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zaczenemiji · 5 months ago

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hiii! req for kenji like imagine reader and ken are dating but he hasnt been able to talk to her alot since of raisng emi and ultraman, so after emi is gone what if he treats her to a little picnic date telling her about what happened and how sorry he is for kinda leaving her out in the blue

From LA, with Love

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 2,656

Genre/Warnings: Long-Distance Relationship

Author's Note: My longest one so far; sometimes I write without brakes 😩

MASTERLIST

"Breaking news from Tokyo: A baseball game at the Tokyo Dome was disrupted tonight by the sudden appearance of a kaiju. Spectators were evacuated, and the city is currently under high alert."

Your heart pounded as the screen switched to footage of the chaos. The camera panned over terrified spectators fleeing the stadium and a massive kaiju rampaging through the city streets.

At the corner of the footage, you spotted familiar landmarks in the background and felt a knot tighten in your stomach. Those looked like the pictures Kenji sent you for updates.

The newscaster continued, "Among the players was rising baseball star Kenji Sato—“

The sound of glass breaking was heard at the mention of his name. Your tea now spilled on the floor, shards of broken glass around it.

Your breath got caught in your throat. Your boyfriend was there, in the middle of the chaos and there was nothing you could do. You were literally 5,000 miles away on the other side of the planet.

You knew you should’ve listened to your gut when it told you to come with Kenji to Japan. If something bad happens to him tonight, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself especially when there was something you could’ve done.

Quickly, you grabbed your phone, trying to call him, but the call went straight to voicemail. Panic surged through you, but you tried to remain as calm as you could.

The news feed cut to shaky footage that showed Kenji at bat with the crowd cheering, but suddenly, screams filled the air as the kaiju appeared overhead. The camera focused on Kenji, his face a mix of determination and fear before he disappeared from view in the ensuing chaos.

That was all the media said that night. It’s not like LA News would take an extra mile for Kenji; so you desperately searched for more information. Unfortunately, updates were sparse.

It was currently 3 AM in LA and your mind raced with worry. Was he safe? Why hadn't he called you?

You didn’t stop looking for information. You’ve checked the whole internet, called hotlines you thought could give you an update, and stayed up til sunrise.

Suddenly, your phone beeped and you have never been this fast on grabbing it. It was a text message from Kenji, "I'm okay. Can't talk now. Please don't worry. I love you.”

You held your phone close to your chest, a temporary relief washing over. You clung to those words but uncertainty still gnawed in you. You had so many questions and no answers.

Little did you know, Kenji was not just caught in the chaos; he was fighting it as Ultraman, a secret he was yet to reveal. The only reason he told you he was going back to Japan was that he wanted to play for the Giants, his favorite team as a child.

It was a random day that he told you he wanted to go back to Japan, and immediately at that. At first, you were hurt, thinking about how it seemed so easy to leave you in LA when you had loose ends you needed to tie first.

Your job demanded your attention. You were in the middle of wrapping up a significant project that required your presence. Your boss was understanding but insisted you complete the handover to your replacement to ensure a smooth transition.

Then your apartment lease was coming to an end. You needed to sort through your belongings, decide what to keep, sell, or store, and handle the logistics of moving out. This was time-consuming, and you had to coordinate with movers and real estate agents.

Lastly, your family. You were born here in LA and only went out of the country for vacations. But with how Kenji decided to stay in Japan for good, you wanted to follow. You couldn't leave without ensuring your parents and siblings were taken care of and comfortable.

Communication with Kenji became difficult in the weeks that followed after the Tokyo Dome incident.

It was a late evening in LA and an afternoon in Japan. You sat by your laptop, staring at the screen, waiting for Kenji's call. The clock ticked past the scheduled time, and your heart sank with each passing minute.

Finally, your phone buzzed with a message, "I'm so sorry, I can't make the call today. Something urgent came up. I'll explain later."

You sighed, typing back a quick reply, "I understand. Stay safe. I miss you." But he never got a chance to explain anything.

Recently, some things urgent have always arisen around Kenji. It wasn't the first time a call had been missed, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You were left with nothing but to watch his games and interviews on TV. However, he didn’t seem like himself in all of them. LA’s pride, the Kenji Sato, seemed like a rookie in the Japanese stadium.

His games were all chaotic with some of them ending in fist fights. When the camera focuses on him, you see nothing but an exhausted man. You never saw him like that before which made you worry what the heck is going on over there.

You clearly had no idea, at all, about what was happening to him. The last time you had a call, the connection was poor, and his voice kept cutting out.

"...so much going on here... trying… keep everyone safe..."

"Kenji, I can barely hear you. Can you repeat that?"

“...wish I could talk longer... love you...”

The call dropped before she could respond, leaving her staring at the screen, feeling more alone than ever.

All of these: being kept in the dark, zero communication, and the constant worry were making you rush the things you needed to wrap up before heading to Japan.

There was a time, you told him that you were thinking of coming to Japan first to help him with whatever he was going through, and just be back to LA afterward to take care of the things you left.

But it’s complicated, he said, with things happening that could put you in danger—more than the kaiju attacks, and that it’s better to stay in LA for now. You knew there was something he wasn’t telling you and it scared you.

Kenji promised to explain everything when the time was right. He told him he loves you more than anything and that he’s doing this to protect you.

You didn’t understand anything but you trusted him, waited for him, and been patient with him.

Soon after, it started to seem like things were getting better for Kenji. The Giants were now back on their track and Kenji was back to his usual self, if not better. Communication has been re-established and not a day went by that he didn’t call you.

Before you knew it, the last of your loose ends had been tied and you were finally ready to fly to Japan. You received a message from Kenji, “Things are calmer now. I miss you. Can't wait to see you."

Your heart ached with longing. You had worked tirelessly to clear your schedule and now was finally the moment. You had your flight booked, bags packed, and said goodbye to friends and family.

At the airport, you paused before boarding, sending one last message to Kenji, "On my way. See you soon."

As the plane took off, you stared out the window, the city lights of Los Angeles fading into the distance. The hardest part was over. You were finally on your way to Japan to finally understand everything that had kept you apart, and to be there for Kenji in ways you couldn't before.

The bustling Tokyo airport was filled with the sounds of announcements, the rolling of luggage, and the chatter of travelers. Kenji stood near the arrival gate, his heart racing with anticipation.

He clutched a bouquet of your favorite flowers, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. After months of limited communication and the constant weight of his responsibilities as Ultraman, he was finally going to see you.

He scanned the crowd, searching for your familiar face among the sea of strangers. His phone buzzed with a message, and he quickly checked it, “Just landed. Can't wait to see you."

Kenji's heart skipped a beat. Moments later, he spotted you emerging from the gate, eyes darting around, searching for him. Your eyes met, and you broke into a wide smile, your pace quickening as you rushed toward him.

He closed the distance, pulling you into a tight embrace as soon as you reached him. The bouquet was momentarily forgotten, dropped to the floor as he held you close, feeling the warmth and reality of your presence.

"I've missed you so much," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"I've missed you too," Kenji replied, his voice thick with relief and love. "I'm so glad you're here."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mixture of happiness and concern, "What's been going on?"

Kenji sighed, feeling the weight of the past few months. "There's so much to tell you,” he replied. “But let's get out of here first. I want to take you somewhere we can talk."

He picked up the forgotten bouquet, handing it to you with a sheepish smile, "These are for you."

You took the flowers, your smile widening, “Thank you, Kenji. They're beautiful."

All exhaustion from your 11-hour flight was wiped away at this moment. You were thankful for the naps you took on the plane because you didn’t want to pass out at the moment of your reunion.

The two of you then made your way out of the airport, the chaos and noise gradually fading as you stepped into the relative calm of the parking lot. Kenji led you to his car, loading your luggage into the trunk before opening the passenger door for you.

As Kenji drove through the city, you took in the sights. You’ve never been to Japan before, your excitement mingled with curiosity. "So, where are we going?" You asked.

Kenji glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "I thought we'd go to a park nearby,” he answered. “It's a quiet place where we can sit and talk."

You nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I've been so worried about you,” you said. “I can't wait to hear everything."

You arrived at the park just as the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape. Kenji found a secluded spot under a large oak tree, spreading out a blanket and setting up the picnic he had prepared.

You sat down together, the peaceful surroundings providing a stark contrast to the turmoil of recent months. Kenji took your hands in his, looking into your eyes.

"I'm sorry for everything," he began. "For not telling you sooner, for the missed calls and the worry. There's something I need to explain."

You looked at him with eyes full of concern and love. "I'm here now, Kenji,” you said. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it together."

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other” he started. “I've been dealing with something big, something I couldn't tell you about over the phone."

You watched him intently, grip tightening on his hands, “What is it?"

Kenji sighed, feeling the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "You remember the day of the game when Gigantron attacked?” He asked. “That wasn't the first time something like that happened. And I've been involved in every one of those incidents."

Your eyes widened in shock, but you didn't interrupt, letting him continue. "I'm Ultraman," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been fighting kaijus to protect the city. And recently, I found myself responsible for raising a baby kaiju who needed my help” he continued. “I couldn’t risk telling anyone, and I didn't know how to tell you."

You sat in stunned silence for a moment, processing everything. "You've been fighting monsters and raising a kaiju baby?” You asked. “Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped."

"I didn't want to drag you into the danger," he said, his voice filled with regret. "But I realize now that keeping you in the dark only made things worse. I'm so sorry for shutting you out."

You looked at him, your eyes softening. "I wish you had told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't,” you replied. “I just want to be there for you, Kenji. We’ll face anything together."

Kenji felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you for understanding,” he said. “I promise, no more secrets and I don’t want to be far away from you anymore."

You held your arms out and gestured for him to hug you. He rested his head on your chest, his safe place. Oh, how he longed for it in the last months when he needed it most.

You could feel his tensed muscles relax at your touch. You peppered his forehead with kisses as you ran your hand lovingly across his hair.

He craved your touches the most and now that he’s in between your arms, it felt as if a heavy weight was taken off his shoulders.

He had so much more to tell but he decided that they were stories for the coming days. There’s no need to rush; after all, you’re here now.

Getting back to his agenda for today, Kenji slowly leaned back. "I hope you're hungry," he said with a grin, placing a small bouquet of wildflowers in the center of the blanket.

On the blanket were an assortment of your favorite foods: sushi, fresh fruit, and homemade mochi. You looked at the spread with delight. "This looks amazing, Kenji,” you said. “You've really outdone yourself."

"I wanted it to be special," he replied. "You deserve the best."

The two of you began to eat, savoring the food and each other's company. Kenji watched you with a soft smile as you tried a piece of sushi. "I remember you loved this one," he said, pointing to a beautifully crafted roll.

Your cheeks slightly flushed from happiness, "This is why I love you!"

As you ate, Kenji told you about the peaceful moments he found in the chaos. He would ask Mina to flash pictures of the two of you together and it would instantly calm him. Even Emi was calmed by it.

You sat in front of Kenji, back pressed against his chest and you between his legs. You held the box of sushis in your hand. From time to time, you’d turn slightly to look up and feed him.

At times, he’d lay his head on your lap, looking up at you, admiring the face he loves. You’d put your hand on his hair, gently stroking it as he tells you all about Emi.

He told you someday he’d take you to meet Emi; he’s sure she would love you. But for now, he just wanted to spend time with you. He felt bad for having neglected you these past months.

After you finished eating, the two of you lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the sky. It was already nighttime by then and the two of you didn’t even notice the time that passed.

Above you, the stars began to twinkle. Kenji pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you rested your head on his bicep. The world around you faded into the background.

"I love you," he whispered, the words carrying all the emotions he had held back.

"I love you too, Kenji," you replied, your voice equally soft. It felt so surreal to hear it in person after months of only hearing it on calls. “More than you'll ever know."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @themourningfox

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman: rising #ultraman #fanfiction #oneshot #long distance relationship #ldr

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dianawinchester03 · 9 days ago

Text

Season 2, Episode 20 - What Is And What Should Never Be (Part Two)

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: Part Two!!! If you haven’t read part one yet, go here. You’ll need to read it to understand this and the series. Hope everyone likes!❤️

_______________________________________________

Y/N had gone to work and Dean was lounging in their living room, finishing off Y/N’s beer as he flipped through channels on the TV set. Dean let out a content, “Ahhh” as he clicked the remote, landing on a news station. “And today marks the anniversary of the crash of United Britannia Flight 424” The newscaster said.

Dean’s heart dropped, his eyes widening as he leaned forward, instantly recognizing the flight by name. “Indianapolis residents held a candlelight vigil in memory of the victims” Dean could feel his fear growing, “No no no. We stopped that crash” His mind going back to that day they had to exorcise a demon on a plane.

Dean was now in front of Y/N’s laptop, running his hand over his face as he stared, eyewide at the headline on the article. ‘Flight 424 Crashes. 108 dead’ the headline read. He began skimming the internet for all their previous hunts within the past two years, the words ‘nine children comatose’, ‘parents mutilated’, ‘girl drowns in hotel pool’ rang through his head.

Dean felt sick to his stomach as he read about all the people they saved over the years were now gone, as if all what they did was for nothing. This reality was too much for him, he desperately wanted a normal life but seeing this…it didn't sit right with him.

At the corner of his eye, Dean saw the figure of a woman drift in the hallway. His eyes snapped up to see no one there, he knew it couldn't be Y/N. He knows her figure like the back of his hand, so immediately he got up and rushed into the room. The seemingly empty room.

Dean heard something move in the closet, his head snapping in the direction. He attempted to reach for his gun he keeps in the back of his jeans, only to pat air. Forgetting that he's a civilian and not a hunter. The instinct came naturally. Dean then swiftly opened the door to see the skeletal remains of a man and a woman, hanging by their wrists from the ceiling.

Dean stared at it in shock and fear, before he could do anything, he sensed a presence behind him. He quickly turned around to see the young girl he saw outside the college and in the restaurant, a bleeding wound was prominent on her forehead. Her spirit then diminished out of sight. Leaving Dean stunned.

He spun around to see the skeletal remains he saw just a few seconds ago were now gone. "What the…" Dean muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around the room where the skeletons had been not a moment ago. "What the hell is going on?" He repeated to himself, trying to make sense of everything he had just witnessed.

Frustration boiled within him as he ran a hand through his messy hair, feeling utterly helpless. He took a deep, shaky breath before quickly exiting the room. "Screw it. I need a drink" Dean mumbled, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

____________________________________________

Thunder was rolling as lightning filled the dark sky where Dean stood in the cemetery. He looked down at the headstone that read ‘John Winchester’ with anger, sorrow, pity and a bit of hatred. “All of them. Everyone that you and F/N saved. Everyone that Sammy, Y/N/N and I saved. They're all dead”

The anger in his voice was palpable, as he looked down at the grave with clenched fists. "Everyone!" he repeated, his voice hoarse with emotion. The rain that fell from the sky did little to soothe his anger as he continued to glare at the headstone.

For a moment, he was silent, the only sound being the pattering of rain on his jacket and the distant rumble of thunder. Then he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And there’s this girl that's haunting me. I don’t know why. Y/N can’t even feel her, I mean, how can she not see her? The chick feels everything, it's annoying sometimes!”

He sighed frustrated, leaning against a neighboring headstone, not even caring if he got mud on himself. "I don’t know why. I don’t know what the connection is." he muttered, raising the bottle of whiskey to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he welcomed the sensation.

It was a distraction for the moment, a way to numb the pain and anger that churned within him. But as the liquid coursed through his veins, it also made his head feel fuzzy and he soon found himself slumping against the headstone, his eyes growing heavy.

He knew he should probably get up and get out of here, but the weight of everything seemed too heavy, too much to bear. He sighed and took another swig of whiskey, hoping that it would bring him closer to unconsciousness.

“Its like my old life is coming after me or something, you know? Like it doesn’t want me to be happy” Dean rambled in frustration before glaring at his fathers headstone. “Of course, I know what you and f/n say. Well…not the two of you that played softball, but…” Dean’s throat constricted as he held back tears.

“You guys would say, ‘Go hunt the djinn. Hey, it put you here, it could put you back’” Dean said bitterly. “‘Your happiness for all those people’s lives. No contest right?’” Dean further quoted his father and F/N. Dean took a shaky breath, his vision growing hazy as the alcohol continued to take its toll on him.

He knew he was rambling, but the words just kept pouring out of him, fueled by the mixture of anger, sadness and confusion. "I just... I just don’t get it" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?!” Dean exclaimed, his heart clenching as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“What about us, huh?! What? Mom’s not supposed to live her life. Me and Sammy aren’t supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?! It’s-” The words died in his throat again, so he brought the bottle to his lips.

The whiskey burned as it traveled down his throat, but he didn't care. The pain from the burn dulled the emotional pain that threatened to consume him. He slouched further down against the headstone, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand.

His gaze fell on his father's grave again, his eyes narrowing faintly. "Why can’t I just have a normal life? Why does it always to come back to this?" he let out a bitter laugh, "It’s like I’m cursed or something" He took another swig from the bottle, his grip loosening as the alcohol took effect.

Dean let out a deep breath, feeling the world spin slightly as he attempted to push himself up. His legs felt weak and shaky, but he managed to stand. "Yeah." He muttered, stumbling forward a few steps. He didn’t even look back as he made his way out of the cemetery and towards his car.

Dean woke up the next morning in bed, his head was still fuzzy, a nauseous feeling in his stomach. He groaned, his hand moving to cover his eyes as he slowly sat up, blinking groggily to adjust to the light in the room. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache that had taken up residence in his head.

His eyes glanced over to see the time on the clock, 6:30 a.m.

He heard the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom and saw a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol was placed neatly on the nightstand. Dean grimaced slightly as he reached for the Tylenol and popped a few pills into his mouth before washing them down with the water.

The coolness of the liquid helped to soothe his raw throat, and he exhaled heavily. He heard footsteps approaching from the bathroom, but before he could turn to look, Y/N swung the door open, a slight frown on her face.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, "Hey." she said, her voice gentle but with a hint of concern. Dean looked up at her, guilt hitting him as he saw the look on her face. He knew by the look on her face that this wasn’t the first time he came home late and drunk, he could see the disappointment in her eyes.

But that wasn’t it, she was nervous. Y/N moved over to the bed and sat down beside him, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Her thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of his hand, trying to offer comfort despite the obvious worry she was feeling.

"You okay?" She asked softly, studying his face intently. He nodded slowly, looking down at their clasped hands. He squeezed her hand gently, meeting her gaze. "Yeah, I’m fine," he mumbled. A lie. “I-“ Y/N tried to tell him what she just found out while she was in the bathroom but her tone was shaky.

Seeing the hesitance on Y/N's face, Dean's heart dropped. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, concern etching his features. He squeezed her hand again, silently encouraging her to speak. Y/N took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once again. Her free hand was buried in her robe pocket, clutching the positive pregnancy test in her hand.

“I know we talked about it before… we spoke about doing it after our wedding. I’m ready to do this and I know you are too but-“ She sighed before slowly retracting it from her pocket, placing it into Dean’s hand. Dean's eyes widened as he stared down at the pregnancy test in his hand, his heart skipping a beat when he saw those two pink lines.

His hand trembled slightly as he held it, his mind spinning with a mixture of shock, joy, and trepidation. He looked back up at Y/N, his gaze intense and full of an array of emotions. "You're... pregnant? We're having a baby?" Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she nodded, “After I left for work last night, the beer made me sick and I puked my life out. My boss sent me home early, then I realized my period was late…really late”

A flood of emotions coursed through Dean like a tidal wave. He gently set the pregnancy test down beside him and brought Y/N into his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"We're gonna have a baby," he repeated, his voice full of awe and love. He pulled back slightly to look at Y/N, his eyes glimmering with happiness. "I can't believe it. This is..." He trailed off, too overwhelmed to find the right words to express his feelings.

This wasn't real. Is what his mind screamed at him.

Y/N was more than pleased with Dean’s reaction to her positive pregnancy test. Clinging to Dean for dear life as she sobbed, “We’re gonna be such bad ass parents” She chuckled through tears. Dean chuckled softly, holding Y/N tighter against him. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent and relishing in the feeling of her in his arms.

"We definitely are," he agreed, his hand stroking her back soothingly. "We'll be the best damn parents our kid could ask for." All while saying this, he knew what had to be done. Desperately trying his hardest not to cry, because this is all he wanted, but he knew he couldn’t have it.

“Do you have to work today?” Dean asked her tenderly as he traced circles on her back. Y/N shook her head, feeling the comforting touch of his fingers tracing her back. "No," she murmured, "I have today off, thankfully." She snuggled closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his warmth.

"Why? What’s up?” She asked curiously, tilting her head up to look at him. "Just asking," he said lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have some stuff I need to take care of today.” He explained. "I’ll be gone for a bit, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?” He placed a kiss on her forehead, attempting to mask his pain with a smile.

Y/N nodded against his chest, feeling a slight sense of unease but not wanting to push the matter. "Okay, baby, I’ll be here," she replied. "Just be careful, alright?" He nodded, pressing another kiss to her temple. "I will," he reassured her.

Reluctantly, he gently eased her off his lap and rose from the bed, grabbing a shirt from the dresser. "I should get going though. I love you, princess." Those words struck Dean to his core. Y/N watched him get dressed, her heart heavy with worry and confusion but she plastered a small smile on her face. "I love you too, charming," she told him.

Once Dean was gone, Y/N sat quietly on the bed, her heart heavy with confusion. It was as if something was off about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She tried to push the thoughts aside, knowing he probably had something important to take care of, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

With a sigh, she laid back on the bed, trying to find comfort in the soft sheets and the familiar scent of the man she loved.

Once out in the garage, Dean leaned against Baby, his shoulders slumping as the weight of what he needed to do hit him all at once. With a sigh, he got in his car and started the engine, the only thing on his mind was the decision he had to make.

____________________________________________

Sam jolted awake in his bed to the sound of the door opening downstairs, it was way early in the morning, he instantly clutched the baseball bat he had under his bed. Gently padding over to the door.

Sam slowly opened the door, his grip on the baseball bat tightening as he strained his ears to listen for any sounds. Hearing the faint sound of movement downstairs, he cautiously made his way out of the room, keeping the bat raised just in case.

He saw the figure of a man in the dark house rummaging through the China cabinet as he peered from the corner. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the figure in the dark. He stayed hidden behind the corner for a moment, his heart racing as he tried to decide what to do.

He gripped the bat tighter, launching himself at the ‘intruder’. Dean swiftly dodged the attack and tackled Sam to the ground, pinning him down with his body. “That was so easy, I’m embarrassed for you?” Dean quipped. "Dean?" Sam exclaimed, breathing heavily, "What the hell are you doing here?" Shoving his brother off of him to push himself to his feet.

