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manekicatwriter · 3 years ago

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hellooo! i was wondering if i could make a request for an modern au sbi x gn sibling reader where they’re around 17-19, and they’ve got depression. they’ve had to go away for a few weeks after a bad episode ended in an attempt and they were hospitalized and sent somewhere for rehabilitation and now they’re coming home and they’re all anxious and quiet and stuff- so the boys do their best to like comfort them and reassure them that they’re loved and they belong there? i’m sorry if that’s an awkward request, i was just recently discharged after a similar situation and honestly the comfort would be great. it’s totally your call if you chose to write it tho, i understand that this is a difficult and triggering subject and not everyone is comfortable with writing things like it. if you aren’t comfy please feel free to just ignore my ask! <3

you’re here, and that’s what matters.

TW: mentions of attempted suicide. please proceed with caution.

hey! i just wanted to let you know that i’ve been through a similar situation and understand how you feel (though my case was not as severe). i wish you a safe road to recovery.

note, i think you asked for their characters but it leant itself towards their rl versions. i have a feeling the dsmp versions would be too chaotic for this sensitive subject.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! please do not be afraid to send in an ask. ANON IS ON!!

Phil:

- phil was very scared about you being so gravely hurt, it kept him up for some nights. thankfully, you pulled through.

- he visited whenever he could. if he couldn’t, he was busy making sure coming home felt as comfortable for you as possible while also educating himself on how to take care of you.

- phil would listen to how you felt, and be understanding of your feelings.

- “You don’t have to tell me why you did it, I’m just glad you’re here,” pulling you in for a warm hug.

- when you got back home, he made sure he and the boys had prepared your favorite dinner and desserts.

It was the day you had just got home from rehabilitation, and you two were sitting on the couch. You hadn’t said much, you felt like you had nothing to say. Phil had asked for you to sit down so you two could talk, one on one.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” your voice started to crack. “For making you guys worry about me.” Tears started to form from your eyes and you wept into your hands.

Phil immediately reached over to you to hug you, letting you cry on his shoulder. “We don’t blame you. We don’t blame anybody. I just want you to be here safe with us. Let it all out.” He pat and rubbed your back soothingly as you kept crying. But it was a good cry. He was just glad you came home.

Tommy:

- even though many see tommy as a loud and obnoxious boy with a general disregard for others, we all know deep down that’s a persona. he will go out of his way to make other comfortable in his presence if he truly cares for them. which he does, for you of course.

- he wants to make you happy! when the time is right, he’ll crack jokes and offer to play minecraft with you.

- would tone down the yelling. not because you asked, but he’s afraid of triggering you. treats you like glass. if you notice he’s being quieter than usual and you don’t care, you tell him you don’t.

- if you’re feeling it, he’ll take you out to fun places and to eat. nothing that’s too outlandish like a theme park, but just enough to have a reason to get out of bed that day instead of sleeping in.

It had been a week since you had gotten home and Phil had instructed you to maintain somewhat of a schedule to upkeep yourself. Right now was your nightly routine, washing yourself, brushing your teeth, and finally sliding under the covers. It felt nice. The blanket of sleep consumes you easily…

…

Until you bedroom door opens you’re being aggressively shaken awake. You groan, shying away, but they’re persistent.

“Ey, wake up, it’s morning!” Tommy shakes you again.

You realize you didn’t dream, but think nothing of it. “Tommy please, what do you want.”

Finally, Tommy pulled your warm sheets from over you, making you flinch. “I wanted to go out to the park today! Feed the ducks! Yeesss!”

You sighed. If you didn’t comply now, Tommy will refuse to stop nagging you for the rest of the day. You rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. You could very clearly hear Tommy’s cheers.

You two had gotten ready, eaten breakfast, and said goodbye to the rest of your family so you could head over to the park. It was close enough that it wasn’t unbearable to walk to. Even if you weren’t completely yourself yet, you were glad Tommy was.

After the short walk you two finally reached the park. Tommy immediately bolted toward the pond and you jogged behind. He had already started throwing the ducks some seeds, and even threw it on a duck. It didn’t seem too pleased.

You two sat at the edge of the pond as you watched the ducks eat. “Hey.” You hear Tommy call to you, and you turn your head to him.

“Can we talk about what happened? With you? Is it okay?” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Go ahead, what is it?”

“When Techno found out what happened to you, and told us the news, I was scared shitless.” He let out a sad huff. “I thought we were going to lose you.” Tommy kept his eyes fixed at the pond in front of him. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have brought this up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He sighed.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh Tommy…” You started, “I’m sorry for making you worry. You shouldn’t have to feel like that because of my actions.”

Tommy was lost in thought for a moment, before finally speaking up, “No, please don’t apologize. It’s not anybody’s fault this happened, right?” You nodded.

Tommy stood up, dusting his pants off from the grass. “Come on now, let’s go get some ice cream!” He pulled you up from the ground.

“Last one to get to the shop has to pay!”

Immediately, Tommy bolts in the direction to the ice cream shop, and you catch up to him. No matter the circumstance is, he never seems to fail at putting a smile on your face.

Wilbur:

- i HC wilbur being the oldest, being older than techno by 3 years and older than tommy by 8, like IRL. :]

- i think out of all of your siblings, wilbur exudes the most “protective older brother” energy, yeah?

- remember when tommy lied about his mother being in trouble and how worried and anxious wilbur got? turn that up to 11 with what happened with you.

- with wilbur being the oldest, he of course had the responsibility of taking care of everyone. but somehow you and him didn’t spend as much 1 on 1 time as much as wilbur did with his other siblings

- wilbur definitely was going to change that, realizing that and not wanting to make that mistake again.

- he decided that finding a new hobby with you wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

You were sitting at the dinner table, being the last one there. You were poking at your food for the most part, and Wilbur got home late from… whatever Wilbur thing he was doing. Phil cooked pasta for dinner tonight. Wilbur put down his bags at the door connected to the garage. “I’m home! What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta.”

“Mmm, I love some good ol’ pasta.” He said, already taking a plate out to serve himself. “Also, hey, I bought something I wanted to build with you. Do you mind?”

You finally looked up from your very interesting pasta. “Build..?” You had no idea where this was going.

Wilbur placed his plate on the table and approached the bags of groceries, going through them to find the bag he was looking for. He pulled out a LEGO set. More specifically, a LEGO City set from the looks of the box? “Wilbur, how much was that?”

He blinked at you innocently. “It was only, like, £25. And look! It’s got a little submarine we can make with a rock and ugly sea monster—“

“But why?”

“Why not? It wouldn’t hurt for you to do something new, yeah?” He smiled at you, shaking the LEGO box in front of him to show it off. You sighed, but smiled. “Alright. But maybe you and I should eat this pasta first before we start building.” Wilbur nodded.

“Speaking of water, don’t you think I could teach you how to swim or something?”

“Oh, fuck off with that!”

Technoblade:

- i think out of everyone in the family, he understands you the most in terms of how you feel.

- not suicidal, but just generally having depressive episodes due to his ADHD.

- techno’s generally closed off, but started to really open up to you because he wanted to show he cares, even if it meant going out of his comfort zone.

- techno suggested journaling. once a day or once per week, it didn’t really matter. just as long as you could write down your feelings somewhere.

- he didn’t explicitly say it, but he also bought a book for himself so he could do it along with you. although, he more often than not just forgets to write in it until you mention your own journal.

- if you want to be sad and quiet, you can be sad and quiet with him. his room is a safe space for you if you ever need it and you’re always welcome to come in, just as long as you knock first.

With one hand on your mouse scrolling through the internet, and another resting your head on it, you were safe to admit you were utterly and completely bored. Honestly, you thought about taking another nap after your last one, but a knock on your door stopped you right before you pulled the covers over yourself. “Can I come in?”

You rose from your bed. “Come in. Oh hey Techno.”

He gave a simple wave and his signature “Halloo.” He walked right over to you and handed a journal and a ballpoint pen. “I got this. For you.” His stare was sharp but you could sort of tell he was nervous.

“What for?”

“I dunno. Writin’ your feelings down or drawin’ or somethin’. Whatever helps you vent.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh Techno, thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” You gave a slight smile, but saw that he still had another journal in his hand. “You have two journals?”

Techno raised his eyebrow in confusion before looking down at his hand. “Oh this? It’s for me. So we could do it together, I guess.”

You let out a happy hum. “That’s nice. Say, why don’t we go to your room? I want to see your new lava lamp and stuff.”

Techno shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got more stationary too if you want.” He waved his hand before letting himself out the door, with you following not far behind.

hi hope u enjoyed reading as much as i did writing it. this format was new for me but very fun!

#dream smp x reader #tommyinnit x reader #wilbur x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp x male reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt x platonic reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois family #sleepy bois fanfic #request #mcyt imagine #mcyt fluff

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oioinanami · 4 years ago

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home. (nanami kento x f. reader)

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: coming home to you after a long tiring day is everything nanami ever wanted in life.

contains: domestic fluff, established relationship, a bit of sexual suggestiveness

Smooth jazz music fills the apartment when Nanami Kento comes home. His lips curl into a tiny smile when the scents of different spices tickle his nose, and he carefully takes off his shoes, jacket and glasses, before loosening his tie. You are inside the kitchen, humming along to the music while chopping some vegetables to add to the curry you‘re making for dinner tonight. Nanami waits until you’ve finished chopping the zucchini and bell pepper, quietly observing how you lay down the knife to wipe your hands on the kitchen towel. Only then does he step into the kitchen to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you flush against his broad chest. You squeal but immediately relax into his arms when he mumbles a soft “Good evening, love.” into your ear. You turn around to smile up at him and gently cup his cheek with one hand, thumb rubbing over the stubble on his chin. He nuzzles deeper into your palm before turning his head to press a soft kiss against your warm skin. “How was your day?”, he asks gently, and you smile. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Work was uneventful and so slow I was allowed to go home an hour earlier. Mina says hi by the way, and asks if we want to come over for a game night on Sunday.” Your boyfriend kisses the tip of your nose, before humming in confirmation. “Sure, sounds good to me.” You purse your lips, drawing your eyebrows together in silent worry while your eyes travel over the dark circles under his eyes and the tired lines around his mouth “You look exhausted, Kento.”, you finally say, but Nanami just gives you a soft smile and shrugs. He has to admit that the sudden surge in curses over the last few weeks has been exhausting. He dislikes nothing more than having to work overtime, simply because it means putting work before coming home to you, but sometimes it just can’t be helped - and he‘s nothing if not responsible. “Nothing a quick shower, your infamous curry and a bit of extra sleep this weekend can’t fix.”, he answers soothingly, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a loving kiss against his lips, loud mwah-noise included. “Fine. Then go move your cute butt into the shower, dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes.”, you reply, and he raises one eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “My butt is not cute.”, he says, voice laced with quiet humor, and you grin at him, eyes sparkling with barely hidden glee. “Oh, it is very cute. Now go, I need to finish my ‘infamous curry’.” And with that you step out of his warm embrace and turn towards the stove again, clearly dismissing him to go get his much needed shower.

The hot water does wonders for his stiff, aching muscles. So for a few minutes, Nanami just enjoys the water gushing around his steeled body, the bathroom quiet except for the sounds of the shower and his own steady breathing. Suddenly, your voice cuts through the serene atmosphere: “FIVE MINUTES LEFT UNTIL I’M STARTING TO EAT - WITH OR WITHOUT YOUR CUTE BUTT!” Nanami can’t help but smile, quickly turning off the shower and beginning to dry himself with one of the big fluffy towels that always smell like your favorite laundry detergent.

You’re just setting the steaming plates onto the dinner table in the dimly lit living room when your boyfriend leaves the steaming bathroom, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist. You raise both eyebrows and cock your head to one side, eyes roaming his body appreciatively before landing on the wry twist of his mouth. You’re about 89% sure he’s flexing his muscles on purpose now, just to see the blush spread over your entire face until it has reached the tips of your ears. “I like sticking to the rules, so dinner first, then dessert.”, you try to say nonchalantly, a bit annoyed at your own reaction to Nanami’s half-nude body. Even after years of dating and living together, your boyfriend still has the same effect on you - the effect being the sudden activation of something you lovingly call your ‘monkey brain’.

“Meaning?”

Oh now he’s teasing you.

“Meaning you better put on some clothes or I cannot be held responsible for my next move.”, you reply and take a step closer, your hand traveling over his stomach, making his abdominals clench, before you take his chin between your fingers, pulling his face closer to yours. “But I’ll happily have some dessert later.”, you whisper against his lips, and he grins wolfishly. “Good. Then I shall behave and get dressed.” With that, Nanami covers your mouth with his, and before he can pull away again, you quickly deepen the kiss, tongue brushing against his bottom lip. He begins to smile, and cocks one eyebrow. “I thought dinner first, then dessert?” You sigh, and nod. “Yes, yes. So please just go, you heathen.” His deep chuckle makes heat spread through your entire body, and his intense gaze isn’t helping either, but then he finally leaves the living room, broad figure slinking away in the darkness of the hallway. You exhale deeply, cupping your own face to cool down your blazing cheeks. “Damn that man and the weird power he has over me.”, you mumble, only half joking, before finally sitting down at the dinner table, taking a few deep gulps from your glass of water. A few seconds later, your boyfriend reemerges, now clad in dark grey sweatpants and a simple white shirt, hair still damp and feet bare. You sigh dreamily, rest your chin on your palm, and just stare at him. Nanami always looks very put together, usually wearing suits and ties, which you also love on him, but this? Him looking so laid back and just overall boyfriend-y? That’s a whole other level of hotness. “You’re drooling.” You jump when his voice interrupts your thoughts, and shoot him a playful glare. “Am not.”, you mumble, “But now that you’re finally here and dressed, let’s eat - bon appétit.” He just purses his lips in an attempt to stifle his pleased smile before he sits down and lifts his spoon. “Bon appétit, love. Thank you for making dinner.” And with that, the two of you begin eating.

“Want to finally finish ‘Alice in Borderland’ before going to bed?”, your boyfriend asks after basically having wolfed down two plates of your delicious curry, and you nod immediately. That’s one of the many great things about Nanami - he’s not easily impressed nor easily invested in something, but once he is, he really is. Meaning that even though his schedule has been crazy busy this week, you guys still managed to binge-watch almost all episodes of the relatively new Netflix show. “Absolutely, let me just clean up first though.”, you say, already standing up, but Nanami suddenly wraps his long fingers around your wrist to tug you towards him until you’re standing between his legs. He presses his face against your stomach and buries his nose in the soft cotton of your shirt, deeply inhaling your scent, both arms tightly wrapped around you. You chuckle and carefully run your fingers through his hair, nails gently raking across his scalp. He shivers and a tiny moan escapes him, making your whole body tingle with want, but you quickly shake off the feeling. “Rough day?”, you ask quietly, but Nanami just shrugs. You rarely ask about his work, knowing he prefers to keep it as far away from you as possible. Of course you know he’s a powerful sorcerer, know he is perfectly capable of handling any and all situations no matter the danger, but other than that, he rarely if ever tells you about his missions, always keeping you in the dark but also safe, as he says. “You know you can always talk to me if you need to.”, you say softly, and your boyfriend pulls back to give you a small smile. “I know, love. Thank you. I’m really grateful to have you.” You feel your throat close up with unshed tears, and just nod once, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against his forehead. “Me too, Kento.” He lifts his head to brush his lips against yours before suddenly standing up. “You already made dinner, so I’ll clean up. You go move your cute butt over to the couch and wait for me.”, he demands, and you lift one eyebrow. “Oh, so you can call my butt cute but I’m not allowed to?” Nanami grins. “You’re more than welcome to call your own butt cute too, I never once said anything against that.” You playfully smack his chest, which basically feels like you’ve just punched a brick wall, and shoot him a playful glare. “That’s absolutely not what I meant and you know it.” He just gives you a smug smile before wordlessly taking the dirty plates and carrying them towards the kitchen.

Half an hour later, you’re lying between Nanami’s outstretched legs, back pressed flush against his chest while he’s wrapped both arms around your waist. “Ready for the last two episodes?”, you ask, and your boyfriend just hums in confirmation, his breath tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let’s go then.” And with that, you press play.

With your back to him, you’re unable to see Nanami’s gentle smile while he gazes down at you, warm and soft and safe in his arms. While he feels like the world of sorcerers is currently going crazy due to the sudden appearance of Sukuna’s new vessel, you continue to be a steady and grounding presence in his life. Mostly unknowing of and therefore untainted by the world of curses and darkness he decided to be part of, you’re the light he will always search for and return home to. You don’t even understand the impact you have on him, how grateful he is to you for bringing so much warmth and laughter into his life, to be the person he can confidently call his home. You giggle at something said on tv, and almost unconsciously, he pulls you even closer to his chest, pressing a chaste kiss against your sensitive neck and making you squirm in his arms. “Later, Kento.”, you chastise him, and he just hums, nuzzling deeper into your soft hair, before intertwining his long fingers with yours. He already knows that one day soon, your hand will have a ring on it - the one he bought months ago but still keeps safely tucked away in the deepest, darkest corner of his closet, just waiting for him to ask you the most important question of his life. For now, he’s just happy to finish ‘Alice in Borderland’ with you safe in his arms.

And to have dessert later - don’t think he forgot about that.

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tillxthexearthxstartsxtoxcrumble · 4 years ago

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Bobby made a list of all the possible things that could’ve gone wrong that day. He was going to update it that night, once the show was done and they had rocked out the Orpheum. It started out great. The four boys woke up with hardly any sleep in them because of their excitement for the day, but nothing could kill their adrenaline for the day ahead of them. Even Bobby, who usually tried to hide his emotions, was almost all smiles that morning. They all got their parents to agree to let them stay the night in the studio.

“Just think, later tonight we could have a manager and we could finally get big like we’ve always dreamed!” Luke said, being the band’s usual hype man. Reggie nodded,

“Yeah! Who knows what’s gonna happen tonight, but it’s gonna be a big night.” Alex smiled in response, but the band knew the fact that their entire future was almost riding on that night, it would make him more anxious than the rest of them. They were all anxious about it, of course, but they wouldn’t let it take away from their excitement in any way.

“No matter what happens I’m sure everything will turn out good in the end.” Bobby tried subtly reassuring Alex, which didn’t do much, but Alex appreciated the attempt.

“Yeah for sure.” he nodded. They knew he wouldn’t wanna ruin their fun with this, so they all shared a look and immediately knew what to do.

“Hey, let’s go check out the area. Maybe we’ll be able to meet some fans!” Reggie got his big grin, opening the garage doors for them to start on their quest to calm Alex down at least in the slightest.

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 1. An instrument could get damaged.

They ended up seeing some people already lining up outside the orpheum, waiting just so they could get good spots. All of their hearts felt like they were flying when they saw the sight. Alex actually got a real smile at that, not the one he gave them to make them feel better.

“Luke, are you sure you wanna open with ‘Now or Never’?” Bobby questioned him, “It kinda feels like one we should save for last, y’know, to really blow them all away. It’s our song we always hear the most positive response to.”

“That’s exactly why we gotta start with it, man! We gotta show everyone how good we are, catch them by surprise and keep them on the edge of their seats. I don’t want them to just enjoy us at the end, we gotta keep them going the whole time!” Bobby couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s enthusiasm.

“All right, fine, but if the crowd doesn’t seem as passionate about the rest, don’t blame me.” Reggie chuckled and put his arm around his friends.

“I say we go check out the area and see if we wanna get something to eat and we just kill time for a while before we go and rehearse.”

~♧~

That’s what they did for a while, they ended up having a lot of fun and they managed to get their nerves set aside and that allowed them to get fully excited for the show later that night.

“Hey, do any of you wanna hear my joke about the blunt pencil? Oh it doesn’t matter, it’s pointless.” Bobby said, and he got an evil grin at the sound of his friends letting out an annoyed groan.

“No, I want to hear it!” Reggie said excitedly, which only made his friends get more tired of them.

“Reggie that-” at the look on Reggie’s face Alex just paused and sighed, “okay.”

Luke decided to ignore the terrible puns going on and turned to his friends. “Hey, let’s go do that sound check- we don’t wanna not be ready for our performance.”

~♧~

“You sure you don’t wanna go with them? I’m not sure you’ll be able to occupy yourself for two hours.” Rose smiled at him,

“Nah, they’ll be fine. I’m not sure even they could fuck everything up in the time they go get food and come back.“ Bobby chuckled, trying to come up with more flirty lines but given his tendency to use terrible puns, he’s not exactly the best with flirting either.

It had been almost an hour and a half since they’d left. Bobby knew it might’ve taken them awhile to find food and get it but it shouldn’t be taking them this long.

“Bobby, I say we just go out and search for them. Maybe they lost track of time and we just need to go get them.” Rose suggested to the anxious guitar player.

“No- No, they wouldn’t ever lose track of time. This means the world to them. They’ll be here. I know they will. Even if they died, they’d find a way to play the Orpheum.” Bobby started pacing back and forth. They both knew he was just trying to convince himself at that point, “They wouldn’t miss this.”

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 2.The equipment is messed up.

“Luke, R-Reggie” Alex croaked out, tears streaming down his cheeks from the pain. They didn’t respond. Alex felt everything inside him stop. They were gone. The pain from the hotdogs weren’t even anything compared to the loss he felt. Alex screamed, his two best friends just died. He started coughing up blood, everyone around him trying to save the boy but knowing they couldn’t.

“Please, I don’t wanna die.”

Bobby started getting a little upset at them for taking this long, they had missed the rest of rehearsal and they only had minutes before they were supposed to go on stage. Why were they taking so long?

“I don’t wanna go to hell.” He begged.

Bobby could hear everyone chanting just thirty feet away. They were late, he couldn’t go on without them. He felt everything in his body freeze up when he saw the doors open, he hoped it was them.

The last thing Alex heard was a thumping noise filling his ears, slowing down into nothing, and a scream.

“Are you Robert?”

Bobby nodded, a wave of fear washing over him. He knew it would be bad but nothing could prepare him for why this man was here.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but.. You won’t be playing tonight.”

“Alex Mercer, time of death at 10:24 PM”

Bobby stopped breathing for a moment, “What do you mean?”

Everything felt like a blur after that.

“Kid, I don’t know how to tell you this.” the next words felt as if they were being said through a loudspeaker, as Bobby was underwater. “Your bandmates all passed away about half an hour ago.”

Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 3.One of them is late.

Bobby was completely calm with the next few words. “Why wasn’t I told right away?” It caught the officer off guard. He shifted, slightly worried at how easily this kid was taking the loss of his friends.

“We had to fix everything up and tell their parents-” before the officer could even finish, Bobby took his guitar off and smashed it right at his feet, which would have hurt like hell if he had cared enough to notice. Bobby was now shaking, but no one could tell if it was out of anger or pain. He had a look that they couldn’t read. He looked at the broken guitar, feeling a mix of dread and relief from doing that. By now, the crowd had started to get quiet after the loud crash of the guitar.

Still trying to stay completely calm, he responded “I’m sorry about that officer. I gotta go, now.” Bobby started walking off only to be stopped.

“We’re gonna have to take you in for investigation. We apologise, but we have to go down to the office.” Bobby paused for a moment, staring off into the distance before he burst into tears. He collapsed, and Rose rushed forward to help him. She’d still been in shock about the whole situation. Just hours ago, she flirted with people who are now dead.

“I- I did this, didn’t I?” Bobby whispered to Rose, she felt her heart break. The officer got more suspicious, thinking this was some kind of act. To try and trick them, he confesses to the act and acts broken about it so no one truly suspects him. People can think that sometimes, when they aren’t the ones affected by the situation.

“We’re going down to the office right now, if you try to resist I will have to arrest you. I don’t wanna do that to a kid, so let’s just go right now and we can get it all settled.” Bobby stood up, but he couldn’t feel his legs. The noise from earlier came back - like he was underwater, pushing up against the waves and trying to escape, but losing the fight. The officer held him by the arm and pulled him along.

~♧~

“Why didn’t you go with them to have the hot dogs?” Officer Smith asked. Bobby glanced at the voice recorder, still feeling like none of this was real.

“I stayed behind to talk with Rose.” He knew how stupid it sounded. They’d already gone over it but he was already interrogated and ripped apart by that. Bobby couldn’t believe how stupid it sounded, either.

Officer Smith was clearly exhausted, he hadn’t gotten any real evidence so far and he tried doubling down on questions but it wasn’t working. He sighed, pressing stop on the voice recorder.

“Alright, well, we’re gonna let you go home but we’ll have to schedule another interrogation.” Bobby yet again felt like he was pushed underwater. He wanted to say it was him, it was all his fault. He should’ve stopped them, but he didn’t. That might as well make him a killer. He wanted to scream at the officer, to tell him it was all his fault. “You should’ve stopped them” he felt a voice whisper. That voice was him. Bobby knew that. But it didn’t hurt any less. Now the water he’s fighting against is a raging sea, and it’s pitch black out. He can’t tell which way is up and which is down.

Bobby nodded, and got up to leave. As soon as he left the interrogation room, he felt free, though. He felt as if the moon was finally shining a light for him to see which way to go. He started running, he had to tell them about what just happened. How he got into trouble with the police, they’d be concerned but they’re the only ones he can see right now.

He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life before, nearly getting hit by several cars. He saw a girl, she was sitting there in shock. He slowed down just a bit, he heard her muttering something about flirting with death. Bobby recognized her as one of the fans who was lined up outside the Orpheum earlier. He decided not to mess with it, he needed to see his friends.

Bobby was halfway home, and he started to go numb again. They won’t be there. Bobby shook those thoughts away, they would be there. They had to be. Maybe he just... imagined the last few hours. They haven’t even rehearsed yet.

As soon as Bobby opened the doors, he knew it was all real. The only thing he could see, was a dark, empty room. He collapsed to the ground, and this time, the numbness didn’t die down.

The only way Bobby knew he was crying- no, sobbing at that point - was because his neighbor came out to see what had happened. So as soon as the old woman saw her neighbor sitting there, sobbing like he’d just lost the most important thing in the world to him, she had to see if he was okay.

When she went up to him and tapped him on his shoulder, he didn’t even react. He was still crying, staring at the dark garage.

Bobby was thinking of all he just lost.

He’d lost Luke, the passionate writer of the group. Luke was the one in the first place to have come up with the idea of them being in a band together. Him and Luke had been friends since they were at least seven years old. He was there for Luke’s birthday when he first got his guitar, he remembered the excitement Luke had on his face. He was there for all of it, he and Luke worked together on a lot of songs. Luke, the one who would tease him and have fun with almost everything they did. Luke, who he let stay in his garage because his parents wouldn’t let him play music.

Then there was Reggie, the sweet and innocent soul that Bobby had met next, they hadn’t been friends for quite as long but they got along really well. Bobby regretted every time he didn’t take one of Reggie’s offers for hugs, even if they were joke offers. He rarely wrote music with Reggie but he remembered hearing his country songs and country was never Bobby’s style but he definitely liked Reggie’s country songs. They held passion and happiness, it was Reggie’s escape just as much as it was Luke’s.

Then there was Alex, the one who used to have a really good family life. He and his parents always got along, they always let him play music. They didn’t like the idea of him being in a band, but they never tried to stop him. Then he came out and all that changed. He was one of the most talented and humble people Bobby had ever met. He was kind and also the most sarcastic and snarky person Bobby had ever met.

He’d lost them.

“Robert, are you okay?” He got snapped out of his thoughts as he looked at his neighbor with tears still streaming down his face. How could he be alright? His entire world just collapsed around him. He lost everyone he loved. But Bobby couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even open his mouth.

He recalls a time once, when he was younger, at the beach. Before he met any of the guys. He’s surprised he even remembers a time before them - he’s known them for what feels like his entire life. He was always a good swimmer, growing up by the water, but being small and easily pushed over left him defenseless as a particularly strong wave pulled him under. He remembers feeling helpless. Wondering if he might drown.

Sitting there, in the studio, he thinks that he might as well stay under and let the water fill his lungs.

The entirety of the next few months, that feeling stayed the same. He’d hardly spoken a word to anyone, so his parents made him go to a therapist, but they didn’t understand why he would look past him and mutter random words, why the parents said he talks to himself almost all day. Of course, they knew the boy had lost his best friends , but with how Bobby seemed to handle every other problem in life, they knew that this broke him.

