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wizkiddx · 4 years ago

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work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

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Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

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tales-unique · 4 years ago

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FAITH, LOST IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

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godzillagirl-14 · 4 years ago

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Wish Upon an Idol (Ch. 4)

Chapter 4

Pairing: ot7 x reader

Summary: The Bangtan boys have the ability to grant wishes (unbeknownst to you, the brand new addition to their friend group) So when you jokingly wish you had superpowers to “help the world in a way you knew how” what happens when wake up the next day with extraordinary abilities?

Warnings: Drama, angst, a lot of action, smut, and a bad attempt at being humorous.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst - anxiety attacks, reader is implied to be bisexual, crying, self doubt, reader is very frustrated- steamy make out session ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Word Count: 4,945

Taglist: @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @snowythellama @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore (If you want to be tagged just let me know) :)

Hope you enjoy!

You were angry.

So so fucking angry as you stormed down the street. Your body temperature was skyrocketing and you felt something animalistic deep down in your core that made you want to turn on your heel and tear your boss apart.

No. That’s not what these powers are for.

Nodding along with your thoughts you tried to calm yourself, to will away the sparks at your fingertips, and to slow down the erratic beating of your heart. You were aware that many people had watched you break Jaehyun’s nose, watched you storm out of the cafe with you creative choice of words.

Scrub the leeches out of the devil’s asshole. You gave yourself some props, you got your point across that you would never want to be with someone who constantly disrespects your boundaries, even after you had told them to stop. Your heart was already taken anyway.

What would the boys think? How would they react?

You wondered what the boys would have done if they had witnessed you throwing that ferocious jab at your boss. Would they be proud that you finally stood up for yourself? Would they be disappointed? Would they regret giving you powers in the first place?

Your heart dropped at the thought. Maybe your temper was too short for these powers. One wrong move and you could ruin someone’s life. Letting out a frustrated huff, you turned into a nearby alleyway. Your frustration and anger were building, leaving you feeling like a walking furnace. Leaning against a brick wall, you closed your eyes and thought of ways to cool yourself down.

Icebergs, Antarctica, glaciers, ice cold water... Truth be told, you just wanted to find the nearest lake and plunge into it. That would help you clear your thoughts and help your get back to your neutral state.

Pressing your cheek up against the cool surface of the building, you almost moaned out loud at the relieving sensation. Just a few more moments and you can walk home with a semi-clear head.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty sight,” Ah shit. “What’s a pretty little thing doing out so late by herself?” un-fucking-believable. Rolling your eyes you turned your gaze to the voice at hand, sizing him up, doing very little to hide your agitation.

“It’s 4:30 in the afternoon,” His eyebrows shot to his hairline at your snappy remark before he laughed coolly and you wanted nothing more than to swipe that smirk clean off his face. He reminded you of Jaehyun, just from his body language. It made you heat up all over again.

“No need for hostilities,” he responded, slyly. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright. I was worried.” he placed him hand over his heart in an attempt to make him look more genuine, but you could see right through him.

This guy’s bullshit smells worse than Jungkook’s sweaty gym socks.

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” you rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off the wall. “I appreciate the kind gesture, but if you could be so kind as to leaving me alone, that’d be fabulous.” just as you were about to walk out of the alley and continue your path home, a hand grabbing your arm stopped you.

“Hey, wait a second!”

You felt that if you clenched your teeth any harder, your jaw would break.

“Let go of my arm.” It was taking everything in you to not rip this stranger a new one. You were completely on edge, frustrated to no end, and wanting nothing more than to go home and neutralize your nerves. It was rather obvious that your powers were based off your emotions, so now it was important to make sure you weren’t feeling too much negativity to cause serious damage.

The stranger didn’t listen and if you weren’t overheating before, you definitely were now. Your face felt extremely flushed and uncomfortable. Your ears were ringing like a hot tea kettle and your heart was pounding just enough for the constant thump to hurt and hinder your breathing in the slightest. You felt the sweat on the back of your neck slowly trickle down and settle at the small of your back and your hands felt just as clammy. Too focused on not maiming this annoying stranger, you didn’t even realize he was still talking until you forced yourself to stop paying attention to your body in hopes that would distract you long enough to get away.

“Well, let me at least get your numb-”

“No.”

He blinked at you, frowning and you leveled his gaze with yours, hoping the pupils weren’t engulfed in glowing white. “Let. Go.” your words were deadly calm, despite your mind screaming at you to just grab him and toss him into oncoming traffic. No need to get too violent.

Things were getting too dangerous now as you felt the palms of your hands start to burn and you looked, unclenching your fist to reveal red palms and small sparks dancing along the lines of your fingers.

The jerk continued to stare at you before his frown turned to a scowl and his grip on your arm tightened to the point it kind of hurt. The feeling of anger and fear quickly unlocked your fight or flight instinct and you were soon swinging your hand up to smack him across the face. Short and simple to allow you time to get away, or so you thought.

What you didn’t expect was for him to catch your wrist and twist it, rendering you unable to use your hands and for your heart rate to kick up like it just took eight shots of pure caffeine. Natural instinct along with your powers kicked in like no tomorrow, and soon you found yourself kneeing the guy in the groin a little too hard, effectively making him release one of your hands. Not taking into account of how hot your palms were, you brought butt of your palm up and into his chin, knocking him off his feet and releasing your other hand.

His cry of pain would have been satisfying had you not been freaking out so badly, seeing the blistering red mark on his chin and neck. You had burned him.

Bringing your palm up to your cheek, you hissed at how hot your hand was, trying and failing to calm your breathing as you turned and hauled ass out of the alley, knocking into some people as you went. Your mind was working overtime, making sure to not use too much of your enhanced speed, yelling at you to use more of your agility so you wouldn’t bulldoze anyone else down, and making sure to not think too much in fear of triggering your elemental powers.

This was all just too much. You could hear every car horn, every heartbeat of the people you passed, vision blurring and focusing on all the wrong things, ears ringing, hands burning. Too much. Too much. Too much.