“I was looking for a beer” Dean joked, patting Sam on his shoulder. A wave of nostalgia washed over him at the interaction. “In the China cabinet?” Sam questioned, his brows furrowed as he padded over to the wall to flick the light on. His eyes glanced over to the table to see a box of their mom’s expensive knives.

“That’s mom’s silver” Sam pointed out, “Sam-” Dean sighed but his brother cut him off. “Wait, you broke into the house to steal Mom’s silver?!” Sam lowly exclaimed. “It's not what it looks like, okay? I didn't have a choice” Dean tried to defend. “Oh really? What's so fucking important that you gotta steal from your own mother?”

Dean grimaced, raking his fingers roughly through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "You want the truth?" He grumbled. The disappointment in Sam's voice was evident, and it cut deep. But he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. At least not yet. "Yeah. Yeah I do," Sam urged him as he nodded, Dean sighed before coming up with a shitty excuse.

“I owe somebody money.” Sam rolled his eyes. Typical Dean, he thought to himself. “Who?” He asked. “A bookie. I lost big on a game. I gotta bring him the cash tonight” Dean lied. “I can’t believe we’re even related” Sam mumbled, shaking his head. Dean’s face dropped, his heart aching in his chest.

“Sam, I’m sorry” Dean apologized sincerely, “Yeah” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that we don't get along. I’m sorry that you and y/n/n aren’t friends anymore because of me. And I wish to hell that I could stay and fix it, fix everything.” His voice cracked. “I wish I could stay and be a father….but I gotta do this” Dean said, his voice filled with determination.

“People’s lives depend on it” Dean sighed heavily before picking up one of the silver knives from the red box. “What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked lowly, confusion clear in his tone. “Nothing. Forget it. Just…uh…” Dean said as he turned back to his brother. “Hey. Tell Mom I love her. And tell my princess that I’m so sorry” Dean said with a sad smile.

Sam's confusion turned to alarm as he watched Dean pick up the knife. "Dean, what-?" he started to say, but before he could finish his thought, he saw Dean's sad smile and his stomach dropped. Dean turned on his heels to walk out of the room. “Dean” Sam tried to stop his brother from leaving.

“I’ll see you, Sammy” Dean said tenderly, pulling the door open. He gave the house one last sorrow filled and painstaking look. Then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Sam stared down the shut door for a few seconds, his mind spiraling. “What the hell, Dean?” He muttered to himself.

He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut as his worries about Dean only increased. Sam was left standing in the doorway, his heart heavy and his mind racing. He couldn't understand what had just happened. Why had Dean been acting so strangely? Why had he stolen the silver, and why had he talked about people's lives depending on it?

Sam's mind raced through possibilities and worst-case scenarios, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it. Immediately, Sam fished his phone out of his pocket to call the one person he knew would get through to Dean.

Dialing Y/N’s number, he waited anxiously for her to answer. The seconds felt like hours as he held his breath, silently praying for her to pick up the call. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her voice came through the speaker. “Hello?”

"Y/N," Sam blurted out, his voice filled with urgency. "Something's up with Dean" he told her, pacing around the room in agitation. There was a beat of shocked silence on the other end before Y/N spoke, her concern evident in her voice. "I knew it” She grumbled, gripping her steering wheel.

After Dean left the house when she broke the news of her pregnancy, Y/N didn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong as much as she wanted to. So after over an hour of it nagging her, she hopped into her truck and went all over town looking for him.

“Is he still at the house?” Y/N asked Sam quickly. "Uhhh…" Sam hummed as he peeled back the curtain. The Impala was still outside with Dean sitting in the driver’s side, seemingly lost in thought. “He’s still outside” Sam answered, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

"But he was acting strange. He said something about owing money to a bookie and people's lives depending on it. I don't know what to make of it, Y/N" There was a short pause on the other end as Y/N absorbed this information. "That doesn't sound right at all,” she said, her voice filled with worry.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam agreed, his anxiety growing by the minute. "And then… he told me to tell you and mom that he's sorry and that he loves you" he relayed, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Y/N's heart sank at the mention of Dean's message, a knot forming in her throat. There was an undeniable feeling of dread in her gut.

Sam looked back out the window, his eyes falling on Dean who hadn’t shifted from his spot since earlier.

Her mind was racing, wondering if this was because of her unexpected pregnancy. So she tried her best to formulate a plan, even in this stressful time. “Okay, listen to me very clearly, Samuel. You go outside and keep him there for as long as possible. I’m on my way” Y/N instructed him sternly.

"Got it. I’ll keep him there," Sam assured her, his tone set with determination. “I’ll even pretend to be mad or something.” Y/N’s instructions were clear and concise, giving Sam a sense of purpose and a small hint of optimism, which he desperately needed at this moment.

Meanwhile, Dean was sitting in the Impala, lost in thought for God knows how long when suddenly his passenger side. Sam plopped into the front seat with a heavy sigh, causing Dean’s head to snap in his direction. “Get out the car,” Dean exclaimed sternly. “I’m going with you.” Sam insisted.

“You're just gonna slow me down." Dean growled. “Tough!” Sam sassed. "This is dangerous and you could get hurt!" Dean shouted. “Yeah. And so could you, Dean!” Sam shouted back. Dean was still trying to find a comeback when they suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires.

Their heads whipped around to see Y/N's truck coming to a stop a few yards back from the Impala. Y/N quickly jumped out and sprinted over to them. "What's going on?" Y/N asked breathlessly as she yanked the backdoor open, her wide eyes fixing on Dean with concern.

Dean was taken aback by her sudden appearance, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt seeing her there. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered, struggling against his own desire to reach out and hold her close.

"I don’t care. Sam told me everything. Whatever stupid thing you’re about to do, you’re not doing it alone. And that’s that," Y/N asserted firmly. Sam exchanged a knowing glance with her, silently impressed by her determination. Dean’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a mix of annoyance and affection.

He knew better than to argue with her once she had her mind set on something. Whether this was really her or not, he’s pretty sure every version of her would fight his stubbornness if she needed to.

His eyes glanced between Sam and Y/N with shock, he could understand why she would be so stubborn, but not Sam. If they weren’t close here, if Dean was so horrible that Sam wanted nothing to do with him, why would Sam stick his neck out for him?

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” Dean asked Sam in confusion. He sighed deeply, tearing his eyes away to face the windshield. “Because you’re still my brother,” Sam muttered. A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she placed a hand on her stomach.

The two words stung Dean, cutting deep into his heart. ‘Still my brother.' His eyes glanced down to Y/N's stomach as she subconsciously placed her hand on it. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, knowing that he would never get to experience that with her.

"Bitch." he smirked at the two, Sam’s brows furrowed in offense as Y/N smiled. “What are you calling me a bitch for?” Sam stuttered, Y/N let out a snort of amusement. “You’re supposed to say, ‘jerk’” Sam’s brows furrowed again. "What?” Sam muttered under his breath as Y/N snickered, Dean rolled his eyes before putting the Impala in drive.

“Nevermind” He huffed. Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder from the backseat, “Asshat” She shot at with a grin. Dean chuckled under his breath in amusement, his chest swelling with the familiarity, “Nutcase”

____________________________________________

Y/N was half asleep in the backseat, her hand resting right over her stomach, lazily tracing circles around the navel through her shirt. She tried to focus on getting a somewhat proper rest having been on the road for more than 12 hours. The hum of Baby’s engine was the only sound that echoed through their ears.

Dean’s eyes landed on Y/N through the rearview mirror, the painful ache in his chest resurfaced as he watched Y/N trace her navel, gently caressing her own stomach, almost as if she was comforting their unborn child before it was even in this world yet.

He wanted so badly to just reach over and do the same, he always knew she’d make a great mother, even if y/n wouldn’t admit it to herself. But he had to pull himself away from that nagging feeling. The voice at the back of his head that was begging him to be selfish for once. He had to focus. He had a mission.

“What’s in the bag?” Sam broke the silence, pointing to the brown paper bag laying next to Dean. Y/N cracked open one of her eyes, “Nothing” Dean huffed, focusing his gaze on the empty dark road. “Nothing?” Sam sassed, “Yeah, nothing” Dean snapped back. “Just open the damn bag, I don’t wanna hear any bickering” Y/N grumbled in annoyance.

Sam scoffed before picking up the back. “Fine” He said, “Fine” Y/N mocked back, earning a glare from him. “You don’t wanna do that” Dean snorted. “Oh, really?” Sam sassed again as he reached into the bag, pulling out a container of lamb’s blood. Y/N gasped theratically as Sam did this, his own eyes widening with shock.

“What the fuck is that?!” Y/N exclaimed, pushing herself up in the backseat. “Blood” Dean shrugged, both Sam and Y/N’s eyes twitched at him. “Yeah, we can see that it’s blood, Dean! What the hell is it doing here?!” Sam shouted. Dean’s smirk widened, “You guys really don’t wanna know” He snorted.

“No, we really do wanna know! We really really do wanna know!” Y/N yelled, crossing her arms over her chest. Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, y’all are gonna find out sooner or later” He sighed, “I needed a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood” Dean explained casually.

The car fell silent, he craned his head to see Sam and Y/N staring back at him with wide eyes, jaws practically touching the floorboards. Dean had to hold back himself from laughing at their faces, the look they had was hysterical.

“You needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why!?” Sam exclaimed. “Because there’s this creature, a djinn, and I have to hunt it” Dean stated. Sam and Y/N’s faces dropped, “I let an insane man impregnate me” Y/N muttered to herself, her voice going up and octave as she threw herself back into the seat, looking around in disbelief.

“Okay…stop the car..” Sam began calmly, “I know how it sounds” Dean shot back. “Great. Just….stop the car” Sam tried again, y/n was still staring out the car in disbelief, her jaw hanging. “It’s the truth, guys. There are things out there in the dark. There are bad things. There are nightmare things” Dean insisted, Y/N’s eyes snapped over to him as he continued.

“People have to be saved, if we don’t save them, then nobody will,” Dean said determinedly. Sam and Y/N could feel their heads spinning, trying to make sense of what Dean was saying while still trying to process his previous statement about the silver knife. "You're telling us there's some monster out there you want to hunt?" Y/N asked disbelievingly. "Yeah" Dean said as if it was obvious.

"And you need a silver knife dipped in blood to do it?" She continued, her eyes never leaving his. "Uh-huh" Dean confirmed nonchalantly, his focus still on the road. Sam and Y/N shared a disheveled look. She decided she had had enough, pushing herself over from the backseat and into the middle of the two Winchester boys as Dean drove.

“You’ve gotta be losing it,” Y/N declared, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “And you can’t just go and hunt some ‘djinn’ that supposedly exists, you have no business getting yourself tangled up in something crazy like that!” She cried.

Dean shot her a quick side glance before returning his focus back on the road, “It’s not a ‘supposedly’ thing. These things are real” He stated matter-of-factly. Y/N shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide, “You’re insane” she muttered.

“Look, man, we wanna help you, alright. We really do but you’re having some kind of psychotic breakdown so…” Sam chimed in, attempting to fish his phone out of his pocket. “I wish” Dean muttered. “Baby…” Y/N said to him tenderly. Dean’s hands tightened around the steering wheel at the soft tone, the nickname making his chest ache with yearning.

He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. “Save the pet names…you don’t mean it like that” he huffed under his breath, opening his eyes as Sam dialed a number on his phone. Y/N physically flinched at his harsh tone as he rolled down the window and snatched Sam’s phone out of his hand before tossing it out of the window.

“What the fuck was that, Dean?! That was my phone!!” Sam exclaimed, whipping his head around in shock. Y/N’s mouth dropped, “You just threw his fucking phone out of the window!” She gasped. Dean ignored them both, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, “I’m not going to a rubber room Sammy and y/n/n, and we got work to do” Dean said calmly.

“We were just trying to help you out, Dean!” Sam shouted. “We don’t want you to get hurt!” Y/N added, tears brimming in her eyes. That made Dean know for sure this wasn’t his girl, because as much as she was a crybaby for sad movies and cute animal videos, she wasn’t so easy to break. “What, you two protect me?” Dean snorted in amusement.

“Yeah!” Sam and Y/N exclaimed in unison. “Oh, that’s hilarious” Dean chuckled sarcastically, turning back to face the road. “Why don’t you twojust sit tight and try not to get us all killed?” Dean demanded before turning on the radio. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Saturday Night Special’ began booming through the Impala’s deck again.

Sam and Y/N sat back in their seats, speechless after being chewed out by Dean. They exchanged a look before facing the windshield again, both of their minds swirling with thoughts as Dean’s music blared through the stereo. Y/N’s hands slid down to her stomach, gently caressing the skin where their unborn child was growing inside of her.

____________________________________________

The Impala pulled up to the familiar warehouse, Sam was passed out in the backseat, snoring rather heavily. After almost accidentally punching Y/N in his sleep, once again, she shunned Sam to the backseat, leaving an unconscious Y/N in the front seat. Her head was nestled in Dean’s lap, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow.

Dean’s hand moved down to Y/N’s hair, his fingers gently stroking the strands. The aching feeling in his chest increased every time he looked down at her sleeping form. His eyes scanned each detail on her face, the curve of her lips, everything.

It has been a long time since he had seen her look so peaceful, she seemed so relaxed and calm as she slept. It was a sharp contrast the way she usually was; stressed, anxious, worried and overthinking about everything.

Dean sighed heavily before fishing his flashlight from his jacket, shining it in both Sam and Y/N’s faces. A wide grin playing on his lips. Sam’s eyebrows crinkled together as the light shined in his face, his eyes fluttering open as he groaned. “Wha—” He muttered, confusion written all over his face. Y/N on the other hand, let out a loud whine.

Twisting in Dean’s lap to face his stomach before shoving her face into his shirt in order to block the bright light. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty and sasquatch” Dean chuckled, shifting in the seat. Sam grumbled incoherently, rubbing the sleep out from his eyes. “Where are we?” He mumbled, still trying to wake himself up.

Y/N remained pressed against Dean’s stomach, trying to fall back into her semi-comprehensive state of sleep. “Well, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dean replied with a light chuckle. This made Y/N shoot up from her place in his lap. Dean chuckled again at her reaction, a smirk on his face as he turned off the flashlight.

She narrowed her eyes at him before glaring at Sam, who in turn, gave her a small sheepish smile. She huffed in annoyance before looking out the window. Y/N’s eyes flickered over to the warehouse, the air of the cold night wafted through the open windows, Dean’s body heat couldn’t keep her warm anymore. She shivered slightly, bringing her hands up to wrap her arms around herself.

“We’re in Illinois” Dean answered Sam’s previous question. “And you think something’s there?” Y/N’s voice was thick with sleep as she asked. “I know it is” Dean said firmly, his eyes narrowed at the building with determination. Sam and Y/N exchanged a nervous look before turning back to him.

The trio all held their own flashlights up, the abandoned warehouse/ruins Dean remembered he was attacked by the Djinn was exactly the way it was. Thunder clapped outside, bellowing through the dark hall as lightning filled the sky.

Dean led the way, his footsteps echoed through the abandoned hallway as they walked. Y/N stuck by his side while Sam followed behind them. She was starting to get a bad feeling, the warehouse was dark, cold and damp. So instinctively, she reached for her fiancé’s hand, interlocking their fingers together.

“See? There’s nothing here, Dean” Sam insisted. “Look, our parents are gonna be worried sick about us, babe. Come on, let’s just go” Y/N pleaded with Dean. Dean gritted his teeth, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightened slightly. “Shh” he hissed. Sam and Y/N exchanged another nervous look, stopping in their tracks when they heard the sounds of a girl crying. “What the fuck is that?” Sam gasped.

“Both of you, stay behind me and keep your mouths shut” Dean instructed them, his voice laced with authority as he let go of Y/N’s hand, using his body to cover her. His free hand instinctively went to shield her belly. They both nodded, falling behind him as he moved forward. The crying got louder with every step they took.

Sam and Y/N’s eyes went as wide as saucers when their eyes landed on the decomposing corpses of a man and a woman. The same ones Dean saw back at his ‘house’. Y/N brought a hand to her mouth, a sick churning in her stomach at the sight of the dead bodies. The urge to puke was poking at her as Dean kept his face stoic, the confirmation that none of this was real was creeping up on him and it devastated him.

“What the fuck?” Sam gasped again, swallowing thickly as Dean’s eyes flicked over to a young girl who was tied up by her wrists. She had a large gash in her throat, her skin looked dirty, as though she hadn’t bathed in months. But she still looked somewhat alive, his eyes piercing into Dean’s.

It was the girl that was haunting him. Dean moved closer to the girl as Y/N reached over to grip Sam’s shoulder, trying to hold up her balance. The urge to puke was growing stronger. “Dean, wait…” Y/N mumbled, her words almost incoherent with the bile threatening to rise up her throat. He didn’t listen, only moved forward.

The girl was staring back at him, her eyes bloodshot and dark. “Dean, don’t” Sam spoke up, watching the scene unfold. But Dean still didn’t listen, he went straight up to the girl, crouching down to her. She tilted her head to the side, as if to study him. “It’s her,” Dean gasped as the realization hit him.

It confused them how Dean knew this girl, but they still felt the need to help her. For Y/N, seeing the young girl in such a state brought out the maternal instincts she never knew she had. “Dean, what’s going on?” She asked urgently, attempting to reach over to untie the girl, along with Sam. But Dean stopped them, “Shhh” He hushed them when he heard footsteps.

Quickly and quietly, they all hid behind a large tank as the Djinn entered the room. The young girl was shaking as the heavily tattooed creature padded over to her, “Where’s my dad? I don’t know.” The young girl sobbed, her voice absolutely desperate and broke. The Djinn didn’t answer, he just inched towards the girl whose feet were hanging slightly off the ground.

“No. Don’t. No. Where’s my dad?” She pleaded weakly as she tried to shuffle away but it was no use. The djinn brought his hand up to her face, placing his fingertips to the sobbing girl’s face, “Sleep” He said, his fingers lighting a small glow of white before fully expanding into a large dark blue light. The girl shivered in his touch, “Sleep…” He said again, caressing her cheek.

The girl soon fell unconscious as the Djinn placed a sickening kiss on her cheek before unhooking the saline bag that was hanging on an IV stand. He then brought the bloodied thin clear hose to his mouth, ingesting her blood.

Y/N felt sick to her stomach, her throat closing up at the scene unfolding in front of her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, it was like she was completely frozen, not able to move or break her view from the girl.

Sam wasn’t faring much better, a visible shiver shot through him at the sight. His head felt like it was spinning when the djinn started feeding off the girl, his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly parted.

Dean, on the other hand, had never felt so angry. His body was tense and his jaw clenched.

Y/N couldn’t hold it back anymore, the bile in her throat built up and she immediately let chunks blew all over Sam’s shoes, causing the younger Winchester to gag in disgust as both the scene unfolding and the sight of the djinn drinking the girl’s blood.

“Agh, Jesus!” Sam hissed, lowly. But it seemed like the djinn didn’t notice, it’s back was turned and it was still in the middle of feeding. But Dean caught the sound of Sam’s gag and Y/N’s heaving, he shot the pair a glare and held his finger up to his lips, signaling them to stay quiet.

The djinn finally finished feeding, letting out a satisfied moan as it pulled the hose out of its mouth. A chilling smile crept across its lips as it left the room. “This is real? You’re not crazy?” Y/N began to hyperventilate along with Sam as she wiped her mouth, buckling over as a pain struck at her stomach.

“She didn’t know where she was. She thought she was with her father” Dean muttered, the wheels turning in his head. The boys then stepped out from behind the tank, moving closer to the girl. Sam held up a weak Y/N, his arm draping around her midsection as Dean clenched his fists.

“What if that’s what the Djinn does? It doesn’t grant you a wish. I just- it makes you think you has” Dean swallowed harshly. He was hoping that somehow, someway, it could’ve just been a super fucked up wish. And he could’ve fixed his relationships with his family. Finally get on F/N’s good side. Be a better brother, be a better fiancé….be a better father.

“Look man, that thing can come back, alright? And we need to get Y/N to a hospital, she’s weak” Sam pleaded with Dean as Y/N’s head tumbled on his shoulder. But Dean didn’t hear him, all he heard was a ringing in his ears, his head snapping to the other side of the room where a light shone over head.

Dean slowly stepped closer to the light, flashes of his own body hanging from a ceiling filled his vision. Causing the elder Winchester to choke on his own spit, his throat constricted as air refused to enter his lungs. “Dean, baby. Please” Y/N’s weak voice pleaded with him. “What if I’m like her?” Dean finally let himself say out loud. “What if I’m tied up in here some place? What if all this is in my head?”

Part of him knew, that voice nagging him at the back of his head knew. “I mean, it could, you know…maybe give us some kind of supernatural acid and then just feeds on us slow,” Dean muttered as he studied the girl’s face. Sam’s jaw dropped at Dean’s words, his brain going into overthinking mode, he was about to say something but stopped when he heard a low whimper come from Y/N.

Her head was heavy on his shoulder. “No, Dean, that doesn’t make sense, okay,” Sam gaped. Y/N’s weak eyes flickered to Dean once more, her breath was slightly ragged and labored from when she had puked. “Please” Y/N croaked, clinging onto Sam. Dean turned to face them.

“What if that’s why she keeps appearing to me? She’s not a spirit. It’s like more and more I’m catching reality flashes. You know? like I’m in here somewhere, I’m catatonic. I’m taking all this stuff in but I can’t snap out of it” Dean put the pieces together.

Y/N, weak as she was, peeled herself from Sam and forced herself to walk over to Dean, her legs were shaking and it was hard to keep herself standing upright But she reached out for him, her hand landing on his arm. “Dean” She gasped. “Look, you’re right. We were wrong, you’re not crazy. But please, we need to get out of here. Fast.” She pleaded, her words coming out thick and choked, trying not to puke again.

Y/N ran her hands up the back of his neck but it made Dean feel sick rather than safe. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his jaw before roughly pushing her off. Luckily, Sam caught her before she could hit the ground. Y/N and Sam both went wide-eyed at Dean’s sudden roughness. Y/N’s face crumbled, her expression filled with hurt as her eyes began to water. “Dean?” She whispered, her voice so fragile.

But Dean’s face was hard and emotionless, his eyes darkened as he stared back at her. “What the fuck man?! She’s pregnant!” Sam exclaimed as he carefully helped Y/N back onto her feet, his arms held protectively around her. “I don’t think you’re real” Dean gaped, feeling as though he had been shot in the heart. “I don’t think either of you are real.” Dean shook his head, slowly backing away from them.

Y/N let out a choked sob, her bottom lip quivered, the urge to keep herself together was getting weaker. Her head fell into her hand while Sam looked ready to punch some sense into his brother’s head.