Bobby had to see his therapist at least once a week for many, many years. But Bobby never felt the same. Yes, he was freed of any suspicion under having killed them by the police. But he still felt like he was being pushed farther underwater by large waves, and he’d accepted that he’d never get out of that ocean.

He changed his name, found new people, and even started to make music again. But he couldn’t write any new music. Nothing good, anyway. He couldn’t do it without his band, his family. Every time he released a song, he just felt more numb. More cold.

He felt moments of happiness, yes. He felt that with Olivia, who he was with for a long time. He had new friends. He had many, many fans. But somehow, none of it felt like it would ever change the fact that he lost his family.

Only a few years later, he saw the sunlight. His little girl, Carrie. His hope, his joy. Olivia and him had split up, but he knew he could provide the best life for her. He might not be able to get out of the ocean, but he can see his way around now. It didn’t have to change his loss of his friends, it didn’t change his guilt, but he had something to live for.

Maybe he could survive.

Taglist: @nickalicious @futurearchaeologyprof @never-straight-no @queenmolina @suckerforpsychos @nervousmiracletrash @bluedarkness @queer-fandom-frog @bi-reginald @jelly-to-my-jam

You can thank @bi-reginald for the editing and some of the writing! 🖤

#Aight some of this is shit Ill admit #but I TRIED #jatp #julie and the phantoms #netflixwewantjatp2 #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #jatp angst #bobby bobbert bobberlicious the third #bobby jatp #jatp bobby #bobby nolastname #bobby angst #bobby wilson #trevor wilson #trevor jatp #carrie wilson

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masonscig · 3 years ago

Text

bittersweet

part two

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | so i wanted to write like 2 more parts to this, but honestly... i feel like this turned out great. also yes, i probably should’ve made this a lot shorter, but the prompt got away from me as per usual. not proofread because i’m tired :/ this is for day seven of hot in wayhaven, aftercare!

•─────────────────•

Things have been weird since that night.

She just kind of went back to treating him exactly the same as she had before. She held him at arms’ length like she did with everyone she was wary of letting in.

He was sure that this time he’d made progress.

For the few months leading up till he almost throat fucked her in her dimly lit apartment, she’d been warming up to him.

He managed a few genuine smiles and laughs despite trying less hard to do so. He caught her watching him across the room during meetings, trainings, briefings… anytime they weren’t alone, he caught her staring at least once.

She’d even started asking about him. Any time he was late to a meeting, she bugged Mason with a punch to the shoulder or a scuff of her shoe against the toe of his own.

Didn’t matter how much progress he’d made if it’d just been ruined by one big fuck up on both of their ends.

This particular night, Felix is mulling over the events leading up to when she left, still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

He paces around the room once, twice, before plopping into his giant bean bag chair.

Before he can really settle in there, he’s restless again, jumping to his feet to cross the room once again, climbing into the hammock in the corner.

This isn’t right, either, he huffs to himself, rolling awkwardly out of the hammock and to the middle of the room, flinging himself onto his bed.

He picks up the Gameboy on his nightstand, tap-tap-tapping away on full volume until he hears a single loud thud against the wall across from him.

Abandoning his game of Galaga, he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at Mason’s feeble attempts to silence him. Tossing the Gameboy to the foot of his bed, he opts instead to grab his tamagotchi, feeding his pet till he’s bored again.

He has lots of things. And these things keep him occupied and hold his attention for a while.

But none of them keep his attention long enough to satiate his wandering mind.

Flor’s been his main focus for a while, but it’s particularly bad this week since she’s taken a vacation for the first time since he’s met her.

It’s not even that she’s a hard worker – she’s just on such bad terms with the captain that she never bothered asking for days off when she knew she wouldn’t get them even if she had plans to get outta town.

Her being on vacation doesn’t bother him at all – it’s the way he’s got unfinished business and he can’t do anything about it.

He can’t seem to think of anything else without her creeping into the back of his mind one way or the other.

He twists off of the bed and walks to his dresser, where his phone’s charging on its surface.

He’s confused. He misses her, he’s angry at her, he wants her –

To say he’s confused is an understatement, really.

He’s been patient, he’s been kind, he’s been understanding – and for her to ignore him for the entire summer?

He’d been counting down the days till they got back to normal. He’s in the hundreds now, and there’s no end in sight.

There’s two endings if he decides to fix it tonight – he’s either getting treated better, or he moves on from her.

The latter option is a painful thought, one he doesn’t give himself time to digest before he taps the number at the top of his favorites.

The phone rings once, twice, and his finger hovers over the end call button. He’s so close to chickening out – this is an awful idea –

“What? Huh?” Flor asks, voice raspy and twinged with sleep. She yawns around her greeting, and he can picture her running a hand through her thick dyed hair. “Who is this?”

Does she really not even have his number saved?

“Uh, it’s Felix. I, um, this is a check in call,” he lies, tensing immediately.

Why’s that his knee jerk reaction? Two seconds into the call and he’s already making excuses instead of standing up for himself.

He really can’t help it, though. She’s so intimidating.

“It’s four thirty in the fucking morning,” she groans. “If you and your little team aren’t gonna respect my sleeping schedule consider any calls from this point on fucking rejected.”

“No, no, I, uh –”

He has no excuses. He can’t lie again… and she already sounds upset, and it’d make the rest of the call even more unpleasant.

“I lied. It’s not a check up,” he sits up in bed, nervously fiddling with the tamagotchi.

“Well then what is it?” She spits, clearly cranky and sleep deprived.

“I have some things I need to say to you, and… I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he twists the keychain around his finger, but tosses his little friend to the end of his bed alongside his Gameboy. He needs to focus.

She’s silent. He knows he’s on limited time.

“I… miss you.”

She goes silent, the static of the phone crackling because of both of their poor signals.

“Thanks.”

The one word response has him silently screaming at himself – he flings himself back on the bed, kicking his legs and flailing.

I miss you. Thanks.

The most embarrassing response he could’ve ever gotten.

“I was gonna say more than that. I’m just… gathering the courage,” he says, takes a deep breath, anchors himself.

“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me, Flor, honestly, and I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, I do,” she responds, a deadpan question, nearly mocking.

“Yeah, you do,” Felix bites back immediately, surprised even at himself with how forceful he’s being. “You almost fucked me at the beginning of summer, and now you’re not talking to me? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends at least? I know I’m not your Tina and I never will be, but I want to be there for you.”

“I’m not…” she trails off, and there’s a swishing sound like she’s shifting in bed. “Trying to avoid you, alright? It just seems like that, I guess.”

He can’t stop his hand from clenching into a tight fist, can’t stop it from shaking with rage, can’t stop the venom bubbling up his throat and dripping off his tongue.

“Don’t… tell me how to feel, Flor. I’m upset, so don’t try to downplay it, okay? I know you’re trying to avoid me, and that’s fine, I guess, as long as you, I dunno, let me move on.”

“Move on?” She asks, her tone (surprisingly) cushioned with sincerity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he stands, striding across the room to the window, and back to the door, pacing (He’s wondering if she’s pacing too). “I like you a lot, but I have to protect myself, too, y’know? If you don’t want me around, you’ve gotta tell me so that I can stop, uh, investing too much of myself into… this.”

“Felix…” she sighs, and quiets. “I know you’re looking for answers, but I don’t have them. I don’t know.”

“So, what, that’s it then?”

“I… yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

Flor sounds unsure, but he’s not gonna press her further. It hurts, but he has to move on or she’ll consume him in a fiery blaze.

He’s let the flames lick at him, but when it comes down to it, he can’t handle the inferno. He’s walking away before he gets burned, when all he wants to do is be engulfed by her.

It’s easier this way, in theory, but saying goodbye is harder than he’s ever anticipated.

“Bye, Flor. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnects before she can say another word, and he crumples onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

He’s losing another person he cares about, and just like last time, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Tears are falling freely now, and he angrily wipes them away with a rough backhand.

It’s not her fault. It’s not your fault. You’re just not compatible.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’ll deal with Rebecca and Unit Bravo in the morning.

––––

Flor clutches the phone in her hand, her jaw tight.

She didn’t get the last word, and she sure as hell didn’t get to say what she wanted to say.

Felix was hurting and she couldn’t even manage kindness for one goddamn moment.

No one asks to be emotionally detached – it's just easier that way, for Flor, at least.

Wading through the mess of her apartment, she steps into the bare kitchen. Pours herself a cup of water. Chugs it to clear her head.

When that doesn’t do the trick, she takes a hefty shot of tequila. Bad idea, but the burn gives her a sense of clarity she doesn’t have when she’s completely sober.

You’ve been dragging your fucking feet for years now. Get the hell over it. Go to him. Be with him.

Every instinct she has is dragging her towards the front door where her car keys hang. Another bad idea, as per usual.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she shoots him a quick text. Come over. Please. We need to talk in person.

It’s not the wisest idea for her to face her problems head on, but the tiny, reasonable part of Flor’s mind is telling her she needs to fight for him instead of letting him slip through her fingers.

––––

He doesn’t see the text till an hour and a half after she’s sent it.

It’s just past six in the morning. The sun’s just barely creeping its way into his room, golden streaks across his wood floor.

He assumes she just wants the last word and that’s why she sent it – but an even louder part of him entertains the “what ifs” that are bouncing around his mind.

What if she wants to apologize? What if she wants to hear how I feel? And tell me where her head’s at?

After going back and forth for a few minutes, impulse wins, and he’s tossing on a vibrant graphic tee and shorts before he sprints out the door.

Nate’s the only one up, reading the newspaper and filling out the crossword puzzles in the soft lighting of the kitchen, and he shoots Felix a knowing look of encouragement.

Unit Bravo knows how infatuated Felix is with Flor, and they constantly flit between telling him to let her go and chasing after her.

Today’s a good day in that regard – Nate’s given his wordless blessing with nothing but a soft smile.

He’s at her place in ten minutes flat, staring up at the apartment like it’s a creaky, spooky haunted house.

His courage is thinning the closer he steps to her front door. His bones are gelatin, and his brain is equally as mushy.

It’s not an ideal state, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. Get the courage again like this.

Rapping his knuckles against the stained door, he waits. He rocks back on his heels, taps his feet, does anything he can to get the jitters out of his system.

When the door finally does open, his heart leaps at the sight of her.

Her hair’s a mess. Her leftover eyeliner is smudged all around her eyes. Her dark eyes are lined with red from lack of sleep. She looks exhausted.

“You came.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and steps into her apartment when she gestures for him to come in.

She shuts the door behind him, and this time instead of shoving him up against the door to kiss him, she takes his hand.

Laces her fingers through his own, tugs him toward her couch.

He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“What’s up?” He asks, simply, feeling like an idiot almost instantly for making things that casual.

“I’m…” she trails off, nearly black irises softening when she looks at him. He could live in those midnight pools.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He raises both brows in surprise, and his gaze flits to their hands. She’s death gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her jaw set.

“Uh –”

“I’m getting to the why. I just don’t know how to say it –”

She grunts, shifting on the couch. “I’m not a nice person. You know that.”

“You’re nice in your own way,” he offers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“God, Felix, I’m a mean bitter bitch. Don’t sugar coat it,” she laughs. “I don’t really wanna be this way, but it’s easier than getting… invested in people.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“It’s just easier to shut people out than to have expectations for them,” she starts, shrugging. “And having them expect things from you, too.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you don’t want us to have expectations for each other?” He asks.

“I’m gonna say this as bluntly and straight forward as I can, because I don’t think I can do anything else,” she answers after taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I like you. I’m attracted to you. I want you in my life,” she holds his eyes, speaking as earnestly as she can manage. “But I need you to be patient with me. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know how to get close to people anymore. Last time I did it was fucking toxic and I told myself never again.”

“Bobby,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“If you want me, too, we’ll both have to compromise,” she continues, stiffening a little like she’s bracing for impact. “I have to get used to the way you do things, and you’ll have to get used to the way I am, too. But I promise you, Felix, I’m gonna try.”

“Try what?” His voice is a little shaky, and she’s coming towards him, slowly closing the gap between them.

“I’m gonna try to love you, if you’ll try to love me,” she whispers, her jaw set again.

That’s all he needed to hear.

He closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly, softly, letting go of her hands so he can cup her face.

She’s so precious to him, so he cradles her face like the gem she is.

“Flor…” Her name’s a quiet promise as it falls from his lips.

I promise as long as you’re trying, I’ll try, too.

She clutches his hips as she kisses him, moaning sweetly into his mouth.

He doesn’t know when she starts slowly tugging his clothes off, but soon enough, they’re skin to skin, and he can’t tell where his body ends and hers begins.

She’s different this time, he notices. She’s more timid. Maybe she’s never been taken care of like this before.

As he bows his head between her legs, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be her favorite or not.

She’s slack jawed and grasping at his head, squeezing her tattooed thighs around his face.

God, she’s beautiful, all spread out for him – she’s a gift of brown skin (and a pretty pink pussy).

She writhes and pants with each stroke of his tongue, his name broken and garbled on her lips.

When she tugs his head upwards to press sloppy kisses on his mouth, he knows she wants more.

“Flor…” he trails off, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Only if you want to, doll.”

God, he can barely breathe. A proposition and a pet name. To most, that’s nothing. But to him, it’s the entire world.

She anchors herself on top of him and settles onto his cock, keeping direct eye contact while she stretches around him.

His eyes are fluttering shut, rolling back, and his head is threatening to loll to the side – she grabs his cheeks between her hand and tugs him back up, her half lidded eyes lustful and determined.

“I want to see you… watch me, and I’ll watch you,” she pants as she flexes her hips, his tip the only part inside of her, but she flexes again, taking all of him (every delicious inch).

“Fuck,” he curses, and she grins, bouncing against him.

He fists his hands at her hips, running a hand up her stomach to rest at the barbed wire tattoos lining her under boob. He can’t figure out what part of her he wants to touch so he opts for it all, squeezing, nipping, kissing every piece of skin his hands and mouth can cover.

“You feel so fucking good around me, doll – fuck me just like that,” she grunts as he bucks up into her.

He’s never been one to have a filthy mouth, but boy does he fucking love it.

The sun’s fully engulfing her living room at this point, the golden glow warming both of their exposed skin already, glistening in the Wayhaven sunrise.

She’s so pretty like this. She’s in her element like this, too. Confident.

The nervous, rigid version of herself was long gone.

She’s opening up to him. Albeit emotionally and physically, she’s trying. She’s blooming for him.

Flor means flower right? She’s finally in season, and it’s worth the wait.

––––

In the heat of it all, they’ve kicked all her clean laundry to the floor, but she grabbed a thin blanket from the top to cover them.

She’s cuddled up to him on the small couch, her head resting on his sweat slicked chest.

They’d been at it for a while when they both finally came. He didn’t expect her to want to cuddle, but they did.

“We probably need to clean up, huh?” she murmurs, soft kisses against his skin.

“Lemme take care of it,” he grins, crawling over her before she can protest.

He’s back in a flash with a damp towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking the bottle from him. When she tries to grab the damp towel, he holds it away from her.

“Can I clean you up?” He asks timidly.

Flor shrugs, mouth still on the bottle. “Okay.”

He bends to his knees and pulls the blanket away, dragging the cloth gently along her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’s made.

He folds the towel and rubs her stomach and thighs again, before kissing her knee. “You’re so pretty.”

Before he can stand up, she grabs his arm and tugs him back down for a long kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shiny, soft. Midnight pools, and he’s submerged in them.

“I’ve never been fucked by someone who cares about me like you do.”

He grins and pulls her in for a kiss again.

“Well, get used to the feeling.”

He wants every messy, unpolished part of Flor he can get, from her crass humor to her sailor’s mouth.

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things, yeah, but he’s willing to go further and further with her, as long as she’ll have him.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #felix hauville #twc detective #hotwayhavensummer #my fic #felix x flor #detective flor majano #n*fw

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joontier · 4 years ago

Text

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report iv

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, romance

warnings: swearing

word count: 2.5k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist] @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

Your phone blares at exactly 6:45AM, and a memetastic image of Chohee lights up your phone screen as you’re brushing your teeth. When you swipe to answer the call, you don’t even manage to get a word in when Chohee chatters you out of your sleep-deprived soul.

“Just as practiced, I’m punctual, and you’re late.”

Garbling out a reply about how it’s still five minutes prior to your agreed time, you tap your toothbrush loudly against the sink, likewise spitting out the foam from your mouth. “Fine, just hurry because I’m starving!”

Being the gold-hearted person that she is (although that fact is not known to the public), your best friend had offered you a ride to the building where you’re scheduled to take the Korean Medical Licensure Examination today.

The moment you settle yourself on the passenger seat, she greets you with a cheery “Good morning!” - one that was too cheery this early in the morning, and all the more way too cheery for a certain Kim Chohee. The two of you share a look and you lean in for a hug. “Hey, we’ll do just fine, okay? We’ve been studying our asses for this.”

You don’t let go at once, looking up at her with a kissy face. She pushes your head backwards with a disgusted expression, keeping your face at an arm’s length. With an unattractive snort, you lean back in your seat, laughing your ass off at your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Seriously, _______, I know you’ve been lusting after me for years even when you’re well aware of my ‘strictly beef’ diet,” Chohee states, dusting your imaginary germs off her shoulder. Turning on her Benz’s engine, she checks her reflection on the rear-view mirror before driving off.

With both your hands occupied with the sandwiches you’d ordered from Subway, you use your pinky to connect your phone to play some Mozart via bluetooth. You try not to talk much about the test, knowing it will only cause unnecessary anxiety on both your ends.

As Chohee leans towards you, you tilt her sandwich in her direction, letting her take a bite from her sub. “Hey, what’s an abscess again?”

“Isn’t that more commonly known as boils? Built up pus within or below the surface of the skin?”

Kim Chohee chokes on her BLT.

“Pus?” she repeats, swallowing her bite with great strain. “Seriously? While I’m eating a sandwich? Couldn’t you be more subtle perhaps?”

Equally just as surprised as she was, you narrow your eyes at her. “We’ve been studying medicine for the last six years! It shouldn’t be a surprise by now...and besides, we’ve heard and see a lot worse too...Would you rather have me say purulent exudate then? And waste my precious saliva on a six-syllable word rather than the common term for a liquid form of inflamm-”

“Okay!” Chohee throws an arm up in defeat. “Sheesh _______! Don’t I deserve at least some gratitude for driving you to our exams?”

“Plus we’ve already seen a cadaver too, which was supposedly one of the peaks of our med-student lives! What’s all this hype about some viscous mass on the surface of the skin?”

Your best friend peeks at you from her peripheral vision, absolutely mortified. You love it.

“Can you please remind me how we became friends in the first place?” Chohee shakes her head and increases the volume of the player as the droplets of rain start pouring down the windshield. “Anyways – I was meaning to ask the histological meaning of it.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, recalling your notes, “well, it’s a localized collection of neutrophils and necrotic debris. Basically, it’s a suppurative inflammation which is associated with pyogenic bacteria and characterized by edema fluid admixed with neutrophils and necrotic cells. Staphylococcus aureus usually produces abscesses because it’s coagulase positive and coagulase helps the production of fibrinous material that localizes the infection.”

As soon as you finish, silence takes over the car, and suddenly, a sniffle comes from Chohee’s side. With a matching frown, you best friend looks at you with shiny eyes. “Oh _______, what would I do without you?”

With still half an hour to spare, you decide on relieving your bladder first before all the toilets get occupied later a couple of minutes before the actual exam. You take your time with it, even managing to put some effort in fixing your hair in clipping your fringe back so as not to eliminate all distractions possible during the exam.

While looking through the large panel windows on your way back from the comfort rooms, you spot a familiar face – the last person you’d want to see on such an important day. Perhaps your prayers weren’t loud enough to actually reach heaven.

There Jeon Jungkook was at the end of the hall, walking like a newly-canonized saint in all his glory. Most (if not all) of the female onlookers stare at him as he passes by, with Jungkook seemingly unbothered by their unwavering attention. You aren’t one for exaggeration, but these women look like they’re willing to worship the ground he walked on.

Your nerdy, anti-Jeon Jungkook ass quickly hides beside a nearby locker, not wanting to be ‘graced’ by his presence, just as some girl coined a few moments ago as she headed to the toilets with her friends, collectively gushing over the boy.

The popular kid turns to his right and you swore you’d never prayed harder and faster than any other time in your life. Your room assignment was just the one by the corner...and if he could just make a few more steps and head straight to the next classroom a-and...nope. It’s official. The universe loved shitting on you.

Jungkook enters room 132, the very same numbers indicating your room assignment for the licensure exam. You ball up your fists in your spot by the lockers, releasing all your pent-up frustration in the simplest and least violent way possible: a long, tedious exhale.

Gathering up all your self-control, you re-enter the classroom with an inward grimace, desperate to not have Jungkook’s eyes meet yours. He’s looking for a seat, and with all the back rows already occupied, he’s stuck with picking one from the first two rows.

He’s already stood near the seat you’ve picked and you bore holes into the back of his head with your fake telepathy, silently ordering him to pick a chair on the other side of the aisle instead.

Just as you had not wished for, Jungkook plops his huge ass backpack on the chair next to yours. You tread back to your seat as discreetly as possible, avoiding his gaze at all times as he rummages through his military backpack. What the fuck is in that thing in the first place? You won't be surprised if he manages to pull out a whole microwave inside – and yet funnily enough, he can’t seem to own a single damn pencil.

As you were minding your own businesses (hopefully it stays that way for the rest of eternity), you catch the other students discussing surgical cases last minute.

“Hey, which artery is the one for transection for an epidural hematoma?”

“Was this the kid that got hit by a fastball in the head?”

“What happened?”

“Poor boy got hit in the temporal area during a baseball tournament. Remained conscious during the rest of the day but during the same evening he gets a severe headache with vomiting and confusion. When they got to Severance he got scheduled for immediate surgery for epidural hematoma.”

“That sounds awful…”

“I’m not sure which artery it was again though…”

If that were the case...then it’d be the transection of a branch of the middle meningeal artery...but then you wouldn’t want to answer that out of the blue and get mistaken for being too snoopy…

Instead, you reach for the bottle of water by the legs of your chair, likewise hearing the same answer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth in a whisper. Huh. You raise a brow. Well, there was a major chance he knew the case since he came from Yonsei too, just as you had speculated from some of your roommates who seemed like they came from the same school after mentioning Severance Hospital.

The group continue discussing their answers when this girl, who had an obnoxiously unnatural high-pitched voice, approaches Jungkook.

“Jungkook-oppa?”

Oppa? OPPA?!

You wanted to throw up. This girl looked at least two-three years older than him. At the least. Guess Jeon was really more of a fuckboy than Chohee would ever admit. “We were just discussing something and we’re really unsure of our answers, maybe a smart oppa like you would know?”

With as much discretion as you could muster, you adjust in your seat, leaning a little bit towards their conversation as you eavesdrop like the nosy person that you are.

“The surgery was a transection of the meningeal artery,” says Jeon nonchalantly like it’s the most basic thing in the world, still scrolling through his phone. Silence ensues after that. That’s it?! He’s not even going to bother explaining-

Jungkook exhales as he puts his phone down. “Epidural hemorrhages result from a rupture of one of the meningeal arteries, as these arteries supply the dura and run between the dura and the skull. Plus you said temporal area right?” he asks, facing one of the guys.

“The artery involved is usually the middle meningeal artery - a branch of the maxillary artery, as the skull fracture is usually in the temporal area. Since the bleeding is of arterial origin, symptoms are rapid in onset even though he seemed normal for a few hours. If they didn’t bring him to the hospital that same evening, he could’ve had tentorial herniation and would have eventually died.”

As much as you hate to admit it - you’re beyond impressed. Chohee always stays true to her word, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was still a jerk for clearly cutting the line at the subway.

The girls coo over him, praising him over how cool he looked by explaining his answer. Jungkook settles back on his seat like he hadn’t just perfectly given an on-point pathological explanation for a neuro case.

The group continues their review, until they’ve come to another question they’re unsure of. “Jungkook-ssi, would you know where the rupture of a berry aneurysm of the Circle of Willis would likely produce hemorrhage?”

With only ten minutes left, you’d usually be preparing yourself mentally but this group and Jungkook’s intervention has you all ears once more. Nothing wrong with some last minute review, right?

“It’s the subdural space.”

Wow. Okay, quick and close but wrong. Impressive wit though.

You open your mouth to say something but you hesitate as it dawns on you that you really aren’t part of this group and you’re not the one being asked. Jungkook not missing a beat gets a collective ‘ooh’ from the group, who’s clearly impressed at how quickly he’s answered the question.

Meanwhile, your conscience is making you contemplate on your earlier hesitation with the voice of the angel on your right shoulder telling you it isn’t right to let the wrong answer pass just like that, especially on a day like this. The devil on your left, however, tells you otherwise. You go with the former.

Amongst their murmurs of mutual praise for Jungkook (you bet this man is rejoicing inside with all the attention he’s getting, despite looking nonchalant), you take a deep breath and say the correct answer, voice coming out louder than expected.

“Excuse me?” another ‘spectator’ says, jutting her chin towards you.

“I said,” you look up at her, “it’s actually the subarachnoid space.”

“Are you sure?” she retorts.

Seriously? Just because you’re not some fuckboy jock who smolders at all boobed humans means you can’t be sure with your answer?

“Hey! I know you!” Someone exclaims from the side, causing everyone to turn their heads toward him, “You’re the foreigner valedictorian at SNU!” Similar to their earlier praises directed towards Jungkook, the same dudes marvel at your most recent accomplishment. You give a shy smile in return, quietly thanking the stranger for the sudden confidence boost.

“Jungkook-oppa is also the valedictorian at Yonsei.”

Well, that didn’t last for long...somebody has always got to rain on your parade. You won’t allow this girl though, not today.

You purse your lips, collecting your thoughts first before explaining it to them. “Subarachnoid hemorrhages, although they are much less common than hypertensive intracerebral hemorrhages, but the former are...more often than not...resultant of a rupture of a berry aneurysm.” You pause momentarily when someone drags his seat closer to yours, “Go on please.”

“Right, um...berry aneurysms are most commonly found at the Circle of Willis, usually by the junction of the communicating artery and the cerebral artery. Chances of rupture increase with age and cause marked bleeding into the subarachnoid space and produces severe headaches.” The same dude earlier blinks at you, urging you to explain further, “uh...additional symptoms may include vomiting, pain, stiffness of the neck, and papilledema. Death may follow rapidly as well.”

A few from the people gathered around your seat clap their hands, along with compliments and offers along the lines of marriage and organ swaps.

Someone mentions seeing the proctor approach the room and the group immediately disperses, everyone rushing back to their seats as quickly as possible. A middle-aged man enters, tells everyone to bring out their pencils and place their stuff by the platform, then momentarily leaves for the restroom.

Jungkook fishes through his bag, turning each pocket inside and out over and over again. There’s no way this kid actually-- “Shit, where did that pencil go?” he murmurs, going through his bag once more. Looking away, you bite your lip to stop yourself from snickering. Jeon Jungkook is definitely on a different level.

As expected, your entertaining seatmate calls you and asks for a pencil. With a deceivingly enthusiastic nod, you retrieve a pencil from your case just beside your chair. Your life after meeting Jungkook at the subway had finally led to this moment. He clears his throat and you figure it’s signaling the coming of another obnoxious comment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, this wasn’t meant for you,” you look at him with the most apologetic look you can muster. Then you look at him, down then up, just as he had done back in the library, you smile widely before winking at him, making him hand your extra pencil over to the guy sat next to him, “Thanks, babe.”

Jungkook scowls hard and you rejoice inside your head, making sure that your face doesn’t register the slightest bit of jest. His scowl however, does not last for long. “Hmm, you’re the girl from the library, right? Smart and feisty...maybe you are my type after all,” he murmurs, tongue poking his cheek. You scoff loudly, scrunching your face in disgust. “No thank you.”

“Oppa,” the girl’s shrill voice calls him one more time and you face forward to freely roll your eyes. If you aren’t mistaken, there’s even a hint of mild annoyance on Jungkook’s features. “Don’t mind her, oppa. You can have my extra pencil instead.” She tsks. “Some people just don’t know when to quit.”

At least she got something right this morning: you don’t know when to quit.

