

The rain has always made you sleepy. 

It reminds you of quiet nights by the fire, curled against his chest as he reads to you. It makes you feel him kissing your temple softly and whispering “Good night, love,” when he sees your eyes flutter closed and your breaths become heavier. The rain and his memory are too comforting, too tempting to resist drifting off into dreamland. 

“You alright, Y/N?” The question has you jolting in your seat, eyes flying from the drops cascading down the window to the man next to you, a warm smile gracing his sharp features. 

The meal in front of you has long gone tasteless and your date has noticed, picking up at how you’ve gone from merely playing with your food to not touching it altogether. 

“‘M fine,” you murmur, shoveling a few potatoes into your mouth despite the nausea rising in your stomach. Your eyes go wide when he grabs your wine glass, taking no time at all to fill it. 

“You’ll be better if you drink a little.” You feign glare at him but his smile remains stern. 

“I’m really alright, Hoseok.” You take a swig of the wine anyhow, letting the drink warm your cheeks and sting at the back of your throat. 

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” You don’t answer, suddenly finding your untouched peas very interesting. He’d be picking them off your plate if he was here. Hoseok places a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/N, there’s no sense in getting all worked up. He’ll be okay, always is.”

There’s a clang on the opposite side of the table when your uncle’s silverware hits the table. 

“What are you two talking about over there?” You briefly cringe, summoning a sheepish smile you’ve worked to perfect over the years. 

You both brush it off. Hoseok, ever personable, is able to change the subject before you can blink, chatting with your aunt about some upcoming play he’s directing. 

Hoseok is wealthy, like his father and grandfather before him. He’s kind and funny and better with people than you’ve ever been. He could provide you with a comfortable life, away from the war. That’s why your aunt and uncle chose him for you, why they orchestrated this arrangement underneath your nose. 

You hadn’t rejected him, not exactly. You’ve never been in any position to reject the courtship or engagement. But both you and Hoseok know your heart lies elsewhere. 

Your aunt grabs your hand, but her gaze lies on the man to your left. “I mean, really, Kim Seokjin! When word gets out, there’ll be rioting on the streets just to get into the show, I’m sure of it.” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, giving you sparing glances to keep track of your worrying mind. 

“I was just as surprised as you when he auditioned. It’s been an honor to work with him. I actually hope to—”

The dining hall door slams open. You whip your head towards the door along with the rest of the guests. The messenger is drenched, looking haggard with disheveled hair and rain still dripping down her face. 

“I— I’m sorry, sir—” Her teeth are chattering. “The merchants returned. There was—”

“Slow down, Hana,” your aunt says, always maternal. “It’s alright. Take your time.” She nods, taking a deep breath as a puddle of rainwater forms around her feet. 

“There was an injury. The carriage flipped while they were passing through the valley, because of all this rain.”

You’re on feet before you can think twice, heavy dining chair scraping against the hardwood as you push it backward. Hoseok shoots you a warning look that you don’t catch. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I’m not feeling well.”

Hoseok stands with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll escort you.” 

Your uncle shakes his head, scolding, “No, stay with us, Hoseok. It wouldn’t be proper.” You could laugh. Neither of you has ever been particularly proper with each other. 

You bid your aunt and uncle goodnight, ignoring a concerned stare from Hoseok. As soon as you’re out of sight, you dash towards the basement, towards the closet you always meet him in when he returns. You pray you’ll see him there and not surrounded by medics. 

The closet is placed discreetly, the door hidden by old barrels and shelves, bare walls and damp floors making this corner of this house largely unused and untouched. 

You knock thrice on the door, pause, and knock a fourth time. When the door doesn’t open, you repeat the code. 

No answer. Your heart drops into stomach as you stumble backwards, breathing spiraling out of control. 

“Hey, love.” A soft hand lands on the small of your back and you gasp, spinning to face him. He’s all smiles, lips stretched into his dimpled cheeks as he resists the urge to kiss you right here. “Miss me?”

You throw your arms around his middle, pressing your face into his chest as he digs his nose into your hair. 

You know how self-conscious he is about his intimidating aura. His sharp glances and sharper words often have most of the staff avoiding him like the plague, but to you, he’s all soft embraces and blushing cheeks. 

--

“How was the trip?” The two of you are perched on worn stools that wobble when you lean too far one way, arms wrapped around each other to keep them from moving too much. Your head is pressed against his shoulder while he traces patterns on the back of your hand that's resting on his thigh. 

“It was... amazing. Honestly.” 

“I’m glad.” And you are. But you can’t help but always worry. These trips are dangerous and take much too long. When war and battle beckon at your door, every day without him in your sight is another day of anxiety.

Namjoon is a servant of your uncle’s house. He’s a cartographer, having studied at the same university as Hoseok and yourself, earning admission through his merit alone. The first times you saw him, he was bent over old maps and worn books, the weak candlelight illuminating the texts in front of him and his face poorly. Under the ruse of taking nighttime strolls, you’d found yourself sneaking peeks at him more often, smiling softly at the dark tufts of hair he’d run his fingers through until it stood up on his head. 