It’s a wonder how you managed to make it to your door in one physical piece while your mind felt like it was going to implode on itself.

~~~

Taking the door off its hinges would have been impressive to Seokjin, had he not seen the state you were in as you walked through the threshold. There you stood, the disconnected door in your hand, your chest heaving up and down like you had just run a marathon, and sweat dripping down your temple and onto your neck. Your eyes looked cloudy, unable to focus on anything and if Jin had looked closer, he would have saw the rapid movement of your pupils shrinking and dilating in a desperate attempt to lock on something without your vision blurring seconds later.

“. . . (Y/n)?” Standing from his spot on the couch, he stepped into your line of sight and your heart began to pound even louder in your ears as you saw him getting closer.

His lips were moving but you couldn’t hear a single word. The sound of your erratic heart beat was driving you insane. Everything was too loud, too hot and Jin was suddenly way too close to you, reaching out to try and grab your hand that was most certainly hot enough to burn him. “No!” you snatched your hand away, cradling it to your chest. Jin held his hands up in surrender, moving slowly so as not to startle you too much.

“Give me your hand,” he stated, softly making sure to not extend his hand too fast. He looked on patiently as he watched you frantically shake your head. “No, I-I’ll burn you. I can’t- I just- I don’t-” Moving away from him you began pacing back in forth, rubbing at your face as if the skin agitated you.

“God, everything is too hot!” you screamed, before your clothes abruptly burst into flames. Seokjin screeched, jumping back so as not to get burned, staring in disbelief as you just . . . stood there as the fire ate away at your clothes, until there was nothing left, leaving you as naked as the day you were born. You were scared, so scared to the point that you didn’t care about the fact that you were standing stark naked in front of Jin, or the fact that anyone in the hallway could literally walk past and see you as well.

Looking up, Jin saw the way your lip trembled, saw the way tears formed at the brim of your eyes, saw the way your hands shook. The shaky breath that was exhaled from your lips made his heart break, watching as the first tear streaked down your cheek, followed by another and then another until you crumbled down on your knees, your face buried into your hands, sobs wracking your entire body.

Jin watched on, shocked into silence by the sudden outburst before his face softened into a look of sympathy. He cautiously made his way over to you with the same carefulness you would give to a frightened deer. He lowered himself down until he was on his knees in front of you, regarding the way your shoulders shook and how you were trying and failing to even out your breaths. Lifting his hand up, he intended to grab your wrist, but because of your enhanced senses, you were able to flinch away from him. You were still too hot.

Softly calling out your name was met with no reaction, but he knew you heard him. You didn’t want to look at him. You were scared and ashamed, the events of today felt like they spanned an entire week. You were so tired. So when Jin called out to you again, you peeled your hands away from your face and was struck with the sheer ethereal beauty that was Kim Seokjin. You were awestruck.

Going for a different approach, he simply held his hand out to you, giving you the choice of whether you would take his hand or not. You stared at his hand as if it were some sort of foreign object before looking back up at his face and shaking your head. “No,” you whispered, fresh tears streaking down the (s/c) skin of your cheeks. “I’ll burn you.”

“No, you won’t.” Was his delicate reply. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and comfort the tears away. Whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you were finally able to feel okay again. But he knew that if he did that right now, things would only erupt into chaos. Baby steps.

“I trust you, (Y/n).”

Looking back up at his face, studying his features, focusing on him. Only him. He was there for you and your heart began to beat faster. Taking a deep breath, you looked back at his awaiting hand, slowly extending yours. Pulling back when you felt his skin against yours, only to realize he hadn’t flinched away from you. You knew your skin was hot, probably even unbearably hot, but he didn’t show any signs of discomfort other than a slight clenching of his jaw.

After he helped you stand up, he still held onto your hand as he led you into the bathroom, gently guiding you into the bathtub before sitting down behind you. Had you been more clear in the head, you would have asked him why he was still in his clothes.

Leaning forward, he turned the water to cold, watching as it pooled around you both, looking on in disbelief as the water immediately began to evaporate as soon as it hit your skin. He then turned on the shower head, feeling the cold water cascade over the both of you, hearing you sigh in relief and watching your tensed body finally relaxing. You leaned back into his touch as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, rubbing the skin in soothing circles. Reaching up, you grabbed his hands, squeezing them gratefully and relaxing into his chest.

You stayed like that for a while; in complete silence with cold water flowing down from the tops of your head to the tips of your toes. Rubbing at each others knuckles, as a way to acknowledge one another without having to actually say anything. You’ve never been this intimate with him or either of the boys before, letting him cuddle in the bathtub with you, let alone him seeing you naked. Sure there would be relaxing sessions on the couch while watching a movie, but for it to get this far, was truly mind boggling. You were much more comfortable around other women, it seemed much more natural to be intimate around them, granted this did feel nice and it was helping you calm your nerves that just moments before made you take out an entire door. These past few days have been absolutely insane.

You remembered what the boys had said; if you didn’t want the powers and responsibility anymore, all you had to do was wish them away. But even as you think about the events that occurred today, and the similar events that might occur in the future, you realize that you still wouldn’t give up these powers. What kind of impression would you have of yourself if you just gave up just because some days are harder than most. You wouldn’t be able to look at yourself if you gave up so easily. You had to keep fighting.

You both stayed in the tub until you had finally cooled down and started shivering from the cold water. Stepping out of the tub, you turned to Jin, only to see his clothes completely soaked. You looked at him curiously but he only smiled at you before beginning to peel his shirt off.

Eyes, widening and face reheating, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes trained on his face and damn near popped a blood vessel when he looked at you and smirked. He even had the audacity to wink at you. Good to know his playful attitude was intact. Huffing out a breath, you crossed your arms over yourself to try and keep yourself warm. The thought of trying to use your powers to regulate your body heat sounded absolutely atrocious with how you were so mentally tired, so you opted for the old fashioned way. You turned to reach for a towel hanging on the rack just as Jin pulled his pants down, your heart rate picking up to match the speed of the flash. You felt another shiver run down your spine when you finally wrapped the towel around your body, a reminder that you were in fact freezing your ass off and needed to be put in some warm clothes immediately.

You felt like you were going to get whiplash with the way your body was trying to get used to your powers. First you were so angry to the point you burned your clothes off, and now, you were freezing to the point where you were desperate to have clothes back on. You grabbed another towel and turned back around to hand it to Jin, who had been staring at you intently, noticing the way your body reacted to the cool air. After grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his hips, he gently grabbed your hand and led you to his room. You were a little confused at first, wondering why he wasn’t leading you to your room so you could get dressed, but then realized that he might be letting you use his hoodie. You almost started skipping behind him in excitement as out of all the boys’ hoodies to steal, you loved stealing his.