#jungkook x reader #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #bts au #bts fic #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #doctors au #bts series #jeon jungkook

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amaranthinecanicular · 4 years ago

Text

and the name for your order is

The guy snarls his order, and Kirishima is glad because clearly he's an unrepentant dick to everyone, not just Amajiki. It's easier to come to terms with than he thought it would be. “And your name?” he says, plucking a cup from the stack and uncapping the marker with his teeth.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

“Oh no,” says Kirishima, because oh no, he likes this guy. It's one of those sudden revelations that takes him by the throat and shakes him down. Who wants to know, he says, as though it wasn't obvious. Who wants to know. So absurdly aggressive it ends up amusing instead of intimidating. Endearing, even.

[My belated @fyeahbnha secret santa gift for @pointy-hat-witch! Please enjoy, and happy holidays!!!]

[Alternatively read on ao3.]

OCTOBER

Fat Gum’s Café has a new customer.

Well. Not new, exactly. He's been showing up for the last two weeks or so but only on days Kirishima wasn’t working. The news shared by his coworkers more closely resemble war stories than work gossip, ranging exclusively from horrible to terrible.

“He’s the scariest person I’ve ever met in my life,” says Amajiki.

“He’s like a sentient piece of crap rolled up in a garbage can and set on fire,” says Kaminari.

“He makes Give me a mocha double espresso sound like an order of execution,” says Amajiki.

“He’s rude and violent and he has no honor,” says Tetsutetsu.

“If he’s not actually a demon sent from the depths of hell to torture me specifically I would be very surprised,” says Amajiki. Most of the stories are from Amajiki.

Kirishima is dying to meet him, in part to defend his friends’ honor and in part to put a face to the legend. Luckily, the start of the new quarter means new classes at new times, and that means new work hours. What was originally a Tuesday-Thursday-Friday-Sunday schedule shifts to a Monday-Wednesday-Saturday schedule. Kirishima feels bad about that. He likes the coffee shop, likes his coworkers, likes his boss. If he could ace his tests and help out at Fat Gum’s every day he would, but he can't. His grades are dragging.

On the bright side, he meets their local celebrity, like, immediately.

It’s his first Saturday on the job. He knows it’s about to go down when he finds Amajiki attempting to assimilate himself into the storage closet.

“He's back,” says Amajiki, doing an excellent impression of coffee grounds quaking in fear. “If I have to deal with him again I'll die, I'll just die. Tell Mirio and Hadou I said goodbye. I'm sorry, Kirishima-kun, I can't do it.”

Poor guy. Amajiki is convinced this dude is terrorizing him deliberately, which Kirishima sincerely hopes isn't true. Anyone who would go out of their way to frighten serious, hardworking, anxious Amajiki must be a monster.

As if to punctuate this point, someone out at the front begins to brutalize the counter bell. To be fair, they really shouldn't leave it unmanned.

“Don't sweat it, senpai,” Kirishima says. He doesn't give Amajiki the manly clap to the shoulder that he wants to—Amajiki isn't so good with physical contact from anyone other than Togata or Hadou. “I'll handle the problem customer.”

Amajiki peeks at Kirishima through coffee filters and the dark wedge of his fringe. “You—you mean it?”

“Sure do. I like a challenge.”

He flashes his brightest smile. Amajiki squints a little at the force of it.

Kirishima is honestly surprised that the poor bell isn’t dented by the time he comes to its rescue.

“About fucking time,” says the problem customer. He's got riotous blond hair and a scowl on his face like it's been carved there. There's a grenade logo sprayed on his baggy black tee, which makes sense, because one look at this guy brings to mind the word explosive.

“How may I help you, sir?” says Kirishima, with deliberate pep. Impossibly, impressively, the scowl cuts deeper. Like an attack—like he's never not on the offensive. That's fine. Kirishima’s smile will be his armor.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

Kirishima spits the cap out of his mouth. “I want to know. For your order, man.”

The problem customer narrows his eyes as though to peer through Kirishima’s question to the ulterior motives behind it, which is insane, since there are no ulterior motives to be found in the absolutely routine procedure of a coffee shop. Cheerfully oblivious seems to be getting under his skin, so Kirishima leans into it. “What if I forget who asked for the mocha double espresso?”

The customer rolls his eyes. He rolls his eyes violently. “Right, because I'm real fucking forgettable.”

“You could be.” The look he gets for that is entirely worth breaking the Customer Is Always Right creed. “We get a lot of traffic, man, it’s nothing personal.”

The customer braces himself on the counter and leans into Kirishima’s space. Instinct hooks in his spine and tries to reel him back a step or two, but he hardens his resolve into stone and ties it to his feet, weighs himself down, refuses to budge.

“You'll remember me,” the customer says. A promise like a threat, and for the first time in the duration of this exchange Kirishima feels seen by him. Acknowledged. It's the same feeling as scoring well on a test, or making a sad friend laugh. Hard-won and worth it. Kirishima can't stop the grin from breaking onto his face so he doesn't try to.

“Sure I will. I like you.”

And the look he gets for that, well, that's priceless.

“So that name?”

“Fuck off.”

The guy recovers fast, that's for sure. Kirishima watches him skulk to the serving counter where he roots himself like a particularly irritable tree and barks at anyone who gets too close. The next customer gets an extra punch in her punch card for the wait, and when the guy's order is up, Kirishima is ready with a sharpie in hand. Amajiki has ventured back out to help with orders, steadfastly avoiding anything problem-customer-related, but he blanches when he sees what Kirishima is scribbling on the cup. “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Should I be getting you help?”

“Trust me,” Kirishima says. He caps the coffee and walks it to its rightful owner. “One mocha double espresso for Mr. Unforgettable.”

The guy snatches the cup. He stomps off without another word.

Thirty seconds later he stomps right back.

“Blasty McSplode?”

Amajiki ducks under the counter. Kirishima, in the process of taking another order, smiles wide enough to cramp his cheeks.

“Hey! Back already?”

“Blasty Mc-Fucking-Splode?”

“You wouldn't give me your name. I had to take a stab at it myself. Was I close?”

“I'll show you taking a stab—”

Blasty rants and raves for a full minute, splashing mocha just about everywhere, until finally Fat Gum himself ambles out of his office to gently shoo him from the shop. Kirishima waves at him around Fat Gum’s bulk. Blasty waves his middle finger in response. When Fat Gum comes back in he raises an eyebrow at Kirishima, which, yeah, he definitely deserves, but he also passes a heavy hand through his carefully gelled hair to show that he's not really mad. Kirishima fixes his hair as best he can while Amajiki climbs out from under the counter.

“I can't believe he didn't kill you for that,” he says, his voice buffed by awe.

Kirishima gives the next customer's punch card an extra punch too. Hell, he gives her two extra punches. Why not? He's in a great mood.

Two days later Blasty stalks in and Kirishima can't believe his good fortune. He calls out a greeting from across the cafe and gets a glare in response, but that glare holds, a few seconds of extended eye contact, long enough to stay in Kirishima’s belly after it's ended and flutter there.

Blasty growls his order. Kirishima asks for his name. Blasty tells him to go die and Kirishima scribbles Lord Explosion Murder on the cup. He's rewarded with a snort of amusement.

“Did you see that?” he gushes to Kaminari, after Blasty has left. “He totally laughed! He liked it!”

“I saw it I saw it ow stop hitting me!” Kaminari rubs the place on his shoulder that Kirishima had been slapping repeatedly. “I dunno, man. That sounded more like a scoff to me.”

Nah, he's pretty sure he was amused.

The next time he comes in, after the requisite exchange (“Your name for the order?” “Eat a dick,” “Cool cool I think I'd get fired if I wrote that but cool,”) Kirishima writes King Explosion Murder on the side of the cup.

“Better,” Blasty huffs.

Kirishima feels like cloud-walking for the rest of the day. Kaminari isn’t on shift, but when Kirishima texts him, he texts back: “I stand corrected. When are you asking him out?”

“All in due time,” Kirishima promises his phone.

NOVEMBER

Blasty’s schedule:

He shows up Monday mornings, rumpled by sleep and grouchier than usual, before he heads off to class. Wednesday evenings he drinks and studies until closing time. Saturday afternoons he sits at the window with a bento. Coincidentally these are the three days and times that Kirishima is on duty. And it must be coincidental, because if it's not then that means that Blasty memorized his schedule and molded his life accordingly, learned to fit him in, looks forward to seeing him three days out of the week. Kirishima may be an optimist, but he's not delusional. He knows how dangerous a daydream like that can be.

He’s probably just here because it’s a good place to study. And there must be an exam coming up, because lately he’s been showing up with even more books than usual, and suitcases under his eyes instead of bags. He’s crabbier, too, which Kirishima didn’t think was possible and is honestly impressed by. By this point he has unofficially become the only one willing to serve him, but this wild-eyed evolution of Problem Customer into Demon Customer From Hell just clinches it.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Kirishima says, when he brings over Blasty’s third espresso in as many hours. It’s Saturday, usually Blasty’s day to sit and gaze out the window with one of his more pensive death glares, but today he’s entombed himself in a mountain of notes and textbooks. Kirishima nudges aside a few notebooks to make room for the cup.

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself with a rake,” says Blasty, without looking up from the violent strokes of his pen. “Touch my stuff again and I’ll kill you myself, shitty hair.”

Watching from behind the counter, Amajiki wheezes with secondhand horror. Kirishima peers at the crowded table. “Hey, where’s your bento?”

Blasty slams his pen down. “Was I not clear enough, you moron? Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

Kirishima raises his hands in surrender. Blasty’s mouth opens as if to say something else, but nothing comes out. Maybe he’s realized he’s gone a step too far. They stare at each other for a beat, and then his jaw snaps shut. He jerks his head back to his books and Kirishima retreats to the counter.

“He can’t speak to you like that,” Amajiki says, suddenly stern. He’s always braver on someone else’s account. “I’ll tell Fat Gum, he’ll understand. We don’t have to serve him. You don’t have to take his abuse.”

“The guy’s under a lot of stress,” Kirishima says. It’s overindulgent even for him, but when he glances over his shoulder he sees Blasty wrench his gaze away. “And I think he feels bad.”

Amajiki obviously doesn’t think so, but he says nothing more, which Kirishima appreciates. By closing time Blasty is the only customer left in the shop, still hunched over his books and writing furiously. Kirishima has given him his space, and he hasn’t asked for another coffee. Amajiki is still angry enough to go tell him they’re closing—he’ll even be properly intimidating about it—but Kirishima stops him.

“I’ll lock up,” he offers. Amajiki’s look of disapproval is a blow to Kirishima’s pride, but he stands firm. So Fatgum leaves, and Amajiki leaves, with a sigh and a firm promise that he’ll be on standby if Kirishima needs anything, and then the place is empty and it’s just him, Blasty, and the scritching sound of his pen.

Kirishima takes his time. He cleans up and Blasty keeps studying. He locks the doors and Blasty keeps studying. He sits down at a table across the cafe and gets some of his own homework done, and Blasty keeps studying. Then he goes back to the machines, knowing he’ll have to clean them again, and whips up a special drink. When he’s done, he writes FIGHT ON! where the name should go.

“I don't want your fucking charity,” Blasty says as he sets it down.

“You’ve accepted it so far,” Kirishima points out blandly, gesturing to the very obviously closed cafe. Before Blasty can bite his head off, he continues, “Anyway, don't think of it as charity. Think of it as…an investment.”

“Investment in what?” His eyes are narrowed and very red, both in the iris and the bloodshot sclera.

Kirishima weighs the pros and cons of his next move and decides to go for it. He hazards a wink. “In my future best customer.”

Blasty is unimpressed. Like, fatally unimpressed. Like, it's impressive how unimpressed he looks. Aggressively deadpan. He has to practice that look in the mirror.

But he takes the cup, and when Kirishima peeks at him later, he's smirking at the sharpie message.

Monday morning sees Blasty quiet and terse, but civil. Civil for him, anyway. Kaminari is disturbed.

“What did you do?” he hisses once Blasty bulls out of the shop.

“Nothing.” Even if he barely met Kirishima’s eyes. Not promising.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Did he turn you down?”

“No. Dude, nothing happened.”

Kaminari raises his hands. For a minute they work in silence.

“So if you didn’t get turned down, are you gonna ask him out soon?”

Kirishima hands off an order, and then lets his customer service smile drop. “Now isn’t a good time. I’ve got to give him some space.”

“Okay, but what about all your fortune favors the manly stuff? Isn’t that the reason you got this far in the first place?”

“How far is that? I still don’t know his name.” He can feel Kaminari’s eyes on him, and he tries to rally. Picks up his smile and pastes it back on. “Hey, enough about me. How’s it going with you and Shinsou?”

Kaminari lights up. For the next twenty minutes he regales Kirishima—and the whole cafe—with his loud and maudlin romantic woes, all he’s so hot the bags under his eyes should not be so hot and his dry sense of humor is so hard to read and I think he’s flirting with me but I thought that with Jirou and she and Momo still won’t let me live it down.

Kirishima listens and laughs and offers advice, and he does his job, and he doesn’t think about his grumpy favorite customer even once. Really he doesn’t.

When Blasty comes in on Wednesday, he looks well rested. Kirishima waves before getting back to orders. This is apparently not good enough for Blasty, because he scowls at the people in line and then stalks over to the serving counter and proceeds to glare daggers, like he expects Kirishima to just up and abandon his work to attend to him. Like, yeah, he wants to, but it wouldn’t be right. Even if Blasty scares other customers away from the counter. And even if Kirishima is getting steadily more distracted the longer he stares.

On the third order he messes up, Tetsutetsu intervenes.

“Go on,” he sighs, nudging Kirishima aside as the next customer steps up. “Make it fast, bro.”

Kirishima promises him a meat bun after work and hurries over. “Hey. You’re looking better. Did you ace the test?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s great. Congratulations.”

There’s a stalled moment. Kirishima taps his fingers on the counter. Blasty is visibly grinding his molars.

“Cool, so I’m gonna get back to work, I’ll make you your regular—”

“Last week,” Blasty starts. He bites out each word. “Last week, I was.” He stops, lips pressed tight and bloodless.

“An asshole,” Kirishima supplies.

Blasty hums low in his throat. Or he growls. Either way it’s as close to an admission as Kirishima is going to get, and it clearly took a hilarious amount of self restraint for even that much.

Blasty clears his throat and says, “That drink you made. What was in it?”

Kirishima is a little thrown by the shift. “Xoaxacl chocolate, a little chili powder. I thought you might like an extra kick.”

“It wasn’t half bad.” There’s color along the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take one of those.”

Maybe Kirishima had been more upset by Blasty’s behavior on Saturday than he thought, because now he feels loads lighter, any old hurts dissipating like clouds under the sun. He smiles, and Blasty blinks a lot, the color spreading to his cheeks and his ears and down his throat.

“One special order, comin’ right up!”

Kirishima turns around and reaches for a cup and marker. And then, behind him: “Bakugou Katsuki.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

Blasty is rubbing roughly at his mouth. His whole face is glowing. “You heard me.”

“Bakugou,” says Kirishima, trying the taste on his tongue. Bakugou, full of plosives and hard consonants. “I love it. It suits you.”

Bakugou’s eyes snap wide, then narrow just as fast. “Why the fuck should I care what you think of my name? It doesn't need your approval, dipshit.”

When Kirishima is finished making his drink, Bakugou snatches it from his hand and whirls on his heel, a dramatic spray of foam following him out. Kirishima tingles where their fingers touched.

Then he watches Bakugou take a deep pull, and he has to go clean the latte machine before he’s murdered by the lethal and lovely line of Bakugou’s throat.

DECEMBER

“Y’know, I still don’t know what you study.”

“Probably because it’s none of your business.”

“Right. Except how it kind of is literally my business, since I let you study here, in my place of work, after we’ve closed.”

This has become their ritual. On Saturdays Bakugou stay past closing, sometimes doing schoolwork, sometimes helping clean up, sometimes just chatting. He never stays past nine thirty—Kirishima has learned that he likes to turn in before ten every night, which is bizarrely adorable—but it doesn’t matter. Any amount of time with him is always going to feel like a blessing, and it’s never going to feel like enough.

“You’re not doing me any favors, shitty hair, get that thought out of your empty skull this instant.”

“Sure, sure.”

Kirishima finishes cleaning up. Once the last table is wiped down he sits heavily across from Bakugou, happy to finally be off his feet. His eyes feel swollen, too big for his skull. His grades have yet to pick up despite the extra hours of studying he’s been putting in. He presses his knuckles into his eyes for a moment of relief.

“I’m a med student.”

He blinks the colorless starbursts from his eyes. Bakugou, across from him, comes into focus: his head is still down, his gaze still fixed on his book. Sometimes he wears glasses, thick dark frames that Kirishima loves, and today is one of those days. He grins.

“No shit! You’re going to be a doctor?”

“A surgeon.” Some color rises in his ears; he looks pleased. Maybe because of how awed Kirishima sounds. But why wouldn’t he? Anyone working to help people is worthy of admiration, and manly as hell.

“Dude, that’s awesome. I’m studying to be a nurse.”

The corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitches upward. “Nurses are badass.”

“I think so. You a doctor, me a nurse. I bet we’d make a good team.”

Bakugou scoffs, even as pink starts to pool in his collarbones. Kirishima still doesn’t get why certain things make him flush, but he’s happy to learn. He rests his cheek in his hand and tries not to smile too dopily. “Y’know, for a med student you sure drink a lot of coffee. You know too much of this stuff is terrible for you, right?”

“I’m going to tell your boss you said that and get you fired.”

“That’s really not how it works.”

Bakugou’s glare is magnified by the glasses. He takes a long, aggressive sip of his drink—the strength it takes Kirishima not to burst out laughing is Herculean, truly, with the slurping and the deliberate eye contact and all, because only Bakugou could turn coffee into an intimidation tactic. Then he says, “Whatever. I'm invincible.”

Kirishima bursts out laughing. Bakugou grumbles beneath his breath, but his threats delight Kirishima more than they intimidate; Kirishima’s laughter seems to confound Bakugou more than it enrages. They're good for each other, is his sudden thought, and it thrills him.

He’s a little teary and a little breathless by the time he gets himself under control. Through the blurry smudge of his eyelashes he sees Bakugou. Then he’s breathless all over again.

Bakugou’s face—Kirishima wouldn’t say it softens. But there is a softness there, in his unsmiling mouth, in his brow, stern but smooth. He’s just—watching him, steadily. Intent.

“Hey,” Kirishima says, and it’s easy, it’s so easy. “Make sure you come in on Christmas, alright? I get out early, and I want to ask you something.”

And maybe he expects Bakugou to fluster, or to scowl, or to demand to hear his question then and there. He doesn’t.

“Fine,” he says, and he just keeps watching. Like he wouldn’t mind watching Kirishima forever.

Maybe Kirishima’s projecting a little.

Bakugou would probably tear him a new one for spreading the news around, but Kirishima is too excited to keep it to himself.

“I’m happy for you,” says Amajiki, sounding worried but sincere.

“Congrats, man,” says Tetsutetsu, and then they have a celebratory arm wrestling match.

Kaminari is a little more suspicious. “So you haven’t asked him out yet?”

He’s standing on a stepladder, hanging Christmas decorations while Kirishima mans the counter. Bakugou has already stopped by for his morning coffee, and it’s been a slow morning since. The few people trickling in have been couples, sharing hot chocolate and slices of cake. Kirishima has spent an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about similar situations. In his head it’s usually a little less cozy and a little more explosive, but he likes it better that way.

“Technically no.” He tops the latte he’s working on with extra foam. “I asked him to come by on Christmas, and I’m going to ask him out then. I’ve got a plan.”

Kaminari doesn’t need to know how nebulous said plan is. At the moment it includes things like Step One: Bribe With Spicy Food (Addendum: Can Christmas Cake Be Spicy?), Step Two: Sweep Bakugou Off His Feet, Step C: Profess Manly Adoration, Step N: Kiss Just Like, Wow, A Whole Bunch. The truth is he’s always been more of an in the moment kind of guy. But he likes Bakugou—he really, really likes Bakugou. He doesn’t want to screw everything up with an impulsive word or action. And if that means taking precautions he wouldn’t usually bother with, he’ll take them.

“I dunno, man,” says Kaminari. “Midoriya and Momo are all about plans. You…not so much.”

Kirishima decides Kaminari knows him too well. “Any progress with Shinsou?”

That does the trick. Kaminari brightens like the bunch of LED Christmas lights in his arms. He practically swoons, the stepladder protesting beneath him. “Dude, you have no idea. I took a leaf out of your book, just asked him straight out, and lemme tell you I knew Hitoshi was hot but I’ve never seen anyone blush so cute in my whole damn life—”

He swoons a little too hard, arms wheeling, and Kirishima barely vaults the counter in time to catch him. There’s some polite applause from the handful of patrons in the shop. Kirishima and Kaminari bow, and then Fat Gum tells them to quit fooling and get back to work.

Kirishima does not spend the rest of his shift thinking about how Kaminari called Shinsou Hitoshi. And he definitely does not think about calling Bakugou by his first name on Christmas.

He does, however, scrawl Katsuki on no less than three to-go cups.

Kirishima does not see Bakugou on Christmas. He does not see much of anyone, or anything, on Christmas. He can barely see his own hand in front of his face, which could be the delirium brought on by the fever or the copious amount of sweat rolling into his eyes, which is also brought on by the fever.

As badly as he wants to push through the pain, not even he is hardheaded enough to try and drag his sorry carcass to work. It’s hard enough to drag his sorry carcass to the bathroom and back. He tries to text his coworkers (Tamaki? Kaminari? Tetsutetsu? He can’t recall who’s working today, so he texts all of them) and asks them to apologize to Bakugou, but the characters are swimming in his vision and he’s pretty sure the result is gibberish. Which means it’s over. He’s going to be laid up in bed for weeks, he’s going to fail his finals, and come next semester he’ll have a new class schedule, and he’ll never see Bakugou again. He’s blown it. Romance is dead.

Someone’s knocking on the door. He doesn’t answer it right away—it takes a minute for him to peel the rhythm of the pounding door from the pounding in his head. It takes a minute longer for him to stumble up and open it.

“You look like shit,” says Bakugou. He’s standing there looking like god’s gift to the earth, even scowling, even bundled in hat and scarf and mask, even laden down with groceries. Kirishima is pretty sure he’s hallucinating.

“Well? Are you letting me in or what?”

Kirishima lets him in. Bakugou toes out of his boots and then he plants himself in the middle of the room, jerking his head this way and that, taking it all in: the kitchenette-slash-living room, the card table turned dining table, the clashing red and hot pink interior design. “This place is a shitshow,” he declares. “No roommate?”

“She’s spending Christmas with friends.” More specifically, Mina had left last night with the implication that if Kirishima’s date went well he was free to come back to the apartment. There was a lot of obnoxious winking and innuendos. It was sweet of her, if a little mortifying and inappropriate, and in the end entirely wasted when he woke up with the mother of all migraines.

Bakugou drops the groceries on the table and starts shucking his outerwear. The hat, the scarf, the puffy coat. Kirishima sways in place and watches him. He’s wearing a red button down, and beneath that a black tee with the Punisher logo on it. It’s just a little bit dressier than his everyday attire. Is this what he would have worn on their date? If Kirishima had ever gotten to ask him properly? He sighs, forlorn.

Bakugou turns back to him, and they stare at each other. They keep staring at each other until Bakugou reaches past him to close the door, which was still hanging open over his shoulder. Whoops.

“God damn, you’re out of it. Get back to bed, loser.”

He cuffs him over the head, except it’s less of a cuff and more of a ruffle, exasperated and fond. So Kirishima totters back to bed. Hallucination or not, he’s happy to see Bakugou one last time.

When he wakes up, it’s to the rich, earthy kinds of aromas he associates with home cooking, if not necessarily his home. His first thought is that Mina came home early, but she’s just as useless in the kitchen as he is. So either a burglar broke in to cook for him or he wasn’t having an incredibly vivid fever dream, as he’d previously assumed. Which means Bakugou is really, actually, truly in his home.

The door to his bedroom bangs open while he’s wrestling with the sweat-soaked sheets. Bakugou is armed to the teeth with soup, water, tea, pills, and towel, all laid out and puffing steam on a serving tray that Kirishima doesn’t remember owning. He raises an eyebrow at Kirishima’s ogling and knees him in the side.

“Sit up. You have to eat and rehydrate.”

The tray lands on Kirishima’s lap, and then the water and the pills are pushed into his hands. While he’s downing both, Bakugou makes a sour face at the state of his room, and bustles out to change the bedside wastebasket for a clean bag. Kirishima would be more humiliated if he weren’t so happy to see him at all.

When Bakugou comes back he’s got a thermometer in one hand and the card table’s folding chair under an arm. He kicks the chair open, spins it around, and slings one leg over the side. He brandishes the thermometer like a weapon of war.

“Open.”

The thermometer jabs under Kirishima’s tongue. He winces only a little, and his voice comes out nasally and muffled and a little wondering. “I can’t believe you’re really real.”

“What else would I be?”

“I don’t know, a dream? A near death hallucination?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Shut up until I get your temperature.”

A few seconds later the thermometer chirps. Bakugou snaps it up and glares at it, and then something in his face relaxes.

“Barely a fever. You’ll live, moron.”

Kirishima asks, “How’d you know where I live?”

“Your dumbass coworker said you were sick. I threatened him bodily harm until he gave me your address.” Like it’s so obvious. Which, yeah, maybe it is. Probably Kaminari, who is both susceptible to Bakugou’s intimidation tactics and has been pushing for them to get together. When Bakugou snaps open the damp towel and starts mopping at Kirishima’s sweaty face, grumbling beneath his breath, he decides that he’s grateful.

For the first time he’s realizing how silly his fever induced fears were. He might be down for the count for a few days, but he won’t miss his finals, even if he might fail them. And even if his schedule falls out of sync with Bakugou’s, it’s not like he’ll be gone forever. They have a mutual friend in Midoriya, as Kirishima learned recently. Or else he could just loiter around the cafe until they learn each other’s new schedules. This doesn’t have to be the end at all. Bakugou proved that by coming here.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” he croaks. “I really wanted to be there with you today. Was looking forward to it all week.”

Bakugou dismisses him with a roll of his eyes. He folds his arms across the back of the chair and rests his chin on them. “So? What happened?”

“End of the semester. Bad grades. Finals.” He waves a vague hand to encompass the studying and the stress and the lack of sleep. It probably didn’t help that he ran himself into the ground trying to justify a night off with Bakugou, though he doubts that comes across with his flappy wrist.

“Guess it all caught up to me.” He spoons some soup into his mouth. “Oh my god, this is delicious. You made this?”

“I’m great at everything, obviously.” His mask twists with a frown. “You’re having trouble in school?”

“’M not a genius like you.”

“It’s not about being a genius, it’s about studying habits. You need someone to quiz you, keep you on task.” A pause, nearly short enough to be casual. “I’ll do it.”

Kirishima lowers the bowl he had been tipping over for the last of the broth. “You?”

“What, you think I can’t? I’ll be the best damn tutor you’ve ever seen, shitty hair.” Another pause. This one is more thoughtful.

“What?” says Kirishima.

Bakugou shakes his head. His voice has dropped to a low rumble in his chest. “Never seen you with your hair down. You should chuck all your gel, it’s not so shitty like this.”

“Didn’t think I’d have company to put it up for. I’d have to flip upside down to do it right, I probably would have passed out and died.”

Bakugou snorts. “You’d think a nurse would take better care of himself.”

Kirishima snorts back, with a little more phlegm. “You’d think a doctor would have better bedside manner.”

All of a sudden Bakugou’s scowl is a little less—scowly, than it usually is. More searching. More intense. Their eyes meet for a second too long and it’s like someone is pouring nitroglycerin down the column of Kirishima’s spine.

“Sounds like you want to know more about my bedside manner.”

He’s smirking, and there are so many things—so many things—that Kirishima could say to that. Things that would be smart or things that would be manly or things that would be safe. So many things.

His fever speaks for him. “Well, if you’re offering.”

The smirk falls away and that intensity comes roaring back. Kirishima’s insides ignite. Bakugou rises slowly and doesn’t once blink, and his chair scrapes on the floor, and Kirishima has the thought I hope that doesn’t scratch the wood—

Then Bakugou is kissing him. The rough weave of his mask and the heat of his mouth behind it, like a brand. His open eyes. His hand cradling the curve of Kirishima’s skull. It’s overwhelming and it’s nothing at all, less of a kiss than a touch, less of a touch than a promise. Kirishima clutches at him because he’ll fall away otherwise, he’s hungry and dizzy and unmoored, and he’s got one hand clenched in Bakugou’s shirt and one in his hair and it’s soft, how is it so soft? His heart lurches in his chest.