He gritted his teeth before helping Y/N to lean on something before storming over to his brother, shaking his roughly. “Did you feeling that? You feel this? I’m real! Y/N is real and so is your goddamn baby! This is not an acid trip! We’re real and that thing is gonna come down here and kill us for real. Now please” Sam pleaded with Dean, his tone filled with desperation.

Dean’s face remained stoic, “There’s one way to be sure” He clenched his jaw before retracting the silver knife from his jacket pocket. He then raised the knife towards Sam. “Woah, Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Stop!” Sam cried, his hands shot up into the air, as if to surrender. Scuffling over to shield Y/N who was still clutching her stomach, writhing in pain. But Dean didn’t believe it for one second.

“Dean, what are you doing, man? What are you doing?” He pleaded with Dean, his eyes widened in panicked confusion. “It’s an old-wives tale. If you’re about to die in a dream, you wake up” Dean stated. Sam’s face fell, he knew exactly what Dean was going to do. “No, no, no, no. That’s crazy, alright?!” He protested. “Maybe” Dean shrugged.

Y/N’s head perked up, her eyes widened at Dean’s words as she finally understood what he was about to do. “Dean, no, don’t!” She shouted as Sam used his arm to stop her from approaching Dean. “You’re gonna kill yourself- Okay!” Sam exclaimed when he tried to apprehend Dean but he drew the knife on them in a warning manner. “Or I’m gonna wake up” Dean shot back.

“One or the other” Dean breathed heavily. “Look, this isn’t a dream, alright? We’re here, with you, now, and you are about to kill yourself, charming” Y/N pleaded with him, her voice sounding suddenly stronger. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, “No, I’m pretty sure” He growled, “Like….90 percent sure” He blinked before turning the knife on him, ready to stab himself.

“Wait!!” Sam bellowed. Dean’s head snapped over to the side when he saw the figure of two women, one in a white nightgown and the other in a black. Mary Winchester and M/N L/N approached Dean with sweet smiles on their faces. His heart dropped in his chest as he watched from all corners. Jess appeared, then F/N from another corner.

Y/N was suddenly healthy and well again, slowly walking up to Dean. “Why’d you have to keep digging? Why couldn’t you have left well enough alone?” She asked, her voice wasn’t sounding much like her own. “You were happy.” Sam added as Mary and M/N moved and began walking besides Y/N. “Put the knife down, honey” M/N said gently.

“Listen to her, Dean,” Mary added just as tenderly. Dean was frozen in place, his eyes wide, shifting from side to side as the women in this nightmare, his nightmare, advanced towards him. His heart was hammering in his chest, he looked like he was ready to have a panic attack. The knife loosened on his grip as he looked over to Y/N, his eyes wide like a frightened child.

This wasn’t real… this couldn’t be real. It’s not real.

“You’re not real” Dean’s lip trembled, tearing welling up in his eyes to say this to his mother and M/N, subconsciously tightening the knife in his grips. All three women frowned, “None of it is” He spat. His eyes glancing down to Y/N’s stomach, he felt as thought he had been shot, once again.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still better than anything you had” Mary said encouragingly. “What?” Dean gasped. “It’s everything you want. We’re a family again” M/N added, offering Dean a small smile. “Let’s go home,” She urged him. “But I’ll die,” Dean’s voice broke.

“The djinn’ll drain the life outta me in a couple of days” He shook his head, part of him wanted to be selfish and take the offer but his conscience wouldn’t let him. “But I’m here with us, it’ll feel like years…” Y/N chimed in, taking Dean’s hand into hers to place it on her stomach. “…like a lifetime”

Dean’s breath hitched at Y/N’s words. He was torn between selfish temptation and morality, his mind was fighting with itself. The feeling of his child under his hand was so real and it was making him falter.

The tears began to fall down Dean’s pale cheeks, he looked absolutely heartbroken. He didn’t know what to do, the women around him had everything he ever wanted but it wasn’t real. None of it was real. His throat was tight, he could feel the bile rising from his stomach but he tried to hold it in.

Mary brought her hand up to caress Dean’s cheek and M/N took Dean’s free hand in his. “We promise. No more pain or fear.” Mary said sweetly as Dean nuzzled his cheek into her hand and tightened his grip on M/N’s hand. “Just love, comfort and safety” M/N added in an urging tone.

Dean’s eyes reopened, still trained on his palm that was resting on Y/N’s stomach. Both mothers stepped back, allowing Y/N to wrap her arms around Dean, running her fingers through the nape of his neck. “Dean. Stay with us. Let’s go home and get some rest” Y/N pleaded.

Dean’s eyes met with Y/N’s, staring into those gorgeous (e/c) irises that he’ll never get tired of looking into. She looked so beautiful, so healthy. It was too good to be true. The idea of her bearing his child, them being parents together, the idea of her actually loving him back was all too good to be true for Dean. His lip quivered as he reached to cup her cheek, caressing his thumb on her soft skin.

“You don’t have to worry about Sam anymore. You get to watch him live a full life” Jessica chimed in. Dean’s brows creased as his chest ached. Y/N leaned up to capture Dean’s lips into a gentle slow kiss. The kiss was long and tender, it felt so real, and it was making this so much more painful for Dean.

He could feel his heart breaking as tears continued to fall down his face, a strangled gasp escaped from him. But Y/N didn’t let go. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hand remained firm on her stomach. She pulled away for a breath, her bottom lip trembled as she leaned her forehead against his, “We can finally have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, charming” She whispered.

“Please” Y/N pleaded, the look of desperation in her eyes was enough to bring Dean to a puddle, it took all in him not to crack right there and give in. He stubbornly shook his head, “No you don’t….at least, not like that” Dean whispered back, his voice hoarse as he once again denied Y/N’s love for him.

A frown took over Y/N’s beautiful face, her eyes watering up as the words stung her. “Yes, I do” She insisted, her hands moving up to cup his face so he wouldn’t look away, to look her in the eye. “Dean, I do, I love you” Her voice was pleading, she wasn’t lying. The words were written all over her face, her heart was laying bare for him.

This wasn’t real… this couldn’t be real. It’s not real.

It was Sam’s turn, the younger Winchester stepped forward and Y/N released her loose grip on Dean. “Why is it our job to save everyone?” Sam asked in a calm voice. “Haven't we done enough?” He added, the look of despair on his brother’s face was extreme to the point where Sam was willing to do anything to keep Dean here.

“I’m begging you. Give me the knife” Sam begged him. Dean’s eyes trailed the room. They went to F/N, who was yet to say a word, but he had an encouraging look on his face. “Give him the knife, son” He finally said. Dean’s eyes then went to Jessica, before trailing over to Mary, M/N, Sam and finally Y/N. He gave her stomach one last look before leaning down to press a kiss to it.

Y/N’s lip curled into a small sad smile as he pressed a tender kiss to her stomach before drawing back to stare solemnly into her eyes. They were glossy with tears, she didn’t say anything, afraid that her voice would betray her. Dean’s eyes softened slightly as he stared down at the woman he loved.

His throat was as tight as it was before, but it felt more painful now. His heart ached, it hurt to say what he was going to say next. “I’m sorry, princess,” He murmured. With that, Dean reared the knife back before driving it into his stomach. A chorus of cries filled the room. “DEAN!” Sam and Y/N screamed.

Reality, 2007

Joliet, Illinois

“DEAN!” Sam and Y/N screamed when they stormed the ruined warehouse with Jo, guns blazing, all armed with silver knives dipped in lamb’s blood. Y/N’s stomach dropped, suppressing a scream when she saw Dean tied up from his wrists, a bag of his blood that was being drained was propped on an IV stand. He looked as pale as ever.

Y/N, Sam, and Jo advanced into the room further, eyes locked on Dean. She felt her stomach twist painfully as she took him in; bloody, bruised, pale. He was unconscious, most likely from the blood loss, he was too weak to lift his head.

“Dean” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as her mind ran a mile a minute. Just staring at him was making her want to break down and cry. “Oh, God. Come on” Sam pleaded as he reholstered his gun and began shaking his brother.

“Dean, sweetie, please” Y/N begged, placing both her palms to his cheeks, gently tapping him as his eyes fluttered open. Jo reached down into Y/N’s boots to take out the butterfly knife she had stored there, flickering it open.

“Oh, Auntie Em. There’s no place like home” Dean moaned and groaned from the loss of blood. “Thank God, I thought we lost you for a second” Sam breathed out in relief, the pain clear in his voice. “Y’all almost did” Dean grunted, his face creasing with pain as Y/N yanked the IV needle from his neck.

“Come on, let’s get you down” Jo said quietly as she began to cut away at the ropes. Sam and Y/N held Dean up, not seeing the Djinn that appeared behind them. “Sam! Y/N!” Dean screamed, warning them. The sound of Dean’s voice, screaming their names, made the pair of them whip their heads around in horror.

The sight of the djinn made them both freeze for millisecond, stunned. The two instantly kicked into action, attacking the Djinn while Jo desperately tried to cut away quickly at the stubborn roping, bounding Dean’s wrists.

Both hunters tried to stab the Djinn with their knives but it was faster and stronger than them, it dodged their attack, gripping them by their wrists.

“Come on, hurry up!” Dean yelled at Jo, yanking at his wrists. “I’m trying!” Jo screamed back, quickening her pace, the two were horrified.

Y/N raised her foot, high kicking the Djinn across his face (thank you cheerleading) dazzling the creature. He backhanded Sam into a railing, the hunter went headfirst into it, also dazzled. The Djinn suddenly grabbed hold of Y/N’s throat, a gasp left her at the unexpected attack. It yanked her backwards, holding her in its grip.

Y/N struggled in his grip as he picked Sam up by his throat, attempting to squeeze the life force out of the two. Y/N reached her hand out in an attempt to summon her discarded knife on the ground with her mind but it was no use, the lack of air was causing her to grow light headed, her focus was minimal.

She was losing her touch as darkness slowly crept into vision, her eyelids grew heavier as she struggled to keep eye contact with Sam, who was equally as dizzy. She could see Sam flailing about, his lips moving but Y/N couldn’t hear him through the loud, continuous buzz that was ringing in her ears.

Suddenly, Dean and Jo appeared behind the Djinn, the younger huntress buried the knife in the Djinn’s spine. A sickening pierce echoed through the room as the Djinn groaned, gargling on his own blood. Her face contorted with anger as she twisted the knife for good measure.

They watched as the Djinn collapsed to the floor with a strangled moan, his grip loosening on the two, allowing both Sam and Y/N to break from his grip. Y/N let out a strangled cough, filling her lungs with oxygen and trying to regain her breath.

Dean turned his head to look at Y/N and Sam, who were both slumped against the flooring, both dazed. “Hey! You two okay?” He asked urgently, placing his hands on both their shoulders. “Yeah” Sam croaked, his voice hoarse when he swallowed. “Fine” Y/N nodded, reaching up to her neck to feel the aching skin where he gripped her.

Jo breathed out in relief as she crouched down to place her hand on Sam’s cheek. Sam winced as he leaned his cheek into Jo’s warm gentle touch on his face. The pair stared at each other for a moment, both glad the other was okay.

Sam was the first to break eye contact, he forced himself up from the floor, letting out a sigh, his legs felt like jelly. His eyes shifted over to Y/N, he extended his hand out to her, silently asking if she was okay. Y/N looked at him, letting out a shaky breath and nodded, taking his outstretched hand in hers.

Dean then suddenly remembered the girl from his dream, his head snapping behind him to see her tied up the same way he was. His face fell with instant sorrow when he saw her bound state, she was in a gown that was torn, her hair was messy and disheveled, her face was pale and lifeless.

Dean felt anger as he began to approach the girl, his legs stumbling as he attempted to stand up. His legs were still weak and wobbly from the Djinn venom. Dean brought his fingers up and pressed it to the side of her neck. His eyes widened when he felt the light thumping of a pulse, “She’s still alive, guys!” Dean exclaimed with relief as Jo reached up and cut the girl down and Dean retracted the IV needle from her neck.

Dean cradled the almost lifeless girl in his hands, “I got you. I got you. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? I got you. I got you” Dean breathed out, even though weak, he held her up in his hands. Y/N smiled to herself as she watched Dean cradle the girl, his voice was soft and gentle as he murmured soft little reassurances to her.

Shushing her as if he was trying to soothe a child. She and Sam shared a concerned look however as Jo frowned. All fearful and unwilling to imagine what Dean went through in just a span of a few hours.

____________________________________________

Dean was sitting on his bed in the motel room, reading one of Y/N’s playboy magazine’s while Sam was on the phone with the hospital and Jo was lounging on Sam’s bed. Y/N was making a cup of tea for Dean, per her request, to bring his strength back up.

“Okay, uh, thank you so much for the update. Okay, bye” Sam said into the phone before hanging up. “That was the hospital. The girl’s been stabilized. Good chance she’s gonna pull through” Sam informed Dean, who just nodded in return. “That’s good,” Dean grunted. “Yeah” Sam sighed, settling in the bed next to Jo.

Y/N returned to Dean’s bed, handing him the cup of tea. “How about you? You alright?” She asked gently. “Yeah, I’m all right, thanks” Dean cleared his throat, unable to keep eye contact with her as he accepted the cup of tea. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared an unconvinced look.

“You should’ve seen it, guys. Our lives…” Dean sighed. “You were such a wussy” Dean shot at Sam jokingly, making the room erupt in chuckles. “You weren’t there man, sorry” He said to Jo. “No worries” Jo chuckled, shaking her head. Dean took a small sip of the warm tea, making sure to not burn himself.

“So we all didn’t get along then, huh?,” Sam asked. Dean’s brows raised suddenly, “Well- Nope” He replied bluntly, shaking his head. Y/N sat down next to him on the bed. “At all?” She asked, raising a suspicious brow. “Yeah nope” He chuckled dryly, lying through his pearly white teeth, taking another sip of the drink.

“Man, I couldn’t imagine us not getting along” Sam muttered, the look of disbelief on his face matched the other two. “I thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasy” Y/N sighed, crossing one leg over another. “It wasn’t- It was just a wish” Dean cut her off, his eyes trained on his tea.

“Yeah, I wished for Mom and M/N to live. If they never died, F/N would’ve never told dad about hunting. And we all just never…uh…you know” Dean said sadly. The other three had frowns on their faces, feeling the pain they all could relate to in him. It was a hard life they led, full of loss and suffering, they all felt it.

“Well I’m glad we do” Sam said, “And I’m glad you dug yourself out Dean” Jo added, both meaning their heartfelt words. “Dean,” Y/N said quietly, placing her hand on his leg. “Most people wouldn’t have had the strength. They would’ve just stayed.” She assured him.

Dean lifted his gaze from the tea, meeting Y/N’s comforting eyes. “Yeah, well. Lucky me” He replied with a small dry smile, his eyes scanning her face. Dean’s eyes flickered over to Jo and Sam, both were staring at each other deeply. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I gotta tell you though, Sammy. You had Jess, you were gonna give mom grandkids. And Y/N…your dad was alive and you were gonna get married to Xander” Dean lied.

Sam’s head snapped up, an uncomfortable look instantly appeared on his face. “Yeah,” He replied awkwardly, rubbing his face. This wasn’t exactly a topic he enjoyed talking about. A frown set on Jo’s face, she knew about what happened to Jess after Sam gave her a deep dive of his life and she did the same with him.

Y/N saw the frown appear Jo’s face, immediately coming to her defense. “Yeah, but, Dean, it wasn’t real. Nothing that happened in your head was real, nor will it ever be” Y/N told him gently. Dean paused for a minute, feeling as though he had been shot for a third time.

His heart was practically ripped from his chest at her words. Dean clenched his jaw, “I know….but I wanted to stay.” He confessed gruffly before gulping down a mouthful of tea. His eyes glanced down at Y/N’s stomach, memories of the Djinn’s world were still fresh in his head. “I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since F/N and Dad….all I could- all I could think about is how much this job’s cost us”

“We have all lost so much..w-we have sacrificed so much” All three of them stared at Dean, surprised at his confession. “We know,” Y/N affirmed gently, her eyes staring at him with a mix of understanding and sadness. Sam nodded in agreement, the pain and suffering was something they all had. “But people are alive because of you. It’s worth it, Dean” Sam countered.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “It is, man. And- it’s not fair. And- you know- it hurts like hell” Jo chimed in, scoffing dryly. “But like Sam said, it’s worth it” She assured him. “And you’ve got us” Y/N reminded him softly. All three hunter’s eyes were on him, their faces were sincere.

Dean swallowed deeply, his eyes glanced back down at his tea. A small part of him wished he was still in the dream. Y/N nudged him gently, “Hey” She whispered, bringing up her pinky. “I pinky promise” She smiled softly.

A small smile cracked on the corner of his mouth, a small chuckle left his lips. Dean gently raised his hand and linked his pinky with hers. “There, you can’t break a pinky promise” She winked, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

____________________________________________

Authors Note: “yOu CaNt BrEaK a PiNkY pRoMiSe” oh sweet summer child, just you wait until the next episode💀 (as someone who takes pinky promises very seriously, I’m already in tears)

ANYWAYS, did I break your heart? Did I make things better? Or are you plotting my demise?😂😂😂

I hope everyone loves this one! Be sure to tell me what you loved or what you hated, I can’t wait to hear your feedback🥰

Thanks for reading and have an amazing day loves!

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258

Xoxo

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tia-amorosa · 27 days ago

Text

Sunset Died - Alto Household

New Connections

Nick's speech made most of the people quite angry. After they had vented their displeasure and cleared the area, only a few remained who seemed to want to talk to him. So they retreated to the upper lounge to have a quiet chat. “You've kept quite a secret from us, Mr. Alto”.

Nick looked at Cyclone with tired eyes and took a heavy breath. “What would you have done in my place… Mr. Sword? If I didn't know your voice, I'd think you weresomeone else"/ ”hnhn, sure. They must have told you about our return, right?"/ ‘Holly did, yes’/ ‘also about the fact that the internet is now available again to a limited extent?’/ ”What?”

Cy smiled a little mischievously. “Then everything has gone well so far since I've been back here"/ ‘what do you mean?’/ ”As you said outside earlier, someone has made sure that no information can get in or out. They seem to have done it cleverly. But I was able to bypass the jammer at the radio tower”.

“They installed… A jammer here on our radio tower?"/ Cy nodded. “When should they have done that, we only had contact via my device at home"/ ‘I assume through the deliveries. I guess one of the ship's personnel was so diligent and professionally installed the thing’/ ‘unbelievable, that's why nothing worked here. I always thought that the Internet was dead since the disaster.’.

“why weren't we told?”. Cy smiled almost a little spiteful. “Well, we can be selfish too. That's why no information about this has gotten through to you yet. We wanted to see for ourselves first whether the connection is stable enough and sufficient to make contact"/. “And… were you able to?”. /. “mhm.”, Jack replied.

“Really? With whom? They told me right at the beginning that there would be no way to contact anyone out there except with this old device.” Jack shrugged his shoulders briefly. “Like I said, the internet's back on, at least in the evening. And I've written an e-mail to someone I think can be trusted“/”and who? Now tell me!” Nick's voice became a little more energetic.

“To my former colleague Lieutenant Kennedy. Well, she's no longer a lieutenant, but a colonel"/ ‘To the military?’/ ‘Only privately for now, because I don't know what the situation is like there at the moment’/ ‘And… have you received a reply yet?’/ ‘Not yet, unfortunately, but I'm expecting it any day now’/ ‘Have any other people been contacted?’/ …

“Sure, some people here have contacted their friends or relatives. Or did they think that just because the internet was working, they'd order food?” Nick didn't know how to respond except with a sheepish laugh “Sorry, it was… A stupid question, I… I'm a bit overwhelmed right now. I just didn't know anything”.

Vita turned to her husband “You see, Nick, I told you, something has already been set in motion here. You just have to talk to the right people"/ ”That's it, they've done their bit now, everything else has to come to us now. And until then, we all have to pull together here,” Cy replied as he got up from the uncomfortable bar stool, ”I think we'll… We'll divide up the food first.“.

Nick also stood up and looked at Cyclone. “You said there was a jammer…and you were able to reconnect, Mr. Sword?”. Cy smiled with one corner of his mouth, which made Nick smile a little himself “Of course, what am I asking. You've always been a smart guy.”. Nick looked around for a moment. “Apart from you here, I can't look anyone in the eye anymore"/ ‘if you bring a bit of food over to each household, you'll have to’. Blair had to smirk a little at her husband's statement. “I'd like to help too”.

“Does that mean I should knock on everyone's door personally?"/ ”hnhn, that's still better than them all raiding the warehouse unchecked, Nick, that would make a huge mess. Everyone gets their fair share."/ ”All right… I'll show you and maybe… Mr. Clavell can help us. He had… demonstrated his displeasure to me very clearly to me”.

Many things were said that day that had long remained hidden behind closed doors. And Nick finally jumped over his shadow. He went to the warehouse with his wife and the others. They were amazed, because there really was a lot of stockpiled there. And so they worked together on a supply plan so that none of the households here would miss out.

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

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover 🙂

Poses by @poses-by-bee & @studiok2sims 😊

#sims3 #screenshots #simsstories #ts3 story #ts3 gameplay #nick alto #vita alto #cycl0n3 sw0rd #blair sword #jack bunch

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thewritingsandwich · 10 months ago

Text

The Chiming Lady - Part 5

A Lockwood & Co. Fan Fiction

Other Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary: The agents of Lockwood & Co. are invited to the Halloween-Party of a former client.

A/N: I originally wrote this for @ savelockwoodnco on instagram's filler episode theme. But I'm a month too late... anyways this takes place after 'The Empty Grave' but there are no major spoilers for it. Originally I wrote it in german, but I translated it for the internet with the help of DeepL.

Tag List: @ahead-fullofdreams

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief mentions of su***de and mu**er

The ascent of the tower was a steep spiral staircase, the steps of which were completely uneven. The bells started ringing again, but at a tolerable volume. In addition, I heard someone sobbing. This someone was running up the stairs, as it sounded to me as if they were running past me over and over again.

We reached the room directly under the bell. We would only get to the top floor of the tower, where the bell hung, by climbing another creaky wooden staircase. But for now we stayed here. Thick wooden beams ran along the ceiling and the pale moonlight shone through the thin slits in the floor above us.

George lit the room with a small petroleum lamp. A few spiders had taken up residence here - an unfavourable sign in this day and age.

"Before we go outside," Lockwood pointed to the wooden staircase, "Lucy, please listen and see if you can hear anything other than the bells."

The bells were becoming a constant background noise by now. I tried anyway. I closed my eyes and listened into the darkness.

First a heartbeat. A heart pounding wildly against the chest where it lay. I was overcome with fear. The panicked heartbeat was joined by matching rapid breathing and muffled sobs.