You remember when Hoseok introduced you to him officially, tired of hearing you gush about him, and the three of you became a unit, joint at the hip wherever you went. 

You hadn’t realized how good those days were, not when you had them. When you and Namjoon were giggly and sweet and bashful and it took Hoseok fighting tooth and nail for either of you to confess your true feelings. He’d been delighted when you finally gave up on hiding it, nearly shrieking in joy when he saw Namjoon sneak a peck on your cheek in the corner stairwell.

Those days were golden and joyful, full of laughs and long nights doing schoolwork and attending fancy university parties only to sneak away with half the buffet. 

The days were good. Until they weren’t. 

Until your uncle and aunt and Hoseok’s parents informed you of their longstanding agreement: that the two of you be married. 

It’d been nothing but an absolute shock, but the both of you knew better than to say no, knew better than to risk their wrath. Hoseok would have been fine, though his parents certainly would have been unhappy. But if you rejected your uncle's wishes, an orphan with nothing but gratitude for their kindness in taking care of you, you couldn't be too sure they wouldn’t just relieve you of your position here, sending you to the streets. And you and Namjoon had neither the means nor the connections to fend for yourselves in the city, not in times like these.

When Hoseok got on one knee the next week in your dining room with Namjoon watching from the corner, newly hired by your uncle at your own suggestion, you said yes. Neither of you wanted it, but Namjoon insisted Hoseok go through with it, too caught up in his worry for your safety to think of himself.

It'd been difficult keeping the ruse, especially once your university days were over and there were much fewer places tucked away from your aunt and uncle's eyes and ears. It'd have been much more difficult without Hoseok, but he's always been the charmer out of you three, easily diverting attention and prying eyes when need be.

"I actually got you something."

Your eyes light up in surprise as you shift to face him. "You did? But you said—"

"I lied," he replies with a small smirk. "We always planned to stop by a few cities. I just wanted to see your face when I surprised you."

You giggle softly, lightly slapping at his arm. "You still lied.”

“For a good cause,” he jokes, pecking at your cheek before drawing a small box from his pocket. His cheeks flush slightly as he hands it to you. It reminds you of those first times you spoke to him, when you were both sputtering messes that could barely hold eye contact for longer than a moment. 

It’s small but heavy in your hands, the size somewhat indicative of its contents. It fits just so in your palm, and when you open it, tears spring into your eyes at the small ring nestled into the velvet cushion. It isn’t shiny or decorated with diamonds or worth half your university tuition like the ring Hoseok gave you. It’s humble and wooden, deep brown and adorned with intricately carved with roses and other patterns you don’t recognize. Your thumb runs over the grooves almost instinctively, as if trying to memorize the feeling as quickly as possible. You can almost see his face when he spotted it in some market or shop, see that lit up expression on his features when it reminds him of you. 

“Oh, Namjoon...” You swipe at your eyes quickly, but when you meet his gaze, there’s already a few stray tears cascading down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as you smile, lifting your hand to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “I know it’s not much. But I thought you might like it. It’s discreet, so I figured you could wear it around, if you wanted to.”

You chuckle softly and wonder what you’d done to deserve him. “It’s perfect.” You remove Hoseok’s engagement ring from your finger and quickly replace it with Namjoon’s. You already know you’ll be running your fingers over it again often, treating it like a tether to him when he isn’t here. It won’t sit on your ring finger, of course, but for now, you leave it there, admiring its simplicity. 

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pulling your hands into his. “I know everything’s uncertain right now. And I know that might not change for a while.” He runs his thumb across the ring, looking at it intently before lifting your whole hand and kissing it gently, plush lips ever soft against your skin. “But this is a promise. That one day I’ll sweep you off your feet and we won’t look back.”

You laugh loudly this time, maybe a bit too loudly, but you don’t care. “If I don’t sweep you off your feet first.”

He doesn’t ask the question hanging in the air, but your response is enough of an answer as you pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. You can taste the saltwater from both of your tears, the moment both incredibly joyful and bittersweet.

When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear while you run a thumb over his dimples, all affections. 

“It’s late,” he murmurs. “We should go.”

You sigh, hand dropping from his face. You wish you could drag him to your room, sweet talk him into playing with your hair or reading with you for a while, but you know he’s right. 

You rise with a nod, feet dragging behind you as you make for the closet door, listening outside for a moment on the off chance that someone’s up late and nearby. Namjoon stays in his seat, always leaving after you to decrease suspicion and allow you to get to bed first. When no sound meets you other than faint thunder, you crack open the door, stepping outside. 

But just as you start to close it behind you, Namjoon grabs the edge of the door with his hand, sticking his face out to meet your startled gaze. 