No no no, not his heart. “Bakugou, back up, I—oh shit—”

He pulls away and flops over the side of the bed, unable to see if his hail mary aim for the wastebasket came through. Only once he’s done tossing his guts does he register the steadying arm around his shoulders. The hand pushing back his hair. It’s warm and square and dry, with callouses on every finger.

“You’re disgusting,” Bakugou says from somewhere above him. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re the one who just kissed a sick man. What does that make you?”

“Magnanimous as fuck.”

Kirishima laughs. It hurts every part of him, but it’s good. It’s really good.

“I really like you, Bakugou. Like a lot.”

It comes out so easy, just like that day in the cafe. He’s still half upside down and his mouth is still sour. Bakugou’s hand is still in his hair. Through the damp red locks that escape his grip Kirishima can see him, and for the first time since they met, he looks starry-eyed. It is the most amazing feeling in the world, even when Bakugou blinks the stars away and glowers.

“Is that why you wanted me to come by the cafe today? I already knew that, dipshit.”

His voice is dismissive and mocking, but his hand is still in Kirishima’s hair, and his collarbones have flooded pink. It’s just like Bakugou to flirt and kiss him within an inch of his life only to get shy about a little sincerity.

“Yeah. That’s all I wanted to say. I was hoping we could go out and, I don’t know, look at Christmas lights. Bake a cake together. Pelt each other with snowballs or something. I like you a lot.”

Bakugou helps him sit up. At his urging Kirishima rinses his mouth with water and then sips some of the tea. It’s lemony and sweet.

Bakugou demands, “What took you so long? I don’t like idiots who beat around the bush, Kirishima. Didn’t think you were like that.”

Kirishima. He doesn’t think he ever wants anyone else to say his name. “Yeah, Kaminari said the same thing. But I didn’t want to mess things up with you.”

“So you decided to be a dumbass? How’d that work out for you?”

He mulls it over. “The guy I like is seeing me half dead, so that’s embarrassing. On the other hand, the guy I like is taking care of me while I’m sick, which is pretty sweet. Net gain, I think.” He’s heartened by the amused squint of Bakugou’s eyes. “So? Want to go out with me?”

For a long moment, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He just watches, steady, intent, and his hand weaves slow, thoughtless paths through Kirishima’s hair. Kirishima has never been in love before, but he thinks this must be it. He can’t imagine anything else hurting quite so sweetly.

“I’m not dating anyone while I’m still in school,” Bakugou says. “That would be fucking stupid.”

“Okay. After med school is residency, right? You think you’ll be dating then?”

Bakugou’s expression isn’t starry-eyed anymore, but it’s pretty damn close.

He says, “Stick around and find out.”

JANUARY

A new semester means a new schedule, and Kirishima’s does not match up with Bakugou’s even once. It’s a little bit of a bummer, sure, but he’ll survive.

The last customer of the day leaves the cafe two minutes to closing. Kirishima sighs, cracks his neck, and starts prepping the last drink of the day. He sets it on the counter and then he starts wiping down tables, and when the clock strikes the hour, Kaminari goes to lock the doors.

They burst open before he gets there and Kaminari jumps two feet in the air and falls flat on his back. In strides Bakugou, and Kirishima’s heart flutters even as he stands back and cackles at Kaminari for a solid thirty seconds.

“Kirishima,” Kaminari whines from the floor, “your boyfriend’s being mean to me!”

Bakugou kicks at him. “We’re not dating.”

“Ha! Sure, and I’m not dating an insomniac with a fine ass—okay okay you’re not dating, quit kicking me!”

He does, but only after Kirishima scolds him and entices him away with a drink. He grabs it off the counter and passes it to Bakugou. Then he snatches it back.

“Forgot the name, just a sec!”

“You already know my name,” Bakugou groans, but he follows Kirishima behind the counter with barely a frown. “Hurry up, shitty hair, I don’t have all night to tutor your ass.”

“Tutor your ass,” Kaminari laughs from the floor. Bakugou growls.

Kirishima finds the marker and uncaps it. Before he can start to write, Bakugou threads their fingers together and squeezes hard.

“I can’t write your name with my left hand, Bakugou.”

Bakugou hooks his chin over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Well, Kirishima likes a challenge. The final result is messy, but legible. He garnishes it with a heart. “Here.”

“Stupid,” Bakugou huffs, but he accepts the cup and takes a swig. Then he yanks Kirishima toward the exit, where Kaminari is finally peeling himself off the floor.

“We’re still on for Saturday, right?” he asks, dusting himself off. “Double--”

“If you say double date, I’ll set you on fire,” says Bakugou. “And only if shitty hair here passes his test with flying colors.”

Kaminari endeavors to look contrite--his face wasn’t really built for it--but when Bakugou’s back is turned, he shoots Kirishima a subtle thumbs up and mouths double date. Kirishima returns the favor.

Out on the street it’s cold and biting. Bakugou hisses, and takes another gulp of his drink. Kirishima watches him glance at the name on the side of the cup again. If he pointed out the color in his cheeks he knows Bakugou would say it was the cold, or the heat of the drink, and then he’d punch him for good measure. But Kirishima can see his smile, hard-won and worth it. He can see how he passes a thumb over the shaky black characters, over and over: Katsuki.

#fyeahbnhasecretsanta #my hero academia #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero academia #shinkami #in the background mostly #kaminari denki #amajiki tamaki #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #fat gum #bnha fic #ran's writing #pointy-hat-witch #fyeahbnha #coffeeshop au #university au

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b-m-scott · 5 years ago

Text

"If she's a Queen, then Baby, you're a Goddess"

Michael B Jordan x Reader

I was never really the jealous type. If I was in a relationship, I felt fairly confident in it and tried not to question my partner. I especially felt that way once I started dating Michael. I knew what his job entailed, and that I would need to be used with him not only acting alongside beautiful actresses but also possibly flirting with them during press junkets. His latest castmates from Black Panther were all wonderful. I had the pleasure of meeting them a few times and knew that Award season was going to be starting soon. I wasn’t going to be able to join Michael, due to my work schedule, but he knew I would be there in spirit.

It was half-past ten when I arrived back at our shared place. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to head to sleep. I knew Michael wouldn’t be home for at least another two hours, so I decided to simply shoot him a text “Goodnight” and wait to hear all the details tomorrow morning. After getting ready for bed, I grab my phone and go to write the text when I notice something trending on Twitter and multiple mentions of my name. Curiosity gets the better of me and I click to open the app.

There is a video, clearly a publicity stunt, of Michael, Lupita, and Danai competing for Lupita’s affection. Deep down I know it’s all fake, but I also know that all the fans throughout the course of the press interviews have started to ship both Michael and Lupita and I can’t help but feel a little jealous. I mean, I had met her, and she was absolutely gorgeous both inside and out. We were close and I knew I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but knowing they’re acting for the movie and then seeing them do it almost just for fun hurt me. I open up Michael’s contact and type in a message.

Y/N: Hey baby, hope your nights going well! Sent - 22:55

About six minutes later, a reply comes through.

Michael: For sure, babe! Just out with Lupita Sent - 23:01

Well, that didn’t help. The award show was over and I knew he would go out, but did they go out alone? Knowing that asking any more questions would just make me over analyze things, I shoot back a quick response.

Y/N: Great, goodnight. Sent - 23:04

I put my phone on NO DISTURB and try to fall asleep. My mind was swimming with thoughts some being of serious concern and some being ridiculous. I knew I was being silly, but could you blame me? Michael was a catch. All the ladies wanted him. Why wouldn’t Lupita?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear a shattering sound and immediately jerk up.

“Shit,” mutters Michael. I roll my eyes and look over at my clock. It reads 3:45 and annoyance soaks right in. I head downstairs to see what damage was done and am hoping to just go back to bed. When I reach the kitchen, I see Michael sweeping up some shattered glass off the floor. He heads to toss it and sees me standing in the doorway. He smiles sheepishly at me.

“Hey, baby! Sorry to wake you,” he apologizes. “Was just trying to get a drink.” He doesn’t seem entirely drunk, but he’s definitely buzzed. I shake my head and realize that if it was almost four in the morning, he had been out with Lupita for almost more than five hours.

“Right, well maybe next time use a plastic cup,” I mutter. A hint of confusion sparks in his eyes. He knows he annoyed me, but also I had never been this annoyed after an award show before. I also hadn’t asked him how is night was. I head back upstairs and make myself comfortable, hoping I can just fall back asleep. I didn’t have the energy to express my concerns right now. A few minutes later, I hear Michael step into the room. He sits down on the edge of the bed and I feel his hand rests on my back.

“Everything OK, baby?” he asks. I just grunt as a replying. He lets out a small sigh before continuing, “You know, you didn’t even ask me if we won.” I don’t respond. I know I’m being rude but after my rude awakening and earlier thoughts, I can’t seem to shake off all my annoyance. He stands up and heads to his closet before saying,

“You didn’t even tell me how good I looked in my suit.” I can hear the cocky and joking tone in his voice and it almost cracks me, but I don’t want to give in that easily. He had looked really good in his suit, it was one of my favorites yet, and that probably just added to my jealousy. I hear him let out another sigh before he finally heads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. After he finishes, he lays down and makes one last attempt.

“You know you can tell me anything, right baby?” Once again I don’t respond. I can feel sadness radiating off of him, but my selfish self just doesn’t care. He sighs again and I know I’m breaking his heart, but in a way, I felt like he broke mine as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When morning comes and I remember everything that happened last night, I internally groan. I messed up. Big time. I look over my shoulder to see that side empty and externally groan this time. I get out of bed and make my way downstairs. I was out of line and I know that. After a busy day at work and the fear of missing out mixed in with slight jealousy, I turned into a monster. I had to fix it. I find Michael sitting on the couch watching TV at a quiet volume and smile. That was something he did when he was scared of waking me up, but made it extremely hard for him to hear the TV and the sight of subtitles confirmed it. I take in a deep breath before walking over to him. He looks up to me with a mixture of surprise and caution as I settle in his lap. I’m straddling him as I put my face in the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I was a bitch last night.” He chuckles and rubs my back soothingly.

“Don’t worry about it, you had a long day.” I look up at him.

“So did you, and I should have been more considerate.” He smiles at me and leans in for a loving kiss. When we break apart he asks,

“So, that was it? You were just tired?” I shrug my shoulders slightly and bury my face into his shoulder again. He lets out a little laugh, clearly knowing that that wasn’t it. I was still embarrassed though. I knew my jealousy was uncalled for, but I knew it was better to tell him.

“No, it’s not,” I start. He hums in response, urging me to continue. “I saw the clip from last night. Of you and Lupita.”

“Aaah, I see,” he replies. His voice laced with sarcasm and humor. I whine, knowing I was right in thinking I was being ridiculous. I sit up and look at him wanting to explain myself.

“It’s just she’s… she’s...” I struggle to find the word I want to use to describe her. When one of the fans comments from last night pop into my head.

@Luptia_Nyongo YAASSS, the QUUUEEENNN!!!!!!!

“She’s a queen.” I finish. “And I’m just me.” I see Michael shake his head and hum in disapproval. He grabs my face in my hands and kisses me with more passion. When we separate, our foreheads rest together and some of my embarrassment fades away.

“If she's a Queen, then Baby, you're a Goddess”

#michael b jordan #michael b jordan imagines #michael b jordan imagine #michael b jordan x reader #michael jordan

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

Text

Whenever and Wherever

This is ridiculously late because I didn’t have much time to work on it thanks to irl stuff so sorry about that but happy (belated) birthday @bupine. Have some bench trio.

The first time their paths cross, it's in the tailor shop run by Tommy's family. Tommy seems to be manning the counter while his brothers and father are supposedly in the back. The customer is clearly an enderman hybrid if his facial features are anything to go off of. He's just here to order a suit for a new job as a stenographer for the mayor apparently. Ranboo lingers longer than he likely expected to when he walked in as the three of them make conversation together. Before their latest acquaintance heads off, they decide to meet up again outside of work hours.

Talking to Ranboo comes easy. Before too long, you could tell Ranboo's work schedule based on where he was found lingering. At the tailor's shop? Well, it was likely one of his days off and he wanted to keep Tommy company for a while as the owner's son worked. At the bakery? That usually meant Ranboo was on his lunch break and hoped to sneak something sweet into his midday meal. He occasionally buys a few flowers for Tommy with the excuse of 'livening up his workspace' and offers Tubbo his attempts at baking. Whenever possible, the three of them either made time during lunch or in the evening to hang out together.

Then Ranboo seems to realise he gets off work around about the same time the bakery owned by Tubbo's family closes for the night. That mixed with the fact he really isn't the best with anything kitchen related... Listen, Tubbo was simply being a good friend by helping him out. Plus, who wouldn't want to take advantage of an excuse to spend more time with one of their best friends? It becomes a... thing, their evening practice sessions. Tommy once comments on it during a lunchtime meet-up, only to tease them but it kind of hits Tubbo how often Ranboo swings by so they can bake together.

It becomes blatantly clear everyone knows what's going on between the two of them when they hang around at the back of the tailor's one afternoon.

"If one of you doesn't ask the other out, I will break into your homes, steal your clothes and alter them so they're unwearable. Then I will make you pay to have them fixed."

"We... We uh, aren't-" Ranboo begins defending.

Tommy glances up from his sewing machine as he switches it off. "Fucking hell, just kiss or something, I don't know. But please stop forcing me to watch the two of you make eyes at each other whenever we hang out. We haven't been 16 for years. Sort yourselves out or whatever."

So they clumsily arrange a 'date' and let things go from there. It goes... well. A second attempt to make sure the first wasn't a fluke wouldn't hurt, nor would a third. It soon gets to the point where this new dynamic feels entirely natural. Tubbo's only worry is that Tommy might feel like a third wheel. Their mutual friend assures them he doesn't care about that. Besides, they know him, if he was actually bothered by it, he would have complained a ton by now.

Getting engaged isn't a big affair. In fact, it is a complete mess that occurs on Ranboo's sofa following a lull in conversation. He trips over his words, segues into various rambley detours and eventually manages to get to the point where he asks the all important question. Tubbo knew his answer the moment he realised where his boyfriend was headed with the conversation.

"So Tommy," Tubbo leans over the counter. The way he very blatantly holds Ranboo's hand only causes his attempt at acting nonchalant to come close to failing. "How much for a couple of wedding suits?"

"You're not getting a friend discount. In fact, I think I'll double the typical asking price purely because you are my friends."

"I hate you, you know that, right?"

"Hmm, might even make it triple."

"I will personally uninvite you."

Tommy and Tubbo maintain straight-faced eye contact for all of five seconds before the taller of the two breaks into a grin. Before the new fiancees can react, Tommy has his arms around both of them, drawing them in closer.

"How could neither of you tell me you were looking at rings? Absolute crime, that, if you ask me. Especially since I'm obviously the bestest man around. Disgraceful, the both of you. How can you sleep at night knowing you left me out of the loop? Gonna have to quadruple the price as punishment."

An elbow to the ribs leads to a slightly pained inhale before the three of them descend into snickers.

Is it bad that he forgot land-dwellers need air?

Tubbo had been watched the two of them from afar. The one with sand-coloured hair makes himself round as he falls a significant distance towards the water. After a few repeats of this odd practice, he decides he will greet the human when he next appears in his domain. Tubbo grabs him by the arms with a friendly smile but it doesn't seem the human is so keen to befriend any merfolk. In the struggle, he gets a weird appendage to the face. Not one to be easily put off, Tubbo swims to the surface in time to see the boy communicating angrily with one whose hair colour resembled those of a beast he's been warned about. He thinks he'll dub them Sand and Orca for simplicity.

Orca spots him watching their conversation and walks over, positioning himself close enough to include Tubbo in any discussions they may want to have with him but far enough that Tubbo couldn't physically reach either of the boys with his arms. Sand greatly disapproves of this supposed fraternising with the enemy. Orca keeps attempting to communicate but their languages are vastly different so all it amounts to are gestures. When they leave, Tubbo finds it funny how the one named after a deadly predator is the most willing to be friendly while the one whose namesake he loves lounging upon occasionally had a tendency to come off as hostile.

The pair of humans don't visit him everyday and even on the days they do, the position of the sun isn't always the same when they arrive. Nevertheless, they continue to come as often as they are able and Tubbo appreciates that. He can't replicate any of their human vocalisations and though they try, neither of the human boys are particularly great at whistling and chirping properly. The constant gesturing seems to be the only way for them to communicate but they somehow manage to become firm friends despite it all.

One thing Tubbo definitely understands is fish. He is perfectly capable of getting his own food and honestly prefers catching it live anyway but if they want to offer him a snack as a sign of friendship, he's hardly going to say no. There's always the option to share the food with his family later. He brings Sand his namesake as a way of thanking them. Even if he knew a good place to observe orcas so he could extend a similar gesture to his other friend, Orca apparently can't swim. At least, that's how Tubbo interpreted it when his friend once pointed to himself, motioned as if he was pulling himself forward in water and shook his head afterwards. So Sand is the only one who sometimes joins him in the shallower water. And Tubbo has learned from his mistakes now, he makes no attempts to keep Sand below the surface longer than the human boy can manage.

One day not long after they meet, Sand tries to tell him something he can sense is important. He gestures between himself and Orca, points to the sun and makes a wide circular motion with his finger, extends his arm so it rises above their heads then ends the message by pointing to the shore. It takes another round of reiterating before Tubbo begins to potentially understand. They will get big with the sun and be here? It sounds odd but he supposes he can't physically stop them from leaving.

The sea grows warmer and cooler then back again over and over. He visits their spot each time the temperature rises. They never come. Or maybe he just keeps missing them when they do show up. He's not sure. Either way, he gets older and grows into young adulthood as the years continue to pass. He hopes the same is happening to them. They did promise to return once they got bigger too, after all. Although, the thought he might have wildly misunderstood Sand's parting message isn't always easy to not dwell on.

His waiting finally pays off and he couldn't be more ecstatic. They've both grown weird shells on their backs that he feels would be ineffective at defending them, their feet are disproportionately longer and their faces are practically unrecognisable with protective shells around their eyes and mouths. They are much larger than the last time they all saw each other too. But it's them, it's really them! Not to mention them seem to have developed the ability to breathe underwater somehow. Unsure how to greet them properly after all this time, he rushes off to the seabed with a grin and presents them with a fish as well as a fistful of sand. They look between themselves before accepting the gifts gratefully.

As the sunlight wanes on the surface, the humans sit on their familiar secluded spot of a caved area while Tubbo lets the water lap around him. The human duo have suddenly lost their strange shells now, both on their backs and faces, as well as returned to having better proportioned feet. Orca offers his own reunion gift. If Tubbo were human, he might have made use of non-existent tear ducts to inadvertently express how moved he was by the object. Because oh wow, he was never able to communicate Orca's

Tubbo knows what it is like to be displaced by war. He'd been born in a time of technical peacetime, though everyone knew this would change sooner rather than later with all the tension.

He's 9 when the war seems to decide it's time to directly come for him as the son of the president, more than the resource shortages or street violence ever could. An attempt to assassinate his father that he'd been too close to lands him in hospital. It's officially too dangerous for him to remain a symbol of how safe their country was. All those not old enough to potentially enlist get evacuated, Tubbo especially.

Snowchester is... alright. It's isolated and out of the way, which is probably for the best in the general scheme of things. But at his age, all he really cares about is making the most of the snow before the novelty wears off and questioning how long it will be before he can go home to his family again. The answer was less than a month and 'we don't know so you'll just have to sit tight. Okay?'. So he reluctantly settles into his new life. He makes an effort to get to know the handful of other kids from the village in the hopes of gaining at least one friend to help him through this, he wanders around the marketplace on Tuesdays to find the sweet highlight of his week and for the hell of it, he challenges himself to become a master snow sculptor. Tubbo also writes to home to let his family know how he's doing but it feels like it has to go through 50 hands just to reach them for the sake of maintaining his secrecy which really sucks. By the time he celebrates his first birthday without them there, he had given up on arguing about the risk of just ringing them.

Then when he's 11, men posing as sea merchants arrive on their frozen shores during the night. Before he's even fully woken up, he's on a horse in his goddamn pyjamas and clutching a pitiful bag filled with whatever he and foster father had managed to stuff into it in 2 seconds. He doesn't get to bid Snowchester a proper goodbye. They're already on a rowboat they'd kind of stolen after racing through the trees when reality finally begins dawning on him. The man who'd looked after him explains they were headed to a new place that would hopefully prove to be safer than his old home.

He's used to the cold of a tundra by now. This place is more landlocked than Snowchester but not everything can be on the coast. He guesses the isolation and lack of enemy reinforcements arriving directly at a village is a good way to decrease the risk of attack. He hates it here. Snowchester might have been a fair distance from other places but at least there had been a bunch of people around. This was literally one guy looking after two kids, now three, in the middle of actual nowhere.

Phil does his best to be accommodating, he will give him that. And the other boys he's living with aren't too bad half the time. But it's too much. He decides he'd rather keep to himself. Ranboo, like Phil, is a bit more patient with him than Tommy is. Ranboo is willing to play a chess game he has no chance of winning or solve the same jigsaw for the 5th time that week. Tommy, on the other hand, will talk at him or encourage him to go outside.

"If nothing dangerous happens, you have to... make me a hot chocolate. Yeah, that seems like a decent payment."

"Payment for what?"

"For getting you to stop sulking and enjoy the snow obviously."

He humours him but he makes sure his reluctance is unmistakeably evident. It turns out Tommy has excellent aim when it comes to throwing snowballs. When Tubbo complains about this, Tommy simply shrugs and reveals his brother is the commander of the army so what did he expect? It doesn't matter whether you're hunting for food or stopping the enemy from getting you first, precision and accuracy are important for survival. That's part of the wisdom Wilbur had bestowed upon him before going off to lead their side to victory anyway. Tommy then ends his speech by standing next to Tubbo in order to cram a previously concealed handful of snow down his back in a surprise attack. Tubbo swears he is going to work out how to dislodge half the roof's worth of snow on Tommy's head tomorrow for that. When they finally head back inside, Tommy lets him know he'd like his drink to include whipped cream and those tiny marshmallows if they still have some lying around.

In time, he learns Tommy had been sent far from home the same as he had. Logsted had been 'a tiny shithole with nothing on offer to do' that eventually fell prey to the same exploitable feature that Snowchester had. Phil had been an old contact of General Soot's so when the initial relocation efforts fell through, Tommy was sent to Phil. No big deal. Well... listen, Tommy can act like a prat at the best of times but he supposes it is nice knowing he's not the only one paranoid this will abruptly end terribly one night.

The days, weeks, months roll by swiftly. The three of them have snowball fights at least onc

Technically, it's Tommy's fault they nearly die. He'd been so insistent on fighting the dragon like his father once had that Tubbo had lost the will to try dissuade him. To be fair, he was all for it. It was only that Tommy was eager to jump right into the challenge while Tubbo… would prefer to actually survive.

They agree it will be an 'in and out' affair. They'll sneak down to the nearby portal at night, kill the dragon and hop back to the Overworld before their absences are noticed. If their families are unaware, they will never get in trouble for this. It can be an epic tale to impress future acquaintances but one to keep to themselves within earshot of those who'd scold them for it.

So that's what they do. With diamond armour and arrows they 'borrowed', the pair of 15 year olds face the dragon. They've already assigned themselves roles with Tubbo being in charge of destroying the crystals and Tommy tackling the dragon as a distraction. The plan is to take on the beast together once Tubbo's initial objective is complete.

It goes to shit when Tubbo barely makes a water clutch after being pushed off a tower by the force of an exploding ender crystal. Tommy had tried to get closer to him to provide support but ended up getting caught in the dragon's toxic breath. And then one of them must have accidentally triggered hostile attention from the surrounding endermen. A perfect example of sod's law, everything that could go wrong seemingly does. They tire themselves out too much by trying to return to more neutral odds. It doesn't happen. The cherry on top was the dragon knocking Tubbo into a pillar with her wing.

He's definitely had enough of this bullshit by the time he lets the developing concussion steal his consciousness. Let them just respawn in the bed they'd set up right outside the stronghold's portal room so they can be done with this. He really doesn't want to lose a life, especially not to a stupid stunt like this. But by this point? Fuck it.

When he wakes, it is not on the ground. It seems to be in a building on some sort. Has someone taken him home to work through his injuries? Tommy couldn't have since the next time Tubbo sees him, he has a haphazardly constructed splint on his leg. They bicker about their disastrous exploits until Tommy grouchily alerts them to the presence of their host, a young looking enderman.

It passes them a written message and Tommy, being the son of someone who is pretty much a jack of all trades when it comes to learning about other cultures, has a go at reading it. It's nothing too elaborate, just a summary of what happened while Tubbo was unconscious. The End native had spotted their plight as Tommy continued to get bombarded by aggressive endermen and toxic fumes courtesy of the dragon. All it had done was bring them home and attempt to give them medical assistance. Now here they were. At the bottom is a word Tommy's never seen before.

"Dunno what the fuck a Ranboo is."

"Maybe it's his name, idiot. Look at where it is, it's a signature."

"Oh, yeah maybe. What kind of stupid name is Ranboo though?"

They can't go back without the dragon dying and neither of them are in a position to make a second attempt, especially at the start when they are still both recovering. With no way home, they resign themselves to their new reality of living permanently in the End. The least they can do, in Tubbo's opinion, is try their best to communicate with their host by learning enderspeak. That goes... very slowly. Even with Ranboo helping out and Tommy's head start, it's not the easiest thing for them to learn. The humans share some of their language with the enderman in return.

Either way, they start living in their new home as Ranboo's guests. Their diet becomes saturated with chorus fruit and the first time either of them accidentally teleports during a meal, it's a shock. Their new friend waits until Tommy's broken leg heals before occasionally showing them around the islands that make up this dimension. They visit an end city that happens to have a ship nearby at some point and Tubbo resists the urge to lightly smack Tommy at the back of the head for acting like he's not impressed. They may possibly never be able to go home but come on. there is a literal massive ship floating in the sky.

Phil comes for them as soon as it feels like they might finally be getting used to their new way of life. They get the scolding of a lifetime mixed in with Phil making his relief and worry painfully obvious. They introduce Phil to Ranboo and of course the guy is conversational in enderspeak. At one point, Tubbo catches Tommy making a jabbing motion towards his father with his thumb incredibly subtly before rolling his eyes. As deeply in trouble as they are, as much as they were settling into what they believed to be a more permanent life change, the promise of home fills Tubbo with anticipation. He can't wait for the four of them to return to the Overworld.

Because you're coming too,

+1.

He's never been so eager to go to an airport in his life. His mum half listens while concentrating on the road as he rambles about all the plans the three of them had started making for the upcoming two weeks. There were so many games on their list for them to try. And yes, he knows they won't be able to get around to them all but they'll be damned if don't make an effort to dent it. Oh and then also all the stuff that got picked on the spinning wheel from Ranboo's stream a while ago.

Tubbo is beside himself as they wait in the arrival meeting area. There's no word of delays so come on, get here already. Then there he is, wearing his signature sunglasses and mask in the midst of the emerging crowd. Once the pair are close enough to do so, Tubbo throws his arms around his friend. And god, he knew Ranboo was much taller but he doesn't feel he'll hear the end of this, especially not once Tommy shows up.

They've already established this in preparatory voice calls but as they head towards the car, Tubbo explains that Tommy isn't due until tomorrow. So maybe they could watch one of those Starkid shows tonight since Ranboo's internal sense of time will be screwed by the long journey and Tubbo's hardly the best at maintaining a circadian rhythm as it is. His parents and sisters will go to bed and that's when the party can really start. Ranboo suggests The Trail to Oregon purely because the scene where Slippery When Wet threatens to murder god lives rent free in his head. But it would ultimately be up to Tubbo when the time came tonight.

Just outside the car with Ranboo's luggage in the boot, he asks his mum to take a picture of the two of them. He dms it to the missing member of their trio with a smirk.