"Oh God, what have I done?" It was the same voice I heard from the lake. The nanny who killed Mr Pearson's brother. She paced wildly up and down the room before stopping abruptly. After a moment of silence - her sobs stopped, but her heartbeat remained wild - I heard a pen scratching across a piece of paper. Judging by the scratching, it was a felt-tip pen. She walked across the room again and lifted a plank. Then I no longer heard anything.

Before I even gave the others a chance to ask me about what I had heard, I went to the corner where the nanny had gone. I searched for loose floorboards and quickly found what I was looking for. There was a little note hidden in the floor.

But just as I was about to grab the note, the ghost of the nanny materialised in front of me and I fell back. She looked really awful. She was still wearing her uniform and her arms and legs were sticking out in unnatural directions. The white accents of her uniform were covered in blood.

Immediately Holly and Lockwood were at my side, fending her off with their rapiers as I tried to get to my feet. But with the loud ringing of the bells, the numbing pain in my ears returned.

Nevertheless, I crawled across the floor away from the ghost. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Holly and Lockwood give the ghost a cut that made it disappear and the bells disappeared with it. I stayed on the floor for a moment before George appeared above me and offered me his hand. I refused and stood up on my own. My goal remained the same - the note.

This time the ghost didn't appear and I was able to read the note, which the others only noticed when it was in my hand. But it wasn't just a note. It was the nanny's suicide note that she had signed with Felicity Williams. But it was more than that. It was also a confession. She had killed the boy. Thrown him in the lake without realising he couldn't swim. She was ashamed of what she had done and harboured such deep remorse that she could find no other way out than death itself. The Pearson family had made her life hell, she wrote, and yet she had written down what she had done. But how much was the confession worth if the note would never have been discovered without us? The remorse and shame were strong enough to make her take her own life, but not to actually admit what she had done.

I explained to the others what I had found and they listened intently.

"If her confession can be found here, I can guess how she took her own life," George finally replied. The tower was high enough for that. "But is this the source?"

"There's one way to find out," Lockwood replied, opening a lighter in his hand. Immediately, I extended my arm in his direction to stop him.

"No." He stopped and tilted his head slightly to the side. "She didn't write that confession for us to burn." His expression darkened.

"Luce... This is not the time to be communicating with ghosts." But he didn't sense what I was feeling. Her remorse and her shame. Her despair that drove her to do this in the first place. Her story needed to be told, but I needed proof.

"Give me the silver net. I'll put the letter in there and we can assess whether it's actually the source." His shoulders relaxed and he put the lighter back in while he dug out the net. It was far too big for the small piece of paper. Reluctantly, I finally handed him the parcel so that he could put it in his rucksack.

We looked around tensely. The bell didn't ring and the ghost didn't turn up either. But could it really be that simple?

The answer came quickly when George turned to the door, but even after shaking it, it remained locked. It didn't even have a keyhole.

"Question answered. The note is not the source," he said. It made me angry that he only saw the letter as a simple piece of paper; this ghost as just one of many orders. But where this anger came from, I didn't know.

"Holly and George, you search more floorboards to see if they're loose and if there's anything hidden under them. Luce, you and I will go to the bell."

* * *

The creaking sound accompanied us as we climbed the old staircase with drawn rapiers. The room we entered was spacious and square, with round-arched openings on each side. Above us swung an imposing bell, so low that I could pass under it effortlessly, while Lockwood had to duck slightly.

I approached one of the openings and took a look outside. The bottom edge of the opening started at the level of my stomach. My first thought was that it was quite easy to climb onto the ledge and make the long descent in a short time. I shuddered at the thought, which was not my own. Nevertheless, the fear of heights remained.

"Everything looks so beautiful from up here," Lockwood said as he stepped up beside me, and he was right. The tower was high enough to overlook the forest and see the beginning of London, which was just a sea of lights.

But we weren't here to enjoy the view. I turned back into the room and for a split second I thought Lockwood was looking at me instead of the beautiful view.

"Okay, you know what to do," he finally replied. I didn't like the look on his face. He looked pained. I nodded and listened into the darkness.

First there was thunder. Behind my closed eyes, I saw flashes of light that I wasn't sure were really there. Pouring rain could be heard and between the thunderstorms I heard a person sobbing. She put her sturdy shoes on the edge of the opening and looked down.

Her fear gripped me and I couldn't move. It was as if I was her. Like I had to make this difficult decision. I don't want to. It can't end like this.

Another person climbed the bell tower. I heard the creaky stairs and just as Felicity was about to step back down from the ledge, the stranger stepped behind her.

"No, what are you doing? It was an accident. I've changed my mind. Please," she shouted and I joined in. The stranger pushed her and Felicity screamed as she fell. I was snapped out of my trance by her impact. I felt miserable. But more importantly, it wasn't suicide. She had changed her mind. Maybe it wasn't her who had hidden the letter, but her murderer.

But before I could share my discovery with Lockwood, Felicity's ghost appeared behind him. Fortunately, he noticed it by himself and we fended it off with our rapiers. We couldn't do this all night though - we had to find her source.

We, or at least I, needed a quiet place to think about where the source might be. It had to be up here. Or could it be down there? Had her body just been left there? No, the distance was too great, I thought.

"We need to find the source, Lockwood," I said as we swung our rapiers through the air.

"Any ideas?"

"No, I just know it wasn't suicide. She was pushed."

Felicity pushed us further and further back. When I tried to take one of the many steps backwards, I stepped into the void and tumbled down the stairs. But I picked myself up again.

In the meantime, George and Holly had pulled some wooden planks off the floor, but they hadn't found anything yet. 'Where are you Felicity?' I asked myself.

My gaze flitted around the room. Has that rusty metal ladder always been in this corner?

Lockwood came down the stairs. The colour in his face was also running through his sweat.

"We need a plan. Where could the source be?" He was out of breath and his otherwise perfect hairstyle was completely dishevelled. He had lost the headband with the horns somewhere. I kind of liked him a little more that way. I quickly told the others about my vision after they said that the door was still locked and there was nothing under the floorboards.

"Wait... The source must be up here somewhere. Otherwise the ghost wouldn't put so much emphasis on the tower. We've already taken everything apart down here. Where else could you hide a body?" George explained, looking at us expectantly. My eyes lingered on the ladder once more, but it was George who put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Whoever killed the nanny could also have hidden the letter. This letter would have exposed the Pearsons as inhumane employers who were indirectly responsible for the death of their own child and four other employees because of the way they treated their employees. Killing the nanny and dismissing it as suicide was perfect. At the same time, the Pearsons made the death of their son look like an accident. However, hardly a dying word is said about the nanny, as if she had simply resigned and disappeared. No death certificate, nothing. So I'm assuming that her killer hid her death. The suicide was just another cover in case she was found. And where in this huge tower could you hide a body?" George pointed his finger upwards. "I'm sure there's plenty of room in the beams of the bell." A mischievous grin spread across his face.

"George Karim, you're a genius," Lockwood replied at the same time as I asked: "How do you know all this?"

"Thanks, I know and do you really think Lockwood is the only one who came prepared for this? I found my costume quickly and spent most of my shopping trip in the archives. I took a closer look at the house and the Pearsons," he grinned proudly.

#original work #lockwood and co #l&co #l&co. netflix #locknation #locknationfillerepisode #anthony lockwood #george karim #holly munro #jonathan stroud #locklyle #lucy carlyle #lockwood & co. fan fiction #lockwood x lucy

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korruptbrekker · 2 years ago

Text

'Piece of Cake,' They Said

Challenge: #Weekend Game — Write for 15 minutes based off of the prompt given — by @creativepromptsforwriting

Rated T — Tags: Modern AU, Baking, rated T for languge — Word Count: 1,252 — [AO3]

Prompt: 740 — “You're a mess.” “Thank you for the lovely compliment.”

The goal was to make a cake. That was the goal.

Instead, Wolfgang found himself in a kitchen that looked like it had been run through by a tornado, his clothes decorated like he'd been in a food fight for the past half hour. There were egg shells littered by the trash can from where he'd missed tossing them across the kitchen, there was flour and sugar all over his apron, he was 90% sure there was batter in his hair, and he hadn't even started making the frosting yet.

All he'd wanted to do was make a cake. The internet told him it was easy—a piece of cake, even—but now he was here, standing in a mess of ingredients and whatever else managed to get into the kitchen while he was baking, and there was still no cake.

Well, there was a cake, it was just in the oven. And he was really really hoping that it would turn out well. Because he did not want to have to make another one, and get a talking to from Sebi about destroying the kitchen because he didn't have time to clean up. Again.

But he couldn't worry about that right now, because he had to make the frosting. And so he put the cake out of his mind, hoping that he really did remember pressing the timer and not just remembered the thought of 'I should press the timer', and gathered the ingredients to make some buttercream frosting.

Dmitri was a baker, and so was Ludwig surprisingly, so thankfully with the two of them there had been enough incentive to purchase a stand mixer. Wolfgang was many things, but muscled was not one of them. He prided himself on being a twink and as a twink there would be no way that he would actually be able to make frosting by hand. (Nevermind all the strong twinks out there. They did exist, and he was not one of them.)

He would clean up later, because he always did, and so for now he just kind of made space on the counter by shoving things to the side. He glanced at his computer, which like him, was covered in baking ingredients, and shifted over to the frosting recipe that he'd pulled up. He muttered the ingredients and their measurements underneath his breath as he went and retrieved them all, and started to make the frosting hoping things would be a little bit cleaner.

Once he fell into a groove again, it was easy to remember why he enjoyed baking so much. Sure, he was a mess and his creations didn't always turn out well, but the act of baking was just so pleasant that he could never fully stop. Even if the food that he made was inedible, at least he had fun making it in the first place.

Which was why he was less surprised than one would expect him to be when he smelled something burning.

He was letting the stand mixer do its thing, just to waiting for the frosting to arrive at the right texture, and had gone into the living room to scroll through doujins when things suddenly started to smell burnt.

He quickly rushed over to the oven, opening it and coughing as a plume of smoke poured out of the oven. Thankfully it wasn't enough to set off the fire alarm, but something was most definitely burnt and that wasn't good. He pulled the cake out of the oven and set it on the countertop, fanning the would-be cake with a towel, genuinely disappointed.

Sure, there wasn't any real occasion for making this, but he'd still wanted to share it. And he was still making frosting, or rather—he looked over at the bowl of frosting which was far too stiff due to it having been left stirring for an extensive amount of time—he had the remains of frosting.

Wolfgang sighed, turning off the stand mixer and curling into a little ball in the corner of the kitchen. Sure, there wasn't an occasion, but maybe he'd wanted to make one. And the fact that that wasn't going to happen was extremely disappointing. As much as he wanted to act like he let everything roll off his back, it just wasn't like that all the time.

Things got to him, little things got to him, and medium things like this. Or maybe it was a big thing because it was a family thing? He wasn't sure, he didn't have energy to care anymore.

And of course, someone took that exact time to walk into the kitchen. Niccolò wasn't exactly discreet with how he walked around, he was tall and conspicuous, and if that wasn't enough he was always wearing something flashy. It was why he and Wolfgang had gotten along in the beginning: they had similar fashion principles.

But unfortunately, as much as he cared about his friend and fuck-buddy, he was the last person that Wolfgang wanted to see right now.

“Wolfie, what happened here?” He asked, hands in pockets and eyes examining the mess that had been made over the course of the hour or two.

Wolfgang waved his hand. “Tried to bake, didn't succeed, how's your afternoon going.” He wasn't even sure if he was trying to keep the bitter tone from his voice, but his words came out bitter whether he wanted them to or not.

Nini laughed, a harsh grating thing that was oddly endearing if you were around it enough. “You're a mess,” he said with a fond smile, leaning against the dirty counter and looking down at Wolfgang.

Usually he'd be able to handle the ribbing, but not today. Wolfgang didn't realize how much this had meant to him until the cake had all gone to shit. And now that it was all ruined even a little ribbing was enough to ruffle his feathers. “Thank you for the lovely compliment.” He sneered, looking at his knees.

There was a pause before some shuffling and then Pags was sitting next to him, the squeak of leather breaking through the quiet of the room.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

“It's just some baking,” he said. “It's just some baking, it shouldn't mean a whole lot. I shouldn't be upset about this.” Wolfgang could feel the telltale sting of tears burning behind his eyes and curled his hands into loose fists, rubbing his face, fully aware of how childish he was coming across as.

“It doesn't seem like just some baking to me. It seems like it meant a whole lot, and if you want I can help you get this cleaned up and we can try again. I know the others will still be out for a few more hours, but if we work quick enough I'm sure we'll be able to make a cake together in time for them to come home.”

Wolfgang looked at him, incredulous.

“Really? Like seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. I mean, what are friends for?” Niccolò smiled at him and Wolfgang smiled back, feeling just a little bit less devastated than he did moments before. “Now come on this cake won't make itself.”

Nini stood up, dusting himself off despite not having any baking ingredients on his clothes, and held out a hand to Wolfgang. He hesitated for only a moment before grabbing it and letting his friend pull him up.

The goal was to make a cake, and that's exactly what they were going to do.

#fanfiction #fanfic #kbwrites #b2tsm #mozart b2tsm #paganini b2tsm #weekend game #writing prompt

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itsallyscorner · 3 years ago

Text

“Move the plans”

Pairing: Florence Pugh x actress!reader (platonic)

Summary: Florence tells you to cancel your plans when she ends up in New York.

Warnings: Nothing really bad. Mentions lactose intolerance? Idk if that’s sensitive to people. Probably some spelling errors.

A/n: Hello darlings! I’m back from my unannounced break. I decided to write a platonic Florence fic because she’s a sweetheart and I loved her as Yelena! Also for those who follow me, don’t worry, I will be working on a sequel to my Tom Holland “Sour” fic!! But for now, please enjoy this fic!😚💕

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(Loml)

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You stood backstage in front of a mirror, looking at your appearance and making sure there were no wrinkles on the dress you wore. Your hairstylist was behind you, fluffing your hair and managing the stray baby hairs on your head. You were currently at NBC Studios in New York City, about to do an interview with the infamous, Jimmy Fallon. Tingles buzzed through your skin as you heard the cheers and music from the stage. Jimmy’s voice can be heard faintly backstage, only adding to your growing excitement.

The sound of heels clicking approached you, it took less than a second for you to feel the warm presence of Florence behind you. The both of you were starring in the upcoming Black Widow movie alongside Scarlett Johansson; after months of working together and spending days hanging out, you and Florence had become very close friends. She was, without a doubt, your favorite person in the world. Since the moment you met her, she had always been the most sweetest and caring person you’ve ever met—and you were proud to say you had her in your corner.

You met Flo’s eyes in the mirror and bright smiles were instantly on your faces. Turning around, you open your arms wide, and wrap them around her. Bear hugs were a must in your friendship with Flo, you both just loved receiving hugs from each other.

“Ahhh! I told you that dress would be perfect for tonight, you look stunning!” She squealed, tightening her arms around you. A day before Jimmy Fallon, you and Flo had been at your place with your stylist, picking out which dress you should wear for the interview. The dress was casual, but the color was so ever vibrant that it made the dress pop.

You pulled out the hug and looked at what she was wearing. Her gorgeous blonde hair was curled into loose locks and her dress was just as vibrant as yours. The pink of her dress and the orange (yellowish?) of yours complimented each other. Which coincidentally enough, was a parallel of your lovely friendship with Florence.

“Me? Flo, you look gorgeous! I’m so obsessed with this look!” You help her twirl, hyping her up as she showed off her outfit. After sneaking in a little mirror selfie and posting it onto Instagram, the two of you were given a five minute warning from one of the crew members. You and Flo were moved to stand behind the curtain, waiting for your cues to walk onto the stage.

While the two of you were getting mic’d up, Florence leaned closer to you.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” She mumbled, her stare remaining on the curtain before her. Your brow raises in curiosity as your head slightly turns to look at her.

“Of course, hun. What’s up?” You ask, your attention on her. She sighs and leans even closer so only you can hear her.

“I feel like I’m about to shit my pants.” She admits, swallowing nervously. Your mouth gapes, “Did you have iced coffee too?”

Flo’s face scrunches up in confusion, “N-no! That was me telling you I was nervous! Did you have iced coffee?” She fully turns to look at you and judging by the look of guilt plastered across your face, you did in fact have iced coffee.

“Maybe?” You answer, though it came out more like a question. Florence rolls her eyes at you.

“(Y/n), how many times do you have to be reminded that you’re lactose intolerant?” She scolded you.

You scoff, holding a hand up at her, “Trust me, I’m reminded every time I sit on a toilet.” You shake your head, trying to refocus the conversation.

“This isn’t about my poor digestive system—why are you nervous?”

She sighs, ��I don’t know why I’m so nervous, I’m used to doing interviews and stuff. But I haven’t been on Jimmy Fallon, and there’s an audience out there and I don’t want to mess up or accidentally spoil the movie.”

You place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “You may be British, but you’re not Tom Holland. You won’t spoil anything.” You start. She quickly shoots you a look that screams, “you’re not helping”. You make a gesture physically telling her that you’re getting to the point.

“You’re going to be fine! I mean you did Jimmy Kimmel right? This shouldn’t be that different, it’s the same thing—just different studios, in different states, and different Jimmy’s.” You point out. She nods along as you continue, “Plus, I’m gonna be up there with you. You won’t be alone.”

With the help of your reassurance and witty little comments, Florence felt her anxiousness simmer down. They weren’t completely gone but the fact that you were gonna be up there together made her relax more. Being part of Marvel had its pros and cons. Sure, the movies are spectacular and the actors are outstanding. Though when it comes to doing promo for said movies, it can be quite stressful. It’s a known fact that Marvel and it’s executives can be quite strict when it comes to interviews with anyone involved in the making of their films—their strictness made sense, although for first time MCU members, it took some getting used to.

Florence smiles at you, “Thank you.”

You playfully nudge her shoulder with yours, “Don’t worry about it.” You say with a kind smile.

The wholesome moment was interrupted by one of the stagehands telling you and Florence that the two of you were on in 15 seconds.

“Our guests tonight are making their big MCU debut in the new Black Widow film, please welcome (Y/n) (L/n) and Florence Pugh!”

⚘

“So in the movie, there’s three of you guys—where’s the other one?” Jimmy asked, motioning his hand to the small space between you and Flo.

“She’s at home I believe.” Florence answered, glancing at you. “She’s busy doing stuff, you know—adult things.” She added.

You took the opportunity to make a joke and said, “Yet here we are promoting her movie.” You roll your eyes playfully. The crowd bursts out laughing, along with Jimmy, who smacked his desk.

“You know, we deserve a raise for this.” Flo considers, going along with your joke. She slightly snorts and nudges your arm with her elbow. “We could take Scarlett’s check and just split it in half for ourselves.”

“Problem solved.” You shrugged, high fiving her.

Another round of laughs fill the room as Jimmy says, “So you’re both taking Scarlett’s money?”

Jokingly, you nod in approval, “By the end of this interview? Definitely.”

Dropping the bit, you shake your head with a grin on your face. “I’m kidding! I’m only joking, I wouldn’t do that to her, even if I were forced to.”

Jimmy moves on as a picture of you, Florence, and Scarlett pops up on the screen. The picture had been posted on your Instagram and was taken while the three of you were filming in between takes. You were taking the selfie while Scarlett and Florence were poking their heads out from behind you making funny faces.

“I can’t imagine how exciting it is to be on a Marvel set, and to even work with one of the first ever heroes in the MCU—that must be insane!” Jimmy exclaims, motioning to another picture of the three of you.

“It’s unbelievable. To work alongside Scarlett and to follow this kind of path that she’s paved in the MCU is an honor. She really was like our older sister behind the scenes, because she was always guiding us and taking care of everyone. She’s the best.” Florence responded while you nodded in agreement.

“I watched the movie last night and one of the things I enjoyed the most was the dynamic the three of you had. You guys were like actual siblings.” Jimmy mentioned, motioning between you and Flo.

Florence giggled before squeezing you into a tight hug, “Yeah, she’s my big sister.” You smiled beamingly, patting her cheek before she let go.

“No, really! She’s like my actual younger sister.” You tell the audience, who “awed” at the hug you both shared. “We spent months on this movie and we spent every single day with each other. By the middle of production, we were basically roommates.”

“Roommates?” Jimmy questioned, leaning his elbows on his desk.

“Because I was always at her house.” Florence answered in a ‘duh’ tone. “I’ve actually grown an attachment to (Y/n), she’s like my comfort blanket. So I need to have her with me at all times. If she’s not with me, I just won’t leave the house.”

“Speaking of your attachment to (Y/n), there’s this video of you that you apparently sent her?” Jimmy gestured at you, “And you posted it on your Instagram and now the whole internet is obsessed with it.”

“Yup, that’s the one.” You confirmed.

“I know there’s probably some people who haven’t seen it, so here’s the video.” The video of Florence popped up on the screen and began to play.

(This fic was based on this TikTok😭)

Jimmy looked at you and Florence in amusement, “Can we get some context?”

Florence waved her hand at the screen and said, “As you can all see, I’m very persistent.”

“This wasn’t your first time sending her these kinds of videos?” Jimmy asked. You shook your head, a feign look of annoyance on your face.

“No, she does this all the time.”

“In my defense, I was unexpectedly flying out to New York for a project. I knew I was gonna be in the city for a few days, so I decided to call (Y/n) and make the most of my trip.” Flo defended herself, slightly pouting.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, “To be fair, it was also our first time seeing each other since we wrapped Black Widow, and we really missed each other.”

“(Y/n), did you have to move any plans?” Jimmy turns to you. Florence does the same.

“You know what, you never told me if you had plans or not.” She squints her eyes at you. Your arms crossed while your body slowly sunk into the couch.

You pretend to fix your lipstick, quickly muttering, “I might’ve moved some plans around.”

Florence’s mouth gapes in shock, her entire body freezing. She grips onto your shoulder, “Wait, you actually moved plans for me?”

“I might’ve rescheduled a lunch with someone, but that doesn’t really matter.” You replied, trying to move on from the topic. Jimmy pointed at you, a giant grin on his face, “You actually moved plans for Florence!”

Florence’s mouth was still wide in shock, “I can’t believe you actually moved plans for me—(Y/n)!” She whined.

“I missed seeing you, so of course I had to move them.” You bashfully explained, the corners of your lips turning upwards. Florence pulled you into a hug.

“Gosh, you really do love me!” She exclaimed.