There was something about Jin’s hoodies that were just extra cozy. If he had noticed your change in demeanor, he didn’t comment on it as he opened his door to his room and let you in first. Walking in, you immediately sat yourself down on his bed, hugging the towel close around your chest to keep it from falling and awkwardly crossing your ankles in an attempt to appear more casual. You dropped one of your hands to run it along his comforter. It felt warm and soft and it caused goosebumps to travel along your arms and legs due to the texture against your palm. As your hand glided back and forth against the blanket, you wondered how you were going to explain this entire situation to Jin and the rest of the boys without them thinking that giving you these powers was a mistake.

Hey guys, I quit my job by breaking my boss’ nose because he wouldn’t stop groping me and while I was walking home, some creep tried to hit on me and I ended up burning him after he tried to grab me. Oh and also, we need to look into getting a new door because I accidentally hulked out on it trying to get into the apartment, and I spontaneously combusted because I was in the middle of a panic attack and Jin saw me naked! :D

Yeah that conversation is going to be... quite interesting. You internally cringed, wondering how you were going to muster up enough energy to even start that conversation.

Too lost in thought about the entire ordeal, you didn’t notice Jin rummaging through his drawers until he had set out a hoodie and pair of boxer briefs in front of you. The hoodie looked like it could swallow Jin whole, so you immediately knew that you would be swimming in the article of clothing before you even unfolded it. You were grateful for the size though because as soon as you had put it on, you were immediately engulfed in warmth and you exhaled as your cold body was finally able to start relaxing.

Jin smiled at you as you attempted and failed to get rid of the sweater paws that were forming around your hands and led you back out to the living room. By now, the sun was close to setting and the door to the hallway was still very much laying on the floor instead of being on it’s hinges. You groaned as you sat down on the couch, Jin sitting down next to you and setting your legs on his lap.

After a few beats of silence with Jin massaging the muscles of your calves and you fiddling with the hem of the hoodie, you finally looked up to see him looking at you. “How are you feeling?” he asked, searching your face for any distress. You opened your mouth out of instinct, ready to deliver your answer as if you were on autopilot.

“I feel fine.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, telling you that he didn’t believe you for a second. “Come on, (Y/n), we know you better than anyone. You can’t lie to us. You can’t lie to me.” Gently grabbing your chin and making him look at you made you puff out a breath. Rolling your eyes, you moved away from his hand and leaned back against the couch.

“I don’t- I mean, I don’t really know where to start,” you shrugged your shoulders, trying to rack your brain for the right words to say. “I broke my boss’s nose because he kept trying to advance on me even after I said I wasn’t interested. He kept saying that my “no” was secretly a “yes”. He wanted the chase, it was all like some fucking game for him. I told him no again, and when he grabbed my arm, I punched him in the face.”

Jin nodded, listening intently and waiting for you to continue. You wanted to leave it at that, but you knew he wouldn’t let up until you had gotten everything off your chest. “I walked out after we had yelled at each other. I had some pretty.... unique parting words for him, but then I was walking home and I was just so angry and everything was suddenly heating up and going in and out of focus. So I stepped aside to try and calm myself down, but then this guy tried to hit on me. He was so creepy, and he had grabbed me, but I had burned his face. I just-” you didn’t realize how you were still worked up about the situation as you choked on your words.

“I was just so scared that I would hurt someone innocent and I was so angry I couldn’t even see straight which made me even more scared and I just wanted to get home but then that happened,” you gestured towards the broken door and sniffled, not realizing you had started crying again. Luckily your body seemed too exhausted to overheat and you were grateful when Jin pulled you into his lap and held you close.

Burying your face into his neck, you let out the tears you had been holding back all day, finally being able to let your body sag after all the tension was released. Jin soothingly rubbed your back, pulling you to face him after you had finished letting everything out, and wiping away at the tears that slid down your cheek. Your face and eyes probably looked puffy from all the crying and you felt like you looked crazy, but it had only made Jin fall in love with you more, letting him see you be so vulnerable and being able to comfort you.

He kept his hand on your cheek and watched as you leaned into his touch closing your eyes and sighing. When you were able to stabilize your breathing, you finally opened your eyes and were once again struck by the pure beauty that was Kim Seokjin.

“You truly are beautiful, Seokjin,”

You could have cringed at the way your voice whispered those words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to nitpick the way you sounded right now. You felt your ears begin to burn after he had remained silent, too lost in your self doubt to see how red his ears and cheeks were turning. You went to move off of his lap, intent on going to your room to lay down, but were stopped when you felt his hand on your cheek become firm to keep you in place. He took a second to look at you, from you (h/l (h/c) hair, to the way you hiccupped trying to recover from crying so much, to the redness that surrounded your (e/c) eyes to the way left over tear streaks smeared on you (s/c) skin. He felt like he had spent thousands of years with you as well.

“I know,”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter even if you wanted to. Your body shook with the force of your laugh. Burying your face in his neck again, you let his laugh fill your ears while you felt his hands massaging your back and leg. You stayed like that for a while, the only noise filling the room being your occasional sniffle and the little hitch in the shakiness of your breath from still trying to recover from your crying session. You still felt upset and you had no doubt that one small thing could possibly trigger another crying session, but right now, you were content with keeping your thoughts empty and just listening to the sound of Jin’s heart beating clearly in your ears.

You were close to dozing off in his lap when he finally spoke up, making you tune out of your little bubble.

“For what it’s worth, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve laid my eyes on,” You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not, so you sat up to look at his face again. After examining his face, you still couldn’t tell if he was being serious, so you snorted and playfully smacked his chest. “Yeah right,” you rolled your eyes. “Don’t try to pull that on me after you’ve been alive for over a thousand years, mister.”

You giggled a little and he smiled at you, cupping your cheek again, forcing you to look at his face and your giggling to fade. “There is no one who is as incredible as you, (Y/n). You are truly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever encountered.”

You were at a complete loss for words, gaping at him. You felt your ears heat up, wondering if the pounding you heard was his heart or yours. Noticing him staring at you intently, you also noticed his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips constantly but you felt stuck. You were way too scared to just lean forward and connect your lips, even though you’ve always dreamed about what those pillows for lips would feel like against your own. You got lost in thought once again thinking about how unfair it was for this man to have such luscious lips, it should be a crime.