Tubbo: Bet you're so jealous right now

Tommy: No because he's going to hang out with me more after I get there

Tubbo: As if

Tubbo: Can't wait for this week

Tommy: Same

Tubbo: Ranboo says hi btw

Tommy: Wow cringe

Tommy: Can't go on call rn but I say hi too

Tubbo: Whos cringe now?

Tommy: Shut up

He and Ranboo spend the entire journey home chatting about everything and nothing. Oh, these next two weeks were going to be amazing. Tubbo can't wait.

Tubbo wakes slowly. He doesn't tend to be startled by Ranboo's lack of eyelids as often nowadays. They may not share a bed that frequently, separate homes and all that, but he's seen his husband crash on his sofa after an exhausting day enough times to gradually get used to it. Michael had managed to snuggle up between them at some point in the night too. The little zombie piglin boy is fast asleep as well. Tubbo readjusts his arm so it encompasses their adoptive son, drawing him closer slightly.

Distantly, he recalls he's planned to meet up with Tommy later and it makes him think. A husband who cares about him enough to make Tubbo one of people whose side he'd stand by if necessary, a son whom they both love and would defend with their lives and a best friend who still stuck by him despite how much they've changed in the several months since they first met. He'd like to think that regardless of the timeline or universe, he'd always have them or close enough copies.

Content with his situation, he lets his eyes slip close once more and drifts back to sleep.

#dream smp #tubbo #tommyinnit #ranboo #my writing

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backtobackbakubabe · 4 years ago

Text

I am the Alpha Now Part 4

Bakugo X Reader

Words : 3096

Reader is from America and somewhat of a delinquent with an alpha quirk that allows her to turn into a wolf as well as bond with dogs. She is sent to UA to straighten out her attitude. She ends up in a power struggle with none other than our favorite hot head. Words in Italics are words said telepathically

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You were practically dragging your feet back to the locker room. If you thought the workout this morning was rough, this afternoon was that times 10. You sparred several rounds with Bakugo and Mercy, dripping with sweat at the end of each match. You won just as much as you lost but near the end he decided to include Kirishima and do some two on two. You weren't prepared for how hard he was. You flinch just thinking about how hard you would have to dig you to cut him.

A huge bruise was blossoming over your rubs where he had hit you. It didn’t hurt that bad when you were in your wolf form but now as you pressed on the tender flesh you winced. It shouldn’t take too long to heal. But it would be rather inconvenient until it did.

Mercy as predicted was on his A game. He left with barley a scratch on him. He showed off for your new classmates running as fast as he could, jumping, and diving. He even managed to get through Kirishima’s hard skin at one point. You were very proud of him.

When it was finally over you were ready to fall asleep then and there. You had thought you were in pretty good shape but trying to keep up with Bakugo proved otherwise.

You took a long shower, trying to sooth your already aching muscles. You could hear some of the girls talking to Mercy who was waiting at the entrance for you. For the most part they were nice to him. You understood it could take some getting used to the fact that an animal would be smart enough to hold a conversation. You heard Mina tell Mercy she was the last one and he could come in if he wanted to. So naturally a few seconds later you heard his paws padding up to your shower.

“Hey, Bakugo said you need to hurry up.”

“What why? Isn’t the day over? I’m pretty sure I can find my way back to the dorms.”

“Nope. Apparently we still have things to do. He’s not very patient is he?”

“Ugh! What could we possibly still have to do?! He’s already completely worn me out.”

You heard chuckling coming from the other side of the shower curtain. Oh great.

“Oh hey.. also he’s here.”

“Damnit Mercy you could have said something earlier.” You turned the shower off and wrapped yourself in a towel. “What do you want Bakugo?”

You threw the curtain to the side rather aggressively and was met with the stupid smirk on his face. Smug asshole. “I’ve been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. We still have so much to do. You better be dressed and ready to go in the next five minutes or I will throw you over my shoulder in whatever you happen to have on. Move it!”

The cold from the tile floor sent shivers up your spine as you stepped out of the shower. His eyes darted to the goosebumps that were now rising on your arms. You stepped closer to him leaving only inches between the two of you. “I have a hard time believing that the guy who told me he’d spank me if I accidentally bent over would purposefully drag me out of here naked...”

His palm twitched as his every narrowed, “I’m pretty I said I’d slap it, but if you want a spanking then go ahead... show your ass. Call my bluff.”

Who the fuck did he think he was? You shoved him away with a huff. “I'm changing…get out.”

Mercy’s eyes were fixed on Bakugo, following his every move. He would never disrespect his alpha by stepping into her fight. But he didn't like how close he was to you.

Bakugo chuckled, “That’s what I thought.” You were hit in the head with some kind of article of clothing. “Here. I asked Yayorozu to make it special for you. This one should be long enough.”

You quickly dried off and started getting dressed but when it came to the skirt you just shoved it in your backpack, opting for the short one instead. You may hate it but you know Bakugo hates it more.

You were bending over pulling your shoes on when you heard a growl behind you. Like an actual proper growl, and you knew what a growl sounded like. “You know I can see your whole ass from here?” His voice dripped with a mix of anger and lust. You briefly wondered if that was what his voice would sound like first thing in the morning. You shook the thought from your head. No you didn’t care about him or his stupid sexy voice. “Still being stubborn huh?”

You froze. You wanted to stand up and pull your skirt down. You wanted to hit him and call him a perv… but you also wanted to win whatever game you two were playing. So instead you leaned down further to finish tying your shoelaces. “Mercy… go wait outside.”

The next thing you knew you felt a sharp slap against your ass. You screwed your eyes shut, but otherwise you didn’t react. He was going to learn today that you were one tough bitch to crack, “You hit like a bitch.”

You could hear the crackling of his palms as his temper started to rise, before another sharp slap but this time it was hot. You bit your lip to hold back the moan that almost slipped out. How the fuck where you liking this? Sure you like it a little rough, but you don’t like Bakugo like that! Stupid hormones! “Last time I checked this was the girl’s locker room. But you seem to pretty comfortable in here.. Makes me wonder if you even have a –.”

Another slap cut you off. Tears pricked your eyes, but you also had to force yourself to keep your legs crossed. What the fuck was he doing to you?

Conflicted you thought about what was worse. Giving in and standing up, or risk moaning in Bakugo’s presence… He may have won the battle, but he will not win the war.

You stood up and turned to face him fists clenched. “Are you done?”

You expected him to look angry but instead his face was soft, “Are you?”

Through clenched teeth you nodded, “For now.”

Your long hair was damp and reaching your waist. You attempted to braid it again as you silently followed Bakugo in a direction that was nowhere near the dorms.

“Are you okay? You look more murdery than usual.”

You sighed, “I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“You know what helps when I’m frustrated? A good bone to chew. Take out all your anger.”

You rubbed his head, “Thanks bud. But I think all I need is a good snuggle. What do you say we watch a movie when we get back?”

“Huh?”

You hadn’t realized you said the last part out loud. Shit you really were exhausted.

Bakugo stopped and looked at you half ass braiding your hair. “I’m assuming you were talking to Mercy…”

You shrugged, “I mean I definitely wasn’t talking to you. You see anyone else here?”

Bakugo slapped your hands away from your hair, “You even braid like a dumbass…” His fingers raked through your hair to undo all the work you had already done. You would have been mad except it felt really good. You could feel the stress from your long day start to lift from your shoulders.

“Oh and pets! I always feel better after you pet me for a while!”

He finished braiding your hair in record time, which actually made you a little sad because you were enjoying it. He gave your braid a slight tug at the end to signal he was done. You suddenly felt this weird calm feeling. Usually you would be pissed at the fact that he insinuated that you didn’t know how to braid your own hair. But for some reason you just felt relieved that he had done it for you. Sure you knew how to do it, you do it every day. But your muscles were sore and you were tired and you honestly just didn’t want to. “T..Thank you.” He started to walk around you without saying anything but you grabbed his wrist, “No I mean it. Thank you… I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with and clearly neither are you… But that was very nice of you and I wanted you to know I’m grateful… and also a little suspicious as to how you know how to braid hair so well.”

You felt him relax a little, “I’m good at a lot of things. Now come on we’re already behind schedule.”

It turns out he was leading you to the library to finish going over your notes for today. Yay…

The monotone of Mr. Aizawa’s voice was slowly lulling you to sleep. You could feel your head getting heavier as the pictures in the textbook got blurrier. You really did try staying awake. You even pinched yourself a few times. But Mercy was tired too and had fallen asleep a long time ago, which made it even that much harder.

Every once in a while, Bakugo would nudge you or ask you a question. It seemed the fight from earlier had left him though because he was actually being helpful. At one point though he realized there was no avoiding it and he just needed to let you sleep.

When you woke up your head was on a soft hoodie that didn’t belong to you rather than the hard textbook you knew you actually fallen asleep on.

You sat up and wiped the drool from your chin. You saw that you were still in the library and Bakugo was still next to you except he has both headphones in now. He hadn’t realized you were awake yet which gave you the opportunity to just watch him. To see the way his eyes were soft when no one was watching him. How he ran his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated. He looked like a completely different person. You looked at your watch, it had only been about thirty minutes since you feel asleep. You were surprised he let you sleep at all. Mr. tight ass schedule over here must have some soft spots.

You picked the hoodie up with the intention of returning it to him but there was that smell again. You held it close to your nose and took a deep breath. It really was a soothing smell, almost dizzying.

“Oi, sleepy head, quit sniffing my stuff.”

Your face turned as red as a tomato, “Oh I’m sorry. It’s a wolf thing. It just smells different that’s all. Sometimes I forget my human manors.”

He stood up shoving his books into his backpack. “Yeah well you drooled all over it so make sure you wash it before you give it back.”

“What do you mean? Why can’t I give it back to you now?”

Looking annoyed he held up his phone that showed the weather app. “Because it’s cold outside and you don’t have a jacket.”

That was oddly kind of him, “Well if you give me your hoodie neither will you?”

“Well I run a little warmer than usual I’ll be fine.”

“I can always turn into my wolf form, then I’d have fur.”

He ripped the hoodie from your grasp and began trying to force it over your head, “I’m not the one with fucking damp hair. You’ll get fucking sick and it’ll be my fault!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him. There was just something about the way he was being nice to you in the most aggressive way possible. He was like a cartoon stomping around, if you looked close enough you swore you could see smoke coming out of his nose.

“Alright calm your tits. I’ll put on the hoodie. Relax.” You finished pulling the hoodie over your head and you swear that smell was like a tranquilizer dart. It totally overwhelmed you and you had to stop yourself from sniffing it every few minutes.

You walked ahead of him this time. Determined to find your way back to the dorms on your own.

“Why do you smell like that?” Mercy had been enjoying the cold night air while you napped. He loved the cold.

“It’s Bakugo’s hoodie. He leant it to me. It has a weird smell right?”

Mercy huffed as he shoved his nose into your side getting a bigger whiff of it. “It’s not bad. But I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite.” He ran over and started shoving his nose in Bakugo’s side as well, taking him by surprise. “Wow. It’s way stronger from the source… still don’t know if I like it… It’s strong though. Easy to track. It kind of makes me want taste him.”

“Yeah me too bud…”

“What?”

Bakugo was now trying to gently shove Mercy away from him, “You said me too?”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, “Oh yeah Mercy and I were just talking about how we missed home.” You avoided eye contact and started to fiddle with your braid. The braid that he had done for you… You tossed it over your shoulder.

Mercy whined, not liking it when you lied about something he said. He understood why you did it, but it still frustrated him that he wasn’t able to say what he wanted to.

“Well I don’t speak dog, but I’m pretty sure that whine was Mercy’s version of saying bullshit..”

Mercy jumped up a barked, “He can understand me!”

You rolled your eyes, “It was a lucky guess. Calm down.” You cleared your throat, “Well if I had wanted you to hear our conversation than I would have said it out loud.”

Bakugo was next to you know his shoulder brushing against yours as you continued to look for the dorms, “Well dumbass you did say it out loud because I heard you.”

“Ugh I slipped up. I’m just tired. I just want to get back and change into some sweatpants already.” You looked around but all the buildings looked the same for the most part. “Okay I give up are we even close to going in the right direction?”

His hands found your shoulders and gave them a squeeze, “We passed them about five minutes ago.” He slowly turned you around and pushed you in the right direction. “It’s that building right over there.” Him being so close sent shivers down your spine, which he must have mistaken for you being cold because he grabbed your hood and pulled it to cover your head.

When you finally crossed the threshold of the dorms you were ready to collapse. This had easily been one of the hardest days of your life. You didn’t know how Bakugo did it every day. Mentally, physically, emotionally, you were just totally drained. You saw him making his way towards the kitchen, “Hey I’m going to go to my room… thanks for showing me around today.”

Bakugo tensed up, “Are you not going to eat dinner?”

He looked a little stressed out. “I don’t know. I’m just so tired you know. I at least need to change into come comfy clothes.” You stretched and sighed as you heard some of the joints in your back crack, “Besides I don’t have any groceries here or anything and I don’t want to steal someone else’s food.”

Mercy was following Bakugo to the kitchen, the little traitor. Following his stomach instead of his alpha. “Looks like you’ll have some company though. He has some dog food in my room if you don’t feel like sharing but otherwise he’ll eat just about anything.” You gave him an honest smile, “Good night Bakugo.”

You made it to your room and threw yourself on the bed like the dramatic brat you were. You kicked off your shoes and your obnoxious skirt. You reached under and took your shirt and bra off… but the hoodie stayed. What Bakugo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You turned on one of your favorite American cartoons to try and push away some of the homesickness. You were on your third episode of Danny Phantom when there was a knock on your door. It must be Bakugo returning Mercy. “Come in..” Wow you sounded rough.

The door creaked open and as expected Mercy trotted in, “I helped!”

You gave him a puzzled look, “You helped? You helped what?”

“He helped me make dinner.” You could see now he was holding two plates of food.

You sniffed the air, “Is that pulled pork mac n cheese? With Barbeque sauce?” You practically drooled over how perfect that sounded right now.

Bakugo placed the plate in your lap and handed you a fork, “Yup. Mercy and I have become quite good at our communication. It’s a lot of guessing and a lot of yes or no questions. But I think we got it right.”

You took a bite and moaned at how good it was, “Damn Bakugo this is delicious… I can’t believe you guys were able to pull this off.” You just continued to shovel food into your mouth like a barbarian, but you didn’t care. This mac n cheese was almost better than your moms, and she would have a proper southern fit if she ever heard you say that.

“You mind if I join you? I really like this show..”

You hadn’t noticed he was awkwardly standing at the foot of your bed waiting to know if it was okay for him to be in here. You scoot over and patted the bed, “Hey you made dinner you can eat it wherever you want.”

He smiled…. He fucking smiled. He is smiling at you. “Good because I was planning on it. Hit play.”

You laughed so hard you almost cried when he started singing the entire intro song word for word. And he would hit you with a pillow every time you almost fell asleep.

Eventually though he realized it was getting late and you had another busy day tomorrow. He saw the even rise and fall of your chest and decided it was time for him to leave. He gently got out of bed, rubbing Mercy’s head as he did. “Good job today y/n…” He walked towards the door and just before he left he smirked, “Nice hoodie by the way.”

***********

Tags : @tspice283

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ceo-of-daichi · 4 years ago

Text

Characters - Sawamura Daichi x Fem!Reader

Summary - Lockdown had really affected your social life and daily routine, luckily a certain someone was willing to help you get your life back to somewhat normal. What will happen when you start catching feelings?

Genre - Fluff

Warnings - Slight mentions of anxiety

Word Count - 2.3k

A/N - Back again with another Daichi fic! Are you surprised, probably not i got a one man mind lmao. This one isn’t as long as the last but still as fluffy, hopefully you enjoy reading it :) p.s. this was almost called Toothpaste I blame Jas👀

Covid-19 had really flipped your year in a completely different direction to what you were expecting. You started the year hoping to finish your last year of high-school on a high, helping the volleyball team get to nationals and getting into university. However, the world clearly had a different plan for you, when the virus first started you didn’t think much of it. Why would you? It was only when the announcement came that the country was going into lockdown that your brain finally registered what was actually happening. Being the slightly more extroverted individual you thrived off seeing your friends, plus both your parents worked as nurses. You were going to be alone.

The first few weeks went by pretty fast, managing to keep up a routine by going out for runs and making yourself eat at certain times. Even keeping in touch with your friends from the boys volleyball team as well as Kiyoko, one of your closest friends. However, after this fairly stable period you had a really bad day. Nothing went your way, blender… broken, guess you weren't having a smoothie this morning. After that frustrating incident Tanaka and Noya decided to start poking fun at you in the group chat, which you were NOT in the mood for. Group chat… Muted. It was also raining extremely heavy so you decided maybe a well deserved rest day was in order, throwing on the TV you flopped down on the couch to start your film marathon.

5am. That was the time it was when you finally passed out on the couch. How did you end up staying up that late, Harry Potter. Why you thought it was a good idea to start watching the films you don’t know, but you managed to watch them all, all 19 hours of them. That was all it took to mess your routine up for the next month, not waking up till 2-3pm everyday just to lounge around. Barely keeping in touch with anyone, you hadn’t talked in the groupchat for close to 3 weeks, hardly even thinking about eating anything but snacks.

Luckily you had a saving grace, Daichi. After going MIA , the third year’s started to get worried about you, especially Kiyoko. She had dmed you multiple times and got nothing in return, mainly because you saw the messages but forgot to reply. You were a whole ass mess to put it plainly.

~ 3rd Years Group Chat ~

Kiyoko - I’m worried about [y/n]...

Suga - Tell me about it, she hasn’t been in the chat for weeks

Daichi - Have you tried dming her?

Kiyoko - She is ignoring me, she hasn’t replied to one of my messages

Asahi - Maybe she’s just busy?

Daichi - In the middle of lockdown…

Suga - Yeah thats unlikely

Kiyoko - Can one of you dm her as well? I just want to make sure she’s ok?

Daichi - I can... i’ll let you know if she replies and if she doesn’t Asahi or Suga can try

Having received a concerned message from Daichi, you realised how much you had lost track of everything and anything. Replying to both him and Kiyoko apologising and explaining you had just forgotten to press send. Although Daichi wanted to believe that was the case he couldn’t, instead of being upfront about it though he started messaging you throughout the day. Just small things asking if you had eaten and if you were staying hydrated, little did he know that this helped you get back into a better rhythm of lockdown life.

You slowly fixed your sleep schedule and got back to eating 3 meals a day. Although you hadn’t managed to get back into running, your talks with Daichi slowly got more frequent and for longer periods of time. The more you talked to him the more motivated you started to feel, eventually you got back into your running routine. It no longer became the odd message to make sure you were eating, but full day conversations about anything you could think of. Eventually you started relying on talking to him to cure your lockdown loneliness, a day without talking to him was not a good day for you. Daichi being the fairly observant person that he is, started to realise and eventually bought it up.

Daichi :) - Hey [y/n], I've been meaning to bring something up with you, you mind if we call?

[y/n] - Yeah sure Dai, just call me whenever i don’t exactly have anything going on

Receiving this was like a bullet to the chest, worrying what it could be about you pulled your knees up to your chest steadying your breathing. As you were lost in your head, your phone started ringing. Answering it you heard his voice for the first time in close to 3 months, it was music to your ears. Slowly over these 2 months you had grown fond of the boy, but you had quickly dismissed the idea of anything forming between each other. Both having different priorities in life, being scared of rejection also didn’t help.

After an hour and a half of deep conversation, a couple tears shed but more laughter at the end. You collapsed backwards onto your bed, he had found out everything. How your parents were barely home, always doing long shifts at the hospital, how you felt like you had no one during those 3 weeks you were MIA. Most importantly though you had confessed that talking to him was like receiving a warm hug. It's exactly what you needed at this time, obviously you would love an actual hug as well but that's pretty hard from a 2m distance.

~ 1 week later ~

Your eyes went wide as they announced on the news that lockdown was starting to be lifted, you were now allowed to meet up with people outside at a safe distance. Smiling you quickly messaged Daichi telling him how excited you were that restrictions were finally being lifted.

Daichi :) - That's Great [y/n]!! So.. you fancy going on a socially distanced pic-nic tomorrow? Don’t worry about bringing anything but yourself. I got the rest covered, obviously if you're ok with that?😃

Reading the text over multiple times, pinching yourself to make sure it was real. You hadn’t seen Daichi in close to 3 months, and within that time you had developed feelings. What would it be like seeing him in person now, generally being awkward with past crushes, you started to worry about scaring him away. You couldn’t do that, you needed him. Taking a couple paces around the room thinking about what to reply, before realising you were most definitely overthinking it. He didn’t see you that way…

[y/n] - Yeah sure! Just let me know a time and place, i will be there

Daichi - 1pm at the park round the corner from your house?

[y/n] - See you there!!

The next morning you woke up with a huge smile plastered on your face, excited for the day ahead. Jumping out of bed and rummaging through your wardrobe you pulled out a cute summer dress, not too dressy but showed you put effort in none the less. The summer dress was red and was covered in little white flowers, you had only worn it a couple times and decided it needed another outing.

Walking down your road and around the corner to the park, the wind hitting your face made you feel like maybe the world was getting back to normal. As you walked through the gates, you noticed Daichi stood over by a slightly more wooded area, smiling as you made your way over to him. Greeting each other you forgot how much his laugh and smile made it seem like nothing else mattered, making your heart beat faster in your chest. He ended up leading you through the woods and into a small opening which had 2 picnic blankets laid down at the appropriate distance. As you got closer you noticed that there were sandwiches, fruit and small cakes on both.

‘You didn’t have to do this Daichi you know? A simple sandwich would have been fine?’ You started smiling at him, no one had ever gone to this much effort for you and honestly you felt bad. ‘It must have taken you a bit to set this up…’

‘Oh no, honestly don’t worry about it… i wanted to, neither have been out in a while so i figured why not?’ The laugh that came out sounded almost nervous, which confused you slightly… Was he really as nervous as you?

The afternoon went by quicker than both of you wanted. Chatting, cracking jokes and eating, which the food Daichi had made was really good. You had asked why he had never told you about his clear culinary skills, apparently this was the first time he had attempted something like this. Trying not to get too far ahead of yourself when he had mentioned this, even though you were freaking out. Mainly chatting about quarantine life and how you missed being out of lockdown, being able to socialise freely and do whatever you wanted.

You only realised how long you had been with Daichi when it started to get dark, letting him know you should probably be getting back. Even though in reality you could have stayed there for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Helping him pack everything up occasionally sneaking glances at him, wishing you could pull him into a hug or give him a peck on the cheek. Just to let him know how much he had helped you over the past month. Sadly you couldn’t, once everything had been packed away Daichi (being the gentleman that he is) offered to walk you back.

‘I had a really good afternoon, thank you for this Daichi…’ Smiling at him as you walk up to your front door.

‘Would you want to do something like this again maybe?’ The way he looked at you, his eyes almost pleading, with a slight smile gracing his lips. This made your heart instantly melt.

‘If you want to? I would love that!’

‘[y/n]... why would i ask if i didn’t want to?’ Raising a brow at you playfully.

‘Shut up you dork, i’ll see you soon then!’ Laughing as you walk through your door giving him a wave before closing it and sliding down it on the other side, trying to calm your heart that was about to burst through your chest.

Another couple weeks past, you had only met up with Daichi once more, but both were still texting all day with the occasional call. You also had met up with Kiyoko within these weeks, explaining your situation. She thought it was really funny how much you were worrying about it because to her it seemed obvious that he returned your feelings. You were still completely denying this fact though, it was something your brain really couldn’t fathom. However, the next day lockdown was reduced once again, you were now allowed to have people in your house from other families.

Being as excitable as you were and the fact your parents were out almost all of the time, you rattled off a text to Daichi asking him if he fancied a chill movie marathon night? Both of you deciding to watch The Hobbit trilogy later on in the evening. Hopping up from the couch you started cleaning the house, preparing snacks and setting up pillows as well as blankets on the couch. Seen as though it was a chill night you had decided on a pair of grey sweats and a plain v-neck t-shirt, that was tied so it wasn’t too long.

You had just finished setting everything up when there was a knock at the door, practically running to get it. Opening the door to his smiling face made something snap and you don’t know what came over yourself as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around him. Luckily he was quick to catch you.

‘What did i do to deserve this hug?’ He chuckles to himself as you nuzzle into his neck.

‘Everything. Daichi I owe you so much, you don’t even understand’ Letting out a sigh, he closes the door and carries you over to the couch. Placing you down next to him as you pout at him, sad that the hug was over so soon. You had waited for so long to be wrapped up in his arms and when you finally get the chance it barely lasts 2 minutes.

‘Listen Daichi… you have helped me so much over the past few months, and honestly…’ Taking a breath to figure out how to phrase your next words, however before you could say anything else he had pulled you back into his chest.

‘I like you too dork…’ Frozen in his arms, how long had he known… How long had he liked you back? All you could do in that moment was snake your arms round him and enjoy each other's company as he started the first film.

~ BONUS ~

‘How long have you liked me Daichi?’ You question him half way through the first film.

‘About 6 months give or take why?’ He turns his attention towards you and gives you a quick head kiss, before looking back to the film.

‘6 months… that's before we went into lockdown..?’

He hums, smirking at your clearly oblivious nature, as your brain was spiralling thinking about how many signals you missed.

Tags: @super-noya @stcrryskies @iwaxme @bb-noya @vventure @ardorwrites-hq-mha @scorpiosanssexy

#Daichi #sawamura daichi #daichi owns my whole ass heart #haikyuu #daichi #daichi sawamura #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfic #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x you #i am in love with this man #fanfic #oneshot #hq writing #daichi writing #daichi x you #haikyuu x you #hq daichi #hq anime

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letsperaltiago · 5 years ago

Text

i love you and i like you

Based on @stars-my-darling's adorable post:

“When Mac starts talking he will sometimes just randomly tell Amy that he loves her, usually at the end of an unrelated sentence. They later realise that he learnt to do this because Jake is always randomly telling Amy that he loves her and Mac is copying him." aka. 5 times toddler Mac Santiago-Peralta tells his mommy he loves her

Also includes prompt #101 from the 101 fluffy prompts-list: "…They just grow up so fast."

Read on ao3

Every like and reblog is appreciated <3

Amy Santiago has so far had a lifetime’s worth of great jobs, which, she knows, isn’t that hard when you love work and everything it implies. Everything from assisting her middle school’s librarian to that brief job at a small uptown museum her degree got her to being a respected sergeant in the NYPD. She’s loved every single job but, she’s now come to realise, nothing vill ever beat her most recent employment: Motherhood. With a capital M, yes.

Mac throws her and Jake’s worlds over like the tiny miracle of a storm he is and they’ve never looked back since. It’s brand new, it’s exciting, it’s scary, and though they’re not exactly religious, he’s the answer to their prayers. Parenthood turns out to be nothing like what they’d expected, like nothing they’d ever tried before and looking past some of the rough days, which are inevitable, it’s actually even better. They get to shape and watch a human grow; a human of which they’re both the genesis and they couldn’t be any more proud - both of each other but also their son.

Everything Mac does and achieves is a moment to remember, and they take nothing for granted: every new sound, even simple gurgles, every new movement, even the flick of a tiny finger? They beam, look at each other with wide, joyous eyes and celebrate their newborn addition to their little family. They hold on to everything they can, while they can although, they swear, every other day they’ll be lying in bed with him while he sleeps or watch him begin to explore their apartment on his own and they’ll take turns breaking the comfortable silence with what they’re both thinking:

“They just grow up so fast.”

Even if he’s merely grown a tenth of an inch since the last time they brought it up.

This fact aside, before they know it, their before so very tiny and helpless son can sit without assistance, sooner than later starts crawling and before they seem to have the time to catch up with the ladder he suddenly knows how to say “mama” and “dada” - and the day Mac takes his first steps, Amy filming on her phone while Jake is squatting to entice his son? Both parents guiltlessly shed a tiny tear rewatching the video that night after their little one, who suddenly seems so big, is put to bed.