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” You search his face with concern, wondering if you should have said more earlier, if you’d hurt him somehow. 

“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently with a smile. “No, that’s not it.”

You furrow your brows at his antics, though you’ve always loved seeing his more silly side. “Then what do you want, Mister Kim?”

His eyes glint with mischief. “One more kiss, Mrs. Kim.” Your cheeks are flushed, but laugh as you grab his shoulders, pulling him close to you as you let him press his velvety lips onto yours, savoring the feeling until he’s with you again. 

“Love you,” you murmur, peppering a few more kisses on his chin and cheeks for good measure. 

“I love you too,” he whispers. “So much.” He starts to shut the door, but pauses, lips down turned slightly in a frown. “Oh— don’t forget to move the ring to a different finger.”

You nod. “I won’t.” It’s bittersweet as the door closes, a reminder that the bubble you two have created yourself only goes so far, that this isn’t quite as real as you want it to be. 

Namjoon saves the longer, more elegant speech and proposal for a future date, like its own unspoken promise. One day social status and money and survival won’t stop you. One day you’ll both be coming home from long days to love each other unabashedly, to embrace without fear or time constraints. 

You smile to yourself as the rain patters outside, your feet echoing behind you as you creep back to your room. 

You wish Namjoon were with you as you climb under the sheets, feeling a bit cold without him here. 

Yes, the rainfall makes you sleepy but as your head fills with thoughts of Namjoon and his promise, you grin stupidly to yourself, thinking you probably won’t get too much rest tonight. 

[thinkingimmensely]

Like an Open Book VIII

Part 1 | Part 7 | Part 9

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m sorry for the long hiatus! I mentioned in my previous updates that life has been a roller coaster and the pandemic isn’t helping at all. But I’m slowly getting back on my feet and I actually enjoy writing again lately. So here’s the long awaited update for this story! <3  I hope everyone is doing great, stay safe guys! 

Also, I tried something different in the start, I hope ya’ll don’t mind! :D

MASTERLIST

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the Potterverse!

___________________

E c h o e s

Your mind was like a cave that had voices bouncing off its walls; echoing deeper in its crevice.

You’ve lost yourself in that cave countless of times before, each one was not a moment you looked back on fondly. Now you’re back and it seemed like the rocky walls of thoughts were closing in on you.

C    l   o   s  i  n g   r i g h t   in

Covering your ears didn’t help, but you did it anyway. People were running amok; children were being separated from their parents, friends were losing each other in the crowd and you couldn’t focus even if you had to- the voices in reality was being mixed with the ones in your head.

Everyone was screaming.

You felt someone pull you away just as a flash of green hit the spot where you just stood.

You didn’t even know who he was.

“Y/N, are you all right?!” The person shook you, and you looked into hazel eyes that were wide with worry and fright. His hands held you by your shoulders in a vice-like grip and you were pretty sure he wasn’t even aware of it himself. “Stay with me. Focus on me.” His voice left no room for argument and you found yourself keenly aware of how close your bodies were. If the both of you weren’t stuck in this life or death situation, you would’ve turned into a million shades of red right now.

The both of you were hunched back behind some bushes, shielding you from the sight of any Death Eater around the area. He pried your hands away from your ears, his eyes never leaving yours, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”  

You didn’t realize you were crying until now, but everything in your head seemed quieter as James Potter’s thoughts drowned everyone else’s away. I’ll keep you safe, we’ll get out of here, we’ll get out. You breathed in a shaky breath and got your wand out of the pocket of your hoodie. “I won’t let anything happen to you too.”

-FIVE DAYS AGO-

You and Remus shared a look as the three boys who sat across from you devoured their ice cream as fast as they could; seems like the concept of brain freeze was foreign to them.

The five of you were currently at the ice cream parlor Remus had mentioned in his letter. He was quite surprised when the lot of you arrived, quite the contrary to when you, James, and Sirius had gone to get Peter; the blonde was quite ecstatic, having already packed his stuff. It was as if he was already waiting for you guys to arrive even though none of the boys had sent a word beforehand of the plans.

The parlor was jam-packed with people trying to escape from the heat, it was a miracle that you even found seats to begin with.

You heard a series of hushed whispers and giggling and you turned to see the girls from the neighboring table eye the boys with you, particularly Sirius. It was something to get used to- gathering the attention of people by being associated with these four, and you didn’t know if you’d ever get used to it.  

Remus gained your attention soon enough by asking how the boys were able to get you to go with them. James had no problem retelling the entire endeavor in your stead though, saying that you glossed over the best parts and to let the pro-storyteller do the talking. Much to your dismay and embarrassment, he had included the part where you nearly fell off Sirius’ bike on the way to Peter’s.

Remus’s chuckles died down as he grinned at you, “Cheer up Y/N, I’m sure you’ll get a hang of it soon enough.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, no. I’m not riding that thing-” You pointed your spoon to the motorbike parked right across the street under some tree for shade. “-ever again.”  