“I really do!” You said, your arms wrapping around her as well.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

🏷 Tags:

*if there’s a line through your url, Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(*

Marvel cast/Avengers x reader tags ↴

↪︎ @ximaginx @lozzypoz321 @sunwardsss @pokemonbong @pjokotlcmarvel201 @whoslili @marvel-is-a-mood @blckyungblood @astroponyo @universemarvel @imthebadguyyy @roseke @this-is-gg @httpscarletwitch @msminutes @cristin-rjd @swords-are-cool @melaninfalconbucky @deamus-liv @elvish-sky @catsandbooksandstuff @ellajoy419 @moonlight-babe99 @teti-menchon0604 @bestillmystuckyheart @captainwans @mischiefmanaged144 @marvelfan2300 @hello-yoi

General tags (besties) ↴

↪︎ @bucksmotel @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @agustdowney @thegirlwiththediary @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading @alyssathesoftie @ifyouknewhowmiserylovedme @kaitieskidmore1 @6r4cie @bi-lmg07 @pogueslandia

#marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cast #marvel cast x reader #marvel cast headcanon #marvel cast imagines #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #Florence Pugh headcanon #florence pugh fanfic #black widow #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.

“Fuck.”

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.

It warranted a coffee, at least.

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.

There’d be a new face in attendance.

A beautiful face.

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”

She knew you too well.

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.

“I knew this was a bad idea...”

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes

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nev3rfound · 4 years ago

Text

someone i once knew : b.b - p.2

now that everyone has returned to the compound, bucky can confide in his oldest friend about you being here and what it could possibly mean. (2k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

“Stevie? You down here?” You hesitantly walk down the dark alley, hearing squeaks from the rats in their homes. “It’s only me, I promise.” You add as you scan the area.

You pause at the sight of a bin lid rising, and Steve peers over the brim to see you smiling weakly at him. “Hey, Y/n.” Steve mutters, now standing upright, sporting a black eye for the third time this month.

“Hey,” You walk over, holding out a hand and help him out of the bin with some difficulty as the lid slams into the concrete, the rattling sound echoing upwards. “I won’t ask, don’t worry.”

Steve manages to smile at that, you never asked him about his ventures into alleyways or how he ends up with some injury each time until he was ready to talk about it. He knows that’s why you’re such a good friend, the opposite of Bucky whose route is more direct and to the point.

Walking out of the alleyway, you turn the corner only to see Bucky leaning against the wall, leg resting against it as his arms remain crossed. “And here I thought you would’ve come alone.” Steve comments to you, looking up to see your evident surprise.

“I did.” You remark, stepping forward and hit Bucky’s arm. “I told you, James, not to follow me!” You groan in frustration whilst Bucky simply smirks and winks to Steve who remains equally unimpressed.

“Well, I thought about it, and decided it’d be best just in case there was any trouble like last time.” Bucky states, pushing himself off the wall and walks after you. “You can’t be mad at me, seriously, doll?”

You quickly turn around, glaring at Bucky who steps back. “Do you remember what happened last time, huh?” You question, looking over to Steve who nods.

“You slammed a bin lid against that punks head.” Steve comments and the anger in your expression eases.

“Thank you, Steve.” You glance past Bucky to Steve. “I can fend for myself just fine, James.”

Bucky sighs and glances over to Steve with his shoulders slumped forward, but Steve simply shakes his head. “You’re on your own, pal.” Steve chuckles, watching as Bucky jogs to be by your side and wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your cheek.

Walking in behind Thor, Steve spots Bucky in the far corner of the conference room.

“So, how’d you manage then? See you didn’t burn the place down which I call a success.” Steve jokes as he pulls out the chair beside Bucky who barely reacts, his eyes focused on the files placed on the table with his name neatly written on the top. “Buck?” Steve speaks up, and Bucky slowly lifts his head up.

“It was fine.” Bucky remarks as he sits upright, his arms remaining crossed over his chest. “But it’s good to see you.” A half-smile forms on the soldier's lips and Steve curtly nods.

“Did Tony’s assistant show her face much?” Steve asks, his attention averting to the files in front of him, missing how Bucky tenses upon mentioning you.

“About that,” Bucky starts, but the door slams open and Tony walks in, making a grand entrance as always whilst you follow in quietly, closing the door softly whilst your back faces the Avengers.

“Damn,” Sam mutters, holding back a whistle as you turn to face the Avengers, trying your hardest to remain composed as all eyes are on you.

“Sam,” Tony calls him out whilst you busy yourself with some of the files and take a seat at the table beside Natasha who smiles at you. “anyway, this is my new assistant, Y/n.”

Steve suddenly snaps up to see you give everyone a small wave. “Hi, it’s lovely to finally meet you all.”

Yet, Steve’s eyes only widen as he turns to Bucky who buries his head into the files, ignoring you completely.

“So, Y/n’s new, she’s living here so please, don’t be weird.” Tony sighs before carrying on with his presentation and remains unaware of Steve looking at you closely in disbelief at how it can be.

"Like any of us would be weird, it's a pleasure, Lady Y/n." Thor comments and Steve listens as you chuckle at the God's remark.

“Seriously, James, just let him do it.” You huff as the three of you stand outside of the registering office once again.

Bucky tears his eyes from you as he removes his hat, holding it in his hands as fireworks sound behind you. It was his final night before he left, he wanted it to be perfect.

“Why’d you wanna do it so bad, huh?” Bucky asks, facing Steve who stands tall whilst Bucky looks down on him, you behind him with a supportive look in your eyes.

“I wanna serve my country, Buck, just like every other guy.” Steve states, repeating himself for the umpteenth time.

Stepping forward, you take a hold of Bucky’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his and squeeze lightly. Even without words, Bucky could understand you perfectly and sighs under his breath.

“Alright.” Bucky gives in with great difficulty and releases his hand from yours as he hugs Steve. “Just, don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Steve breathes out a laugh as he hugs his oldest friend, but can see tears forming in your eyes as you watch the pair.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve retorts as Bucky backs away. “Don’t win the war until I get there, okay?”

Nodding to Steve, Bucky salutes him before returning to your side, uttering promises of a final dance and a night together, knowing it could potentially be his last.

“Earth to Steve?” Sam waves his hand in front of Steve’s face, snapping him from the buried memory as you close your folders and follow behind Tony, everyone else now rising to their feet and departing. “You coming, Cap?” Sam asks, seeing everyone gone besides him and Bucky.

“I’ll follow you out in a minute.” Steve states and Sam exits without asking any questions, leaving the old friends alone with an impossible elephant in the room.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but Steve clears his throat and rests his arm on the table.

“What is going on here, Buck?” Steve questions, still in disbelief as he witnessed you walk in with the same shy energy you once had as a child and sat quietly beside Natasha. “That, that can’t be Y/n.” Steve scoffs, but Bucky raises a brow.

“We’re here, Steve.” Bucky remarks. “Can’t say anything is impossible anymore.”

“But, but how? I, I’ve visited her grave. Bucky, Y/n died in 2005.” Steve sadly admits, having seen your name etched in stone as flowers lay beneath it.

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know Steve, I’ve been trying to figure it out but Y/n has had a life, a childhood that she remembers.”

After his initial interaction with you, Bucky scrolled through the internet with great difficulty (with FRIDAY’s assistance) and found records of your birth date, parents names and their death certificates. You exist in the now according to the government records, and so does a family that isn’t one Bucky knew.

“So she has no idea who we are? I, she wasn’t taken or,” Steve trails off, not wanting to think about you being another victim of HYDRA’s.

“She has these memories,” Bucky begins to explain, but he looks up to ensure no one is eavesdropping. “I, she remembers pieces of her life growing up with us, but she doesn’t know it’s us.”

“How is that even possible?” Steve leans back in his chair, struggling to comprehend it as Bucky simply shrugs his shoulders. “So what? All this is just happening by chance, huh? Tony just hired our oldest friend, your-”

“Don’t say it.” Bucky cuts Steve off, his blue eyes hardening and his jaw clenches shut.

“Look, all I’m saying is we should talk to Tony, see if we can make any sense of this.” Steve suggests and pushes his chair back. “I know this isn’t easy, Bucky.”

Bucky scoffs under his breath. “You have no idea, pal.” Bucky remarks as he follows Steve out from the conference room and toward the elevator.

“Can you hold it please!” You call out and rush down the corridor, seeing the pair waiting. As you slip inside, you smile up to Steve who nods back whilst Bucky keeps his eyes locked on his feet. “Thank you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” Steve tries his hardest to remain composed as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, something you used to do with dresses instead.

As the doors open, you nod to Steve and exit, leaving the pair alone once more and Bucky exhales deeply.

“Real smooth, Buck.” Steve jokes and Bucky’s shoulders fall forward. “What happened between you two whilst we were gone, huh?”

“I, I don’t know.” Bucky mutters as the elevator rises further up the compound.

Walking through the corridor to your suite, tears form in your eyes once more. “Again?” You ask yourself as you dab your eyes, an overwhelming sense of sadness forming in your heart.

Standing proudly alongside many others, you wave as the soldiers board the trains. “Don’t cry, doll.” Bucky wipes your eyes, his hands resting on your cheeks as he takes you in, unsure if he’ll ever have the joy of seeing your bright smile ever again.

“I can’t help it, James.” You admit, sniffling as the whistle sounds. “I love you, and please, don’t do anything dumb, you idiot.” You chuckle as Bucky leans closer, capturing your lips with his, saying more than words could as tears fall from your eyes as he pulls away.

“This isn’t goodbye, Y/n.” Bucky assures you as he boards the train, blending in with the rest of the soldiers as you do with the worried lovers bidding farewell.

Forcing back the sob in your throat, you watch as he disappears out of sight, leaving you alone with the realisation; he might never come home.

“Hey, Y/n?” Natasha taps your shoulder, and you discreetly wipe your eyes before facing her.

“Hi, Natasha, can I help at all?” You ask, forcing a smile that Natasha can see right through.

She hums before motioning for you to follow her. “Listen, I know Barnes can be, well, Barnes,” You nod along, unsure where she’s going with it. “but he means well under all that. I, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable here, and if you ever need me, I’m just above.” Natasha motions to the floor above, and you nod along.

“Thanks, Natasha. Bucky’s fine, I promise. He just, he reminds me of someone I once knew.” You state, unsure of your own words as they leave your lips.

“Ah, we’ve all been there.” Natasha remarks, seeing an unease across your face. “You okay in there?” She asks, but you immediately perk up.

“Yeah, I should,” You point down to your phone. “I should go sort Tony’s meetings, I, I’ll see you later.”

Before Natasha can ask anything else, you rush off to your suite, locking the door behind you.

Leaning against your door, you can feel your heart drumming against your chest, threatening to burst through. “Hey, FRIDAY?” You ask as your eyes remain tightly closed, images of Bucky crossing your mind, but a version you’ve never met.

“Yes, Ms Y/l/n?” FRIDAY answers.

“Where is the nearest Doctor?” Your voice remains uneasy as silence follows.

“Is something wrong Ms Y/l/n? Would you like me to inform Tony?”

“Erm, no, I, I don’t want to worry him.” You state, but three knocks on your door interrupt you.

Stepping back, you unlock the door and pause as Tony stands before you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you think?” Tony asks as you breathe heavily and step aside, knowing this would be a long conversation ahead.

PART THREE

(thank you to the following for all the love in the first part! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know) (or equally do not want to be tagged - i am just mentioning all those who left comments in part 1 :) )

@mggpleasedontlookhere @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @16boyfriends-and-me @sarge-barnes-sir @lilysgarden @sarcasticallywitty15 @buckyandsteveimagines @sassy-pelican @decaffeinated--fangirl @amywinehouseisgod @tearsinparadise @just-dreaming-marvel-2 @tcc-gizmachine @newyork47

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softomi · 4 years ago

Text

Catfish

prompt: mother says to be wary of people you meet on the internet, especially since you never know who’s on the other side of the screen.

pairing: atsumu x reader

the unpaid extras: osamu, suna

general taglist: @graykageyama

Osamu liked to mess with his brother and lately he’s been planning the largest prank. It originally wasn’t supposed become a huge thing, but then Suna just kept edging him on; adding more things one by one and it just spiraled. Osamu was catfishing Atsumu with your pictures.

Now, Osamu knows that it sounds bad but technically you were in on the prank. You had never met nor even knew Atsumu, heck, you didn’t even know who Osamu was. You had been part of the prank merely through text messages and the occasional meet up with Suna.

To put it simply, Suna met you through one of his teammates; coincidentally you ended up in one of his classes and the two of you built a tiny friendship. Which was why, when Suna was thinking of the perfect person to catfish Atsumu with; your face lit up in his head.

You were the perfect candidate, exactly Atsumu’s type literally to a tee. When Suna pulled up your contact, the first thing he did was offer to pay you. Every picture you sent used for the prank, he’ll send you cash through an app and as a broke college student who needed cash fast, you agreed as long as the photos weren’t used for anything weird or sexual. He made sure to send you proof of each photo in use.

This brings it all back to dear Osamu catfishing his brother. He had created an entirely new Instagram for you, complete using your name and a cute description that him and Suna had spent two hours thinking of. They decided to even spend a few days perfecting it, posting pictures a few days apart with captions, following random groups, liking posts, essentially creating a whole new personality using your photos. Osamu had even developed a fake occupation for you; a foodie blogger to which some posts were dedicated to food reviews for restaurants Osamu deemed worthy of a post.

And when Osamu says that the prank spiraled; it fucking spiraled. Originally it started with Suna and Osamu following the account, suddenly Suna’s teammates began following the account. Osamu made the mistake of tagging Onigirl Miya in one of your photos, ultimately adding a few random people to follow the account. Suddenly after two weeks of having the account, you gained over two thousand follows.

It was no worries though, because Osamu can quickly catfish Atsumu, take down the account, and call it all good.

Safe to say, Atsumu accepted the friend request rather quickly. Osamu and Suna snicker to themselves, it took Atsumu less than five minutes to accept and he was already liking all of your photos. Not even ten minutes pass and he’s sliding into the DM’s.

The two men looking at the phone and burst into laughter. They spend five minutes cackling at Atsumu’s random ‘hey’ message that followed with a smiling emoji.

Osamu was absolutely entertained, it was hilarious that his own brother had fallen for his catfish and honestly, Osamu was ready to give up the act after three days but then Atsumu said something that just really pissed him off. He doesn’t remember what it was, he just suddenly ended up two more weeks later still having the fake Instagram account and still having Atsumu believe that he was falling in love with some girl.

Somehow the account ended up with over five thousand followers, Atsumu messages the account religiously, and Osamu for some godly reason is still managing the account three months later. It’s spiraled.

“I have a girlfriend!” Atsumu doesn’t know why his friend and brother are laughing. He’s scrolling through your Instagram, the catfish Instagram.

Osamu almost chokes on his food, “So what, have you guys gone on a date? Have you even seen her in real life?” Suna snorts into his drink, he coughs when he accidentally inhales the water sharply.

Atsumu slumps in his seat, his voice small, “No, but we talk every day and she likes me!”

Suna is coughing even harder now, tears threatening to leave his eyes to the point that he excuses himself to the bathroom. Osamu has a shit eating grin on his face, “How do you know she’s actually not some old dude catfishing you?”

“She’s not!” Atsumu stutters, “She’s real!”

“Prove it.”

Osamu was about to learn a harsh lesson about the world; the world loves to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Atsumu leans forward, an eerie grin on his lips, “Happily.” Atsumu whips out his phone, quickly presses a number and holds the phone to his ear. He holds a finger up to his brother, even gesturing for the returning Suna to remain quiet. The phone picks up, “Hey babe, you wanna meet me here at Onigiri Miya?” Atsumu looks at the watch on his wrist, “Twenty minutes? Perfect.”

Osamu’s believing his brother is bluffing. There was no way in hell he’d be able to somehow magically bring the catfish to life, heck, Atsumu would be a god if suddenly he could. Thirty minutes pass, Osamu is exchanging looks with Suna. It’s absolutely silent between the three.

Osamu is suddenly feeling guilty, Suna is uncomfortable to the point that he’s even texting you to make sure you weren’t actually coming, and you confirmed with him that you weren’t.

“Should we tell him?” Osamu whispers when another five minutes pass.

Suna is deadpanned, “I don’t know, we’re kind of reaching a sad territory now. Let’s just break up with him and ghost him.”

Osamu groans, “But do we want to deal with a sad Atsumu, I’ll take getting my ass kicked over him crying in my apartment.”

The door chimes and their jaws smack the floor. You walked through the door, eyes roaming the place before landing on the three huddled into the corner. Is he a fucking god? Atsumu stands from his seat, he meets you halfway, pulling you into a heartfelt kiss that has you swooning.

The closer you approach with Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder, the more they truly begin to believe that Atsumu is a god.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend.” This time it’s Atsumu who has a shit-eating grin, “Ain’t she a beauty, the pictures don’t do her justice.”

It takes everything in Osamu to not scream, “But, you said you’d never even met her before.”

Atsumu gazes into your eyes, hearts practically floating above his head, “I mean I guess technically this is our first-time meeting, right?”

You nod, a puppy like expression on your face, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. You must be Osamu.” You point to him then your fingers drag to the other male, “Suna.”

“Oh.” Suna sits straight up, “Oh!” He catches the glint in your eyes, the conniving little minx of a look. Suna was no longer calm, “We’ve been double crossed!”

There’s screaming, fingers are being pointed at each other, Atsumu is gripping Osamu by the neck of his shirt, Suna is literally calling your phone to make sure that it’s actually you, Osamu is pulling his brother’s hair. The customers of the restaurant stare with their jaws dropped at the scene.

Everyone is squished into Osamu’s small office. Suna is sitting on the desktop, Osamu in his chair, Atsumu in the spare seat, and you lean on the arm of Atsumu’s chair. His arm dangles around your waist, pulling you to lean on him with a cheery grin.

Atsumu leans forward, taking in the expressions of the two bewildered boys, “I guess let’s start at the beginning.”

While the story technically began three months ago with Suna asking for your cooperation, the story of you and Atsumu began two months ago.

The extra cash from all the pictures you sent Suna was giving you enough to be able to go out and live a little on the weekends. Originally the bar was dead, you and your friends were tucked into the corner in a booth when a rowdy bunch of men came in. Your friends gasped having recognize them as members of a sports team and with their excitement, they must have won a game.

It didn’t affect your group that much until it came to split ways; being in your last year of university, you excused yourself, insisting that you needed to go home to finish a project. As you stood at the register, card tapping against the counter, that was when he showed up.

At this point, Atsumu had spent the past hour believing the gods were on his side. He practically walked by your table ten times just to make sure the face matched the one in his instagram’s DM. After forty minutes of the constant back and forth, your quick gazes at him walking by the table seem to do nothing. Were you unable to recognize him?

He took his shot watching you stand alone at the counter. He finishes off his drink and smoothly strides to you.

“Hey!” Atsumu leans on the counter, flashing a smile despite alcohol dripping from the side of his mouth, “Wouldn’t you consider this fate?” He gestures between the both of you.

You’re confused, shooting him a puzzled gaze, “Sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.” You hand the card to the worker, anxiously eyeing the male who’s increasingly invading your space.

Atsumu places a hand on the small of your back, it was something Instagram you had mentioned you liked, instead it triggered a fight or flight. Your hand makes harsh contact with his cheek, he retracts his hand immediately.

“Don’t touch me!” You bark at him, “Perv.” You’re aggressively signing the receipt, storming out of the door while other men seem to ooh at Atsumu’s situation.

“Hey!” Atsumu catches your figure outside of the bar, you’re waving a hand to catch a cab, “I think we got off on the wrong foot there.”

You don’t give him a second glance, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are.”

“Atsumu.” He stands right in front of you, blocking your sights for a cab. He’s got the widest smile on his face as he holds out a hand, “Miya Atsumu. Volleyball player. Setter for the Black Jackals.”

“Okay.” You run a hand through your hair, oddly taking his hand into a shake while eyeing him, “Miya Atsumu, volleyball player, setter for the Black Jackals.”

You step to the side, arm out still trying to catch a taxi but he blocks your way once more and he looks at you with such wonder. His eyes practically having stars coming out and his smile warm and inviting. He was wondering if you were a twin, maybe he had actually gotten the wrong person.

“You are?”

The wind is causing your hair to blow in your face, he wants to so bad to brush the strands behind your ears but the way you gave him a slap earlier makes him think that’s a bad idea. Your fingers pull your hair back, “Y/n. I don’t have a fancy title like yours but, I guess I don’t know, senior to be graduating at the university.” You sidestep him once more, “I’m just trying to catch a cab home.”

Once more he blocks your way and you look at him with defeat. He was persistent. He laughs, “Sorry, last time, but do you not know me?”

You’re still as confused as ever, “Look if you’re going to pull some cheesy line about seeing me before, it’s not going to work.”

“Wait, just hold on a second.” Atsumu pulls out his phone, his fingers are shaking as he presses onto the app. He pulls up your profile, handing you his cell phone, “This is you isn’t it?!”

Your eyes scan the social media page, your mouth falling open, there’s a hidden laugh itching in your throat. These were all the picture you had taken for Suna and somehow, you’re being shown by a stranger your fake profile.

“We’ve been messaging for like a month, I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.”

I don’t recognize you because I’m not the one talking to you.

You’re perplexed, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, if you told him he’s being catfished you’d lose the flow of side cash you’ve developed but if you didn’t, isn’t that just wrong. And the more you look at him from under the stars, he’s rather cute; you suddenly feel bad for slapping his face earlier.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

Your offer sends him over the moon, he’s walking alongside you to the nearest convenience; Atsumu is rather talkative, bringing up topics of everything and anything that comes to his mind. As the two of you look over drink options in the cooler, his hands pull two cans of black coffee.

“You’re favorite right?” He holds one out to you.

Your actively smiling, biting your lower lip and wondering if you needed to play along with the role but as he stares at you with such adoring eyes, it makes your heart skip a beat just taking in the fact that he would remember something trivial over text.

“Actually.” You place the drink back, opting for a sweeter caramel macchiato, “I would say that this is my favorite.”

Atsumu quirks a brow, “Are you saying you were lying to me?” He places a hand over his heart, “And here I thought we were soulmates.”

Your hand smacks against his arm, “Shut up.”

“So what are you studying for?” Atsumu sips his drink, the two of you leaning against the windows of the convenience store. There’s a slight sway in his body and you’ve unknowingly followed his movements.

“Literature. Once I graduate, an internship is probably where I’ll start but I’m hoping I can get hired into a publishing company.” He’s comfortable to be with and you aren’t sure if it’s because he thinks he knows you or because his presence is just like that; comfortable.

Atsumu finishes off his canned beverage, “And you do that, all on top of running a foodie Instagram.”

From what you gathered on a quick skim of the account; they have your occupation as a lower level food blog; it’s rather funny. You can only nod to him, “It’s just a side hobby really.”

“Well maybe I could join you on one of your little adventures.”

You try to suppress the immense grin that wants to grow on your lips, there’s an internal battle happening of whether you should tell him or not but once again, the way he looks at you, the cute doe eyed look; it puts butterflies in your stomach.

“How about tomorrow?” He lets out a small gasp, your hands pull out your cell phone and offer it to him, “Your number?”