With the walking comes the talking. Mac, like his dad, is an entertainer and seizes every chance he gets to chat with his parents, and anyone else who’ll listen for that matter, and hopefully make them laugh. Amy quickly sees through the fact that her son’s mannerism is definitely inspired by her husband’s, and Amy’s heart swells at every glimt of it: everything from Mac’s tiny ‘big dramatic movements’ to him attempting to crack small jokes (that sometimes are actually super funny but also mostly make people laugh because his delivery is beyond precious). Despite the fact that his personality is absolutely a solid blend of both parents, Jake’s genes definitely conquer everything else, and Amy doesn’t mind one bit. Although she could do without the short, Peralta-inspired attention span, which can be both very cute but also slightly maddening when you’ve told your barely 3-year old toddler 6 times to finish their meal meanwhile he’s to preoccupied by his father cleaning up the water said toddler spilled just seconds ago.

All in all, Mac is a copy of Jake, and in more ways that one Amy is grateful. Especially when the little boy starts getting a grasp of the word ‘love’ and what it actually means though his parents have showered him with it since before he was born. Jake and Amy will tell Mac ‘I love you’ on the daily and, besides this, his parents themselves aren’t exactly shy of telling each other, especially Jake who often tends to do it out of nowhere or any kind of context which the boy must’ve picked up on at some point.

It starts off quite naturally: the first time he says it.

One night after getting him washed down and put into his favorite firetruck-print pyjamas (the parents couldn’t deny him it even though they were far from thrilled), Amy’s sitting with Mac in his new so-called ‘big boy-bed’. Feeling her son’s curly-haired head nestled into her chest, one hand grabbing onto the fabric of her shirt while the other holds onto his best buddy Leo the Lion, Amy reads out loud from one of the many books she’s managed to accumulate for her son. Obviously worn out from the day Mac, as being almost 3 is very exhausting, stays silent and listens carefully to the sound of his mother’s voice, dutifully paying attention to the book’s colourful drawings and even sometimes pointing at them whenever Amy reaches a part of the story that’s been illustrated.

“Then the little puppy ran through the big big field and the big big forest to get back home-“

“Shee, Mommy,” Mac interrupts her with a lisp caused by the pacifier hanging from one corner of his mouth and points to the drawing of the running dog with his index finger. “Doggy runth!”

“Yeah, I see, baby,” she smiles before pecking the top of his head. Normally she’d ask him to remove his pacifier when he speaks. Her and Jake slowly trying to make the object something Mac knows he can use to relax rather than constantly needs, but when it’s this late and right before bedtime Amy can’t be bothered to reprimand him. For now she’s just proud of her tiny, smart guy. “Where is he running?” She pulls back to look at him, encouraging him to explain further.

“He’sh going home!” he smiles proudly to a point where his pacifier almost falls out, just barely clinging on for dear life.

“That’s right. He’s running home to his family - good job,” she chuckles sending him one last smile before skimming her wristwatch quickly realising bedtime is just minutes away. It’s not that they’re following a strict schedule that depends on every single minute and second of the day: something she’s actually glad Jake’s and his more laid-back lifestyle has transferred to their parenting-style. Although Mac, his parents have come to find out, will reach a point during the evening where it’ll be too late and he becomes overtired and impossible. Therefor 8 PM is the ultimate limit (on weekdays, that is) and Amy sees it quickly approaching so she quickly finishes up their story and shuts the book closed.

“That’s it for today, Mr. Mac. Time to visit dreamland,” simply not able to resist the feel and smell of her son’s newly washed curls, she places another kiss to the top of his head before climbing out of the small bed and hears him reply with a yawn which tells her that she’s probably timed bedtime perfectly. To the great delight of the now also tired mother (a high rank full-time job and a toddler will do that to you) she’s once more proved right when Mac gets under the covers without a trace of fight.

“Roshie?” he looks up at his mother with worried eyes as he hugs Leo the Lion a bit tighter. Those stupid beautiful brown eyes he’s inherited from Jake.

“Oh,” Amy kneels down to the bed’s side and starts running her hand all over the duvet, mattress and bed-frame. “Where’s Rosie, bud?”

Rosie aka. the pink unicorn he’d gotten from auntie Roro back when he was still a tiny baby (though he’d always be Amy’s tiny baby) was missing and they both knew very well that there would be no sleeping without it. Suddenly her hand comes across a bump, to her relief revealing the stuffed animal once she lifts up the duvet.

“Yay, mommy!” her son smiles as if she’s cracked the mystery of the century and Amy can’t help but feel just a bit proud - anything she does that makes her boy happy will do that to her.

“There you go,” she smiles and places the unicorn in his arms right next to Leo the Lion. “All good, Mr. Mac?”

He nods profoundly, eyes suddenly clearly tired and droopy, which earns him a warm smile from his mother before she leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly, all at once running her hand fingers his curls as to get her one last fix for the day. Incredible how your child can become somehow addicting.

“Sleep well. I love you,” she pulls back to take him in, the declaration of love hanging in the air for a few seconds before, taking Amy by surprise, her son answers her.

“I wuv you.”

She knows ‘love’ is an abstract feeling that a toddler can’t really comprehend and isolate as an emotion, which is probably also why Mac’s never said it back before, and although she’s told him a million times before and has never awaited or needed an answer, him saying it back definitely throws her off in the most magical, proud, emotional way in a long time. She’s constantly proud of the little things he does on the daily, slowly becoming a tiny actual human with opinions and a personality, but this is a whole new level.

“Thank you for saying that,” she can feel tears forming in her eyes and throat, but doesn’t want to confuse the small child who’s just begun to understand ‘love’, and therefor doesn’t also need to be explained that crying can also be a sign of happiness. That is an oxymoron that will surely just confuse him when, currently, crying is Mac’s way of expressing and understanding sadness and anger.

“That was very sweet of you and I love you so so much too, baby,” she manages to say it one last time, without breaking, before getting up to turn on his tiny night light and leave. “Me and daddy will be just down the hall watching TV, okay?”

A slight movement from beneath the duvet lets her know he’s heard her before she allows herself to half-close the door and walk back to where Jake is cleaning up after dinner. There she is finally able to let out a few soft cries as she lets her husband in on the small, incredible moment she’s just had with their son. Of course, it instantly makes Jake feel like crying with joy too. Their baby is surely the best.

From there on it’s just one big mess of declarations, at the most random moments and Amy is very amused but also even more enamoured.

One night Jake is away on a stakeout which leaves Amy is home alone with Mac, and to the toddlers immense joy this means he’s allowed to sleep with his mom in her and dad’s enormous bed. Jake has told him to keep mommy safe while he’s gone and of course takes this task very seriously. It’s 3 AM, they’re both fast asleep when suddenly Amy is awoken by what seems to be quite some new weight on top of her chest.

“Mommy,” promptly breaks the silence slowly bringing Amy back to consciousness.

It takes her a second to collect herself but she instinctually reaches out to figure out exactly where her son is in the dark. It’s quickly clear that he’s stretched out stomach down across her chest. “Yes, baby?” she mumbles tiredly eyes still closed hoping that her son is just being restless and will go back to sleep.

“I need pee.”

“Oh.”

This, with a power that almost no other request from her son holds, immediately dawns upon and takes over her body pushing her to sit up. Mac is pretty much fully potty trained but only day-wise. During the night he still uses a diaper, and they’ve only just recently started easing him into the night-potty by telling him it’s an option. The boy showing initiative himself is an absolutely great start and even more importantly an opportunity she won’t let slip by.

“You wanna go use the potty?” she looks at him to make sure and he immediately nods. “Okay, lets go then.”

And so they scurry out of bed and make their way across the hall to the bathroom, hand in hand in the darkness, where once the light is turned on Mac’s potty awaits him.

With a bit of help from mommy, he pulls down his pyjamas pants and diaper before getting settled on the potty. There’s no hiding the fact that they’re both very tired, especially Mac whose head hangs a bit, almost asleep while giving in to his body’s need for relief while Amy sits dutifully on the floor besides him.

“Good job telling me, Mac,” she praises, smiling tiredly but the little boy is too tired to even react.

They stay like this for a while, in silence, Amy not wanting to interrupt a probably concentrated Mac, when suddenly he, to her surprise, is the one to break the silence.

“I’m peeing and I love you, mommy,” he mumbles tiredly almost fully asleep right there on the potty, messy curls hanging in whatever which way gravity will allow.

Then, as if she’d never been tired, asleep, woken up and feeling exhausted, Amy’s body rises to a much higher level of awareness. Warmth, one that completely makes her forget about the bathroom floor’s cold tiles, spreads throughout her entire being and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was currently trying to pee, Amy would’ve pulled him into the tightest hug right there. But she doesn’t, of course, and instead settles for a gleaming smile.

“Mommy loves you too, honey,” He’s her very own bedhead, she thinks to herself lovingly running a hand through his hair. “And I’m so proud of you for waking me up to go potty.”

It’s very faint, too tired to put much effort into it but there’s definitely a small smile growing on her son’s face, When he falls asleep on top of her chest a bit later after he’s done and has been put into a clean diaper, just to be safe, the smile is still there, Amy can tell even in the dark.

Another occasion, it’s safe to say, happens when Amy leasts expects it. They’re running on ‘tantrum from hell: hour who-even-knows-anymore’, this time triggered by the banal fact that, no, Mac wasn’t allowed to play with the big knife Jake had been using to cut vegetables for their dinner.

Everyone has their bad days, the parents are well aware, but this one of Mac’s was particularly bad. All day, from the minute he woke up and went straight to the living room instead of joining his parents in their bad, he’d been extra fussy thereby not feeling content with whichever way his parents tried to fix his mood. They’d been understandable and gone easy on him all day, hopelessly trying to please him while also not just giving in to his unreasonable demands. It appeared that this was very a fine line to walk, and so far it sure hadn’t offered them the intended results. Both parents were exhausted and Mac screaming was far, so very far, from their ideal way of spending the evening in.

Both Jake and Amy have tried experimented with different tactics, some that are known to work. Picking him up to soothe him; ask him if he’s hurting somewhere; offering him to choose one of his daily snacks like a glass of milk, yoghurt or a fruit; suggesting that they play a game… But the little boy wants nothing. Nothing but that huge, sharp kitchen knife.

“Look, you can cry all you want, but daddy is not going to give you the knife. It’s dangerous, Mac,” Amy’s voice is definitely stern but nonetheless still calm well aware of the fact that screaming as well won’t get her anywhere. Besides that she also considers herself a structured, punctual but nonetheless also a cool mom: nevertheless enough is enough. She’s really had it by now, hands resting defensively on her hips as she feels a head ache creeping up on her meanwhile her 3 year old, who’s now lying face down on the kitchen floor, lets out yet another scream.

“Listen to mom, bud,” Jake intervenes the best he can without interrupting his wife’s operation. “She’s super right, you know? The knife is very very sharp and in your small hands it can easily slip and hurt you. We don’t want that.”

Another scream is how he’s thanked for the explanation and Jake, even though he loves his son unconditionally, has to roll his eyes and sigh. Logic is not relevant when you’re working with a toddler, he has learned but nonetheless gives it a try every time they’re back in the arena - only to be disappointed.

They try not to be the kind of parents that scold or punish their kid unless it’s necessary and they but alas this is not one of them. Amy has had it and shares a look of confirmation with her husband before proceeding - she needs him to back her up on this.

“Okay, McClane Santiago-Peralta,” Amy says strictly. Full name? This is the point of no return, Jake knows.

“If you’re going to continue to behave like this then that’s up to you, but that also means it’s time for time-out, because daddy and I don’t know how to help you, when you keep screaming like that.”

God, she hates this side of parenthood and this shade of herself, though she knows it necessary.

“Knife!” Mac cries out rolling onto his back and hitting the floor with the palms of his tiny hands in protest of now both the knife and the time-out.

“I’m not going to keep discussing this with you,” she makes up her mind, picks up her son which results in him screaming/crying even louder while also putting up a fight by wiggling his entire body in his mother’s hold. “If you’re not going to go by yourself, like the big boy I know you usually are, then I’ll have to carry you there.”

And so Amy, knowing that the most important thing right now is that she sticks to her pledges, starts walking out of the kitchen and down the hall towards her son’s room. The wiggling continues, the crying doesn’t come to quit and he even adds kicking into the air as she carries him to the mess of it all. He really doesn’t want to go, even less have his mommy take him there since it’ll mean that he’s really pushed her to the limit.

Then suddenly the next wail he lets out suddenly sends the situation down a completely different path.

“I just want the knife and I- I wuv you, mommy!” her son screams loudly through his cry, face all red and scrunched up as if he was cursing her which by nature results in Amy freezing on the spot, left to wonder what the hell had prompted that outburst.

That one was new, she thinks, and how the hell do you handle this exact situation right? On one hand his previous acts, and the fact that he’s still hysterical, means that he deserves to be sent to his room; on the other hand he just screamed, bloody murder, that he loves her… Parenthood was indeed so confusing sometimes.

A sigh leaves her body.

“I love you too, Mac,” she figures he deserves, and always will deserve, to hear it back - no matter how frustrating and crazy the situation might be.

“And daddy does too, but it’s really hard for us to help you when you scream and cry like that, baby,” she gives explaining the consequences of his tantrum one last shot, and, to her surprise, the boy actually stills in her arms and buries his face into her chest. The cries die out before transitioning to small sniffles and alas Amy sees the opportunity to, perhaps, talk some sense into her son.

“We’d much rather have you use your words, tell mommy and daddy what’s actually wrong, rather than having you scream and cry like this. Do you understand?”

There’s silence but Amy can feel Mac’s tiny head slide up and down in nod against his chest, and relief, although it might still just be a false sense of safety, floods her entire body.

“So, what is actually wrong? Why are you sad?”

“I-“ Mac sniffles trying to mould his thoughts. “I just wanted help daddy make food.”

Of course, she thinks internally rolling her eyes.

“I see,” she nods. “And you can help daddy cook, but next time you’ll have to say it like that. Use your words, okay?”

He nods again before lovingly grasping onto a strand of his mother’s hair.

“Good,” she pecks the top of his head. “Now,” she cranes her neck to look down at her son’s face where it’s half buried into her tear-stained shirt. “Do you want to be in your room by yourself for a bit to calm down, or do you want to come help me and daddy clean the kitchen and set the table?”

“I wan’ help,” he mumbles obviously lacking energy after spending it all throwing the tantrum, but if he wants to be with them and redeem himself then Amy won’t be the one to stop him. It took a while, but Amy always tries to remember that he’s still very little meaning that it’s inevitable that some social skills aren’t fully developed. So whenever he can come to his senses, with his parents guidance or not, Amy will of course be the first one to endorse it.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she walks back towards the kitchen with Mac resting silently in her arms.

A third memory that pops into Amy’s mind upon trying to remember the many random moment’s where her son has shared his love for her out loud and of the blue (Peralta-stylez), is one time (of the many) they went grocery shopping together. They’d been wandering around the big grocery store, her and Mac, targeting the cereal aisle, hand in hand with a basket in Amy’s free hand.

“Okay, since you and daddy ate the last of the Fruit Loops this morning we need to get some cereal. You think you can help me with that?” she looks down at her son who’s already looking up to meet her eyes. Mac’s enchanting glimmering eyes instantly light up at the thought of responsibility, a trait he’s definitely inherited from her, and prompts an eager nod. Before she can even say or explain further, which he probably doesn’t actually need her to, he’s let go of her hand.

“More Fwuit Loops!” he exclaims happily as his tiny legs take him ahead, down the aisle, to reach the mosaic of colourful cereal-boxes.

“Sure, if that’s what you want, babe, but maybe…” she walks towards him, "we could try something else for once?” she tries to not be too strict about her son’s eating habits, especially when she knows Fruit Loops is usually the only straight up sugary stuff he eats daily, but also, she has to admit, secretly wishes she could perhaps trick him and Jake to eat something just a bit less… candy-like.

“What?” he stops and looks at her with a frown. “Something else?”

“Yeah,” she catches up with him and looks as the many options before him. “Like… bran-flakes, maybe? They look yummy, right?”

Either Amy is a really bad actor or her son simply too smart, but nonetheless Mac looks more than quite unimpressed when his mom pulls a boring, brown box out from the shelf to showcase it

“I donno want brain-flakes ew, mommy” and the face Mac makes, a face of utter disgust, would be way more solid proof than a paternity test if one was needed - he is definitely, without a single doubt, Jake Peralta’s son - and she definitely can’t help but chuckle at the similarity he constantly carries with him.

The tiny human’s hand starts dancing across all the different packages, probably gathering himself a good dose of various germs that in the moment Amy can’t make herself care about, and every now and then he’ll stop to study a cereal that’s caught his child-brain and eyes’ attention.

“There are so many to choose from, huh babe?” she encourages but keeping her distance as to be supportive of him doing something on his own, independent like a big boy.

First he stops in front of the Cheerios, which Amy can totally be content with, but alas he quickly, to Amy’s chagrin, puts them back in their spot. Then come the Frosted Flakes with their blue box and cute tiger cartoon (the perfect child-trap) which, if possible, are even worse than Fruit Loops. Amy unconsciously frowns at the thought of having to rip the box of cereal from her son’s grip when he in a few seconds won’t let go and instead grab the Bran Flakes. But to Amy’s great relief Mac’s finger continue their trip down past the tiger-trap, mindlessly mumbling small nothings to himself that she can’t quite make out. Then, all at once seeming way more determined than with previous ones, Mac throws himself at a bright and colourful box.

“These!” he exclaims jumping up and down on the spot with the held over his head in victory.

As soon as she gets a closer look, having gently grabbed the box from her son, it dawns on Amy that Jake Peralta being the father of her child isn’t exclusively beneficial. Not when their child is asking for Sour Patch Kids morning cereal and Amy knows it’s because he’s inspired by his dad as Jake will gladly share his candy with his son whenever he happens to have some.

“Oh, baby… “ Amy tries to keep up a neutral face as to not reveal how she dreads to get something that’s somehow even worse than the king of artificial ingredients, Fruit Loops, and sultan of sugar, Frosted Flakes, combined. “You sure you don’t just wanna get the Fruit Loops then? I don’t think you’ll like Sour Patch Kids.”

“Yes I do! I eat them with daddy all the time!”

Of course.

Her son is completely oblivious to her dread and shines proudly thinking he’s pleased his mom by finding something new (which it is - Amy can’t deny that) to have for breakfast. And Amy’s mom-heart can’t get herself to contradict her son’s persuasion of the fact that he’s accomplished the mission she set up for him. No way. Not when his face flows with pride like it does now.

“Okay,” she surrenders with a forsaken smile. “We can get these, but they’re very sugary so only for weekend mornings, got it?” she puts her hand forward as to shake on the deal.

Either it’s the handshake that takes his mind off of it, or her 3-year old actually somehow understands nutritional values, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate to meet her hand with his own, agreeing with her proposed deal. Immediately after she hands him back the box, it’s a mystery to Amy how such a simple thing can make her son that happy, he beams with excitement and basically hugs the box of sugary sweetness. Amy has to chuckle and then he’s off again to do his own little thing, prancing down the remains of the aisle chanting a made-up song, Amy guesses, to himself.

“Cereal. Breakfast. I love cereal. I love breakfast. I love mommy and mommy loves cereal and me and daddy and breakfast. Cereal, cereal, cereal!”

And to her, and Jake’s, sheer luck Amy manages to snap a short video of it for them to enjoy and fuss about for years.

That same night, Friday, they’re all lounging on the couch watching a movie. Tangled as per Mr. Mac’s demand because “Flynn Eugene whatever is really cool and the pretty princess hits him with a pan and the horse and green little thing are super fun too.”

So, needing no further arguments, they watch Tangled and snack on Sour Patch Kids (the candy, not the cereal) that Jake had bought on his way home from work after Amy had texted him about their adventure at the grocery store, attaching the video of their son singing.

Although, after a long day, by the time the lanterns in the movie light up the dark sky while Rapunzel and Flynn sing to each other, Mac is half, almost completely, passed out with his head in Amy’s lap and legs stretched across his father’s. Mommy stroking your face and playing with your curls turns out to be very soothing and sleep-inducing. Jake can also, if asked to testify, agree with this fact. Guess there’s something special about Peralta-curls Amy simply can’t resist.

“Ames, I think he’s asleep,” Jake whispers discreetly throwing his wife a knowing smile when he notices his son’s current state.

She, having not noticed being too busy watching the movie, looks down and sees, indeed, a sweet angel face with shut eyes and pouty lips that indicated that her son is, if not entirely, on the verge of being asleep. Nevertheless, every 30 seconds or so, his eyes will flutter just a bit, like tiny butterfly wings, as if he’s fighting to see the end of the movie - a movie he’s seen 134 times already.

“You want to go to bed, Mac?” she coos leaning down to peck his temple.

“Nu-uh,” he fights off the urge to say yes, Amy can tell.

“You sure?” she tries again.

He nods heavily in her lap, shuffling a bit in an attempt to get comfortable enough to, Amy knows, fall asleep. But he can’t seem to find the right spot, is surely overtired too and both parents can tell it’s a matter of minutes before he’ll give in to either fall asleep on the couch or demand to be put to bed.

And they’re right.

“Mommy,” he mumbles in the most exhausted and soft soft voice that makes Amy’s heart flutter time after time. “I love you but I wanna sleep - in my bed.”

Those three words, especially coming from Mac, will never seize to send a tiny jolt of joy and dopamine through her entire being. She chuckles softly stroking his back.

“That’s okay, baby. We’ve had a long day. Let's get you to bed.”

“Okay, I love you mommy. And daddy. Love,” he passes out before he can finish the sentence and won’t even notice his father carrying him to bed while Amy gazes after them with loving eyes.

Even three years in, four if you count the pregnancy, she can’t believe this sweet, beautiful and smart boy is hers. A bundle of love that is half her and half the man she loves the most (next to Mac himself, of course). Parenthood is an irregular graph with ups and down, but they have so much love that it’ll make up for the bad days and hard cases. In the very end the most important thing is that he, Mac Santiago-Peralta with his brown curly hair, tiny nose and deep brown eyes, is here and he’s theirs. Not only is he theirs but he is his own and he loves them, his parents, so much, every day. Plus, he’s so good at actually expressing it that Amy can’t help but feel like they’re definitely doing something right. She’s proud to know her son is surrounded by so much love that it has planted a seed that everyday blooms within him, making him spill over and spread his care and love to other people.

So, yes, Amy Santiago is 100% sure: she is definitely the luckiest, most loved mom in the entire universe. Mac Santiago-Peralta will always make sure of this.

165 notes · View notes

alagalaska · 5 years ago

Text

‘It’s On!’ Chapter Three

Summary: Mini-series. Y/N is the captain of the female basketball team at Hawkins High. She clashes with the new captain of the male team when he keeps booking out the gym, leaving the girls with nowhere to practice

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Chapter Two

A/N: This was submitted as part of the wonderful @lets-hargroove’s Valentine’s Writing Challenge. It’s here, finally! Chapter 3! Sorry it’s taken so long. It was my husband’s birthday yesterday, which I have been preparing for for weeks (if you wanna see what I made him just head on over to my other blog @alagalaska-makes, especially if you’re a Harry Potter fan). I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please like, comment or reblog to let me know what you think. If anyone would like to discuss this story with me or has any questions about the plot or the characters, please feel free to send me an ask or a message, I love hearing from you guys!

Prompt: Enemies to Lovers trope

Please do not steal/ copy my work, in part or in whole. Plagiarism is a crime!

Chapter warnings: swearing, talk of underage drinking, slut shaming, sexist comments, Billy being an ass.

Word count: 6,900

------------

The next morning, you wake up feeling horrible, in more ways than one.

You open your eyes and promptly squeeze them shut again.

“Ugh,” you groan. Why is it so bright in here?

There’s a dull throbbing inside your skull and your entire body aches. If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess you were coming down with an illness. However, you know this is purely self-inflicted; which means you don’t deserve to feel as sorry for yourself as you do, or at all in fact.

You peel your eyes open again, squinting against the light, and make a clumsy attempt at sitting up in the bed.

“Mornin’ Sleeping Beauty,” Heather says cheerily from beside you. You flinch at the sound, too loud for you having only just woken up. “How you feeling?”

You bring a hand up to massage your temple.

“Like death.” The words scratch against the inside of your throat.

Heather chuckles from beside you on the bed. The mattress trembles slightly beneath her.

“Look like it too,” She says jokingly. She’s lying on her stomach on top of the covers, flipping through a magazine, still wearing her pyjamas.

You see that someone, probably Heather, has placed a glass of water on the bedside table next to you and you reach for it, suddenly aware of how dry the inside of your mouth is. You take a few grateful gulps then place it back down, feeling slightly nauseous.

You move the covers off you and notice that you’re wearing your pyjamas. You don’t remember putting them on last night; in fact, everything after the party is a bit of a blur.

“How did we get home?” you ask Heather, unsettled by the blank space in your memory.

“Steve drove us. When he came to find me, you passed out on a bench; that’s probably why you don’t remember. He carried you in too.” She laughs at the memory of it, but you feel the shame starting to creep in.

“I’m so sorry I pulled you away from the party early,” you say. “And I’m sorry I got so drunk.”

“Don’t be,” she smiles and shrugs, “It’s fine, we’ve all done it before.”

You’re happy Heather’s not mad at you, but you still feel bad. And it wasn’t just her night you cut short either; you should thank Steve at school on Monday for helping you.

Heather scoots slightly closer to you on the bed.

“And I’m sorry that I left you,” she says.

“Heather, don’t be silly. Even if you had been with me, it probably would have still ended the same way.”

She gives you another small smile then looks down at the magazine. She closes it, smoothing the cover of it out with her hand. You can tell she’s thinking about something.

“Steve said you were upset about Billy?” she asks, glancing up at you.

Ah yes, now that part you do remember.

You sigh.

“Yeah, I think I fucked up,” you say, scrubbing your hand down your face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you say, but you continue anyway. “Turns out Billy is the new captain of the boys’ basketball team.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

“Yeah, exactly. I found out and sorta flipped out about it. It was baaad.” You want to bury yourself back under the covers at the memory of it, but you just about manage to refrain.

“What did you say to him?”

“I can’t remember exactly,” you say, rubbing at your temples again to try and ease the throbbing. “I just remember shouting at him and then storming off.” You groan, recalling his face as he’d asked you where you were going. “I mean, sure, I’m still annoyed about him stealing my gym time, but if I’d just taken a second to think about it, instead of biting his head off…” you sigh in frustration at yourself. “There’s no way he’s ever gonna agree to let me have my days back now.”

She considers your words silently for a moment.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad. I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

You look at her skeptically.

“He clearly likes you,” she continues. “Enough to kiss you, anyway.”

I suppose she has a point. But wait-

“How do you know about that?” you ask, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I just assumed,” she says, smirking. “And also, you have a hickey on your neck.” She points to it.

“What?!”

You leap off the bed and check yourself in her mirror, moving the collar of your pyjama top out of the way to better see the red mark on your neck, not yet a bruise, from where Billy had been kissing you last night.

Oh fuck. I can’t let my mum see this!!

You turn to look at her in distress.

“Heather!” you scold as she laughs at you from the bed.

“Oh calm down, it’ll cover up easy enough,” she says, shuffling to the end of the mattress and sitting cross-legged. “So, was it good?” She asks you eagerly.

“Was what good?”

“The kiss, stupid.”

You stare at her in disbelief for a moment. That’s what she’s choosing to focus on?

“Yeah, it was great,” you say dismissively, sitting down on the end of the bed next to her, “but that doesn’t really matter, does it, because he probably thinks I’m a psycho after the way I acted.” You groan and flump down onto the mattress so that you’re lying on your back.

Heather gives an exasperated sigh from beside your legs and you sit up halfway to look at her, propped up on your elbows.

“So then apologise,” she says, as if it’s the obvious solution. Like it’s that easy.

You scoff a laugh.

“Oh yeah,” you say skeptically.

“Look, just say you were really drunk. That’s the great thing about parties; if you do something stupid, you can just blame it on the alcohol.”

You frown at her words. Your head hurts and all you want to do is lay here for the rest of your life, hiding from the world.

“Can’t I just avoid him forever?” you say pathetically. You flop down onto your back again and groan, turning your face into the covers.

She laughs at you.

“Not if you want this whole thing with basketball practice sorted you can’t.” Ugh. Why does she always have to be right?!

“Trust me, I really don’t think this is as big a deal as you’re making it out to be,” she says, amusement in her voice. “It’s like I said, he obviously likes you; you can totally use that to your advantage.”

You uncover your face and peek at her.

“And you never know, if it goes well, you might even get another kiss!” she says excitedly, jostling you on the mattress. You smile into the covers, trying to hide your face from her.