Sirius grinned at you but before he could get a word out, one if the girls had arrived at your table, a confident glint in her eye and a light blush across her powdered face. “Hey.” She greeted.

A chorus of hey’s and hello’s rang out from your group in reply.

“Um, so my friends and I couldn’t help but notice you guys and we just wanted to ask if you lot wanted to hang out back at my place? We have a pool and everything and we could just chill y’know?” She flipped her long, silky blonde hair back her shoulders.

You tore your eyes away from her and saw Peter awaiting the other’s answer, you knew he wanted them to say yes without even having to look into his mind. Remus looked uncomfortable while James and Sirius shared a look.

“Sorry, but we’re kind of busy later.” Sirius drawled out smoothly. “Y’see we’re only here for a couple of hours before we leave.”

Disappointment flashed in her eyes but she still looked quite determined, “Well what about we hang out right now? You guys can order another serving of ice cream.”

Sirius beamed at her, his perfect white pearls showing. “Sorry lovely, but we’re kind of in a middle of something.” It was James who replied this time. He had also stolen a spoonful of your ice cream, sighing in delight of the cool treat.  

The girl turned away in a huff, angry at the rejection. After everyone was done eating, you guys stood up to leave, you followed behind the boys, not at all that eager to get out of the cool building and into the scorching heat.

“I don’t understand why you guys came all the way out here to get me when I could’ve just used the Floo network to get to James’.” Remus said once the five of you neared his house.  

“And pass up the chance to try out my new bike? No sir.” Sirius snorted.

“Besides,” James started, “We wanted to try that ice cream shop you mentioned in your letters.”  

You trailed behind them as you listened to their conversation, kicking some pebbles out of your way. The heat was beating down you with the afternoon sun and you could feel the sweat trickle down your forehead, which you hastily wiped away. The walk to Remus’ house was fairly far, probably because his parents thought it was better to isolate themselves (albeit not totally) due to their son’s condition.  

“You alright Y/N?” James asked as he matched his pace with yours, his three friends talking a few feet ahead of them. He fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and ran it through your forehead. “I guess you don’t do well with heat?”

“I just haven’t been outside for a while.” You replied and flushed as he dabbed his handkerchief behind your neck. You immediately took the hankie from him, “Icoulddothatmyselfthankyou.” You hastily blurted. You missed the amused smirks the three boys threw your way having just witness the scene because you were busy being too self-conscious about yourself to notice.  

When you reached the humble home of the Lupins, his father Lyall Lupin, greeted all of you warmly while his mother, Hope, sat by the dinner table, a book on her lap as she drank her afternoon tea. “You must be Y/N,” She smiled fondly at you before Remus could even introduce you. “You’re much prettier in person than from the photograph.” She held out her hand and you reached out to shake it, confusion evident on your face.  

Sirius beamed brightly, “Pardon me, was I hearing things or is it true that Remus keeps a photograph of Y/N?” He turned to look at James in amusement, the bespectacled boy looked absolutely annoyed with this new piece of information.  

“Mother, honestly,” Remus whined, “I keep a picture of all my close friends. You’re giving them the wrong idea.” Hope laughed softly, apologizing for teasing her son.  

The Lupin couple nonchalantly agreed to let Remus visit the Potter residence, they were glad he was going out to spend time with his friends actually, completely different from your family who just wanted you out of the house because they didn’t want to deal with you.  

James, Remus, and yourself would be taking the Floo Network from this point while Sirius and Peter would continue the journey using Sirius’ bike just because it wouldn’t fit inside the fireplace. James headed towards the Fireplace first while Remus said his goodbyes to his parents.  

“Have a grand time, son.” Lyall patted him on the shoulder while his mother gave him a hug. “Take care, Remus, have fun.”  

You turned away and approached James instead of lingering around the family. “So,” you started, “I heard you had a lake behind your house.”

He grinned at you, “You been asking about me?” You could practically feel his ego inflating with the very thought. 

“No,” You deadpanned, “Remus just told me you guys take dips there every summer.” You answered, wiping the grin off of his face. He furrowed his brows at you and his mouth formed a thin line. Was bringing his huge head back down to earth really that bad? You waited for him to reply, and he was about to, but Remus arrived at that moment, his backpack slung over his shoulders, he took his place beside you which irked the raven-haired boy more.  

You arrived at the Potter’s residence without a hitch, and Fleamont and Euphemia Potter greeted all of you, already expecting your arrival. They gave you the extra bedroom to yourself while the boys would be sharing James’ room. James had already taken the liberty to deposit your bag there while Euphemia brewed tea and baked cookies for everyone.  

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked the aging lady as she scurried about the kitchen. Fleamont and Remus were at the living room playing Wizard’s Chess.  

“Oh, you can place the cookies on a plate Y/N dear, I think they’ve cooled down now.” She answered, flashing a motherly smile your way. Such a pretty, young lass.  