“I’m free for lunch, just text me when and where.”

You press the number he’s inserted into his contact; in a second his cell rings and he’s showing off his screen, “Don’t message me on Instagram though, I’m detoxing from social media for a bit. Just, text my number.”

He walks you to the curb, helping you flag down a cab, and you give him one last gleeful glance before getting into the car. As you sit, you’re quick to dial Suna’s number. You know he’s probably sleeping but the light feeling in your heart overrides his sleep schedule.

“What?” He’s groaning.

“Suna listen to me carefully. The prank that you guys are doing.” You hear a small snore, “Suna!” He jolts awake and you groan, “You know what, go back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up immediately.

Your phone dings, Atsumu’s name pops up. Can’t wait for our date. You bite on your thumb, a smile on you before you respond.

Although having just seen him forty minutes ago, you two text back and forth. First he wondered if you arrived home safe, next he sent pictures of himself insisting it’s for you to choose for his icon, then he proceeds to narrate his way home. You wonder if you’re responding like catfish you but the more he brings up random topics, the more you forget about that stupid prank.

Wait let me call you.

Your heart beats faster, your phone lighting up with his name. You press the answer button slowly, “Hello?” You giggle.

“You’re telling me that you like spikers more than setters.” His voice is nearly screaming and you lean back on your chair laughing into the phone.

The quick research you did on his team had you watching short videos, and while you had to admit it was amazing to watch, your eyes drifted more to one of his teammates than him, “What’s his name?” You lean to look at your computer screen, “Bokuto Koutarou?”

“No!” He’s whining out into the air, “If I had known you were a spiker girl I would have changed positions.”

Your eyes catch the time on your laptop, “Woah. It’s three in the morning.” That meant you had spent over four hours total texting him and now you were on the phone with him, “What are you doing awake?”

He blows out a breath of air, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well.” You draw out the word, dragging your self to your bed, “I’m going to go to sleep now.” There’s a pause on the line, “Atsumu?” He hums tiredly, “Good night.”

There’s a small snore from him before he shifts around, “Good night.”

The morning light urges you awake, for a second you peak at your phone’s time and it nears ten in the morning. You’re about to throw your phone back onto the bedside table until Atsumu’s name catches your eye. For having gone to bed at three a.m. he shot you a text at seven.

Morning beautiful.

It was sweet, simple, and it made you smile; giving you the extra push to get out of bed. You stalked your own catfish page, there hadn’t seemed to be any updates so there was still time. A quick search of the internet has you picking out a random restaurant nearby and you send off a text to Atsumu about a meeting time.

You were late, pushing through the doors of the restaurant, your eyes scan the place to see him raise a hand for you. He’s dashingly handsome despite being in casual wear, you wonder if he spent time like you did just trying to pick out an outfit or if he spent forever gelling his hair as long as you tried to get your strands into the perfect waves.

“Sorry, did you wait long?” You pull into the seat in front of him.

He’s smiling and you hope to god that when you break the news to him, he’ll still smile for you, “I just got here not too long ago too.” He looks over the menu quickly, “What do you think you’ll get?”

You inspect each dish, a light hum on you as you dance around the option, “The spaghetti sounds nice.”

Atsumu tilts his head, “It has red meat in it.” You stare blankly at him, “Aren’t you allergic to red meat?”

“Oh.” You set the menu down, “Actually.” He follows your actions, you’ve become nervous at what you’re suddenly about to do, “There’s something you should know.”

“Fuck this!” Atsumu throws the napkin on the table, you jump as he harshly stands, throwing the chair back.

“Atsumu.” You stand.

“No! Don’t. Were you just messing with me then? Did Osamu tell you I was going to be at the bar last night?” Atsumu’s fist ball, “You know what, whatever.”

“Wait.” You follow him behind, “Atsumu. I’m sorry.”

He harshly turns to you, god, even in sunlight you were beautiful to him. He wants to laugh, the month he spent talking to the fake you; yeah that was all bullshit to him but honestly when he saw you last night, when he spent over four hours actually talking to you; he actually felt that maybe this could be something deeper.

“I’m really sorry, I know I should have said something right away.” You have a soft pout on you and it makes him outwardly groan.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, it’s fine. I probably deserved this prank too anyways; must have pissed him off somehow.” He waves a hand, “You can just go back to doing whatever.”

Your hand pulls on his wrist, “I owe you a meal.” You bat your eyes with a cheeky grin, “If you take pictures of me, we can send them to Suna and use the money for our food.”

“Oh.” He begins to smile, “I like that idea.”

Back into Osamu’s office, Atsumu has now pulled you onto his lap, your head resting on his shoulder with arms hanging around his shoulders. The two bachelors stare at the sickly loving sight.

A lightbulb goes off in Suna’s head, “Wait! My money!”

You snort a laugh into Atsumu’s shoulder, “Hey, I earned that fair and square. You paid for goods.”

Osamu is having a staring contest with his brother, “So you two have been actually dating for two months? Why would you still message the catfish account then, why not just kick my ass when you found out?”

Atsumu taps a finger on his chin, “Well, I was just originally going to ghost you guys but then babe here and I discovered that we could fund all of our dates with Suna’s money. We even started setting aside leftover cash from our dates to plan a trip.”

You giggle, “We’re going to Disney next weekend.”

“All the pictures.” Suna whispers.

There’s an amused hum in your throat, “Honestly I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out. We were dropping hints in the photos.”

Indeed, the two males looked at the pictures you sent them. If they backtracked to two months ago, there wouldn’t be any hints but the closer they get to the present; it was painfully obvious. They were just too caught up in their excitement to even notice. In one photo, part of Atsumu’s shoulder and hair was just barely in the picture; another had his reflection vividly displayed in the window of the restaurant, and somehow Osamu and Suna missed the obvious Black Jackals jacket sitting on the back of the chair next to you.

The two boys were having a mental breakdown.

You shifted on Atsumu’s lap, leaning forward to tap against the top of Osamu’s phone, “Now, if you’d please deactivate the account since this whole charade is over.”

Osamu ended up not deleting the account. He set the account to private because seeing how his brother was so deeply entranced by you, Osamu had a feeling this one was going to last and he was right; on Atsumu’s wedding day, his little best-man speech had him whipping out the catfish Instagram to display on the monitor for everyone to see.

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #osamu #suna #atsumu

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omgsomeonesomewhereonearth · 4 years ago

Text

I'll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch1

AO3 Link || Next Chapter

Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied sex, one-night stand, rumours and scandal, swearing, I would recommend a 16+ readership, but since this isn't actually explicit I guess use your discretion?

Summary: For all accounts and purposes, Patton Hart should have been able to make it through his twenties in the music industry without coming face to face with a scandal. The perfect package of talented and adorable, with family connections to boot, all he'd had to do was keep out of trouble, and he was good at that.

He hadn't counted on running into Janus Lyre. The beautiful, frustrating, devil-may-care actor evidently has some sort of effect on Patton, driving him to make the sort of mistake that never would have crossed his mind previously. Now, with their faces plastered across the internet and fledgling careers on the line, the two of them need to keep the lie of their fleeting relationship sustained.

‘The sweetheart and the snake’ - has Janus Lyre found a new ‘Hart’ to break?

Less than an hour after being photographed at the premiere for his own movie, the young star was seen at a swanky downtown nightclub - guess that’s one flick we won’t be catching!

But, dear readers, that’s not the most interesting part. With Lyre’s turbulent record over his few years of fame, one might say playing hooky is just a minor infraction for the beloved bad boy, but the same can’t be said for the cutie hanging off his arms in those photos! Some of you might have already recognised those cute brown curls and sunshine grin, and as hard as it may be to believe that is indeed Patton Hart.

The youngest son of now retired singer Ophelia Hart has made quite a name for himself recently, with his sugary sweet lyrics and impossibly innocent persona - impossibly being the operative word. Is the golden boy finally rebelling? Or had there always been a darker side to Hart, hidden behind the saccharine pastel branding?

---

Logan Wright: Just saw the news. Need to talk immediately. Send me your location, I can arrange for you to be picked up safely.

Logan Wright: Patton please pick up my calls

Logan Wright: I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is??

---

Patton groaned around the headache coursing through his skull as he paced the wooden floors of the darkened bedroom, willing the phone in his hand to be still long enough for him to figure out what to do.

This had to be a bad dream.

Patton Hart was not the kind of guy to wake up in another man’s bed with a bad hangover, barely any memories of the previous night, a hundred missed calls from his manager, and compromising pictures of himself spread all over the internet.

Maybe if he just crossed his fingers real hard and opened up twitter again, it would all just be gone and he would wake up in his own home, sans migraine, and everything would be just fine.

Nope. Patton’s own besotted face was the very first thing that greeted him as he opened the app, gazing up at Janus Lyre of all people. He felt like he was looking at a stranger as he flicked through the images despite his own surmounting dread. He watched this weirdly confident version of himself, practically draping himself over a man he barely knew, grinning as Janus leaned in to whisper in his ear, kissing him in the street outside the nightclub, his own unfamiliar hands running through long dark locks, wandering down to lithe waist and hips, pulling their bodies even closer.

Patton felt sick. He had to call Logan, he knew that. Logan knew how to fix things, he would handle this.

Then again, Patton had never given him something like this to fix before.

The tweets underneath the photos ranged between a variety of reactions, from confused, to shocked, to disgusted to “always knew Patton Hart had a dirty side”, to “Can’t wait to see how long Janus keeps this one around.”

To be perfectly honest, all of them made the sea of dread and nausea in Patton’s gut rise and lurch.

“This is so bad,” he muttered to the figure that had just appeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand.

“Oh is it? Is it really? Oh, thank you so much for telling me, I would definitely have forgotten just how ‘bad’ this was if you weren't here to remind me.”

Janus Lyre was infuriatingly cool, in a way that no one really had a right to be in the mornings - let alone on this morning. Somehow, even in sweatpants, with his tousled hair tied back in a low ponytail, he managed to make Patton feel awkwardly underdressed for having put his own clothes back on. His smudged eyeliner, a relic of the night, only added to the effect of his condescending eyeroll.

Regardless, Patton was grateful to accept the water, and the aspirin that was dropped into his palm with it. At least he was a gracious host, all things considered.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, sipping slowly as he picked at a rip in his rumpled jeans. He could feel the weight of Janus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look up. It felt like he’d be doing something wrong, shameful even, to be looking at the other man right now, despite all that had already transpired between them.

He didn’t know Janus, not really, but he had known of him. At least, he’d known he was bad news. He was an incredible actor, from what Patton had heard, and had managed to flourish in the past couple of years despite his young age and apparent lack of industry connections.

…Unfortunately, his incredible acting wasn’t all that he was known for. Janus’ name frequently popped up with regards to his sardonic responses to the press, disregard for convention, insulting important names in the industry, and generally being considered trouble.

Patton had often wondered how the man hadn’t been blacklisted yet. He never thought he’d end up tangled up with him in any way, much less this literally.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re getting how serious this is,” he protested, “I - I just don’t understand how - there are pictures, Janus, everywhere, I have so many calls-”

Janus looked almost amused, as he leaned casually against the curtained windows, quirking an eyebrow at Patton.

“Oh dear, not pictures !” he mocked, “I take it this is your first time getting caught ‘ in flagrante’?”

“Wha- yes, of course!” Patton flushed.

“Well, don’t worry then, the first time is always the hardest,” Janus responded lightly, seeming as though he was getting quite bored with the conversation, and by extension, with Patton.

“I don’t exactly intend there to be a second time, just so you know,” Patton snapped,” I didn’t even intend for there to be a first time, quite frankly-”

Janus did look amused at this, grinning smugly as he replied, “Oh, is that right? You and I appear to remember last night very differently.”

“I’d really rather not talk about last night, thanks.”

“I’d happily talk about anything else. You are the one that keeps bringing it up,” Janus shrugged, before turning on his heel to face the window, tugging the curtain open by the corner, just enough to invite in a thin stream of light.

Patton might struggle with nuance sometimes, but even he understood that - Janus had got the last word in, and now he was done talking.

He huffed in annoyance, but it didn’t stop his traitorous eyes from following the graceful movement, tracing the dark lines of the tattoo that marked Janus’ light brown skin, a massive serpent that coiled and looped all over one side of his slender frame, seeming almost to writhe, hypnotically, with the slightest movement.

Patton tore his eyes away quickly, tugging self consciously at his own sweater sleeves. The cool water had helped slightly, but he could feel the dread settling in his stomach again. He didn’t belong in this situation, having wild midnight trysts with ridiculously pretty men, and whatever confidence the alcohol had apparently given him last night had evaporated, leaving him utterly unprepared for light, flirtatious morning-after banter.

“Um, well,” he cleared his throat and stood up, “I should probably go now, and call my manager to fix all this. Thank you for, er - the water, and last night, I guess, and I wish you all the best, of course.”

Janus didn’t even turn around to respond, “Oh, and I don’t suppose you’ll need transportation arranged?”

“No thank you, I can find my way-”

“And give the press an opportunity to catch you leaving the den of the snake? In the same clothes you entered in, no less?”

“I-”

Luckily, Patton didn’t have to come up with a clever response, because Logan - his dear, wonderful, manager Logan - decided to call him at that very moment.

“...I have to take this.” he muttered triumphantly, turning around to lift the phone to his ear, “Hi, Logan, I am so, so, sorry - I meant to call you, I just-”

“No time,” Logan’s phone voice was as always, clipped and professional, and he got straight to the point, “I need to see you. Immediately. There is much to discuss. I trust you’ve had enough foresight to remain at Lyre’s residence and not step outside?”

“I - I’m still here, yep.” Patton blushed.

“Good. I’m sending a car, don’t leave the building until it arrives. And bring Lyre with you, please.”

“You want to meet Janus?”

“The subject I need to discuss with you also concerns him, so yes.”

“Oh- um, okay, I’ll bring him. Um, do you need an address?”

“No need, I have it.”

“Already? How?”

“That is my job, Patton.”

“Right, right, fair enough. Okay, I’ll see you.”

---

Patton had a flashback to middle school - the one time he was sent to see the principal for bad behaviour - as he knocked nervously on the door to Logan’s office.

“Come in.”

He heard a scoff from behind him as he took a deep breath, preparing to open the door - it had been a struggle to get Janus to come along.

Just as he’d expected - and feared - Logan was wearing his “I am a professional and thus I am not going to get upset” face. What he hadn’t expected, was that this look didn’t seem directed at him.

Leaning back in the chair next to Logan’s, high heeled boots on the desk, was a man that Patton had never seen before - and between the half-black, half-silver mullet, curled moustache, and bright green glitter, he was pretty sure he’d remember if he had.

His eyes skipped over Patton entirely before settling on Janus and lighting up.

“J-Anus!” he cackled, “Thanks for not picking up any of my calls from last night, asshole!”

“Remus, good to see you,” Janus sighed, “Looks like your mummy called my mummy,” he whispered loudly to Patton.

To Remus, he said, “I do apologise, Remus, I turned my phone off because I was busy not watching the movie I was in. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ahem,” Logan interrupted, “Mr Lyre, thank you for coming in, Patton, this is Remus Rey, Mr Lyre's manager. Please take a seat, Remus and I have much to discuss with you.”

Patton waved politely at Remus, who winked back.

“Well first things first, I’d like to say congratulations to you both-”

“Remus.”

“-But that was nasty fucking trick you pulled there, Jay! You promised me you’d stop disappearing from important events! You know how much work I have to do to clear that shit up?”

Janus shrugged like a petulant teenager. “Got bored.”

“I really am sorry for putting this on you, Logan.” Patton could see Logan’s knuckles tightening, a familiar tenseness in his jaw, that telegraphed that he was Not Having a Good Time.

“That’s - not to worry, Patton,” a twitch had started to develop in his right eye, “technically speaking, this is - my job.”

“And he’s pretty damn good at it if he’s managed to keep you out of trouble this long eh, Patty?” Remus cracked in, “I mean, for what it’s worth, I always knew there was more to you, but the two of you really had the rest of those idiots fooled, huh?”

“Um…”

“ Anyways,” Logan interrupted through gritted teeth, “Whilst the two of you were missing in action, so to speak…”

Patton sunk a little deeper in his seat. He wasn’t looking at him, but he was pretty sure he could feel Janus roll his eyes from beside him.

“...Remus and I had a chance to sit down and decide how to deal with this in a way that will benefit both parties.”

“ Oh, how fascinating, do tell .”

Logan, apparently much better equipped at dealing with smart-ass comments than Patton, ignored Janus entirely.

“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”

“Of Course we’ll hear you out!”

“ ...Yes, because that request didn’t raise any suspicions at all.”

“Remus and I think the best way to spin this current...situation to our advantage, would be with a relationship contract.”

There was a silence in the room for a minute as the full meaning of Logan’s words settled in. Well, a silence accompanied by Remus tapping out a rhythm on the edge of Logan’s desk with his - admittedly fabulous - acrylic nails. After what felt like a full minute he grinned at them.

“Pretty good, huh? It was my idea.”

”Yes, well, I cannot exactly deny that Remus was the one to suggest that,” Logan grumbled, “However, I do support it entirely, and am happy to proceed with your consent.”

“You want us to...date?”

“They want us to pretend to date,” Janus interjected, “A few staged photos, attend events on my arm, everyone thinks this was a sweet little lover’s outing and not a drunken fling.”

“See, I told you mine was smart!” Remus grinned proudly at Logan.

“...Indeed,” Logan nodded at Janus, “I understand you might have your compunctions, but this is the best way for us to spin this into something... close to brand-appropriate, for Patton. And as for you, Mr Lyre-”

“We’re hoping we can make it look like you’re finally setting down, starting to behave yourself, or some horseshit like that,” Remus cut in, “I gotta keep you booked somehow, Jan-Jan.”

Another long silence filled the room - and even Remus stayed quiet for this one. Patton stared at his lap. He didn’t exactly feel great about this sort of thing, but Logan had said it was the only way. And heck, this sort of stuff happened all the time in this line of work, he knew that. Right?

Janus spoke up first.

“How long would this contract be, exactly?”

“We were thinking one year,” came Logan’s reply.

A whole year?

"I assume there are rules?"

"Behave as though you're in a relationship, perform for the camera when necessary, and if you intend to have outside relations, do try to keep them private - or better yet, don't."

“...I’m amenable,” Janus said finally.

And then, Patton could feel three sets of eyes on him, waiting for a response. Logan, calm and expectant, as ever hiding his impatience behind professionalism. Remus, toothy-grinned, leaning forward as if he was watching a sports match.

And Janus. For the first time with sober eyes, Patton levelled his own gaze with Janus’. His face was as inscrutable as ever, but Patton could feel the unspoken challenge behind his mismatched eyes. Asking him whether Patton Hart could handle something like this. Or worse, outright stating that he couldn’t.

…Or maybe Janus wasn’t thinking any of that and it was just Patton’s own loopy consciousness egging him on. Either way, the words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought them.

“I’ll do it.”

#moceit #patton sanders #janus sanders #ts janus #ts patton #sanders sides #ts sides #sanders sides fanfiction #celebrity au #fake dating #remus sanders #logan sanders #my writing

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yutahoes · 4 years ago

Text

Sakura

(Part Six)

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six

genre : Chaptered, Fluff, Dramatic

pairing : childhood friends: soccer player! Nakamoto Yuta x single mom! Y/N

word count : 2.8k words

You’ll always be his Sakura.

@ailoveyuta @loona-4-eva @aiforyuu @2-3-t-i @cosmiclatte28 @url-lindo-sexy @nuoyipeach @aaasteroidsky @thisis-myname @yutazen01

“Dude, are you out of your mind? You’re going to transfer to the Korean team?” Yuta rolled his eyes. How many times does he have to tell Mark about this? Korea is doing well in soccer, maybe he can transfer to the team since he started playing soccer here. “You’re promising. Even the coach says so.”

Yuta sighed then leaned on the counter. “It’s only for three years, Mark. After that, I’ll transfer to the Japan team or go back to Spain.” He explained before thanking the pharmacist for the medicine.

“I totally underestimated you, hyung.” Mark claimed. “I didn’t know you were the type to do these for a girl.”

“You’ll understand it when you fall in love.” Yuta smiled then stopped when he spotted the younger girl seated on the bench outside her mom’s room and she was looking at him. "I'll talk to you later, Mark." He hung up the phone then sat beside her. "Why are you outside? It's pretty chilly."

"Jae is noisy." She said in a soft voice before turning her book to the next page. Yuta checked on the title of the book she's reading, The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie. A young child reading a suspense thriller book. Cherry is indeed something. "Ahjusshi…" she called without leaving her gaze on the book. "When did you know that you love my mom?"

He sat next to her, placing the bag of medicine beside him. "I heard what you said on the phone, that you're in love. How do you know that you're in love with someone?" Is this some boy trouble? But isn't she too young to be thinking about this? And, is he the right person to tell her these things? "Do you really love my mom?" Then it might not be some personal problem.

Yuta sighed then bent forward so that his elbows were on his lap. "I don't know when it started. Taeyong might be right that I do love her even before she left for Chicago."

"When did you know that you are in love with her?"

He smiled. "You know your mom had that twinkle in her eyes when she's so happy about something. I like that twinkle." Yuta grinned as if remembering a memory. Y/N holding a snow globe while smiling. The white snow falling on her as the lights of Osaka illuminate her. "I wanted to protect that happiness for the rest of my life."

"If you really love her, why did you let her meet my dad?"

That question. She already asked it back in the aquarium and he was honestly surprised. He doesn't know what to answer to that back then but now he knew. "I was a coward." That answer obviously surprised Cherry. "I was scared that I can't keep that smile." He grinned then ruffled her hair that made her whine. "I hope, now, we can keep your mom's smile." She only nodded.

"You're a great listener, Cherry."

The younger sighed. "That's all I ever do, listen."

Yuta smiled. "Then if you ever needed someone to talk to, I'll be here." He gestured to the book. "Can you tell me this story when you're done?" The older guy smiled widely when she nodded. Yuta removed the jacket he's wearing and wrapped it around her. "You should come inside when it gets too cold. Your mom will worry if you get sick."

Cherry nodded that made him stand up, heading to Y/N's room. But before he could enter the door, the younger girl held his wrist. "Thank you…" she said quietly. "Samchon." Yuta smiled. She’s such a tsundere.

----

It was an everyday scenario for the past school week that Yuta would fetch the kids after school then head to the restaurant where Y/N is working to eat lunch. Sometimes, he would teach Jae soccer while Cherry waits for them, reading her book quietly.

It was Friday when they went to the same restaurant, greeting Y/N and some waitresses that they had grown accustomed to. The three sat at their usual table by the corner of the restaurant, Jae and Cherry next to each other while Yuta sat opposite the two.