Too far gone in your own thoughts, you barely noticed Jin leaning close to you, up until his nose brushed yours and he stopped. Both of your eyes were closed, yours being closed out of fear that you might spontaneously combust, his being closed in fear that this might be a dream. You’ve dreamed about this moment for so long, wondering if he was waiting for you to make the call of whether you’re going to press your lips against his or pull away.

Releasing one shaky breath, you decided to throw caution to the wind and lean forward. Your lips brushed against each other for no more than a second, pulling away for a moment and searching his face, only to find him staring at you as if you were one of the seven wonders of the world. You took that as a sign to lean back in, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips more firmly onto his. The feeling of his lips against yours could easily be something to become addicted to, as you felt his hands trail down your back, causing you to shiver while they settled on your hips.

You wanted to deepen the kiss, so you opened your mouth and swiped your tongue on his bottom lip. That must have triggered something in him, because he trailed his hands down from your hips to grip your ass and squeeze, which caused you to yelp, and for him to push his tongue deeper into your mouth.

Out of all the ways you had thought this day would end, french kissing one of the men you’ve been in love with for months definitely did not cross your mind. But you couldn’t really complain when Jin shifted his hips up and you got a very.... detailed feel of him. The whimper that left your lips could have brought any man down to his knees, and Jin contemplated on whether he should start moving your hips against his or if that might overwhelm you too much.

Your body had started moving on its own accord as you began moving your hips against his, feeling his groan against your mouth. You kept moving your hips, getting worked up at the feeling of him against you and the sounds leaving his mouth, until it had all began to feel like a little too much and the clothes you were wearing began to feel too stuffy. So, against your better judgment, you began to slow your hips down, pressing one more tender kiss against his lips before pulling away.

He searched your face for any sign of discomfort and when you had clarified that it was just you getting a little too excited, he chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “It’s okay,” he gently reassured you when you went to bury your face in his neck again. It was beginning to become a favorite spot of yours. “We go at your pace, no matter how fast or slow that might be.”

You didn’t think you could love this man any more, and yet here you were constantly being proven wrong. It didn’t take long for you to finally doze off, with the events that happened, you were surprised you hadn’t just collapsed as soon as you got home. You were lulled to sleep by Jin’s comforting hand rubbing your back, his lips on your forehead and his heart beat in your ears.

He was finally able to relax his tensed body when he felt your body release all the tension that had built up, closing his eyes and almost dozing off himself, until he heard footsteps walking toward the apartment.

“What happened to the door?!”

A/N

Alright, so this chapter is very long overdue. I’m pretty sure I started this story back when my senior year of highschool began and now I just recently finished my freshman year of college. I either couldn’t find the time or motivation to try and finish the chapter but I’m glad I finally did. That being said, I can’t be too sure when the next chapter is going to be, but I hope you stick around nonetheless!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know what you think! your feedback is always welcomed!

68 notes · View notes

drawlfoy · 4 years ago

Text

The Wonders of Ohio P.5

masterlist (check here for parts 1-4!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: from 14 year old me babey

warnings: cringe, mentions of drug use, mentions of sex, language, and just bad writing

summary: y/n is in her senior year of high school when she is asked to take on an exchange student from britain that’s a little...different. this is NOT a nonmagic AU. draco is still a wizard and this will become and integral part of the story shortly.

a/n: heyyyy everyone. i graduated from high school this week and i’m posting this as my happy-one-year-to-me. as some of you may know, i posted my very first fic on this day a year ago. i’m really happy to see how i’ve grown since and i’m so lucky to have shared this with all of you. anyways, nittygritty--

this part is really the last slow exposition chapter. chapters 6 on will be a whole whirlwind beginning with homecoming and i hope that you guys are willing to stick around. i promise itll be worth the wait. y/n is going to get the story arc of a lifetime and also please do not hate heather she is just going through it ok

anywayssssssss

tags tags tags @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 4.6k (;))

song recs:

strawberry blonde -- mitski

in your neighbors garden -- mimi bay

wishes -- beach house

ode to artifice -- samia

pink in the night -- mitski

enjoy <3

The seatbelt buckle scorched the side of Y/N’s exposed neck as she turned to face the disheveled blonde in the passenger seat.

“Do I need to teach you to set an alarm?”

Draco let out a huff. “Stop. Do you have a….a comb, or a brush, or something here?” His hands looked abnormally fidgety. Their actions were shaky, varying from patting his pockets to running through his hair. He seemed more and more frustrated each time his hands left his pockets empty.

How curious Y/N thought as she racked her brain for any remembrance of putting a brush in her car. It was always a mess, and she honestly couldn’t blame Draco for assuming that anything could be in there.

“I don’t think there’s one here,” said Y/N, trying to sound at least a little sympathetic despite the fact that his tardiness had them 10 minutes late. “You can look around if you want, king.”

“What’d you call me?” His voice was suddenly sharp and awake.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard that she thought they’d get stuck in the back of her head. “You don’t--ok. It’s a joke. You can call guys here that.”

“And it means that I’m…?”

“It means I’m acknowledging that you exist, I guess. It’s not like it has a strict negative or positive connotation. Like, I can say ‘Ok king’ to any man telling me something and it can either be sarcastic, or it can be because I don’t know what else to say and just want to let him know I heard him.”

Draco’s eyes looked a tad glazed over when Y/N dared a glance in his direction.

“I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry. I’ll try and ease you into the world of American slang.”

He granted her a little “uh-huh” before opening up the glovebox with great difficulty and rummaging through the mess. Y/N would’ve felt more embarrassed about the tampon that fell on the ground in the process if he seemed like he actually knew what it was.

Her attention turned back to the road as Draco continued to sift through things. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything embarrassing hidden away in the corners of her car--after all, it hadn’t been organized since the beginning of summer--and decided that it was better to pretend it wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t the eerie silence that eventually prompted her to turn to look his direction--no, it was the weird energy in the car, like the feeling right before a thunderstorm. All the hair raised on her arms, and she shivered...but it was stifling hot in the car.

“Oh, did you find a brush?” she asked. His hair laid as perfectly as always, but his hands were lying shaking in his lap, palms to the sky. No hairbrush was in sight.

“Er... “ He was paler than usual, which was quite the feat for someone who looked like a ream of paper. “No. Just remembered a trick my father taught me.”

She tensed at the mention of his father--the very first time Draco had done so. “Oh. Okay. Glad you got it figured out, king.”

Her voice lightened on the last word, hoping she could coax a little smile out of him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Ok.”

oOo

There were many things Y/N thought she understood, but Draco Malfoy being in her Physics C class was not one of them. She took pity and sat next to him as he fumbled his way through the first lecture. His notes, while neat, were littered with crossed out portions and question marks.