You’re not so sure about that; but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of kissing Billy again. You bite your lip, thinking about the kiss you had shared last night.

“Ok, fine!” you say finally, glaring at her playfully as you sit up. “I’ll go talk to him tomorrow. Now fix my neck!” you gesture at Billy’s mark on your skin and Heather grabs her makeup bag off the dresser, still laughing at you. At least one of us is enjoying this situation!

----------------

Realising that there’s still a good chance that Billy will try to book out the gym for your slot on Tuesday, you make the effort to arrive at school slightly earlier than usual on Monday morning.

You do still plan to find him and apologise for your behaviour on Saturday, but you also want to try and avoid any more tension with your own team, and beating him to the booking schedule would definitely help with that.

Your chances are looking pretty good too; as you pull into the parking lot there’s a good selection of available parking spaces and, much to your delight, the car that had taken to blocking your spot last week, is nowhere to be seen.

It even feels like it might be warmer today; the sun shining down on you as you back into your space. And (dare you say it?) it feels like this might be a sign from the Universe that things could be looking up this week.

When you enter the office you find Amber sitting at her desk as per usual, filing her pristine nails and chanking on gum. Her eyeshadow is bright pink today.

She glances up at you as you enter.

“Hi Amber,” you begin.

She sighs heavily.

“I’ll spare you the breath,” she says, in her familiar nasally voice. “You’re already too late.”

You freeze, mid-step, in the doorway.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, really?” you say in disbelief.

“Will you keep your voice down?” she hisses at you. “The Principal is in a meeting.” She points with her nail file at the dark brown door that leads off from the main office area, with a small golden plaque that reads ‘Principal Davies.’

She sighs again. Puts her nail file down on the desk. She’s reaching for the booking schedule, but you don’t need to look at it to know whose initials will be on it.

You walk forward and take it from her anyway.

B.H glares up at you from the paper in neat cursive and your stomach sinks.

How is it that someone who barely even shows up to lessons has managed to beat you to booking out the gym three times in a row?!

You consider arguing your case, but you know it’ll do no good. Amber may be bad at her job, but she’s a stickler for the rules. Or maybe it’s just that she likes telling people ‘no.’ Yeah, that sounds more likely. Either way, it’s a fight you know you won’t win.

You hand the clipboard back to Amber and leave the office, defeated; all hopes of this day being a good one, well and truly dashed.

What am I gonna do now?

You already know the answer. You need Billy to switch days with you, or at the very least agree to stop stealing your days. Which means you need to find him and apologise before lunch break; there’s no way you can face your team in the cafeteria without this being sorted. Your stomach knots up at the very thought.

You head for your locker like always but as you’re early, Nancy won’t be there yet. You could really use her advice right now about how to approach things with the team. She has always been much better at the politics of it all than you.

You hear quiet muttering and look up to see a guy and a girl standing at the left hand side of the corridor, talking amongst themselves as they get their books from their lockers. You notice that they keep glancing at you as you pass. You continue on your way, but as you turn the corner you peer over your shoulder and see that they’re still looking at you. The boy says something and the girl nods and laughs. Don’t be paranoid, you tell yourself. They could be talking about anything.

When you get to your locker however, a girl who’s in the same Math class as you and Heather watches you from the end of the hall. You shoot her a friendly smile as you open up your locker but she just frowns at you and looks away. That’s strange.

Maybe you have something on your face? Or maybe people are just shocked to see you at school early for once. Or maybe news of your drunken antics on Saturday has already spread throughout the school. Knowing your luck at the moment, it’s probably the latter.

You adjust the neck of your jumper, pulling it higher just in case, making sure the mark on your neck is covered.

As you turn back to grab your books from your locker, you spot Nancy and Steve heading up the corridor towards you.

Nancy is slightly ahead, walking quickly, with her head down and Steve is hurrying along behind her, trying to keep pace. He says something to her but she doesn’t acknowledge him. You guess they might be having an argument.

When they reach you, you say hi but neither of them returns it. Nancy goes straight to her locker, with only a brief glance to you. Wow, he must have really pissed her off.

Steve leans against the front of the locker on the other side of Nancy’s and briefly meets your eyes, giving you a very quick, very strained smile. He runs his hand through the front of his hair, and from the way it doesn’t flop back into its regular shape like it usually would, you guess that he’s been running his hand through it a lot this morning.

You really want to get straight into telling Nancy all about Billy being the new captain and how he’s booked out the gym again, but something’s telling you this might not be the best time. If they have indeed just had an argument it isn’t really fair of you to lay this on her as well. You should wait until later.

You clear your throat a little awkwardly.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’ for Saturday,” you say to Steve over Nancy’s head. He glances at you with slightly startled, hazel eyes.

You feel Nancy watching the pair of you, unsmiling.

“He was great, Nance,” you tell her, trying to make Steve look good so that maybe she will be slightly less mad with him. “Made sure I got home safe.”

Nancy continues to look unimpressed.

“That’s ok, Y/N, you don’t need to thank me,” Steve says quickly, then glances nervously at Nancy.

“Well, I at least owe you an apology then,” you huff a laugh and then add, to Nancy, who’s staring at you with one eyebrow partially raised, “I was wasted.” You give a nervous bubble of laughter.

“Yeah, Steve already told me all about it.” There’s an edge of resentment to her tone.

You feel like you should probably leave and let them continue their argument in peace. You’re about to make your excuses when you think of something.

“Hey, did either of you guys happen to see Billy when you were outside?”

You’re expecting some sort of cutting comment from at least one of them about Billy but, surprisingly, it doesn’t come. Nancy goes back to grabbing her books out of her locker.

“I don’t think so,” Steve shrugs, “I doubt he’s even here yet.”

“Oh,” is all you say, although you know he is here already, because he booked out the gym before you.

Nancy shuts her locker forcefully and with a certain finality.

“Right, well. I’ll, uh, see you at lunch Nance,” you say to her.

“Yeah.” She gathers her belongings and starts heading off towards her first lesson.

“Bye,” Steve says to you, looking slightly harassed, then rushes to catch up with Nancy again.

You watch them go, hoping whatever they were arguing about wasn’t anything too serious. They’ll probably be all loved up again by lunch time.

You stand next to your locker for a little while longer, trying to think of where the best place to start looking for Billy is. There’s not long left until first period is due to start. You figure he’s probably smoking.

You go outside, despite Steve saying he hadn’t seen him out there, and head over to the bike shed. You check the space behind it, where you met him last week.

No luck; it’s empty.

You head back up to the school just as the bell sounds and you hurry to your lesson.

------

In between each period, you go back outside and check behind the bike shed. Apart from just aimlessly walking around the corridors hoping to bump into him, it’s the only place you can think to look. After your third time of checking the little alleyway, it’s looking less and less likely that you’ll find him before you have to face your team. It’s time for a contingency plan, you think. You can’t turn up unprepared, or Ashley will chew you up and spit you out.

So during fourth period, you find yourself barely paying any attention to what’s going on, choosing to spend your time jotting down the points that you want to make to your team and a rough plan of action.

When lunch time rolls around, you still haven’t found Billy and you’re officially out of time.

You visit the bathroom on your way to the cafeteria and take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror above the sinks, giving yourself a pep-talk.

“Come on, Y/N, you got this,” you tell yourself. Just hold it together, your team needs you.

You sigh. You remember a time when being captain was straight forward.

You bet your sister never had to deal with any of this shit when she was captain. But even if she did, she’d know exactly how to handle it. You meet your eyes in the mirror. Push the thought down.

You huff a breath, deciding to stop procrastinating and just get this over with.

When you enter the cafeteria, you do a quick sweep of the room with your eyes, hoping Billy will be here. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of him, but you spot Carol sitting at a table near the door, talking with a small group of her friends. Maybe she’ll know where Billy is? It may be too late to fix things before you have to face your team, but if you knew where he was going to be later, you could still get this sorted today at least.

You go over to her.

“What, do I look like his keeper to you?” She sneers unpleasantly at you when you ask her. Takes a long slurp through her straw.

“Carol, look, I really need to talk to him,” you try to reason with her.

She scoffs.

“Oh yeah, I bet you do.” Her tone is mean, judging. A couple of her friends laugh. You assume that’s a dig at you for kissing Billy at the party on Saturday.

She’s probably just jealous because she’s stuck with Tommy, you tell yourself.

Before you can press her any further, she’s standing up and walking away from you, with a roll of her eyes. Her cronies follow her. One of them, a girl with ginger hair and a turned up nose, coughs exaggeratedly as she walks past you. You’re pretty sure you hear her utter the word ‘slut’ in between coughs and the others dissolve into laughter as they leave the cafeteria.

You scoff disbelievingly at their behaviour, but you refuse to let it bother you. You only kissed him. If they think that makes you a slut then they’re just prudes. Pretty sure most of them have done a whole lot worse anyway.

You’re distracted by Ashley, who’s standing up at your team’s table. Here we go.

As you head over to them, she stops talking and sits down.

You take a seat opposite Nancy. She looks up at you but doesn’t smile, just casts her eyes back down at her lunch, on the table in front of her. She must still be upset. You make a mental note to check if she’s ok when you’re alone.

You take out the notepad you’d written in earlier, turning to the page with your scribbled notes on. You don’t even bother taking out your lunch; you don’t think you can stomach eating anything until this is over with.

You glance up the table to check everyone’s here, to see Ashley eyeing you expectantly.

You take a preparatory breath.

“Ok, so guys, I’m just gonna get straight to it,” they all turn their attention to you. “We lost our gym slot for tomorrow to the boys again.”

Ashley barely reacts. If anything, her face grows slightly smugger, almost as if she had predicted this. Everyone else, on the other hand, had obviously thought this whole fiasco had already been dealt with. Or, that’s what you assume from their various reactions.

Molly pauses, her sandwich still held halfway to her mouth, and gapes at you.

“What?” She lowers her food. “Are you serious?”

Nancy is peering at you, a deep furrow in her brow. Her expression is hard to read. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed at you, like everyone else, or worried for you.

Rebecca and Jenny, your substitutes, are having a full blown rant at the other end of the table.

You can do this. Just follow your notes.

You glance down at your notebook and remind yourself of your plan of action.

“I know. I’m sorry, but as it’s first come, first serve, there isn’t much I can do about it. So, if we look at our op-”

“Wait, so you’re telling us that, after this happened last week, you didn’t think it was a good idea to get here earlier to try and beat him?” It’s Ashley who’s interrupted you.

Of course she can’t just make this easy for you.

You don’t even want to justify her comment with a response, but everyone at the table is looking to you for some sort of explanation.

“I tried,” you begin, “but he got here-” This time it’s Margo who cuts in.

“Wait a minute, I thought you said you were going to speak to their captain last week?”

“I did, or at least I attempted to, but I couldn’t find him,” you say.

“But weren’t you with him on Saturday?” Rebecca asks. She and Jenny share a look and the latter suppresses a laugh by turning her face into her shoulder, hiding behind a curtain of curly hair. Great, looks like the whole school knows…

You don’t even try to mask your frustrated sigh.

“Yes, but I didn’t know Billy was their captain at that point,” you say tersely, subconsciously adjusting the neck of your jumper.

You don’t even have to ask to guess how they knew that you were with Billy at the party on Saturday. Carol. She’s such a little…

Ashley scoffs a laugh.

“How did you not know?” she asks, sounding more than a little amused. Oh, I bet she’s just loving this.

“Can we please just get back on topic?” Nancy snaps, speaking for the first time since you’d sat down at the table.

Everyone looks at her in surprise; Margo even leans slightly away from her, as if she’s worried she’ll bite.

You could kiss Nancy right now. Thank you, you tell her with your eyes. She looks back down at her lunch again.

You clear your throat.

“Yes, as I was saying, our options are this: I can keep trying to book out the gym for our regular days, however as that is proving difficult, I suggest we try for another day as well. And as the boys are practicing on our days at the moment, we can assume that Wednesdays and Fridays will now be free.” You pause, giving everyone a chance to soak up the information.

“Well, Friday is when I look after my sister,” Margo says, popping a carrot stick into her mouth with a loud crunch.

That sparks a barrage of reasons why people ‘can’t do Fridays.’ You had expected that though.

“Then that leaves us with Wednesdays,” you say. “I appreciate it may be too short notice for some, but I think if most of us can make it, we should aim for Wednesday this week, plus one of our regular days; let’s say tomorrow. That way I can talk to Billy before practice to try and get this sorted sooner.” You look around the table and don’t see anyone objecting. Finally, now we’re getting somewhere.

“Right, so raise your hand if you can make Wednesday this week,” you say, raising your own. Most people do, with the exception of Jenny, but you’re not too fussed about missing one person; plus she’s a substitute so it should be fine. Ashley hesitates, glancing around at the rest of her teammates before reluctantly raising her own arm. She rolls her eyes for good measure as she does it, just to show you she isn’t happy.

“Ok, great,” you say. Everyone puts their hands down. You glance at your notes again, “I’ll try for Wednesday then; but, to be clear,” you look back up at your team, “we will just have to resign ourselves to training outside tomorrow. And possibly for the foreseeable future if Billy decides to make things difficult for us.”

Molly groans loudly in response.

“I know,” you say to her. “That is the worst case scenario; but at least the weather is starting to get warmer. Soon, it won’t be as unbearable anymore.”

“Yeah, but that’s just part of the problem,” Ashley pipes up. “How are we supposed to practice effectively, long term, without any basketball hoops?” she folds her arms over her chest, waiting for your answer. Jessica copies her, nodding. The whole team seems to be watching for your rebuttal.

“That’s a very good point, Ashley,” you say, begrudgingly. “I would suggest that as a team, we all try to come up with some solutions, just in case we do find ourselves having to train outside again in the future. But let’s just see how things go with Billy tomorrow; I’ll talk to him before practice, then we’ll take it from there. It might be that he just lets us have Tuesdays and Thursdays, you never know,” you say, shrugging. I really hope it’s that easy, you add to yourself.

Everyone, with the exception of Ashley, seems to be appeased by this solution and conversation eventually turns away from basketball, much to your relief.

Nancy stands, having finished her lunch, and gathers up her rubbish. You also stand, grabbing your notebook and say a hasty goodbye to your team; taking this as your chance to check if she’s ok.

She doesn’t wait for you, heading straight for the doors of the cafeteria. You hurry after her.

“Nance!” you shout when you make it into the corridor.

She slows her pace so you can catch up. She spares you a small glance as you reach her but doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks for helping me out back there,” you say, walking beside her now. You offer her a smile but she’s looking straight ahead of her, so she doesn’t see it.

“I know it’s not an ideal situation for us all to be in, but I appreciate the support,” you add.

She still doesn’t look at you.

You’re trying not to take her frosty demeanor towards you personally, because you figure it’s still to do with her argument with Steve from this morning.

“Hey, are you ok?” you ask her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, curtly. Then she gives her head a small shake, as if she realises she’s being short with you and finally glances at you, her expression softening slightly. “Sorry, I’m ok. Thanks for asking.” She offers you a small smile then drops it quickly, looking ahead again.

You’re not sure whether to ask her about her argument with Steve or not. You figure if she wants you to know about it, she’ll tell you herself; so you decide against bringing it up.

You change the subject.

“Did you know Billy was the captain of the boys’ team?”

“No,” she says, then pauses for a second, “Actually, I think Steve did mention something about it, yeah.” She glances at you, an apology in her eyes.

How is it that everyone knew but no one thought to tell me?!

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch.

As students start filling the hall, Nancy turns to you.

“I better get to Biology. See you later,” she says, before heading in the direction of her classroom. You watch her go then make your way to your own lesson.

----------------

The next morning, you find yourself standing in the office, staring down at the booking sheet again, not quite believing your luck. So he’s taking all the days now?!

“He came in this morning and booked this?” you ask Amber.

She looks up from her magazine.

“Well, duh,” she says, looking at you like you’re stupid. “How else would his name be on there?”

You look down at the neat, curly letters in front of you, a deep crease in your brow.

“But I’m even earlier than yesterday,” you say. It’s not necessarily aimed at Amber. “I don’t get it.” You look up at her, putting the booking schedule back down on the desk.

“How long ago was he in here?” you ask her.

She pauses her reading again with a sigh. Looks at you over the top of her glasses in exasperation.

“What?”

“Billy. Did I literally just miss him? What time was it when he came in?”

She blinks at you.

“I don’t know,” she says, huffs like you’re asking too much of her. “Not long ago,” she shrugs.

“And you’re sure it’s definitely the same guy booking it as last week?”

She rolls her eyes at you.

“Er, yeah,” she says curtly. You realise it’s an odd question, but there’s just something that doesn’t quite feel right. You can’t put your finger on it though.

“Tanned, blonde mullet,” you check.

“Ridiculously good-looking; yeah, it’s the same guy alright,” she says. Shoots you a look as if to say ‘will that be all?’ She picks her magazine up again, makes a point of holding it in front of her to show she’s no longer paying attention to you.

Welp, that’s as much as I’m getting out of her. You glance back down at the booking schedule on her desk, frowning at his initials, then huff a sigh and leave.

You decide to try your luck at finding Billy again. He can’t be far. If he booked it not that long ago then maybe he’s still hanging around somewhere?

You doubt he’d be the sort to get to class early, seeing as he barely even shows up at all. I could check the library, I suppose.

You quickly check outside first, including behind the bike shed, but to no avail; then you do a sweep of the corridors and, finally, the library. The bell rings.

Nowhere. How is he nowhere?!

Frustrated, you make your way to class.

------

After school, you’re pacing back and forth in front of the large trophy cabinet just outside the doors to the gym. You’d kept an eye out all day for Billy, but hadn’t seen him. He didn’t show up for Chem 3rd period either. If you didn’t already know that he’d been in school to book the gym out in the morning, you would have guessed he wasn’t even in school at all.

But you knew he’d be here now, in the gym. He can’t avoid you any longer; not that you think that’s what he’s doing. But… maybe he is?

You’re wearing your basketball gear, which consists of your school sports hoodie and gym shorts, with a scarf carefully wrapped around your neck to hide the hickey. Luckily with the weather being so cold outside, no one on your team questioned why you were wearing it to practice.

You’d instructed the other girls to start warming up on the forecourt before making your way here. However, now you’re about to see him for the first time since the party, you’re not quite sure you’re ready for it.

Your bottom lip throbs a little from where you’ve been worrying it between your teeth all the way here.

You can hear the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor of the gym on the other side of the door.

Just apologise for Saturday, you tell yourself. You were in the wrong, you know that. Billy’s cool, he’ll probably be fine about it.

You take a deep breath and push open the double doors.

Billy is in the middle of the court, practicing one on one with one of his teammates as the others stretch and jog laps at the edge of the room.

He’s shirtless; curls grazing his naked shoulders as he confidently blocks the other guy’s attempts to get past him with the ball.

Your eyes linger on him as you hover by the door, waiting for the right moment to catch his eye. You don’t want to interrupt him.

A few of the other team members have paused in their stretches and are watching you from across the gym. Tommy spots you and shouts to Billy to get his attention.

“Hey, Hargove.” Tommy points to you and Billy looks up at him, then over at you.

His jaw clenches when he sees you and your stomach drops slightly. Yep, he’s pissed at me.

Ok, that’s fine, you think, trying to calm your nerves. You knew he probably would be. No need to stress, you take a deep breath, just stick to the plan.

You wave him over.

He looks away and, for a second, you think he might be choosing to ignore you. Then he charges at the other boy, ramming him with his shoulder and knocking him to the ground. He easily gains possession of the ball and dribbles it over to the basket, laughing cockily. He passes it under his own leg and dunks it with minimal effort. As he looks over at you again, his eyes flash, the same way they had at the party when he’d seen you talking to Steve. He goes over to where the other guy is on the floor.

“You were moving your feet,” Billy says, pulling him up, “Next time, plant them.”

He slowly looks you over as he approaches, taking in your gym shorts and bare legs. Notices the scarf around your neck. Then he meets your eyes with a steely gaze.

“Come to see how the game is meant to be played?” He asks when he reaches you, earning a few snickers from his team mates, all of whom have abandoned their warm up to watch.

You blink a couple of times, caught off guard by his standoffish tone and his clearly sexist comment, which you choose to ignore.

“I er, actually wanted to talk to you about Saturday,” you say, trying to keep your voice down so the rest of the team can’t eavesdrop. “Could we maybe talk in the hall?” you ask, gesturing over your shoulder at the door.

He tells the others to keep warming up, without a word to you, and leads the way out of the gym. You hear Tommy’s voice call out after you, but you don’t hear his words, muffled by the door closing. It’s probably something obnoxious though, and no doubt a comment about you and kissing. Whatever it is, the other guys find it amusing. Their laughter reaches you in the corridor.

Billy turns to face you, licking his bottom lip. Your eyes go to it, just as they had on Saturday in Tammy’s garden. Suddenly you’re thinking about what had followed that; his mouth on yours, his hands on your body.

You fight to compose yourself, to get your mind back on the matter at hand. You clear your throat. This would be so much easier if he had more clothes on.

“So,” you start, nervously fidgeting with your hands, trying not to look at his bare chest. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted at the party. I was pretty drunk and I-” He cuts you off.

“Which part are you apologising for?” he asks you, licks his lips again.

You blanch at the question, thrown off. Before you can ask him what he means, he clarifies for you.

“Flipping out for no reason and leaving me standing there like a jackass or for kissing me and then going home with Pretty Boy?” His voice is irritated.

“What?” you ask, dumbfounded. You expected him to be annoyed at you for shouting at him but… Pretty Boy? Is he talking about Steve?

He scoffs a laugh, running his tongue along his top row of teeth.

“Carol said she saw you leave the party with Harrington.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, trying to explain yourself, “But it wasn’t like that. I was wasted, he was just making sure I got home safe.”

It suddenly makes sense why everyone has been acting so weird around you since Monday. So Carol has been spreading rumours; only, it’s worse than you had thought.

The whole school must think I slept with Steve! Oh, that’s just great. And after your little ‘display’ with Billy in the garden, why wouldn’t they believe it? Kissing someone you barely know...

You think about how Nancy had given you the cold shoulder yesterday. Oh no, poor Nancy... You’d assumed she’d been upset with Steve and was just projecting, but she must have been upset with both of you.

You can’t believe how ridiculous this whole situation is.

“Sure,” Billy says disbelievingly.

It irritates you that he would think that little of you.

Even if something had happened with Steve- which it hadn’t and obviously never would- it’s not like it’s even his business.

Why does he even care? Jesus, a guy kisses you once and thinks he owns you. And it’s not like he can talk, anyway; according to both Nancy and Steve, Billy’s got a reputation of his own to worry about.

You have to remind yourself that there was another reason you came here to talk to him. You need him to forgive you, so keep it civil.

“Well, either way, I’m sorry.” You manage to keep your tone remorseful.

He stares at you for a long moment, arms folded over his chest and chin jutting out defiantly as he considers your words.

“Ok,” is all he says, shrugging once. He starts to walk away from you, back towards the doors of the gym.

“Wait, Billy,” you say, moving quickly to follow him.

“Please can you stop booking out the gym on my days?” Your tone borders on pleading.

He turns back to you, cocking his head to one side in mock confusion. Squints at you.

“I’m sorry, your days?”

“Yeah, Tuesdays and Thursdays,” you clarify for him, even though he knows full well what you meant. “I agreed it with Matt. My team gets those days; you get Wednesdays and Fridays.”

He licks his lips and leans in towards you.

“Well, Matt’s not the captain anymore; I am.” He’s watching your face closely as he speaks. You notice his eyes flick to your lips before they move back up to meet your gaze. “So that no longer stands.”

You exhale slowly, letting go of the breath you had been holding. This conversation is not going the way I planned, at all.

“Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

He takes another half step closer so that his face is only a few inches from yours. You try not to breathe him in.

“I would love to make an ‘arrangement’ with you,” he says suggestively; his tone makes you think he might not just be talking about basketball practice, “but I’m not really in the mood.” He backs away from you slightly.

This must be his way of punishing me for Saturday. I can’t believe he’s being so petty!

He goes to walk away from you again.

“Billy, please.” You go to reach out and touch his arm but think better of it, dropping your hand back to your side. You hate grovelling to him, but you’re running out of options. “My team can’t practice on the forecourt for the rest of the season; there aren’t even any hoops out there! If you really have to practise on Tuesday and Thursdays can’t we work it out so that we each get one day in the gym and one day on the forecourt? Or you could let me have Wednesdays instead?” You’re desperately listing off your remaining options, just praying he’ll agree to one of them. “Please, I need something to work with here!” He smiles at you but it’s not friendly.

“Sorry Princess,” he puts emphasis on the new nickname, and you feel your face screw up in disgust of it, “your team might need the practice more than us, but as the only ones with any real chance of making it to the finals, we should get priority,” he says smugly.

How dare he?! We are every bit as good as them!

That’s it, to Hell with being civil!

“Well, you can’t stop me if I book the gym out before you,” you say petulantly, seething at his comment. He thinks he’s won, but he hasn’t. I’ll show him! I’ll just have to get here for as soon as the office opens. There’s no way he’d get here that early.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he scoffs.

“Oh, it’s on, Hargrove. It is on.”

You start stomping away up the corridor but he calls after you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. You whip back around, scowling. “Nice scarf.”

His eyes meet yours and instantly you understand. He knows that underneath the patterned piece of material around your neck, is the mark that he left on you.

He laughs at your stunned expression, like a smug asshole, then heads back into the gym, leaving you standing there in the corridor, totally lost for words.

Chapter 4

------------

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years ago

Text

Vogue (Harry styles x Reader)

Requested: No

Warnings: nope, just fluff and an exhausted reader and my English/grammar

My Masterlist

Fame had always been exhausting. But this week it just had reached an almost unbearable point where I just wanted to snuggle myself into a blanket, fall asleep and don't wake up again. The press, the expectations, the paparazzi, even the fans were just too much. Everyone expected that new music would be written soon, new songs recorded and tour dates for an eventual album fixed. It was just...a lot. And today there was another interview to do, one with Vogue. Not that this wasn't cool, it's just another thing to do, another thing stacked on top of my responsibilities. a few seconds ago my manager had informed me again that this would be a partner interview, but it didn't faze me much. The interview was from this new series of interviews they did with different celebrities: a room full of pillows and mattresses where you just laid and answered questions. The celebrity would dress comfy and cosy. The whole point was basically to archive a relaxed atmosphere so „we" as in celebrities would spill as much as possible. Just because we felt comfortable. They would always pair up two people, but neither of them was informed on who that partner would be. The thing with the comfy clothes by the way was a joke. No one dressed in his pjs or went without makeup. Neither did I. But I insisted on no makeup, because I wanted to be able to snuggle myself in those blankets. I also decided to wear a comfortable two piece, which looked fashionable enough without being tight and stiff in all the wrong parts...not gonna have that. Who my partner will be, would reveal time: I'll meet him or her at vogues. I pushed my hair from my face away and quickly skimmed over my Twitter. Again, thousands of tweets were tagging me at something, messages had been sent privately and people had retweeted, liked or commented one of my tweets. In the beginning of my career I had sometimes answered those private messages, on twitter and Instagram. But it had become nearly impossible to continue this habit. There were just too many. Sure I tried but it was mostly the lack of sleep that made me drop my phone during tipping and sent me away in deep, dreamless hours which weren't long enough. A maximum of five hours was common, there had been days I haven't slept a solid two hours. The downside of touring, definitely.

A door opened and a friendly young woman welcomed me. She immediately guided me from the room „backstage" to the actual set, a flat pool filled with stuffed pillow-chains, welcoming me to jump into them. She advised me to wait at the corner right next to the door, whilst they still set up cameras and microphones. Suddenly some walked right into my back, the hard push causing me to stumble forwards, almost falling down. Luckily, the person who collided with me, grabbed my arm and prevented me from it. „M'so sorry I haven't seen yeh...my thoughts were somewhere else. Yeh okay?" I smiled up into a slightly worried face. Green eyes, brown, curly hair, broad shoulders and a silky, very feminine shirt (or more like, blouse). Mr Harry Styles. „I am fine, don't worry. I guess...you are my interview partner?" he smiled shyly and nodded. „Looks like it. Very nice to meet you." he went in for a slightly awkward hug, both of us still very shy. „Likewise. Do you think they are ready for us?" he shrugged, peeking around the corner. "Yeah they are. Let's do this." A small flutter of excitement sparked in me and I nodded quickly, following him on set.