The youngest giggled when his mom came to their table handing them the menu that they have seen countless times already. “Have you eaten?” Yuta asked that made Y/N nod. “Your medicine?” Again, she nodded with a smile. “I’ll have the vongole pasta.”

“Chicken!” Jae said in a cheerful tone while handing his mom the menu. Yuta even teased him by saying that he’ll grow a wing next time he eats chicken. “Noona, are you going to have the chicken as well?”

Cherry shook her head then closed the menu. “I’ll have the jumbo shrimps.”

Y/N stared at her, taking the menu from her. “You don’t know how to peel shrimps. Do you want me to peel it for you?” But Cherry shook her head. The older pursed her lips and went to the kitchen to get their orders that made Yuta shake his head.

He asked if they have homework but Jae shook his head saying that it's Friday. "But I have a project to do. Can you help me, samchon?" Yuta nodded then he looked at Cherry who was just playing with the napkins on the table.

When their orders came, the youngest guy was too excited to have chicken and Yuta watched as he took a drumstick and started munching on it. Cherry was just looking on the plate of six jumbo shrimps. "Do you need help, Cherry?" He asked and she nodded. He smiled before showing her how to peel the skin of the shrimp using a spoon and fork.

"That's so cool, samchon!" Jae said wide-eyed. "Do you always do that?"

He nodded. "Your mom loves shrimps but she doesn't know how to peel it off so I learned this." Cherry just stared at him. "Try it out, Cherry."

She tried peeling the next jumbo shrimp but accidentally cut it in half that made her annoyed. "It's fine. You're doing well." Yuta complimented. He watched as she focused on the next shrimp, tongue darting out that reminded him so much of Y/N. She usually does it when she's drawing.

The surprised expression was easily seen on her face when she flawlessly skinned one shrimp. "You're good at this, noona." Jae said while munching on his chicken.

Cherry skinned the remaining three, breaking one in half. Yuta was surprised when she put a shrimp on her brother's plate then two shrimps on his plate, leaving the cut shrimps on her plate. Jae complained that he wanted another shrimp and Yuta gave him the other one from his plate. The younger girl put another shrimp on his plate then ate the half from her plate. She's really charming.

Yuta put some of the pasta on one of the small plates and handed it to Cherry to eat. He even scooped some on his fork the feed Jae who exclaimed that he'll order it next time.

After eating, he brought the two of them to a large library that he only searched on the internet. Jae's eyes were twinkling since there's a part in the library where you can play with other kids, as well as read children's books. "We'll do your project, hmm? I will just buy some drinks." Yuta told the younger guy who only nodded. "Cherry, can you come with me?"

She nodded, following him. They exited the children's section then passed the Vendo machines before heading to one room. "The library boasts a bookshelf dedicated to Agatha Christie," Yuta explained then pointed at one shelf. "You finished your book, right? I'll keep Jae company so you can read more." He ruffled her hair but she didn't react. "Read as many as you can. I'll bring you snacks later." She nodded that made him smile.

Yuta just let Cherry on her own while he helped Jae with his drawing. “You know your mom is really good at drawing.” He said absent-mindedly while drawing a small Spiderman on the bottom of the page. Jae looked surprised at the revelation even explaining that he never once saw his mom draw something.

Did she stop drawing illustrations? But she’s studying arts in college. Did she stop? Come to think of it, she stopped saying things about her college life after the fifty-fifth letter. It’s all about Chicago. Did she drop out of college just to be a mom? Maybe she’s taking this dream too hard.

He promised to bring them home before five since Y/N is getting home at four but it's already past six when Yuta realized the time. He had been enjoying his time with Jae, playing and even reading him some books. The younger was the one who told him to go home since he's sleepy.

But he changed when he saw his noona crying. Jae's eyes were wide as he watched the older guy hugging the sobbing girl. "It's already late. Your mom will get worried, Cherry." But she kept crying in his arms, claiming that she doesn't want to go home yet, which made Yuta sigh. She might have enjoyed being here too much. "When I get back from Spain, we'll return here and read all the books here, hmm?" He assured the young girl who was breathing heavily, staring at him with her teary eyes.

When they arrived at her place, Y/N was surprised to see Cherry sleeping on Yuta's shoulder. She pointed to her daughter's room as Jae announced that Cherry cried non-stop in the cab. "That was the first time I saw noona cry, eomma." Yuta smiled hearing those words. Where did she get this tsundere attitude? "Maybe she really liked Yuta samchon." Jae claimed. Does she?

He was supposed to go home when she invited him for dinner. Jae said that he's too sleepy to eat and that he'll just wash up when he wakes up in the morning. Yuta was just chuckling at that when the younger asked to be tucked in by his favorite soccer player. The older nodded, carrying him to his room. "I'm going to miss you, samchon. You promise to call me and tell me about your practices."

He chuckled at that. "Of course, bud. You are my lucky charm." Jae giggled at that. "But you have to promise to eat more and go to school so you can cheer on me better." He nodded. "Take care of eomma and noona while I'm gone, okay?" He lightly rubbed the younger's stomach that made Jae smile then yawned. "Go to sleep, Jae."

Before he could leave the room, Jae wrapped his small arms around Yuta's neck. "Thank you for today, Appa." He said in a sleepy voice before Yuta felt the weight of his head on his shoulder. The older lightly placed him in bed, smiling to himself. Is it possible to feel butterflies in your stomach with just a simple word? Why does he want to keep hearing that word?

Yuta was grinning widely when he left Jae’s room and Y/N was just looking at him weirdly that made him laugh. “Is he asleep?” He nodded, sitting on the chair opposite hers. “Are you going to eat?”

“Yeah. You never cooked for me before. This is my chance.” She giggled at that saying that she made him rice cakes in Osaka before. “That doesn’t count, obaasan helped you.” He thanked her for the food and tried the stew she made, smiling. “It’s pretty decent.”

She revolted with a laugh. “You do know that I hate cooking but I have to learn or the three of us will die.”

“Yeah, you changed so much,” he muttered absent-mindedly. “But in a good way. You’re more responsible now, it’s amazing.” She ate a spoonful of rice, taking time in chewing that simple meal. “You’re doing a great job as a mom. Those two are really charming in their own ways.”

Y/N smiled at that. “They should have met you sooner. Maybe Jae wouldn’t cry over petty reasons and Cherry would learn to smile more. You’re going to be a great dad someday, Yuta.”

A great dad. He wouldn’t even know that he would feel proud at that simple phrase if not for her and her children. Appa. He wanted to be called that word repeatedly. He wanted to spend time with his kids, reading books and playing soccer. He wanted to tuck them to bed at night and wake up with their smiling face. He wanted to eat breakfast with them, bond with them at lunch, and ask for their help in cooking dinner. He wanted to drive them to school and pick them up while sharing stories of what they did the whole day.

He wanted to spend time with his lucky charm and let him cry over petty reasons. He wanted to show the tsundere all the care he can give and let her slowly smile for him. He wanted to do this. For Jae and Cherry. For Y/N.

"I think I just changed my dream." He started that made her look at him curiously, finishing her food. "I want to be a dad." Yuta put down his spoon then stared at her. "I want to be Jae and Cherry's dad."

Her expression varied from surprised to confusion then to worry in a matter of seconds that he wanted to take back what he said. But then, he promised himself that he'll be brave and do this without any regrets. "Honestly, I feel like everyone already knows my feelings." He laughed to shake away the nervousness he's feeling. "Even Cherry knows about it."

"I'm in love with you." He confessed that made her stop. "I guess I have been since middle school, I just refuse to believe it. When you went to Osaka, that's when I'm sure that I truly am in love with you."

"Osaka? That long?" She asked quietly and he nodded. "So you knew when you went to Chicago?"

Yuta laughed at the memory. "I do want to punch Johnny's face but he's so nice. And you seem really happy while looking at him." He smiled bitterly. "I figured I should let you go since you're happier with him so I asked my parents if I could go to Spain to train soccer. To forget about you at least."

He held her hand that was on top of the table. "I never thought I would meet you again at Taeyong's wedding. Then this." He gestured to the two rooms where her children are at. "I want this, Y/N. This is what I wanted to be, a dad."

Y/N slipped her hand away from him, "Don't, Yuta." She whispered and his face fell. He never thought about this rejection. "You have to date a single girl and have kids of your own, not like this."

"How can I do that when all I can see is you?" Yuta shook his head. This is a hopeless conversation but he doesn't want to give up. “You said I'll be a great dad. Why can't I be your children's dad?"

"Because Johnny is their dad."

Yuta sighed. "I'm not planning to replace Johnny in their life. I just wanted to take care of them and give them my love." He explained. "Y/N, I love both Jae and Cherry, that's why I'm doing this. I honestly don't think I can ever love someone the way I love the three of you." He stood up. "Thank you for the meal. I'll clean the dishes."

"Yuta…" she called, following him to the kitchen with her empty plate.

He smiled at her, taking her plate then putting it on the sink. "Let's talk about this when I go back from Spain. Think about it and I'll ponder about it as well." Y/N sighed. "If you don't want to, I won't force you. Just remember that I'm here for the two of them, for you."

Yuta sighed while cleaning the plates. He doesn't need to think about this. He knew he wanted this. All he had to think about is when she says no to everything.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Seven

#yuta nakamoto #yuta #yuta nakamoto fluff #yuta fluff #yuta chaptered au #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta fluff

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spookysanta · 4 years ago

Text

braided. (c.e.)

Summary: she hates when he’s right, but she hates it even more when he knows he’s right and won’t shut up about it. or, he likes to do her hair more than she does.

Pairing: Husband!Chris Evans x Black!reader

WARNINGS: none

i don’t hate it anymore, thankfully.

UNEDITED

***

“Y’know,” he said as he entered the bedroom they shared from his shower, his waist wrapped in a towel, white steam trailing behind him from the hot bathroom. “I could ask what you’re doing, though I’m not entirely sure I’d like to know.”

“I’m not entirely sure I’d want to tell you.” His wife shrugged without missing a beat. She didn’t want to tell him that she learned a new hair-braiding technique on social media and decided to give it a try, only to stop halfway because her hands began to cramp.

“Well, it seems to me that you started on your hair and got tired.”

“Shut up.”

She hated how he just knew stuff.

And of course, she’d expected him to already have known what she was up to.

She didn’t have to tell him what was happening, because he just knew her. He knew that this would be bound to happen, especially now that she’s home full-time. When she isn’t working, she scours the Internet to find something new to do; today’s activity must’ve been hair related. She knew he would tease her for quitting her hair halfway through (like she usually does); but sometimes, she just loses interest, or her hands cramp up, she can’t help it.

“And here I was, about to offer my services to help. But no, you don’t deserve it since you’ve chosen to be mean to me.” His feet padded across the brown carpet floor over to their dresser to pick out clothes for an interview later in the day. “I was ready and willing to be the helpful husband.”

“Were you?” she retorted.

“Yup.” He discarded the towel around his waist, displaying his chiseled frame for his wife to see just because he could. He dressed himself, putting on a plain black button-up shirt and dark jeans despite the interview being conducted via video conference. “I was. I’d consider myself a nice guy, doll. I’m very helpful when I’m needed.”

He finally carried himself over to her, who was sat on their shared bed with her back against the headboard. He leaned over her tauntingly. “You sure you don’t want help?” he mumbled, lips brushing hers in a way that intimidated her.

“No.” she huffed.

“Fine.” He gave a peck to her bottom lip, standing up straight and heading toward the door. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need me…until then, have fun.”

He winked at her before exiting the room.

Did she mention how much she hated when he was right?

There aren’t many times when he’s just right about things, but when he is…it makes her blood boil. It’s not just that he was right, it’s the gloating that follows.

It makes her want to make him sleep on the porch.

After his interview—which had to have gone well, from the sounds of his infectious laughter coming from downstairs—she sent him a reluctant text.

To Chris:

Okay. Fine. You win. Can you come help me now? My hands hurt.

First, it was quiet. Then, there was a loud cackle that made her hands cramp more.

She heard his footsteps (along with Dodger’s, for obvious reasons) bound up the stairs. He let out a breath as he entered the room, holding back laughter. “You rang?”

She cut her eyes at him, but softened her eyes when Dodger jumped onto the bed next to her and rested his head on her thigh.

He moved her so that he could sit behind her, the bed sinking to accommodate his frame. She sat in between his legs. “Show me what you were trying to do.” He motioned to her phone that was tossed to the side.

She showed him a set of box braids that, to him, looked a little different that what he was used to. “Here.”

He usually helped her with her hair when she wanted to do protective styles like this—either she gets sleepy and she asks him to finish; or her hands cramp; or she gets bored; or he gets bored…

Regardless of why, the fact of the matter is now he knows how to do her hair and she planned to use it to her advantage—without the gloating, preferably, but she can only ask so much of him.

“Why do they look different than the other ones?”

“They’re knotless.” She replied. “I saw them on Twitter and tried to do it.”

“And…?”

“It’s too hard.” She groaned, plopping her head behind her on her husband’s chest.

He sat her up and looked at her hair. “You didn’t get very far.” He noted. She’d completed about four braids before he went to his interview, and since then, she’d only done two more. “How about we do the rest the way we know how, okay? It’ll go by faster.” He kissed her temple.

“Ugh.” She gave up. “Fine.”

“I know that’s not what you want—”

“At all.”

“—but you’re tired and I know you’re not going to help me until the end, and I don’t know how to do them the knotless way.” She felt him shrug. “Or, you can just have these four and be done.”

She nudged his chest with her elbow, making him chuckle.

He started reluctantly, first taking the rat-tailed comb and creating a part in the back of her head that spanned from ear-to-ear in width. She reminded him gently as she turned on the television, “don’t forget the gel”; and he knew all about the gel, by the way. The gel that smelled like heaven but was sticky and hard and was oddly fluorescent in color, and he had to use it because, “it keeps things neat”.

If it were up to him, they wouldn’t use the gel at all. But it’s her hair and what she asked for, and all he wanted was to make her happy.

Taking a piece of synthetic hair from its wrapping and folding one strip over the other like she taught him, he pressed it to the square part of her hair, braiding it into her scalp.

She’ll admit, he’s gotten quite good at it.

She won’t tell him that, of course—his ego’s already the size of Jupiter. But she will say, it’s a lot cheaper to have the two of them tackle the apparent feat of doing her hair as opposed to having to pay someone to travel all the way to their home to do the same job. In her mind, she was much more willing to spend the $80 on buying the hair and supplies, than the $250 (plus a generous tip) to pay one of her friends to do it.

He got on a lot easier than she seemed to. He completed six braids by the time Belle’s father was taken into the Beast’s castle; he’d done another five by the time Belle and the Beast played in the snow.

They made some conversation as he braided, but it was mostly her reminding him not to braid too tight. “It’ll pull when it’s time for them to come out.”

“I know, I know.” He replied gently, tapping her on the shoulder to hand him the gel when he needed more to lubricate his fingers.

Thankfully, these ones were were relatively large in size. Where they would usually be doing this all day, he was closer to being done in four hours. By the time he got towards the top of her head, Beauty and the Beast was over and she—much to his dismay—put on Age of Ultron.

Let’s be clear: she only puts on Marvel movies to fawn over her husband (and his castmates)—she already watched all the movies before they were married and knew their respective plots.

“Do we have to?” He groaned. “I’d really appreciate it if we watched something else.”

“Why?” she groaned back, mocking him playfully, reaching behind her and pinching his thigh. “You look pretty in your outfit.”

“You’d think so, huh?”

She laughed, watching the man that swept her off her feet quite literally fly through the air, his red, white, and blue shield in tow. Her eyes darted to the same shield that sat framed in a case in the corner of the room.

(He planned to move it to its own display in the living room, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.)

As if he read her thoughts, he mumbled to himself, “I gotta move that shield downstairs.”

“You said you were going to do it last week,”

“I meant to,” he turned her head to the side so he could start a new braid above her ear. “but I got sidetracked with work—I had meetings all week last week, remember?”

She nodded slowly in understanding, her head beginning to ache on her neck from having to remain still for so long.

She sat up straighter when she felt him get closer to the front of her head. She held up a mirror to see where his most recent part stopped, then she parted her own hair in the same way, taking pieces of synthetic hair and starting on the very front.

“Now you want to help me?” he laughed. “I’m almost done.”

“I needed a break.” She shrugged.

“I think four hours is plenty of break time, don’t you?”

“It depends.”

After another hour-and-a-half of them braiding her hair and debating—some would call it “bickering”—about why he wouldn’t dress Dodger up as Captain America for Halloween this year, they were finished.

She sighed, the tightness in her scalp irritating, but soothing in the same.

Her husband got up from behind her. Going into their bathroom, he went in the cabinet and took out a vile of oil, small and made of glass with a dropper for a lid. It was a combination of oils—some he’d heard of, some he hadn’t—that she liked to put on her hair to maintain its sheen.

He also took the time to grab her hair mousse and satin scarf, two other things that didn’t have much meaning to him until he married her.

He sat back on the bed. Wordlessly filling up the dropper, he dripped the oil onto her scalp, making her jump at first. He made sure to coat all her partings. Then he pressed his fingertips to her scalp, rubbing in gently the product.

“You okay?” he mumbled in her ear as he massaged her.

She nodded with a hum; her eyes closed in relaxation.

If there was one thing they enjoyed doing together, it was her hair.

He didn’t quite know why either. He liked helping her, yes; he liked talking with her as they did this, of course—but what was it about these kinds of moments that made his heart flutter?

There was something about massaging her scalp that made him feel closer to her. It was almost more intimate than sex, in his mind (which was saying a lot).

After a while, he stopped. She wanted to turn her head and whine to him to continue, but then she felt it.

She felt the cold foam on top of her head. Shuddering, she asked, “What’s that?”

“Mousse.” He said simply. “I’ll rub it in and then tie you up.”

She giggled childishly, “You’re gonna tie me up?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead. “But not like that. Not yet, at least.” He pinched her side, which was something he always managed to do to be playful no matter how full his hands were.

He ran the product all through her scalp and down the shafts of her braids, the irritation immediately relieved. When he finished, he tied her scarf over her hair, making sure it was secure but not too tight.

“There.”

She turned to him, resting her head on his shoulder softly and kissing his scruffy neck. “Thank you, baby.”

“You don’t have to thank me, honey. This is what I’m here for.”

That made her heart flutter.

They sat like that for a while—her resting against him, and his arms around her protectively, careful not to pull her newly-installed extensions that they—ahem, he—worked hard on.

“You still have to do your ends, doll.”

Ugh. She hated that part; she always ended up burning herself somehow.

“Yeah, I know,” she sat up and stood, stretching her tired muscles. Her shirt rose just a bit, her brown tummy on display.

He almost licked his lips in lust.

Almost. He was trying to behave.

“I’m gonna go boil some water.” She yawned, trudging out of the room and to the linen closet to get two towels—one to wrap around her shoulders, and another to dry the ends of her hair once she soaked them.

In the time it took for her to get downstairs and into the kitchen to set a pot of water on the stove to boil, he’d changed into his loungewear and followed behind her. He found her seated at the kitchen table, half asleep. He tried to be quiet, but he startled her awake.

“Sorry.” He said, sitting in the open seat next to her.

She yawned again, “It’s fine.”

He found it adorable that she always got so sleepy after they finished her hair. He didn’t know if it was because of her having to sit still for so long, or if it was the scalp massage he’d given her. He didn’t really care why, because that meant he’d have another excuse to cuddle up to her.

The water soon gurgled from the stove, its heat steaming the screen of the above microwave oven. She stood, wrapping a towel around her shoulders and going to the stove. He emerged behind her, deciding that he would do it for her (since she always ended up injured).

Holding the pot by its handle, he gently dipped the ends of her braids into the hot water, taking the other towel to wring the hair dry. He did this twice, making sure that all her hair had gotten submerged and wrung.

She held her breath, clutching tightly the towel around her shoulders. She trusted him, obviously, but she still was terrified.

It took him all of five minutes to finish. By then, her arms grew tired, so she was grateful. He dumped the hot water down the sink’s drain, setting the pot back on the stove to cool down before he washed it.

Meanwhile, removing the towel from her body, she continued to wring out excess water from her ends so that they didn’t drip when she made her way upstairs to clean up. “I’m gonna put these in the wash, okay?” she kissed her husband’s cheek.

“Alright, baby.”

She smiled, thankful to have this man in her life.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He replied, kissing her hair.

—

tags (from sign-up sheet): @justtwhst @lokisbitch27

other tags: @cyberdoshee @honeychicanawrites @lovlisumi

#chris evans x black women #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans imagine #add to masterlist

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cheeriecherry · 4 years ago

Text

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [2/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 2/8

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, one (1) mention of vomiting (nothing graphic), very brief mention of violence (also nothing graphic), your friends being concerned about you, hugs

You wake up the next morning with a very sore, very stiff neck. You appreciate your friends putting you up for a while, but between the two of them they had terrible taste in furniture. In fact, you’re pretty certain their couch is the same couch you three shared when you first got your own place together…

You sit up on the lumpy cushions, wincing when your spine crackles. When you move to stand you find that you can’t, held in place by previously unnoticed twin weights on your blanketed legs. Your heart rate speeds up for a moment, before you realize it’s just a pair of cats sleeping on you.

You carefully finagle your way out from under them, taking extra care not to rouse or wake them. One of them chirps and stretches, and you pause, but she quickly falls back to sleep, tucked up against her companion.

Once you’re free, you wander towards the kitchen to find something to eat. Hizashi had offered to order takeout last night, but you were nearly dead on your feet by the time you walked into the house. You’d gone straight to bed, and now you had to deal with the stomach cramps.

You search around in the pantry and fridge for a while, finding few things more than rice, bread, condiments, and a couple canned goods. It made sense, considering how busy your friends were, but it was also a little ridiculous.

“You’d think two grown men could handle some grocery shopping,” you mumble, and settle on some rice, eggs, and toast. Not your ideal breakfast, but it was better than nothing.

You prepare the rice and set a pan on the stove in a haze, still muddled with sleep. Once both are sufficiently rinsed and warming, you set the rice off to cook and plop down at the kitchen table, where you notice a folded paper sitting. With your name on it.

Curious, you flip it open, instantly recognizing Hizashi’s messy writing.

‘Sho and I had to head out early, but we didn’t want to wake you. You were tossing a lot in your sleep.’

You think briefly back to the dreams you’d had, if you’d even had any. You usually had nightmares, but oftentimes you didn’t remember them, only waking with a hollow and sinking feeling in your chest.

‘You’ve got free run of the place, so use and eat what you want. Be warned, there’s not a lot in the fridge…we don’t really eat at home much. If you need the internet, Sho’s laptop is in the office across from the bedroom. See you tonight around ten!

-H’

You smile at the note, the signature consisting of a single letter, with a poor rendition of a cockatiel and a cat beside it.