“Thank you.” you answered, flushing from the compliment.

Euphemia looked at you questioningly, “Whatever for, dear?”

Oh. You mentally smacked yourself. Why the hell did you keep on doing this? You should really pay more attention. “I mean, for having us over.” Nice save.  

Euphemia waved you off, “It’s nothing dear. Friends of Jamie is always welcomed here. Thank you also, for putting up with the boys, I know they can be a handful sometimes, but they’re good lads.”

“Something smells heavenly in here.” James’ voice boomed as he entered the kitchen. Before you could transfer the cookie to the plate, James appeared right beside you and took a bite. You turned to him but was taken aback by how close he was that your noses were nearly bumping each other. Whatever you were about to say was forgotten as you could feel your blood rush to your face.  

He was so close that you could see the golden specks on those ocean eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses. Someone cleared their throat and you immediately moved back, keeping your emotions and you Legilimency at check. Because whatever that feeling was that glazed on the eyes of the boy, you didn’t want to know.  

“You two seem close.” Sirius’ commented, his shit-eating on that obnoxious face.

“Oh, sod of Pads.” James retorted as you busied yourself, obviously feeling awkward about whatever just happened.  

“James, mind your manners.” His mother scolded as Sirius approached the older woman and greeted her with a hug. “Had a safe ride, Sirius?” She asked.

“That’s right, not one itsy bitsy accident.” He replied and took a cookie from the cooling rack. “You still make the best cookies, Euphemia.”  

“I’ll take these to the others then.” You mumbled, Euphemia calling out a thank you before you completely escaped the kitchen.  

You took your seat beside Remus after you set the cookies on the coffee table. They were just about finished with the game and Fleamont was losing.  

“Okay?” Remus asked when you sat down, you flashed him ma smile and nodded, so he turned back to the game. “I think that’s checkmate, sir.”  

Fleamont stared at the board for a couple of seconds before sighing in defeat; he held out his hand, which Remus gladly shook. “Good game as always, Remus.”

“Always a pleasure.” The brunette replied. James and Sirius entered the living room carrying the teapot and cups, setting the things down on table beside the cookies.  

“I almost forgot!” Sirius exclaimed when Remus started pouring tea for everyone. He fished out a crumpled paper from the pocket of jacket and presented it to you guys. “A concert!”

You huddled together as you tried to read the fine print. “A Muggle concert.” You pointed out. You’ve never been in one of those, but you weren’t a fan from the get-go. Didn’t concerts normally have a lot of people?

“Sounds brilliant!” James took the poster from his best friend’s hands and read it, “It says it takes place 5 days from now at the next town.”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea-” Remus tried to object, and with the concerned look he gave you, you know it was on your benefit.  

“Oh come on, lighten up Moony. This will be epic.” Sirius argued.  

“I-I agree, I think it’ll be fun.” You voiced out hesitantly and Sirius looked at you with a bright smile.

“See?! Even Y/N agrees with me. Don’t be such a sour potato and let’s just go to enjoy. It is summer after all.

“Are you sure?” Remus whispered.  

“It’ll be fine.” You tried to convince not only Remus, but also yourself. It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen, right?

___________________ 

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[stevie-kd]

“Blackout”

Part 1

::In which Bakugou is (once again hehe) hit by a quirk. He’s forced to rely on Kirishima and his classmates to help him through it all, despite how much he hates it.::

**A/N I’d give you guys more details on the plot, but I feel this is a fic you’d be best going in blind hehehe

•••••••••••••

“BAKUGOU, WATCH OUT!”

He didn’t have time to react to Kirishima’s cry. It was too late. The massive wall of a man slammed into Bakugou full-force, throwing him hard into a brick wall behind him.

The next thing he knew, he was blinking awake. His brain was fuzzy, and his spine ignited in pain at the slightest movement. The world around him came back slowly, the fight returning before his eyes.

Kirishima and Kaminari were still fighting the big guy, while Midoriya and Todoroki were up against some woman with a teleportation quirk. The others were so distracted, they didn’t notice the third villain sneaking up on their explosive classmate.

This one was small, quiet. He creeped right up to Bakugou, who was still too disoriented to protect himself, even against a small fry like this. His arms wouldn’t move, his legs wouldn’t respond to his commands, and his eyesight was swimming in and out of focus. A sudden nausea cut through the fog in his brain, and he bent over and vomited all over the villain’s suave shoes.

The man didn’t look happy. With more strength than Bakugou would’ve pegged him for, the man grabbed him by the jaw and jerked his head to look him dead in his beady little eyes.

They flashed a vibrant shade of gold, and Bakugou’s world tilted dangerously. The last thing he heard before blacking out a second time was a voice that could only have belonged to the villain before him.

“One down, nineteen more of these little shits to go.”

One down.

Everything faded away.