You do know there’s an eraser on your pencil, right? she jotted on a note that she sent his way. His brow furrowed and he seemed to tap at the end of the eraser for just a few moments before deciding otherwise and xing out another practice problem he’d done incorrectly. Symbols that she’d never seen before were scattered all throughout his notes.

Maybe the UK kids just learn stuff differently.

By the time that Physics came to an end, Y/N was eager to get away from the storm cloud that was brewing over Draco’s perfectly smoothed and infuriatingly pretty moonbeam colored hair. The amount of attention he was getting from all the other girls made Y/N want to jump off a cliff--suddenly everyone was her “best friend” “just wanting to check up on what happened over summer”. She was grateful to see the face of Lizzy, grinning and looking mischievous during their break period.

“You must be Draco,” said the redhead, a glint in her eyes. He looked a little scared.

“Er...yeah.”

“Mind giving us some privacy? Y/N and I have some urgent matters to discuss,” she continued, looking him up and down. Y/N attempted to ignore the twist in her gut as she watched him swallow and nod, turning away to go brood elsewhere. Once he was out of sight, Lizzy grabbed her arm and yanked her into the girl’s bathroom.

“It’s so funny how he’s following you around like a lost puppy,” Lizzy said. “Also, he’s gorgeous. If you don’t at least try to get some of that, then I’m never trusting your judgement again.”

“But, Li-”

“The boy’s a fucking walking Wattpad story cover. Dark, tragic past, unbelievably sharp jawline, rich parents, exotic accent....honestly, Y/N, I don’t know what else you could want.”

“Mom literally called him my host brother,” said Y/N. The bathroom was starting to smell suspiciously like cotton candy. “That’s wrong. On so many levels.”

“But you’re not related!”

“But it’s gross! And predatory! The kid doesn’t even know how to do basic algebra! I’m all he has!”

Lizzy’s eyebrow found its new home in the middle of her forehead. “You’ve gone absolutely batty if you think that every girl cursed with attraction to men in Cincinnati wouldn’t jump his skin at the chance. Use your head, queenie. He’s not alone. Shoot your shot.”

Y/N opened her mouth to serve back a retort--that was definitely there, thank you very much--but decided against it once she realized that the bathroom had become dead silent. “Um...maybe we can go over this later.” She flickered her eyes over to the line behind them that was now intently hanging on their every word. “I forgot I had to talk to the counselor.”

Lizzy was smirking as they exited the bathroom and began the search for Draco. It didn’t take long--the circle comprised of Heather and her friends was more than enough of a giveaway that he was about.

“Draco, sorry to make you wait,” Y/N called out. It took all her effort to abstain from cringing as her voice rang out across the group. Heather turned to send her a big smile.

“Hey Y/N! You didn’t tell me that Draco was from London!”

“He’s not,” she responded. “He’s from Wiltshire.”

“Wiltshire. Of course. That’s what I meant.”

Draco’s smile was tense as he looked down at Heather--who stood roughly 4 inches below him--but he was smiling, and that wasn’t something that Y/N was on the receiving end of frequently. She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.

“I’m sure. Break’s almost over, Draco. I can show you where the English department is before the time is up.”

He paused, looking down at the blonde grinning up at him. “Er, actually, Heather already offered to show me around for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you in French.”

Y/N was shocked at the sheer amount of jealousy that rose up in her throat as she turned away and made her way to Art History---the only class Y/N and Draco didn’t share. The walk was strange. Being in solitude after having a gloomy British boy attached to her hip was understandably eerie. Because that’s all it was. Adjustment. Nothing else.

She settled in at a table full of her friends, namely Sylvia. The tall girl was always a bit whimsical, but Y/N found that she was a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else. It made sense that Sylvia would take Art History--her dark academic inspired aura and the perpetually hot mug of black coffee just screamed history nut.

“How’s your new brother?” she asked after the teacher had taken attendance. “I say that because I haven’t heard his name yet.”

“Ick, it’s gross to think of him as my brother,” Y/N responded. “And I know! We need to catch up. I’m sorry about not talking to you for a bit. The time difference was a bit weird during your trip.”

“It’s ok, I get it. I was away on family business, anyways. I didn’t expect you to spend your days staying up until the wee hours of the night to tell me all about your exchange student. Anyways. His name?”

“You’re gonna scream when you hear it, Vie,” she said. “Draco Malfoy. It’s so posh. You have no idea. It definitely suits him, though. He’s very...You good?”

Sylvia’s olive toned face looked a bit paler than usual. “Yeah. Yeah, I just remembered that I forgot to take the trash out this morning. I’ll have to text my mom about it.” She adjusted the wool cardigan that hung around her shoulders and came up looking composed. “Draco, huh? His parents must hate him.”

“At the very least! He’s so rude. And uptight. I can’t tell if it’s just a Brit thing or if it’s because he’s an asshole.”

Sylvia laughed. “I mean, when I was there over the summer, it was a different culture for sure. We’re by far louder. But I didn’t meet many mean ones. You must’ve just got a bad apple, then.”

“I guess so. He is pret--”

“Ladies, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, Mrs. Jensen,” Sylvia and Y/N said in unison.

oOo

“Thoughts, king?”

“I told you not to call me that.” Draco glared at her as he tried to open the passenger side door to find that it was locked tight. “Unlock? Please?”

“And I told you not to get cozy with ASB kids, yet here we are,” said Y/N as she slotted the key into the lock and turned.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. I’m just looking out for you.” She slammed the door shut and threw her bag in the bag. The line of traffic to get out of the school was long and stuffy, and she was eager to just get it over with.

The wait was so hot that Draco peeled off his stupid formalish jacket that was on thin ice of being called a blazer and probably worth more than her car. Y/N tried to look away as his hair became slightly ruffled, but she couldn’t pry her eyes away. It was endearing, almost, how someone who could look so posh and serious could have ruffly hair--and hair that naturally light, too. She had asked him one night if it was dyed, and he scowled at her and told her the grammatically correct term was dead, and that his hair was alive, just like the rest of him, thank you very much. She dropped it.

Y/N finally rolled down her window after the AC simply refused to satisfy her, and the wind was a nice reminder to keep in her own lane. Draco was beautiful. There was no other way to put it. He had a feel of power to him, like he was capable of anything but just held it back. But he was just as inaccessible as he was pretty, and there was nothing she could do about that.

“Y/N?” He asked after a few moments of sitting in silence. “What’s Homecoming?”

“Who told you about that?”

“Heather. She asked if I had a date. Is that like a ball here?”

“She asked you if you had a date on the first day?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. ASB kids never do sleep, huh.”

“What?”

“Homecoming isn’t a ball. It’s like a...an…” Y/N paused as she saw Draco raise his eyebrows. “It’s, like, uh….Well I guess it is like a ball. An American one, though. Way less extravagant. It’s an excuse to get dressed up and run around the city. There technically is a dance, and all the ASB kids have to go, but literally no one else does but the underclassmen. Normally I go out with my friends and a date to somewhere fun and take pictures. And then get trashed afterwards.”

“Classy,” said Draco. “I think you can go now.”

A honk behind her emphasized his point as the space in between her and the car in front widened substantially.

“Thanks. Anyways, it’s not really a big deal. I’d suggest not going with Heather so you can skip out on the dance portion. Or if you want to go with her, get her to come with us into Cincinnati because I am not going to spend my last homecoming watching a grind circle.”