You’re glad they have each other, you decide, and glad they’ve gotten together. It shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise to you, Hizashi was always more interested in Shouta than he was you. Sure, he doted on you when you were kids, but when Shouta came into the picture his attention shifted. You admit you had been a little jealous in the beginning, but now…

Maybe you’d just supposed it would always be the three of you together. You’d never bothered with dating or relationships, aside from the feelings you harboured for your best friends. You never saw the point, always content and happy to be with the two of them, even if it wasn’t romantic. They had been your rocks, your safe place, in years past.

You hadn’t comprehended that your interests could be so drastically different.

“C’mon, shake it off, stupid. They’re happy together, don’t ruin it with your feelings.” You run your hands down your face, sighing deeply. The rice would be ready soon, so you might as well get started on the eggs.

You butter a piece of bread and cut a hole out of the center, dropping it in the frying pan and cracking an egg into it.

Egg In A Hole, one of the first things you’d ever learned to cook. You were seven when you’d first tried it, and Hizashi had been there as well. You’d been at your house after school and he’d claimed to be hungry, and you -ever wanting to impress him- had set a stool in front of the stove and made him the fanciest meal you could think of.

Looking back, you’re amazed you didn’t burn or undercook anything. He had claimed it was the most amazing thing he’d ever tasted, and for years it was a staple whenever you hung out… he’d hopped off that train by the time you were twelve, but every so often you’d still made him Eggs In A Hole.

Now it’s more of a comfort, more of you holding on to a time long passed. Things were different now, you were different, your friends were different-

“Shit!” you hiss, as the toast starts to burn in one corner, smoking up the kitchen. You turn the fan on and flip it over to cook the other side, sighing in relief when the egg doesn’t splatter everywhere.

You’re glad you weren’t sent undercover as a cook on your mission. Your skills in the kitchen are sub par at best, and where you’d been, nothing less than perfection was accepted. Anything burnt or under-seasoned would have been air for punishment; fingernails ripped off, palms cut up, thumbs broken. Anything that would further hinder work…and result in more punishment.

That was just the kind of person your target was. A rich american woman with a taste for torture, and a quirk that allowed her to feast on and destroy the hope in others. She had ‘hired’ you as a silent killer, despite the fact that she could easily kill people herself…or make them kill themselves.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, willing the thoughts away. You weren’t there anymore. You were here, with Hizashi, with Shouta. Safe. Safe.

You scoop the eggs and toast onto a plate, but your stomach has already turned. Memories didn’t pair well with breakfast, it seemed.

Once the rice is finished cooking, you wrap everything up and set it in the fridge for later, and continue going about your day.

—-

Ten PM rolls around before you know it, and your friends walk through the front door. You’ve stolen Shouta’s laptop from the office and moved it to the couch, where you now sit staring intensely at the screen.

The two of them watch you for a moment. If your stillness, posture, and bloodshot eyes are anything to go by, you’ve been like that for a while.

“You’re gonna hurt your back sitting like that,” Shouta says, kicking his boots off and wandering further into the house.

“In a second,” you reply, waving him off.

Hizashi sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. “She’s not even paying attention, Sho. We could be making out right now, and she wouldn’t even notice. Hey, watch this-”

“Hizashi,” you threaten, not looking away from the screen, “if you pull your pants down, I’ll shave your head while you sleep.”

“No fun.” But he removes his hands from his jeans anyways.

Shouta meanders up behind you, leaning over the back of the couch to see what you’re so intent on. “What’s got you so focused?” he asks, scanning the page you’re reading, “You were never like this in school.”

You remain stoic, missing the joke completely. “Conviction trials,” you explain, “I want to make sure every single one of those rich pricks I outed gets put behind bars. I’ve been scrounging news outlets since five.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” You sit up straighter, stretching your back and rubbing at your eyes. “I gave the commission enough information to put these people in prison for life! Why haven’t they been brought in yet!”

“You’ve only been out for a little while. These things take time.” His tone is gentle and concerned, but to your addled brain it feels more patronizing.

You fist your hair in your hands and tug. “I gave them hideouts, names, faces, addresses, bank numbers, concrete evidence against these people! A few days should be enough time to find them! They’re top priority criminals! They should be caught by now!”

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, jarring you violently out of your thoughts. You tense beneath the touch, electricity prickling down your arm, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Breathe,” he says.

You breathe.

He squeezes your shoulder slightly, comfortingly. “It’ll happen. Give the media time to catch up.”

You look away from him, finding a spot on the floor to stare at, and slump forward in defeat. “If it gets out that I was the snitch, too…”

The room is quiet for a couple beats as your words register, and the hand on your shoulder rubs soft circles into your skin. “Your partner…they were killed, weren’t they.” It’s not a question, merely an observation.

You nod.

“I can’t let them find me, Shouta. The way these people kill their targets-”

“You’re safe here, Y/N. Always. The chances of these criminals getting into the country undetected is between slim and none. Their faces will be plastered on every single no-fly list, every district wanted list.”

“They can do whatever they want, as long as they have the money.” You turn back to the laptop, continuing to scroll around various news outlets. “Even once they’re in prison, they’ll have outside connections. If they find out it was me who outed their whole operation, I’ll have a target on my back for the rest of my life.”

Shouta lets go of your shoulder, and walks around the couch to take a seat beside you, knees bumping against yours.

“There are…resources,” he begins, choosing his words carefully, “for heroes who’ve been undercover. To help them readjust to everyday life-”

“I don’t need a therapist,” you hiss, scowling. “I need…I need-”

A pair of hands scoops the laptop out of your grip, flipping it closed and setting it aside. But before you can complain, your now-warmed-up plate of food from that morning is set in your lap, and Hizashi takes a seat on your other side.

“If you don’t want a therapist, then at least take care of yourself, okay? Eat.”

Your scowl persists as you chew.

—-

You jolt awake on the couch at an unbeknownst hour of the morning, covered head to toe in a thin sheen of sweat. Your head is spinning and your ears are ringing, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re dry heaving into the sink. Nothing comes up, save for bitter bile, but you’re exhausted once the short wave of nausea passes.

You rinse your mouth and the sink out, and splash some water on your face. With any luck, you won’t have woken anyone, but when you exit the bathroom you nearly walk face first into Shouta, who’s leaning beside the door.

“It sounded like you were getting sick.” His tone isn’t accusing, but his posture puts your guard up.

“Nothing came out, so it’s fine.”

You wander back to the living room, hoping to leave the conversation, but he only follows.

“Why were you getting sick in the first place?”

“I dunno,” you grumble tensely, “adrenaline reaction maybe? Who’s to say why people puke.”

He’s quiet for several moments, observing you, your fidgeting, your agitation. You feel like you’re under a microscope, with the way he’s looking at you.

“What happened to you out there?” he asks.

“Stuff,” you mutter.

I got people killed.

“Stuff that gives you nightmares every time you sleep?”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

I don’t deserve to come back from this.

“Your sleep-yelling woke me up. You’re lucky Hizashi wears earplugs.”

You turn away from him and grab your water bottle off the coffee table, plopping grumpily onto the couch. Shouta hesitates for a moment before finding a seat beside you again. Warmth radiates off his body, which is pressed comfortingly against your side. You can feel the tension easing out of your shoulders in his presence.

“What’s so bad about therapists, anyways?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Lots of people need them. Hizashi and I have both seen a couple over the years.”

“I don’t need someone to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”

Shouta sighs. “That’s not what they do, and you know it. What’s the real reason?”

You silently curse his ability to read you like a book, to always somehow know when you’re lying. But…you’re not sure you could tell him the truth.

“I just…don’t like the idea, okay? Leave it at that.”

He watches you silently, searching in your averted gaze for any willingness to open up, but he finds only sadness…and shame. “I should head back to bed, then. Early morning, and whatnot. Try and get some more sleep.”

He rises off the couch, and without thinking you follow suit, and quickly envelope him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest. He’s surprised for a moment, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you tight while you tremble against him.

He pats small circles into you back, keeping you close until your breathing begins to even out. “Just…don’t let this go on for too long, okay?” It’s the closest you’ve ever heard him to begging, “I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you’re obviously suffering.”

You pull away slightly, tired and defeated, and nod. “I’ll look into it. Those resources you mentioned. Okay?”

You release each other fully, and he gives you one last pat to the head.

“Okay. Now, really, try and get some more sleep.”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #yamada x reader #erasermic x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between #it will get happy soon i promise #eraserhead x reader #present mic x reader

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oflightfeet · 3 years ago

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with. – @deathmaycome where. – outside of wren’s building. when. – 31 march, late evening.

It is in the early hours of Wednesday morning, in which Wren is incapable of falling asleep, that they unlock their phone. Sitting cross legged in the bed that is not their own, they scour the internet in search for a way to contact May Nguyễn. Lucky, then, that she is a journalist — someone for whom contact is an important part of the job. The email he sends is petty, perhaps, childish, nothing compared to what had gone down earlier that night, but in this bed, in this bedroom, there are only so few ways to let go of their anger.

FROM: [email protected] SENT: Wednesday 31st March, 2021, 4:02AM TO: May Nguyễn SUBJECT: 🖕🖕🖕

May,

Don’t know why you’d resort to a phone number to text when you are a public figure with an easy to find email address. I know this is your work email, but don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to be your fucking source nor to join and repent or whatever kind of bullshit you’re attempting to sell.

I just wanted to say fuck you.

Really, that’s all.

Don’t ever fucking buy me a beer again, by the way.

Fuck you.

It’s not like Wren expects a reply and most of the day after is spent in survival mode. Going to feed Ikki’s birds, still in their MORTEM outfit. Changing their clothes at home, only to abandon the place because they can’t stand it, can’t stand the gym bag that belongs to Leon in the corner. Visit the Casino, slide into a corner of the floor reserved for Famine with their laptop and somehow fall asleep, the slight noise enough to make their head quiet enough for them to find the rest they hadn’t the night before. They get no work done. And yet, one way or another, the day drags on. Wren is dazed, their body feels tense and cold and they remember those first months after their father’s death, where they had worn two jumpers and still shivered. They find a Magic Mike Live hoodie and nick it, pulling it on to fight the frost that makes a home of their body. Grief, after all, is nothing but an absence of warmth.

And once the world grows darker, they jump on their bicycle and push their pedals with angry fervour from one side of London to the other. They arrive to their building windswept and out of breath, dragging their bike to the bike rack, fiddling with the lights until they’re off. They turn and move to the stairs that’ll take them to their front door, only to find someone sitting there. Wren’s heart sinks. All their organs sink. They push their keys into their coat pocket, swap them for the switchblade that hides there. “May,” they say. The one-syllable-name is pushed out with trouble and Wren hates how panic shines through. “What the fuck are you doing here?” They remain at a distance that could be called a safe distance, but Wren does not feel safe at all. “Need another body to set aflame?” That, then, is said with a bit more fire, but it soon dies out as Wren’s mind is filled with the memory of that static TV screen. Their other hand digs into their other coat pocket, fingers curling around their phone as their lips release a shaky breath. Just in case.

#& may. ( thread. )#& may. ( 002. )#& timestamp. ( 6 march through 1 april. )#grief tw #everyone: damn we need to get revenge on death #wren: how about ... a strongly worded email?#it's not even that strongly worded wren.#also yeah this starter spans over like 18 hours i think ehsdfksjkj

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katsukisbeatingheart · 5 years ago

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sing to me

soulmate au where you can hear the songs stuck in your soulmate’s head. the closer you are to them the quieter the music becomes, before the voice changes altogether.

word count: 2,440

a.n.: helo i have a few of these typed up and a few others in progress explicitly for soulmate aus. it’s the least angsty one so far so here you go friends.

(psst here’s dabi’s)

(psst here’s sero’s)

(psst here’s bakugou’s)

listen while you read 👉👈

ao3

Shinso Hitoshi did not sing, and isn’t the type to give even so much as a hum. But when he did—of his own volition, mind you—he never did so in front of people.

Which is how he knew this soulmate bullshit might not actually be all that contrived.

Sometimes he’d catch himself embarrassingly humming or whistling in public—usually to the absolute amusement of his friends and family—stuck with songs in his head he hadn’t even ever heard of. And it was in times like that he’d begin singing something ridiculous back, as his own petty way to clearly say ’stop’.

When the music would disappear, he’d chuckle lightly to himself and continue about his day.

Only to fall asleep that night to you whispering sweet, sweet literal nothings from the far side of his mind. Barbie Girl was a slap and a half, but if he had to check out with it rolling around in his head at two a.m. for the third night in a row, he’d dedicate his waking hours to annoying the hell out of you.

See how you liked it being startled awake—hopefully, he wasn’t 100% on the time difference—by Caramelldansen.

There were even a few times where you’d try to push music into each other at the same time. Like hijacking a radio frequency, you’d change channels on each other all day and all night until it was a warbled cacophony of noise, bordering on a headache big enough for a small city. Rarely would either of you concede, but if and/or when you did, you’d make sure the song was something you both liked.

At any other rate, Shinso had to give you credit for your taste in music; even if he didn’t recognize a fair few, he’d remember the lyrics and scour the internet later looking for them like his life depended on it. He already had a building playlist of the songs you’d sing to him—separate ones for the songs he knew, the songs he didn’t know, and his personal favorites. He kept those to himself like trade secrets, deflecting questions about what he was listening to or what kind of music he had on his phone.

Oftentimes, it was easy to guess how you were probably feeling if he just listened. There were queues of songs that made him feel relaxed and incredibly focused—which he assumed did the same for you—and others that just set him on fire.

Then there were days he felt like he was walking around with water in his shoes and a storm cloud lamenting with taut strings and frail keys. It was days like those that he liked to physically, consciously hum meme audios—or if the sadness was particularly dour, he’d find a quiet place, and sing songs that meant the world to him. Shinso wouldn’t hear anything back, and assume you were singing too.

The music said a lot about you, which was a considerable feat as he had never met you before, and he wanted to be selfish. He didn’t want to spoil what was special to you and him before he even got to see you.

You definitely worked your way around that, the maddening anonymity—using song titles to give away bits of information about one another as generously as you could. Favorite colors, films, seasons; all objective small talk suddenly turned scripture. He amassed everything in a small journal like priceless treasures—carrying around the value of another life in his pocket as casually as a to-do list. He had the music, but something tangible like this put his mind and heart at ease. You were really out there, and Shinso could meet you someday.

It wasn’t a known secret to anyone that subject posed one of his greatest fears. One day finding someone to spend the rest of ever with, with someone else’s song playing in his head.

In more than a few ways, you helped him remain largely optimistic. As long as he could hear you, he could find you, and as he got older and he acquired more freedoms and was just a little surer of himself, there was a chance.

That hope suddenly burned like ice on one derisively beautiful day.

Shinso dragged himself up the flights of stairs leading to his apartment, sliding around the stacks of moving boxes cluttering up the only way home. He tottered down the hall, and stepped through the threshold inattentively humming a new tune he’d heard that day that he thought you might like.

If there was one thing he could ever count on, it was your consistency.

Ever since you were kids, he grew up with annoying, made up nursery rhymes he still had memorized, as though he’d written them himself. They quickly turned into fun jingles, which then morphed into some of the most beautiful melodies he’d ever heard. Those didn’t usually have lyrics though, so it wasn’t like he could look them up to be sure—and yet he somehow knew they were original to you.

It was then that he realized, he had never gone a single day of his life without music.

So, when he sat back after a long night of work and readied himself for at least a few hours’ sleep, he froze. Shinso hadn’t heard a beat of song all day. Not anything besides what might have been jumping around him as he went out for errands or to the agency.

With a harsh shake of his damp hair, he swiped a towel over his stony expression. His clenched jaw was starting to drive an ache into his skull.

You probably slept all day, he reasoned.

Even though he was sure you’d sent songs to him in sleep more than a few times in your life…

No. Absolutely not.

He shook himself free of worries, refusing to end the day with fear in his heart where the music should be.

Instead, he closed his eyes and slipped into a tune he’d fallen asleep to before—one that he was sure you created. It rained over his restless consciousness like sun-drops and star-dew, pulling steady, even breaths out of him and pushing a gentle weightlessness in.

The next morning, however, brought even more questions Shinso was just slightly afraid to have answered. Still no sign of the little voice that sounded like him, but was not his own. He absently picked up on a lilting murmur somewhere from upstairs, and anchored to it the more the weightlessness slowly began disappearing.

Shinso shrugged off his nerves, whistling light and roses into the bathroom mirror through his teeth. He splashed cold water into his face and closed off the tap with a huff, sending a final apprehensive glance to his reflection before heading out the door.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly ineffably compelled to turn into the shop on the corner after a quick run to the market—but he is. Maybe it’s the incoherent and yet still familiar ringing in his ears, clear as a bell ushering him along his spontaneity.

Shinso’s morning started jittery and threatened to boil over in anarchical agitation. Strolling down the street with the absence of his wonted metronome, hands in his pockets tapping to the beat of an abandoned drum, he felt he stuck out like a loose screw. He was mindless in his trips to each store as he blindly reached for things he was vaguely sure he needed.

It was when he had stepped out onto the corner that something inexplicable snapped into place.

Shinso jogged across the street and through the inviting doors of a building whose name he hadn’t even bothered to read. He found himself surrounded by chrysanthemums and dahlias before he realized he’s in a floral parlor.

The redolence of fresh soil and ingratiatory verdure engulfed his wearied demeanour; the petals brushed his cheeks, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d suggest that the bouquets were reaching for him. The salvia and larkspur waved from the other end of the aisle, and he followed their purple buds to the other side of the shop.

He stopped to admire the camellias and daffodils, lightly taking them between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Butterflies.

Hitoshi’s eyes widened with a start, his posture straightening like he’d been struck with lightning.

They fill my guts when I look in your eyes.

He pivoted back and forth on his heels, desperately looking to the flowers for an explanation. A voice filled his head for the first time in nearly two days.

A heart that’s young is filled with sweet surprise.

This time though, the voice isn’t his. It’s clear and ringing and it doesn’t belong to him. The usual warmth he felt basking in the sound of music you whisper in his voice does nothing to compare with the exhilaration frothing in his chest now. Shinso ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, sliding it down his neck and over his shoulder.

It’s really not his, he inwardly surmised. It’s like listening to someone from inside a bubble, though; it’s a round and full sound, but he just knew if it were only slightly louder, the barrier would pop and he’d be free.

Only the innocent can sympathize.

It’s yours.

He brushed past the water lilies, clearing row after row as casually as he could in a futile attempt so as to not appear deranged.

I don’t care

The voice bled into his mind clearer, like watching the gentle shift of river to ocean water through facile currents. He turned the last corner with a breath of anticipation. In a final bit of direction, the lilac, heather, and baby’s breath spilled out of an ornate frame, unquestionably pointing to a figure facing away from him.

“About the funny way you wear your hair,” you crooned. You turned to tenderly repot the rosy begonia cupped in your palms, tucking it in place with the most serene gleam Shinso Hitoshi had ever seen. He sighed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for years.

“Someday you’ll let me put my comb up there.”

“’Till then you’re beautiful and I just stare,” Hitoshi finished softly.

You almost dropped your armful of forget-me-nots. Your strangled breath caught in your throat, hooked solely on the man standing there waiting. He gazed at you with an amused smile and crinkled, bruised eyes. It’s reminiscent of a sleepy kitten and if you hadn’t been so shocked, you’d have melted in your shoes.

“I missed your voice yesterday,” he drawled almost lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. You cleared your throat, rolling upright with a swing of your hands as they lock together at your back.

“I was going to say the exact same thing.”

His movements reminded you of a large jungle cat, stalking forward with a controlled lethargy tensed in anything but. As eager as you were, you matched him beat for beat, dragging your quivering legs in delicate strides down the aisle.

“So, is this supposed to mean we met sometime yesterday then?”

He stood right in front of you, finally close enough to recognize as the nameless and faceless childhood friend you’d been listening to since you could think on your own. You stepped into him, coming to a stop just before the tips of your shoes met his.

“It’s likely.”

“No way,” he said with a resolute shake of his head. “I’d remember you if that were the case.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

He stared you down with a focus you wouldn’t expect from eyes as exhausted looking as his.

“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” You bashfully tugged at the fabric of your clothes, the warmth in your chest spreading upwards to beam across your face. Flattening your palm against the expanse of his collar bone, you idly swung your hands over the surface like a pendulum.

“Maybe we just missed each other then—crossed paths without finishing them,” you suggested, twirling a lock of purple around your finger.

“You wouldn’t happen to be moving in somewhere, would you?”

Your head jerked with a small start to twist at him quizzically. How could he possibly know that?

“In a complex a few blocks away from here, yes. Why?”

Shinso’s smile broke into parts amusement and incredulity.

“Looks like I’m your new neighbor,” he grinned. My neighbor? You lit up, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That means—!”

“You’re stuck with me, yeah.”

“That can’t be such a bad thing,” you started, dropping your voice to push into him more, “—after all, I’m a little new to the area.” You blinked, letting a coquettish simper slide across your features.

“I could do with some sort of guide if I’m going to survive out here, you know.”

“I think I know a guy,” he murmured, a strained husk in his volume.

“Oh, you do, do you?” you whispered under fragile breaths.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down to angle his face with yours. Just as you reached in to touch his lips, he pulled back suddenly, tapping his finger to his chin in thought. “Tall, blond, black streak of lightning across his bangs—hard to miss. I’ll introduce you; probably just your type.”

You rolled your eyes and punched his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt in an iron fist.

“How could you possibly know my type?”

You pulled his stupid happy face to yours and kissed the mischief out of him, and he dissolved into a tender mess under your fingertips. All of this was new and unexpected, but he imagined seeing, meeting, and eventually kissing you going much different. Shinso hadn’t expected colliding like old, familiar friends; Shinso hadn’t expected missing the way you pressed into him, as though you’d done it a thousand times before. This was a first kiss between two people, but not the first time you’d ever touched.

“Be careful,” he sighed, voice richly warm, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

You languidly pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, tracing time signatures into his jawline.

“Have been since we were kids, thanks for noticing.”

“You mean to tell me Mr. Snuffles Is My Best Friend was actually for me? I’m flattered.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Absolutely not about one of my favorite stuffed animals.”

“That’s good to know. And here I was thinking I would have to challenge a teddy bear for your hand.” You laughed heartily, pressing your forehead into his chest.

“Can I walk you home?”

You fingered the fabric of his shirt, leaning in to feel the rhythm of his heart. It was the prettiest song you had ever heard.

“I’m already there.”

#my hero academia x reader #shinso hitoshi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #bnha x you #bnha reader insert #bnha imagines #mha imagines #soulmate au #bnha soulmate au #officer im babey #and i love him #my writing #a123 #shinsou hitoshi x reader

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