Bakugou wasn’t sure when he came to. Everything was dark, and so so quiet. He tried to speak—to call out for Kirishima—but he couldn’t hear his own voice. He wondered if maybe he was still dreaming, but his thoughts felt too vivid to be a dream.

He slapped himself across the face. Ouch. Definitely not a dream.

Suddenly, Bakugou could feel hands on his arms. They were holding him down. They were fucking everywhere!

That handsy bastard. Kamino Ward. The League of Villains. It all came crashing back, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

The hands only held tighter as he fought against them, desperate for escape. “Get off of me!” he cried, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. “Fuck off! K-KIRISHIMA!”

Suddenly the hands were retreating, and Bakugou stopped his pathetic scrambling. He wasn’t sure what to do next without his two most important senses. He didn’t know where he was or who he was surrounded by. He could never escape on his own in his current situation.

Then there was a hand slipping into his and giving him a reassuring squeeze. This person’s thumb rubbed up and down his own, and Bakugou recognized the sensation. He’d received this treatment before, the last time he woke up after a bad injury.

“Kirishima?” Bakugou asked.

A second hand grabbed his and they brought his palm up to rest on the side of the person’s jaw. The head bobbed up and down. A nod. Kirishima.

Bakugou could’ve cried with relief. He wouldn’t let himself though. He didn’t know who else was in the room. He didn’t want them to see him at his weakest. Only Kirishima could, having seen it before after a particularly bad nightmare following Kamino.

“What happened?” he voiced. He trusted his voice still worked, considering he couldn’t hear it himself.

One hand held Bakugou’s to his cheek still, while the other moved to his opposite forearm. They traced out letters to form a single word.

VILLAIN

“That guy at the end. He hit me with his quirk, huh?” Bakugou pressed, to which he received another nod from Kirishima. “It’s not permanent, is it?”

This time Kirishima shook his head. Thank fuck. It was like a massive weight was lifted from Bakugou’s chest.

“Do you know how long it’ll last?”

WEEK

Bakugou nodded. “Okay,” he said, letting out a breath. “I can manage a week.”

Two hands slipped around his back then, pulling Bakugou up into a hug. Kirishima was always a hugger. He was probably crying too, the big sap. Bakugou accepted the embrace, tightening his arms around Kirishima too. Bakugou tried not to think about the others who were probably in the room witnessing this.

“Where are we?” Bakugou asked once they'd separated.

HOSPITAL

“Hospital,” he echoed. “I don’t have to stay here until the quirk wears off, do I?”

Kirishima shook his head.

YOU CAN GO HOME

Bakugou flinched. “Wait, no. I’m sorry if my parents are in here right now, but I want to go back to the dorms.”

Kirishima squeezed his arm a little, maybe as a signal to hold on. Bakugou’s hand traveled to his friend’s throat, gently touching his Adam’s apple. He could feel the reverberations as Kirishima spoke to someone else in the room.

Bakugou wouldn’t hate going home, but he knew he’d regret it. How were his parents supposed to keep him entertained? They had jobs and social lives, and he didn’t want to burden them like this.

Whereas if he stayed at school, he had nineteen other dipshits to keep him occupied except during school hours. Plus, Kirishima would probably love to take care of him. They were always at each other’s side anyway. If Kirishima had a patrol with Fatgum, one of the other Bakusquad idiots would probably hang around him.

He wouldn’t be a hassle. Being blind and deaf for a full week was going to suck ass, but he’d manage. He didn’t want anyone to pity him, but he knew he was going to need help. He was going to have to ask for help. What a damn nightmare.

All he needed was a guide to take him to and from places, like the bathroom and to bed. He’d need someone to make his meals and put clothes together for him to change into. Just about everything else he could manage fine on his own.

Finally, Kirishima was writing out one simple word into his arm.

OK

Bakugou sighed. “Good. Er, thank you.”

There was a firm pat on his shoulder, then Kirishima was tracing into his arm again.

CHECK UP THEN WE LEAVE

Bakugou nodded. He’d have to thank Kirishima after this quirk was all over. He didn’t say it enough to him. The rest of the losers in their class didn’t deserve it, but Kirishima did.

For the next few minutes, Bakugou was poked and prodded by who he assumed were nurses and doctors. Eventually, Kirishima’s rough hands returned and helped him out of bed. He helped Bakugou out of whatever clothes they had him in, and the cold hospital air chilled him. He was relieved when he realized he was wearing underwear. He and Kirishima had changed together plenty of times before, but having Kirishima help him change was different. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Kirishima would tap on one leg, and Bakugou would lift it so his friend could tug on one pant leg. He tapped the other leg, then pulled the pants up to Bakugou’s waist. Bakugou could feel him buttoning the jeans for him, and it took longer than it would have taken Bakugou to do it himself.

Okay. Yep. He was definitely blushing now.