“A...what circle? And I don’t want to go with her.”

The relief Y/N felt was embarrassing. “Um...better if you don’t worry about it. You have a long time to figure it out anyways.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer, propping his elbow up on the center console. The pristine button up he was wearing had ridden up, exposing the pale skin and the bottom of the tattoo she had seen a hint of earlier. “Do you have a date?”

“Um. No, not yet. I don’t think anyone except for couples do yet. We have until the end of this month to figure it out, so I’m not too worried about it.”

He nodded as Y/N’s car finally left the school parking lot and began picking up speed.

“I’m assuming you had balls? At your posh boarding school?”

“Er…” Draco ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it further. “We only had one. It was when I was 14. We called it the Yule Ball.”

“Why only one?”

“It was for a special occasion. We had two other schools join us as well. It was quite a good time.”

“So every student only has one ball in their lifetime?”

“Of course not. Some of us--the ones from old families--have events like that regularly.”

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping my bounds,” began Y/N, noticing how he tensed up, “So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, I’m just wondering, what is your family like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like are they nice?”

“Oh.” The line in his forehead relaxed. “No. They wouldn’t like you.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Do you like them?”

She heard the breath hitch in his throat. “I don’t know anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s hard to think about it when you feel like they’ve just shipped you off without anyone,” she added. “I’m really sorry, Draco. I know I’ve been a bit mean to you. I know that I’ll never be able to understand what you’re going through right now.”

The slight smile that spread across his face would’ve knocked her to her knees if she wasn’t already sitting down. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

The silence that awaited them for the rest of the journey was comfortable.

oOo

School began to pick up the pace after the first few days. Y/N got into the swing of homework and her extracurricular workload. Draco was having a bit more difficulty, she presumed, but he’d never admit to it. She took pity one evening and gave him her laptop opened to a Khan Academy tab for Physics and was pleased to see that he showed up to class the next day with completed homework. He asked to borrow her laptop on a much more frequent basis after that.

The routine they settled into had her heart leaping into her chest almost constantly--they’d eat breakfast together at the table, Y/N would try to ignore how pretty he looked across the table as they shared a pot of black tea (earl grey, which Y/N was thrilled to learn was his favorite as well), they’d get in the car, she’d write him notes in physics to help him (even though he never asked, he always smile and give a little shake of his head before unfolding them and intently staring at her writing), they’d drive home together and bitch about their French teacher, he’d retire to his room and do whatever pretty blonde Brits do in the afternoon, they’d meet unexpectedly at the same time in the late evening to have a final cup of tea, and then they’d go to bed and do it all over again.

It was difficult for her to admit, but Y/N was falling very quickly for Draco. It was gross, and wrong, and manipulative, and completely against the code of conduct for exchange families, but she couldn’t help but spend her days fantasizing about how his gold-spun hair would feel as she ran her fingers through it or how gently she’d trace her fingers around the tattoo on the soft flesh of his forearm…

But Y/N knew those thoughts weren’t right. And they would go away. Eventually.

“How’s it going?” Sylvia asked, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts. The Art History sub told them to go into independent study, whatever that meant. Y/N was not very good at either of those words.

“Pretty good. I can’t believe it’s been 3 weeks already,” she said. “It’s gonna be Halloween before we know it.”

“I can’t fucking waitttt,” said Sylvia. “I’m gonna be Wednesday Addams.”

“Again?”

“What else would I be? I get a new high collared black dress every year. It’d be a shame if it were going to go to waste. What are you gonna be?”

“One of the thousands of students finishing their UChicago ED app hours before the deadline.”

“You’re kidding. Can’t you just finish it the day before?”

“Where’s the fun in that? And, plus, I don’t have an idea as cool as Wednesday.”

Sylvia smirked as she opened up her planner and began to jot down something. “How’s Draco doing? I haven’t seen much of him lately. It seems like he never hangs out with us at break anymore.”

“Yeah, I ended up getting him connected with the Physics teacher. He’s getting tutored now. He thinks it’s all bullshit, but I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t get into a good school.”

“Is that all you care about?” She smiled at Y/N. “Lizzy was telling me that you’re interested in him.”

“First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, I’m not supposed to be, so I’m not.” Y/N hoped that the edge in her voice was convincing enough.

Her friend raised her eyebrows so dramatically that her glasses nearly slipped off her nose. “Y/N, who’s gonna hear about it. You guys are both going away at the end of the year anyways, and I’m sure he’s not going to be writing to his dear mum about his love life. If it’s consensual, there’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d be good for both of you.”

“I see that, but let’s put me in his shoes right now.” Y/N shuffled in her seat and clasped her hands. “I’m rich. I’m British. I’m very hot. My parents throw extravagant balls for me and I kiss pretty girls that say water like ‘wota’. I’ve spent my life in silk and I only drink the finest teas. My family is so important that I had to be shipped off halfway across the world just to be safe. And now my incredibly expensive life has reached a peak because I’m sleeping with a random girl in Ohio that has run approximately 4 stop signs since I’ve met her.”

“You’re sleeping with Draco?”

Y/N turned to see Lauren, a wide-eyed, obnoxious, but well meaning girl staring at her. She heard Sylvia stifle a laugh behind her. “No. I was kidding.” The smile that she followed with was awkward and showed way too many teeth.

“Oh, okay,” said Lauren. “Do you know if he likes anyone?”

Sylvia’s smirk widened.

“No, actually, he’s a pretty private guy.” Y/N sent her another tense smile, and Lauren finally turned away.

“Jealous, huh?”

“Shut up, Vie. You know I wouldn’t go for him. Even if I had the chance.”

She just raised an eyebrow and smiled.

The afternoon brought its own set of struggles. Their French teacher had blown up at another student who had been caught cheating on their last test, and it was all Y/N could do but hold back her snickers until they were out in the parking lot.

“I can’t believe they still managed to conjugate their cheat sheet wrong.” Y/N was gasping for breath as she unlocked the car door and threw her stuff inside. Draco was watching from the passenger seat, his lips in a soft upturn. “Can you imagine? Oh my god.”

He just shook his head and turned to look out the window, but she could see the smile slowly stretching across his face. “Ridiculous. You could totally tell Monsieur enjoyed it, too. I bet he gets off on making kids like Joey cry.”

“I had a teacher like that,” he started. “He was a Poti-a chemistry teacher.”

“Oh? Did he ever attack you?”

“No. He liked me. Family friends and all.”

“Ah. I almost forgot that your family was rich and influential. Thanks for the reminder.” She reached across and lightly punched his shoulder. His smile, though still remaining, seemed to shrink. “Hey, what’s that in your bag?”

Y/N motioned to the cardstock peeking out of his nondescript black backpack that always seemed to fit more than it was meant to. She could make out a few words written in what looked like a bright red sharpie--something that did not exactly scream Draco Malfoy aesthetic.

He froze up. “Er. It’s from Heather. I think she called it a Homecoming ask?”