The interview started with Harry and me being introduced to the camera before we both spoke a quick intro for the format snuggling ourselves into the comfortable pillows. The interviewer, a kind looking guy in his thirties sat on a chair a bit higher than us and not visible for the camera. He then quickly welcomed us, just for the sake of the camera. "Now, have you two met before?" Harry and I both shook our heads. "I have never met him in a closer way, just spotted on the red carped maybe." I explained and Harry nodded. "Yes me too. But I am very glad that we actually meet now, I really like your music." I could feel a proud smile spreading on my lips at his words. "That really honours me, I am serious. Not to sound cliché, but I listen to you quite often. Meet me in the hallway is one of my favourites." Harry had a pleasantly surprised look on his face. "Oh really? What do you listen to the least?" he then asked cheekily and I grinned. "Sign of the times. Terrible song, absolutely not Pop-Award worthy." Harry now had an amused sparkle in his eyes. "Oh you think so?" I nodded eagerly. "Sure." He faked a disappointed expression before sighing deeply. "Guess I should end my career as musician and go back to baker." I giggled, nudging his arm playfully before turning back to the interviewer who watched us with mild amusement.

The interview went flawless, the questions were never boring or inappropriate. But since I had just little sleep per day due touring i , I felt myself growing tired. The pillows and the generally relaxed vibe in the studio were calming to no end and not helping with keeping me awake. I yawned tiredly, making Harry look over. "Tired?" I nodded sleepily, giving him an exhausted smile. "Want another pillow?" he asked patting on a pillow next to him. I wasn't quite sure if he was inviting me to come a bit closer or if I was just interpreting that because I could use a little cuddle right now. I nodded with a shrug, deciding to just scoot over. "Okay wait I can throw...or you could just do that." Harry said with an amused chuckle. I laughed quietly sitting up again in attempt to move away again. "I am just joking, I'll move over again..." but Harry just shrugged, suddenly seeming a bit nervy. "Oh I don't mind, you can stay here if you feel comfortable." I could see the hint of a blush spreading on his cheeks as he sucked his lip between his teeth, chewing almost apprehensively. I could feel my heart speed up when I carefully leaned back into his stretched arm. I gave him a quick smile, trying my best not to show how much of adoration I just felt for that curly haired man. "Thanks Harry, I really appreciate it. Oh and I am not trying to make a move on you, just for the record." I quickly said towards the camera. Harry gave me a slight nod, the corners of his lips twisting up. "All good love." The interviewer had watched us wordlessly before speaking up again "And you really don't know each other?" the interviewer asked again, surprise clearly displayed on his features. Harry and I nodded again and the interviewer nodded. "Okay, adorable. Ready for yet another question?" I nodded, leaning affectionately against Harry's chest. I could feel his arm tighten just a little bit, but it made me smile. "Hit us." Harry laughed softly. "Alright. You both are on tour at the moment right? How is it going so far?" I let Harry answer first this time and closed my eyes. To be honest, I haven't felt so relaxed in weeks. "It's going well...yeah it's great. I always liked this part of my job the most, even though I have now found the beauty in studios. Performing live is still my number one favourite thing to do. It just can get very exhausting sometimes. The traveling, jetlag, the rush and well, performing as well is very draining." I nodded approvingly. "Yeah the lack of sleep...I love touring as well, it's an incredible feeling to connect with fans like that. They definitely make it all worth it. It really is the lack of sleep that's sort of a killjoy." Harry hummed approvingly "Yea sleep's a problem." The interviewer nodded seriously. "So how much sleep do you get on a average day on tour?" Harry shrugged softly. "Around five to six hours on good days. Being solo and doing your own thing drastically extended my sleep." I looked up at him. "Same here, maybe five or six. Pardon me, but what exactly do you mean with the drastic extension of your sleep schedule since being solo?" The interviewer said nothing and just let us talk. "With One Direction we slept around four hours per day since we had very early morning and late nights. We always toured and similarly recorded a new album, especially the last one was hard because of that." I nodded slowly. "So it's literally Made in the A.M.?" Harry nodded. "Yeh." Was his quick response before we both looked back towards the interviewer. "How are you still able to perform on that lever with so little sleep?" he asked us. "I guess it's partly the adrenaline rush you get when you go on stage. But also you learn to live with it and fall asleep when and where ever. I wouldn't go so far and say that you get used to it, but you learn how to handle. But I guess its still very unhealthy for the longer run and it makes you pretty vulnerable and sensitive. Or so I experienced it." The interviewer nodded and looked at Harry. "I second that. I think you can't really consider it being as hard as suffering from insomnia for example, but it's definitely hard." I closed my eyes during the time Harry talked and just listened to the steady beat of his heart. It was incredibly calming and it caused my eyes to grow heavy and sink shut slowly making me drift off. "However I think...love? Ye're not falling asleep on me are you?" Harry suddenly asked and I snapped up, embarrassment making my cheeks grow hot. "I am really sorry oh god. I am just very, very tired...what was the question again?" people around us from the vogue team, including the interviewer and Harry laughed. "No problem. You mentioned something about being more sensitive and vulnerable with the lack of sleep. How do you mean that?" he asked kindly. "Well, when you live the life of a public figure, if you like it now or not, you are pretty much all day and all night watched. And judged and criticised for literally everything you do, or not do. Everyone seems to look at his opinion as especially important and significant and feels the urge to share it with the world. All that, protected by the anonymity of the internet. Suddenly everyone has balls." I quickly pressed my hand over my mouth. "Sorry I should not swear." The interviewer waved it off. "Don't worry about that, we can beep it out. Carry on." I nodded reassured, clearing my throat. The topic had me worked up quickly. "Okay great. Back to the internet; I think its pretty cool that everyone can share their thoughts for everyone to see, I really do. It gives everyone a certain degree of liberty, which is important don't get me wrong. I just feel like it gets a bit too much when people twice my age blindly degrade me for how I dress or how I look. Like, I haven't asked, can you get on with your life now, I am also not constantly judging you, or am I? It's really sickening, let me tell you." Harry had started to draw soothing circles on my back, grinning softly about my sudden outburst. "I don't struggle with criticism, I feel like its important or else you lose sight of what's really important in life. But with what I do struggle, is hate. I have never, do not and will never understand the concept of projecting all of your failed dreams, flaws and blemishes in form of jealously drenched hate on one person. She's too skinny, She dresses too revealing...can't you just stop and concentrate on becoming a supportive, nice person? Just let me live for god's sake!" I pushed out frustrated. Harry hummed softly, now carefully caressing my hip, circling softly over my hipbone. I took a deep breath, trying to fully collect myself again. "I am sorry I went off on that like this, but it really bothers me." I finished and the interviewer nodded understandingly. "I absolutely agree. Just speak freely, no one will be stopping you." I gave him a small smile but shook my head. "No I got to stop now. I really need media training, urgently." Harry's laugh vibrated through my body making me smile a bit. Almost as suddenly as my energy came back, it left again, leaving me even sleepier than before. I relaxed completely in Harry's arm, head leaned against his chest again. Harry just pulled me a bit closer, now resting his head on top of mine. I wasn't entirely sure if he was just doing it out of reflex but I felt a deep wave of comfort and relaxation wash over me. A state of raw happiness came over me and I thanked whatever powers made this meeting happen. There wasn't any sexual tension between Harry and I, no one tried to seduce the other one or flirt in any way. But we both responded excellently on each other, almost as if we would actually be friends for longer than maybe an hour. The interviewer seemed to catch on my state of mind and immediately asked me about it. "Are you feeling good? You look very relaxed." I nodded quickly, squinting up at Harry to give him a smug look. "I really am, I have never had such a relaxed interview in my life and I don't ever want it to end." Harry grinned and nodded. "Yeah me neither. I could definitively get used to it." The interviewer smiled happily, but then gave us a bit of a sad look. "That really honours me guys...the thing is only that our time is almost over. I am sorry." I pouted disappointed, leaning back at Harry's chest as if to protest. "That's too bad really." Harry said with a sigh, not making any effort of getting up or letting me go. Not that I wanted though, it was just nice to know that it was mutual. "Well I am afraid so. But anyways, thank you for tuning in and a big thank you to your two guests for joining today. Have a nice day, until next time." The interviewer spoke fluently, ending the interview skilled. Harry and I waved into the camera with both big, but sleepy smiles. I knew from watching previous episodes that they would now let the camera roll for about thirty seconds to blend this in as a little special in the end, after the outro. "We should record a song together soon." Harry suddenly said, wrapping the other hand around me no as well. I nodded softly, a smile spreading on my lips. "I would love that." I answered and could feel him taking a deep breath. "And maybe also go for tea together...if you like only, I mean I could understand if you couldn't I just heard about busy schedule and touring..." I chuckled softly, turning my face towards him. His eyes were fixed on the fabric of my pants and a soft blush had crept up his neck, softly colouring his cheeks. "I would love that too Harry. Very much actually." I then answered before pressing a quick peck on his reddened cheek. Harry's dimples only deepened as he threw me a smug look.

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #reader insert #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #one direction imagine #imagines #tell me what you think #feedback is greatly appreciated #how did I do btw #harry edward styles

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sarcastic-space-gal · 4 years ago

Text

The Dancer with Golden Earrings (Part 4)

Summary: After leaving Brugge, you and Jaskier become even more famous around the kingdoms as you continue to travel around with the witcher. Everything seems to be perfect but after what happened in Brugge your feelings for each other changed: you know there’s more than friendship.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader;

Word Count: 4k... i’m sorry (no, i’m not.) (Maybe just a little)

Warning: Slow burn, endless amount of Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Protective!Jaskier;

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry if I didn’t upload for a little bit, I had a small holiday and I finally relaxed, but now I’m back. Enjoy more fluff and even more slow burn hehehe. Disclaimer: I quoted the song “The fishmonger’s daughter” written by Giona Ostinelli, Sonya Belousova and performed by Joey Batey, i do not own it. Hope you’ll like it and, as always, feedback is really appreciated. Love you all xoxo.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Relishing in his scent, you shifted closer to him as his knuckles tenderly grazed over your cheek, his eyes shined in the fire’s light. Your attention was caught by his glance as it pierced the air and fixed on your lips with desire. Every rational thought left your minds while you drifted away, driven by his caresses. Everything was perfect, just as you always imagined: your heart pounding, your hands sweating, the soft, almost imperceptible, quiver of your lips, his knuckles stroking your cheek. Closer and closer and closer, inches by inches you felt his breath on your skin: you knew your faces were just few inches away, your lips were just about to meet and melt in that kiss you so ardently desired as your eyes closed, savoring the moment. But that sensation never came. The campfire, the starts, his face faded away.

With a jolt your eyes reopened quickly as you unfortunately discovered, it was all just a dream.

The same dream that haunted you for months.

Since you and Jaskier shared those moments together in Brugge, your sleep was haunted by those sensations you craved with all yourself. His fresh and now familiar scent, his warmth, his strong arms wrapped securely around you, his fingers through your hair… those feelings never left you. Every night was the same dream, you and him together around a campfire as the stars shine above you, the world around you dissolves, you meet Jaskier’s eyes and when you are about to kiss, you woke up. So your morning routine quickly changed into a heavy sigh and a frustrated sleepy mumbling.

As soon as your eyes opened and you regained consciousness, you heard a sound, a voice. Someone was singing slowly and tenderly, following a simple melody.

Plucking his lute, Jaskier was sitting on a tree trunk, humming quietly and tenderly, he was probably composing something in his mind, while Geralt was having what you supposed was his breakfast.

Trying to brush away the sleepiness, you rubbed your eyes, yawned and got up in a sitting position, making the branches under your bedroll creak. Jaskier turned his head at the sound as his fingers ceased to move on the strings.

“Y/n” he smiled so brightly that you instantly forgot sleepiness and frustration “I hope I didn’t wake you up”

“No, don’t worry Jaskier. Actually, it’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today” you said smiling.

Jaskier fought the urge not to melt at your words “Then I should sing every morning”

“Please don’t” Geralt intervened, who kept looking at his breakfast. The bard gasped, pretending to be offended, placing his hand on his chest and winking at you.

Geralt wasn’t a very approachable man but once you go over that hard shell you found a sensitive man full of insecurities. Despite his serious and apparently solitary demeanor, Geralt, as months went by, seemed to change a little. Both you and Jaskier knew he was happy to have someone around him who didn’t call him “monster”, or worse. What seemed to bothering him the most was the bard’s constant comments and claims about their friendship, earning an effortless grumble from the witcher, but you could see the weakest hint of amusement on his face that just confirmed your and Jaskier’s thoughts. The word “friend” never left Geralt’s lips but deep down you knew he cared about him.

Their relationship was quite clear but between you and Jaskier was another kettle of fish. If you were so sure about their friendship, it wasn’t the same for the bard and you. Not that there was something wrong, actually it was the exact opposite.

It happened quite often that you found yourself thinking at the past few months: when you met in Cintra, the days spent to reach Brugge, that day when you decided to work together, the performance in the square… when he saved you from the man who assaulted you… his hand tight around yours… his arms encircling your body steadily. Months went by as you grew closer and closer, laughing together, playing together, pranking Geralt and essentially signing your own death warrant, but the sensations you both felt back in Brugge changed something, in both of you: deep down in your hearts your feelings, guarded from any judgment, were clear as daylight.

At least that’s what you thought.

Geralt fought the urge to shout “Just say that you love each other already!” at least 5 times. Every. Single. Day.

Even to his untrained eyes, your feelings for each other were quite evident, but clearly not for you and Jaskier, and that’s what left the witcher a little confused.

Traveling around with the bard inevitably led to learn more about him: a philanderer, who always flirted with every damsel that smiled in his direction or simply looked at him. So when he started flirting with you and joking around, Geralt thought he was his usual self, but after observing him for a while, he immediately realized he was wrong. The way Jaskier acted around you was completely different, his eyes didn’t burn with lasciviousness or lust but in affection, protectiveness and...love. However you still didn’t confess to each other. Geralt lifted his eyes from his breakfast slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to be caught looking at you two, and smiled.

They met by the will of destiny. Destiny shall bring them together, he thought.

___________________________________________

Autumn was about to end as winter rapidly approached: nights got colder and days got shorter. Summer and its festivals left you and Jaskier with a bag of coins and a bunch of really good memories. Since when you started working together, you established a phenomenal fame around the kingdoms that got you into a fairly high demands for festivals, noble’s personal banquets, public feast and festivity. In order to respond to a frantic schedule and to keep up the pace with the witcher, you and Jaskier traded some of your coins for a beautiful brown stallion. Of course you didn’t have enough money to buy two horses so you decided to ride Pegasus, as Jaskier named him, together.

The bard was actually pretty excited to finally ride a horse after consuming two pairs of boots while walking from city to city, but there was something even more exciting about it.

“Okay, here we go” Jaskier exclaimed before adjusting the saddle and hopping over Pegasus’ back with a smooth, and quite graceful, movement.

“I can hear your boots celebrate” you said looking up at him.

“And my feet too! Come, it’s your turn” he offered his hands out to you with a smile. In that moment Jaskier realized what was gonna happen next and suddenly felt quite excited. Biting your lips you took his hand and got on Pegasus.

“Give me your lute, I’ll take it” you suggested.

Eyeing you from over his shoulder the bard nodded “Oh, sure” he said before lifting the strap and handing the instrument to you as you quickly shove it over your back.

Now that you took away the lute, Jaskier felt your body getting closer to his back, your legs were almost glued together.

“Come on, we have to go” Geralt baritone voice caught your attention. He was already leading the way out of town, his freshly polished swords shined a little even though the sun was completely covered by clouds.

“You don’t have to wait for us anymore, come on Pegasus let’s go” the bard gave a steady yank to the reins and Pegasus started following Roach.

The sudden movement took you off guard as you promptly grabbed Jaskier by his waist tightly in an attempt to not fall off Pegasus. Under his doublet, Jaskier’s muscles tensed a little at the feeling of your arms and hands around him, you were so close that he could smell the delicate and floral perfume you bought when you left Brugge.

He wished, he hoped, he dreamed he could stay in your arms forever, feeling your touch and your warmth around him.

“I think we made a good impression on the mayor” you said, trying to not let the nervousness of the situation take over you.

“Absolutely. I think we found another patron of the arts. He really appreciated our performance”

“Well, I think he preferred the dancing part” you smirked.

“Oh, what are you implying back there?” he asked with a playful tone.

“Come on, we both know who is the best”

“Oh, oh! Starting to steal my lines aren’t you my dear?”

You both laughed, before you continued “We make a great team together”

Without moving his glance, Jaskier smiled “We do”

___________________________________________

The path in the forest suddenly took a rough turn, the witcher instantly recognized where they were and stopped Roach. You and Jaskier halted too.

The weather didn’t get better during your ride, the leaden sky got darker rather quickly, leaving just half an hour of light, more or less.

“We will stay here tonight” Geralt stated before getting off Roach and giving her a small stroke on the neck.

“Well that’s good ‘cause my backside has the exact same shape of the saddle” commented the bard.

Before Jaskier could get off and offer his help, you had already jumped off and took your bag from the saddle. The warmth of your chest on his back was now gone as a cool breeze took his place.

The night went as usual: Geralt wandered off to find something to eat, you and Jaskier placed your bags on the ground then sat next to each other and talked for a little. Your frenetic life didn’t leave much time for you two to actually sit down and talk comfortably, there was always an interruption of some sort and when you were in a city to perform, when you finished you were just too exhausted and dragged yourselves to sleep. However you tried repeatedly to have just few minutes alone, because you knew you had many things to talk about, but the occasion never came.

“It’s such a delightful sensation, my feet aren’t sore at all” you mentioned looking at him.

“A dancer that complains about sore feet? That’s quite rare”

“True” You chuckled “Actually I didn’t think the lute was so uncomfortable to carry, it can be rather heavy sometimes. I don’t know how can you carry it around all day long”

Well, now I know how he sculpted his back and arms, you thought.

“Just one of my many qualities.” he winked “It’s the burden I must carry for spread my art to all the kingdoms”

While listening to his hilarious description, you brought you hand to your shoulder and massaged it, your eyes contorted in a small painful expression.

“But I have to say, after a while you get used to it you- Y/n? What is it?” he said, his smile dropping.

“Just a little sore on my back and shoulders…”

“Come here” he said steadily.

Your eyes darted up to him but did what he said and scooted closer. Placing his hands on your shoulders he made you turn away so that he could massage your upper back with ease. His warm hands soothed your tired muscles almost immediately.

“Thank you Jaskier” you said, feeling you heart hammering in your chest “Do you need it too? I will gladly reciprocate”

“Well, I must say I’m not so sore even if your hug was quite tight” he said playfully.

“But you didn’t pull away from it” you smirked over your shoulder. His hands stopped moving and slowly slid down your arms, goosebumps appeared on your skin, and that wasn’t because of the cold. Turning slowly, your eyes met and none of you noticed how close your faces actually were.

“Because I didn’t want to” he whispered. Jaskier’s blue irises moved from your eyes to your lips many times, his hands went to find yours.

“JASKIER!”

The bard almost jumped off his skin after hearing Geralt, who quickly approached you holding a dead animal in one hand and a pink… button-down. Not any button-down. His button-down. The original white color was now spotted with bright pink irregular spots.

“What did you do?” he grumbled.

“Oh,” he paused “the laundry maid probably washed it with my red doublet” laughing nervously, he rubbed behind his neck.

“That was the only-” the witcher didn’t have the chance to finish because you cut him off.

“Don’t worry Geralt I’ll take care of it, I know some tricks” you suggested taking the shirt from his hand with a small smile “Even if the pink would suit you better”

Jaskier started laughing before the witcher shot him a dirty look, ending his laughter.

When night came, Geralt’s button-down was finally back to his normal white color and dinner was delicious, however Jaskier couldn’t not think at the moment when he was alone with you and the chance that faded away with the witcher’s scream. As every other time, you got interrupted by something, it was so frustrating.

Trying to calm down a little, he took the lute and started playing a soft melody and hummed along with it, searching for the right intensity and rhythm.

The music rapidly made everyone fall asleep, but Jaskier didn’t stop, he wanted to find the rhymes he needed to complete the verses and night always brought a good amount of inspirations. Few hours went by, midnight had already passed as the temperature dropped, Jaskier noticed it because you started shivering under your blanket. His fingers immediately ceased to move on the strings as he got up, quietly trying to not wake you up and took his blanket. Branches creaked a little under his feet before he dropped on his knees and covered you, hoping your shiver would quickly stop. They did.

I have so many things to say to you, so many feelings, but three words would be just enough, he thought while looking at your sleeping form. He would find a way to finally talk to you, at any cost, but for now he had to sleep for a little while, the next day would have been another sore backside day. With a sigh, he got up.

“When will you talk to her?”

The witcher had watched the all scene from his spot on the ground.

Jaskier turned with wide eyes “Geralt? What are you doing?!”

“I can’t fucking sleep”

“i swEAR ON MELITELE-”

___________________________________________

When you woke up, the sun still hadn’t show up through the trees. Sleeping in the woods, mostly during autumn and winter, obviously had its downsides for example shivering all night like a leaf in the wind. However, you quickly realized, you weren’t freezing at all compared to the other nights. You also realized there was a familiar scent in the air that was surprisingly close to you. A little confused you lifted on your elbows and stared down at your legs, only to find an extra blanket that covered you from your upper body to your feet in a warm hug. Instantly you recognized Jaskier’s blanket and his cologne. You couldn’t stop the smile that formed on your face as you looked at the bard, who was snoring lightly in a peaceful sleep, covered with only a thin piece of fabric.

After few minutes the boys woke up as you got ready for the day. Approaching Jaskier you handed him his blanket.

“Thank you so much Jaskier” his hands went to take the folded fabric and your fingers brushed together a little, making his muscles tense a bit.

Brushing away the nervousness he finally responded “I didn’t want you to get sick, we have a performance tonight!”

___________________________________________

When you arrived at the city gates, you were welcomed by a very large group of people who was undoubtedly impatient to make your acquaintance as they greeted you with the warmest smiles and shouts you had ever had. That night you performed in the city tavern, which had a rather ample hall, enough to receive at least half the inhabitants. There were surely more than just half of the people, because the room was now teeming with men and women who waited patiently to enjoy some good music. Geralt had a reserved table, close to the space left for you and Jaskier in order to perform easily, and a nice cold pint in front of him.

As usual your entrance was followed by a thunderous applause as you two positioned yourselves in the middle, Jaskier winked at you and smiled, ready to play his lute. The first ballad was “Winter”, you recognized it since the first note, your arms and legs started moving in immeasurably graceful movements, firstly you were still in your position, then you moved around the room, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Jaskier followed your lead and walked while giving mighty strums to the lute. Music took over you as you approached in the middle of the hall sharing a long, loving glance at each other, the chemistry you had was almost palpable and such evident it made the words sang by the bard even more magical.

The ballad ultimately ended but the audience asked for another one, to which Jaskier gladly agreed: he loved to be around people and please their requests.

“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger” he started and almost immediately the room filled with everyone’s voice, singing along with the bard.

“Come quell your daughter’s hunger

To pull on my horn” he winked.

“As it rises in the morn”

Your dress whirled around following your movement as you passed near the men and women sat at the tables. Precisely when you passed near a small group of men, you didn’t fail to notice a lascivious touch on your thigh. You couldn’t stop dancing but the gesture didn’t go unseen by the bard who fought to maintain his calm and instead opted for a smart move, and changed the lyric a little.

“To fuck with a puck

Lest your grandkid be born

if you touch her it’s your loss

cause I’ll cut your hands off hey ho!”

The smile he had on his face didn’t match the killer glare he gave to the men who quickly gulped and looked away, while everyone else burst out laughing.

“The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba

The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba!”

The last verses were accompanied by loud claps and feet tamping on the floor as the ballad ended.

After at least five or six ballads, one after another, you were both exhausted; the dark sky out of the window suggested it was time to end the evening.

As every other time, it was a success. You both bowed humbly and headed out, Geralt quickly followed behind you, drunkenly stumbling out of the door.

“Have you seen their faces Geralt?” you asked, excitement clear in your voice.

The witcher left out what you supposed to be was a happy hum.

“But have you seen the bard? The talent, the singing,” you poked him in the chest “isn’t it Geralt?”

He just grumbled and brought a hand on his head, the migraine was quite strong.

“You see? He agrees”

Geralt took few steps ahead of you and entered in the inn you would stay in for the night. You and Jaskier stood outside for a little while, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“That was a disappointed growl,” you pointed out lifting your eyebrows “and the audience seemed to appreciate my dance even more”

“Yes, someone surely did” his face darkened, his smile dropped and his jaw clenched. He was referring to the man who touched you. Seeing his expression was upsetting but you couldn’t stop the butterflies that appeared in your stomach just at the thought of Jaskier being protective of you.

What are you thinking, come on, you are his friend, he was just acting like a good friend, you thought with a hint of bitterness in your heart.

“Don’t worry Jaskier, it happens… sometimes there are people that can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

You smiled and his demeanor changed almost instantly “Sorry I can’t stand people that lay their dirty hands on you…”

Bye bye heartbeat.

Taking his hands in yours, you gave them a small squeeze “Thank you. Truly.”

“I actually quite like the lyric that way, you should keep it” you joked.

He chuckled “Just for special occasions, like this”

Silence take over, as you just glanced, getting lost into each other’s eyes.

“Uh, we should… get inside” you said after a long pause.

“Oh, uh, yes, totally, yes”

That night you both had a distressed sleep and when you would finally fall asleep, you would start dreaming about each other, just adding more doubts and hopes. Sitting up in his bed, Jaskier faintly shook his head. That was it, he had to talk to you about his feelings even if that would ruin your friendship, he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to take the risk. Little did he know, that you were thinking the same thing.

___________________________________________

At the beginning, it was only little rain, then, in a blink of an eye, it started pouring. The three of you left the city at dawn, you rode through another wood for few hours, midday still hadn’t come when Geralt basically ordered you to stay there. People in the city have warned you there was something lurking in that forest, surely a job for a witcher, who promptly prepared his swords and ventured through the trees. When Geralt left, the sun, which was shining in the clear winter sky, rapidly got covered by cloud decks, but the temperature was still acceptable, so you and Jaskier decided to walk together for a bit. You left Pegasus at the camp with all your bags and went out in the wood: that’s when it started pouring. Obviously, you were already to far away to come back at the camp before getting all your clothes drenched in water.

“We have to find a shelter!”

“Over there! I think a saw something” you pointed through the trees covering your head with your scarf.

When you arrived in the spot you had mentioned, you found a small cave near to some huge fallen rocks.

“Y/n I didn’t know you were an elf, your sight is incredible”

“I’m not the one who has pointy ears” you smirked.

Jaskier’s lips curved in a “o” shape and his eyes widened “I don’t have pointy ears!”

“You sure? I can see them” you couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Oh is that so? Come here you!” he said grabbing you by your waist and lifting you up before taking you into the small cave.

You burst out laughing before you were (reluctantly) released from his grasp and your feet touched the ground again.

Jaskier was now right in front of you, small raindrops were streaming down his handsome face, his blue eyes fixed onto yours. Many times you hoped, you dreamed about that moment, all the words you would have said, how you would have taken each other’s hands in yours, how you could have stopped your heartbeat to hammer in your ribcage, but every plan you made, faded away.

Your hand went to his cheek as Jaskier fought the urge to not melt under your tender touch.

Without a word, Jaskier’s hand went instinctively to cup one side of your face, his thumb rubbed on it gently feeling the raindrops falling down his fingers as he slowly got closer, just like in your dream, but that time he didn’t fade away.

Your eyes closed as your lips melted together in a beautiful, passionate kiss, that kiss you both ardently desired for too much time. Your hands moved from your cheeks and encircled each other’s body in a tight hug as you felt Jaskier’s arm travel behind your head, his fingers through your hair made goosebumps appear on your wet skin.

When you parted, you had the brightest smile drawn on your face, while the bard couldn’t stop looking at you, at your face, at your wet hair, at your soft lips. Words couldn’t describe the blissful feeling of happiness that warmed his heart.

You met by the will of destiny. Destiny brought you together.

But destiny is blind and inscrutable, it likes to play and things sometimes just don’t go as you wished they would.

Part 5

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