Kirishima had Bakugou raise his arms while he pulled a tee shirt over his head. Next, he helped the blond into a sweatshirt, which he was thankful for. He didn’t like being cold, and this hospital was absolutely freezing.

Kirishima lastly helped him into some shoes, lacing them up for him too. Bakugou patted Kirishima on the head while he was still knelt in front of him: a silent thank you.

Kirishima looped arms with him and guided him through the hospital. Bakugou knew once they were outside because the wind was biting. Kirishima helped Bakugou into a car and started to buckle him in before the blond swatted him away. He wasn’t totally helpless.

The drive was nauseating. Without anything to focus on but every bump in the road and a turn here and there, he was starting to feel sick. He must have been looking a little green because Bakugou felt a hand touch his forehead, surely Kirishima worrying over him.

It was a pretty short drive, maybe a few minutes at most. Bakugou unbuckled his own seatbelt and waited for Kirishima to tug him out of the vehicle before attempting to get out on his own. With his luck today, he’d walk right into traffic.

Kirishima’s arm looped with his again, and they started forward up a small hill. Eventually they reached a flight of stairs, and Bakugou stumbled his way up. They must have entered a building, probably the dorms, and he could tell because it was a lot warmer here. They walked a short ways farther before Bakugou was gently shoved onto a couch.

He sat quietly and waited for whatever was to come next. He felt self conscious being left in the open like that, totally unaware if anyone was around him. He missed Kirishima’s presence at his side. Just having him there made Bakugou feel… safer.

After what felt like a few minutes, Bakugou was getting antsy. He didn’t like the feeling of being watched, assumingly surrounded by some of his shitty classmates if his hunch was right and they were back in the class 1-A dorms. He was probably sitting in the common room right now.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he asked, “Kirishima?”

Nothing. No touch from his friend came. He pulled his knees to his chest, curling inward on himself.

He felt a dip on the couch to his left, but no one tried to touch him or comfort him. Bakugou couldn’t be sure who this was without contact.

If he was nervous before, the feeling was just multiplied. Knowing there was someone right beside him was so much worse than just having a hunch about it. Bakugou just wanted Kirishima back, to loop arms again and take him to his room where they could be alone.

Bakugou wanted to sleep off this quirk as fast as possible. What else could he do? It was only Tuesday so everyone else would have to go to class the next few days, and he’d probably be stuck in his room. Nothing better to do than sleep.

He waited and waited for someone to do something. The anticipation was killing him. Where the hell did Kirishima go? Why’d he just leave Bakugou here with these extras?

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He hoped no one noticed. The hand squeezed, maybe trying to be reassuring. He reached over to grab it, quickly realizing it didn’t belong to his red-haired idiot. It was too small and soft to be his. This belonged to a girl. But which one?

“Who the hell are you?” Bakugou demanded.

The hand drifted to his arm and did as Kirishima had: they spelled out a word by tracing it into his forearm.

KAMINARI

Bakugou snorted. “You have girl hands.”

The hand slapped his arm, but it was far too gentle to hurt. Bakugou turned away from where Kaminari must have been sitting beside him, hoping no one could see the smirk on his face.

Kaminari started to trace something else into his arm.

YOU OK ?

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ peachy, obviously.”

He was half tempted to ask Kaminari to take him to his room, but he knew he couldn’t. His room was private, and Kaminari was curious. Knowing him, he’d probably drag the whole stupid “Bakusquad” with to check it out, and Bakugou would never know.

He was pissed at Kirishima for ditching him, but he’d sit there and fucking wait. Kirishima better have a good excuse for this.

“Where’s Shitty Hair?” Bakugou finally demanded aloud.

There was a double tap on his other shoulder. He wasn’t sure what it meant. “Kirishima?”

Someone helped Bakugou to stand up and guided his hands to someone else’s shoulders, as if he were about to dance with the fucker. Bakugou couldn’t help but notice the muscles under his fingers. This had to be the big red idiot. “Kirishima.”

He moved his right hand up to the side of this person’s head, placing it against their jaw and ear. They nodded.

“Where the hell have you been?”

COOKING

Bakugou hmphed. “Alright, so what are we doing now? Fucking slow dancing?”

He felt Kirishima’s shoulders bob up and down as he chuckled.

WANT TO ?

Bakugou could feel his cheeks burning. “NO I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO, YOU SACK OF SHIT!” he yelled, hoping the blush would come off as anger.

Kirishima laughed again.

HUNGRY ?

“Starving,” he answered honestly. “You cook for me?”

He nodded, then wrapped an arm around Bakugou’s waist and guided him away from the couch. Kirishima sat him down at the table, then placed a pair of chopsticks in Bakugou’s hand.

TERIYAKI CHICKEN RICE VEGTABLES

“You spelled vegetables wrong, dork.”

PISS OFF

Bakugou snickered at that. “Hey, we got any hot sauce?”