Y/N’s throat dried up to the point that no words would willingly make the climb from her diaphragm to her tongue; instead, she settled for giving him a little nod and what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“I told her I’d think about it,” he continued. “I remember you saying that the school dances sucked. So I let her know that I wasn’t sure yet.”

She nodded again. “Super cool. You can do whatever you want, though. You can come with my group if you’d like, but you’re welcome to go with Heather’s.”

“What? So you aren’t coming with me if I go with Heather?”

“Fuck no, dude. I don’t hate her, but I would way prefer to spend a night with my friends than some girl from my French class that only talks to me because she thinks you’re hot.”

The expression Draco made reminded Y/N that he would never get comfortable with American girls calling him hot. “Ok. Have you found a date yet?”

“Chad from Econ asked me yesterday.”

“Is that why my seat was covered in glitter?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going with him?” Draco’s hand was clenched tight in a fist in his lap.

“I think so,” said Y/N, steeling herself and deciding to just go for it. “But, of course, if you asked me I would say no to Chad. Just out of principle. I am supposed to be your tour guide, after all.”

The only parts of him moving were the few stray wisps of his hair being pushed around by the AC going.

“But that’d be weird. I’d only expect you to take that up if you really didn’t want to go to the dance itself.” She swallowed and pulled out onto the main street, putting distance between them and the school. He was silent for a few moments. The quiet, normally comfortable between them, was stifling and strange. She pretended to ignore the way he was fiddling with his cuffs.

“Yeah, it could be,” was all he said before slumping against the window and closing his eyes.

Mrs. Y/L/N was sitting at the head of the coffee table when the two arrived home, carding between a stack of letters in front of her. The mug of something--probably that new decaf blend she hadn’t stopped raving about--was sitting lopsided on a coaster, just barely about to topple off the edge. She looked like she hadn’t moved for hours, the novel she had been previously reading sat face down to preserve the spot next to her no doubt lukewarm drink.

“Hey Mom,” Y/N said as she set her keys down. “Anything good?”

She looked up, her expression morphing from startled to happy. “Other than the college brochures? Nothing, except...hm, what’s this?”

Her well manicured hand pulled at a crimson envelope, with sloping writing that seemed to shimmer in the light.

To the Y/L/N Family, it read. The loopiness of the writing looked like it wiggled at the ends, but that had to be a trick of the light. It was dim in the kitchen during afternoons, after all.

“It looks cool, open it u--”

“No!”

Draco’s voice had never sounded so loud as it did then as he lunged across the kitchen, snatching it out of her mother’s hand and clutching it to his chest. “Er, it’s for me. I recognize the handwriting.”

“Cool, see you later,” said Y/N. She was up the stairs and slamming her door before either of her housemates could say another word. After the horrible embarrassment that was technically Draco’s rejection, she needed to be alone.

Even burying her face into her pillow and squeezing her eyes shut didn’t keep the scenes from their car ride at bay. She had been so stupid, so stupid. Why did she even think he wanted that? He was her brother, after all. Oh god, does he think we’re all from Alabama or something?

She wallowed for a few more mournful minutes before deciding that she had to pick herself up and handle it like an adult. After all, she was going to be 18 in just a few months. There was no excuse for her to act like a child anymore. And, plus, it wasn’t like she couldn’t just play this off as a pity invite. Yes,that’s what she’d frame this as if he ever asked her about it again. She felt bad for him was all it was.

Once satisfied with her internal dialogue, she rolled out of bed and made for the foyer where her bag was still on the table. She’d first walk on Legos barefoot before she had to let a stupid boy--especially one that didn’t know how to turn on their shower and had to ask for her help every time--come between her and her 4.0. Never.

Her thoughts were cut short, however, when she heard a new sound from his side of the hallway. She froze, listening closely.

Draco was crying.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #draco #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Deobi Playlist (EP 8) | The Boyz Imagine

Ep 8: In which Mae and Kevin have THE TALK, and Juyeon and Hyunjae gossip about them.

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main characters: Kevin, Juyeon, Hyunjae and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz

Genre: fluff, slice of life, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

----------

Kevin's heart is racing in his chest and up his throat. Suddenly, it feels a little too hot in the room, his coat weighing down on his shoulders like wet clothing that makes him want to squirm in place.

He knows he can't avoid this forever. But he also can't seem to look into Mae's eyes, for fear of what he might find there.

"Kevin?"

Running a hand over his face and allowing a sigh to escape, he answers, "yes. Yes, I do."

He focuses his attention on her feet. Silence reigns over the room as he contemplates whether he should bolt out of the door.

"You idiot."

He forces himself not to wince, preparing for the rain of rejections that will splatter his body like arrows.

And then, Mae is punching his shoulder, "you idiot. You're so stupid."

Surprised, his eyes flutter up to her face only to see her flustered, somewhat guilty expression. Realization dawns, chest releasing its tension.

He grabs her wrist in mid-punch to halt her actions, unconsciously pulling her closer as he does so and there's no chance of hiding his joyous surprise when the said woman averts her eyes this time as though she is embarrassed.

"I like you too," comes her mumble, "why didn't you tell me?"

"How was I supposed to tell you? I was friendzoned before I even tried."

"I didn't friendzone you."

"You kept saying how you'd never date any of us because we were like brothers to you."

"Okay fine," she pauses, "I might have said that. But that's beside the point. The point is…"

She trails off unsurely then and Kevin's heart practically skips a beat at how close they are. A little closer and his lips can touch her cheek.

"The point is that we're both idiots running circles around each other," Kevin says.

"Excuse me, weren't you the one hiding underneath YOUR DESK?"

"I was panicking, that doesn't count."

They trail off into another bout of silence, albeit comfortable this time. Kevin allows his thumb to stroke the underside of her wrist, relishing in its softest and not failing to catch the hint of a smile Mae tries her hardest to tuck away behind a mask of nonchalance.

Ring ring ring!

UGH, Kevin feels like groaning out loud as he whips his phone out of his coat pocket before slamming it to his ear with barely restrained annoyance.

Of all times, why now?

"Yes?"

"Dr. Moon! Patient Seunghee who you sent for an MRI scan is having difficulty breathing! Her blood levels are dropping rapidly and she says she's having chest pains."

"I'll be there in five. Where are you?"

"Block four Pediatrics, doctor."

"I'm coming. Try to calm her down."

He snaps his phone shut as Mae allows her hand to return to her side, "emergency?"

"Yeah. She was admitted yesterday. Seemed fine though," he mumbles, brain already speeding through his thoughts at the numerous reasons why her body is reacting this way and unconsciously striding towards the door, when he swivels back round to face Mae.

"We need to talk."

Mae waves her fingers at him, "go. We’ll do that later.”

He doesn't need to be told twice before dashing out of his office and down the corridor.

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

"Psst. Juyeon."

Juyeon glances back at the door to see it ajar, with Mae's head peeking out from the slit. He looks back at Doctor Sangyeon talking about the medical care for one of his patients and hands his clipboard over to the other intern before quickly slipping out of the office.

"What is it?" He asks, taking note of her flustered expression and...is she blushing?

"I told Kevin."

His eyes grow wide, "told Kevin...what?"

"That I knew about him liking me," she pauses, "and that I like him."

"What? Wait--" Juyeon frowns in confusion, "is this why you pulled me out?!"