A cold bottle was pressed into his open palm. Bakugou scoffed. “The fuck you thinkin’? If I do it, I’ll probably just pour the whole bottle out and ruin it. Can’t see what I’m doing, Shitty Hair.”

The bottle was plucked from his hand and he waited for a signal, which came in the form of a double tap on his arm. He reached out for the dish, and his fingers bumped against a hot bowl. He pulled it toward himself and stuck the chopsticks in. He couldn’t see if he was able to grab anything, so he bit into empty chopsticks the first try. The second attempt, he managed to pick up some chicken.

It was good. Not as good as his, but Kirishima wasn’t hopeless in the kitchen like the rest of these rejects. Bakugou missed the next bite too, and the one after that.

Kirishima tapped him. Bakugou glared in his general direction.

NEED HELP ?

“There’s no way I’m letting you feed me like a damn baby,” Bakugou spat. “I’m fine.”

NO ONE HERE

“Tch. And if someone walks in on us? Not happening.”

YOUR ROOM ?

Bakugou hesitated. He and Kirishima were close friends, but was this going too far? Was it weird? Especially considering Bakugou’s awkward feelings he was still deciphering.

Bakugou was pretty sure he had a crush on Kirishima. He’d never really had a crush on anyone, so he wasn’t even sure if that was what he was feeling. Whenever he was around Kirishima, he felt good. Like, his stomach fluttered anytime Kirishima flexed his muscles or made stupid ‘manliness’ comments, or his heart pounded when the redhead smiled and flashed those sharp teeth, or the way his mind melted anytime Kirishima threw an arm around his shoulders or bumped fists with him.

When Kirishima was there, Bakugou wasn’t so angry at the world anymore. Kirishima made it a world Bakugou didn’t mind living in. He didn’t want to imagine his life without his closest friend.

Kirishima tapped Bakugou’s arm. He was taking too long to answer, too lost in his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, sure. Let’s go,” he finally managed.

So Kirishima grabbed his hand and squeezed, giving Bakugou those weird butterflies in his stomach. He yanked Bakugou up and dragged him out of the kitchen. They rode the elevator up instead of taking the stairs, and Bakugou was relieved because he didn’t want to embarrass himself anymore than he already had coming up the steps to the dorms.

He followed Kirishima to his dorm, who must have gotten a spare key from Aizawa because Bakugou always kept his door locked. No one had ever been allowed inside, not even Kirishima. He hoped his room was clean, but he couldn’t remember if he’d straightened up or not. He definitely didn’t make his bed this morning, having been in too much of a rush to get to class on time after his alarm clock didn’t go off.

Kirishima led him over to his bed and they sat beside each other, knees pressed together. It wasn’t until now that it dawned on Bakugou what he’d signed up for.

But he couldn’t say no now, could he? It was too late. He’d look stupid, all this back and forth. He’d have to endure it.

A finger tapped on Bakugou’s jaw. He could feel the heat rising on his cheeks, and there was no way Kirishima didn’t notice the blush. He opened his mouth just enough, and Kirishima dropped a piece of chicken on his tongue.

They carried on like that for a while, until Kirishima gave him a pat on the knee and the bed shifted as he stood. After a moment, Kirishima’s fingers were tracing into his skin again.

TIRED ?

Bakugou nodded. “I need to shower first. I can do that on my own, before you get any bright ideas. Just, grab me some clothes?”

Kirishima took him to the communal baths and didn’t let him go until they reached the showers. He took Bakugou’s wrist and brought his hand around to touch the things he’d need so he’d know where they were. Shampoo, soap, towel, clothes…

Bakugou turned to Kirishima. “Will you be close? I don’t know if I can find my way back.”

He felt like that sounded weak. Sheepish would probably be the right word. Had he sounded angry enough all day? Without the ability to hear his own voice, he couldn’t know what he sounded like at all. Was he being too soft? Too harsh?

RIGHT OUTSIDE

Bakugou nodded, and Kirishima’s hand disappeared. He undressed and bumped his hip hard against a counter and stubbed his toe while stepping into the shower. He stood under the hot water for a while after finishing, just taking in the feeling.

That was all he had for now—feeling. The sense of touch. He never much liked touching, especially unsolicited, but that was all he had now. He had to rely on others to guide him. He hated it.

But with Kirishima, it was okay. He didn’t mind the warm buzz Kirishima’s touches sent through his body. He didn’t mind looping arms like they were about to skip down the yellow brick road together. He definitely wouldn’t mind holding hands either.

He hoped maybe they could keep it up even after he got his missing senses back.

++++++++++++

I know this fic is kinda random since I have that list of fics I wanted to get posted within the month and this was most definitely not on it, but the idea came into my head and I couldn’t get it out until I wrote it down. Soooo here’s part 1 of maybeeee 3? We’ll see. I have to keep my fics short so I don’t overwhelm myself. I have way too many ideas that still need writing down lol. Hope you liked it !

9/21/2020