"Maybe."

"Mae!"

"What?!" She can't help but stomp her foot lightly and is glad that at this time of the day, there aren't many doctors around to see the frazzled state in which she's in, "Hyunjae's in surgery and I needed to talk to someone."

"Thanks for making me sound like the last option that you have."

"Juyeon, not the time for jealousy right now."

"But, okay wait--what did he say?"

"That...he thought I had friendzoned you all and that's why he never said anything."

"He does have a point."

"I did not--when did I friendzone you?!"

"Oh come on, Mae. You totally did, remember when we were--"

"Juyeon!" Sangyeon's voice booms out from his office and the said intern tenses up in panic.

The door slides open to reveal the said doctor looking more than a little displeased.

"Sorry Dr. Sangyeon," Mae quickly fibs, "it's my fault. I needed some data for the reports I'm writing up and Juyeon has them."

"Well make it quick. I need him."

"Yes, doctor."

Mae waits until the door slides fully closed before quickly ushering Juyeon away, "I'll see you later."

Juyeon pauses, hand on the doorknob, "dinner?"

"Sure."

"I want steak."

"Ask your girlfriend to buy you some."

He pouts, "you're so mean."

"See you, loser."

"See you."

"Love you."

"Keep that for Kevin."

Juyeon wastes no time in shutting the door before Mae can come and kick his ass.

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

The moment Hyunjae steps out of the surgery room to peel off his mask and let out a relieved sigh -- a sign that the surgery has gone well without any complications -- his phone starts buzzing through his pants pocket. Fishing it out and seeing Juyeon’s name flash across the screen, he pulls his face into a grimace before accepting the call.

He presses it to his ear, “I don’t have ramen. You gotta go buy some.”

“That’s not why I called,” Juyeon retorts at the other end of the line.

Hyunjae rolls his eyes. He moves towards his office, nodding at the few nurses along the way, “yeah? What do you need then?”

“Are you done with surgery?”

“I answered the phone didn’t I?”

“Come to the cafeteria.”

“But I’m tired,” Hyunjae whines.

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

When Hyunjae steps into the cafeteria a few minutes later, it doesn’t take him long to spot Juyeon sitting at one of the corner tables tucked away in a corner, digging into his food with barely contained gusto. Smiling at the sight that brings back memories of his own internship days, Hyunjae quickly grabs his own tray, fills it up with food and curry (beef stew, his favourite) and goes to join the katter at his table.

“Hello stranger, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” the older man says while taking his seat opposite Juyeon.

“I’ve been needing to hand in reports back to back and I have a surgery at six tonight. I’ve literally got only this time to eat,” Juyeon replies.

“Oh? With who?”

“Jacob. His interns are taken up with the Emergency Department so Sangyeon sent me over.”

“Damn,” Hyunjae shoves a spoonful of food into his mouth, “so? What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he catches sight of the grin blossoming over Juyeon’s face and lighting his features up like a Christmas tree.

“What?” Hyunjae asks impatiently, “What is it? Tell me!”

“Mae dropped by to see me this morning.”

“Uhuh.”

“And she said--”

“Wait wait,” Hyunjae cuts him off, “she didn’t come to see me?! Wow, that’s just rude of her--”

“You had a surgery.”

“Oh right. Go on.”

“So she came to me and said--” Juyeon proceeds to lower his voice, “that she and Kevin had THE TALK.”

Hyunjae blinks, “Huh?” and then, realizing the importance of Juyeon’s words, his eyes widen, “WHAT--”

Juyeon doesn’t hesitate to shut him up by shoving some curry into his mouth, “shush!”

“Sorry,” Hyunjae mumbles with his mouth full. He swallows it quickly with some water, reaching over to slap Juyeon’s shoulder in the process, “tell me! What talk?! What do you mean?! Do you mean--”

“Yeah,” Juyeon shoots him a pointed look, “yeah. THE TALK. You know what I mean.”

“And?! What did he say?! Don’t tell me he denied it!”

“Keep your voice down!” Juyeon glances around just in case there are any eavesdroppers, “anyway, yeah they talked. And they--well, I guess they came to an agreement that they both liked each other--” “About time.”

“Yeah. Apparently he told her that he thought he was being friendzoned.”

“Oh yeah, wouldn’t surprise me there. Mae has some amazing friendzoning skills,” Hyunjae’s shoulder lifts into a shrug at that, causing Juyeon’s eyebrows to stitch together, “what do you mean?”

“Let’s just say I thought Mae was pretty cute--”

Juyeon gawks before smacking his arm, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“--Before she opened her mouth,” Hyunjae finishes with a roll of his eyes, “that girl has like a sniper inside her tongue. With the amount of shit she spouts on a daily basis, I’m surprised her tongue hasn’t fallen off yet.”

“Oh. yeah. She’s kind of rough around the edges.”

“Not that I mind that type of girl. But it’s just Mae. I can’t see her as anything more now,” Hyunjae says with a shudder, “also, I think my mom might have dissuaded me from even thinking about dating her.”

“But your mom loves her.”

“Exactly my point. I don’t want her getting any in on who I can date or not. It’s my life, I can do whatever I want.”

“No wonder you’re still single.”

“And you’re whipped.”

“Mae came to me first though.”

“Because I had a surgery!”

“Yeah whatever, loser.”

------

Tagging: @juyeonzz @thesingingfae1905

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

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reyescarlos · 4 years ago

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we found each other in the dark

chapter 2/4: changing tides; word count: 4.8k || read on ao3

There's no doubt, the beauty that we see, Following the path, so much older than we Lovers built it with their hands, walked it with their feet Above the raging waters and the darkness underneath

Buck tumbles backward against the bed, his eyes glued on Ali above him as she slips off her shirt and makes quick work of his as well. A curious expression takes over her features as she looks down at him.

“Edmundo,” she says, tracing her fingertips slowly along his rib cage. “Should I be offended you didn’t tell me?” Her eyes are fixed on his torso before flashing to his face.

Buck takes a moment to try and understand what it is she’s saying but nothing about her words makes even an ounce of sense to him. His brows furrow in confusion.

“Wait, what?” He sits up, her hand sliding away.

“You’ve got the name printed on your skin. What do you mean what?” Ali asks teasingly.

Buck’s face falls, his heart sinking with it as he gently sets her aside and rises up from the bed hurriedly. Buck heads straight to the full-length mirror, seeing the name scrawled there backwards in the reflection.

There are seven letters there where they had only ever been one.

“No. No way,” he mutters to himself, trying and failing to reconcile with the image before him.

“You didn’t know?”

“It wasn’t there this morning,” he replies quietly, still staring in disbelief.

He definitely would have taken notice to a full name scribbled across his flesh when he showered and dressed for the day. That wasn’t the sort of thing that escaped a person’s notice, especially a guy who has spent the last nine years wondering if this would ever happen.

His throat is dry and his heart won’t stop racing. There’s a loud pounding in his ears that threatens to deafen him.

“So, you must’ve met him at some point today then.”

Buck scrolls through his memory of the day. He didn’t meet anyone new. He went about his day same as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. He woke up. He went for a run. He ran errands. He stopped off for coffee—

But he did bump into someone when he was leaving, had he not? Buck had been so busy looking at his phone that he hadn’t even bothered to look up. All he could do was offer a half-hearted apology as he typed up his message to Ali, letting her know they were still on for tonight. Had he seriously blown right past the man he was supposedly fated to be with?

Buck finally tears his eyes away from his reflection to look back at Ali. She’s perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing him thoughtfully with one of her knees pulled up to her chest.

“We had a pretty good run,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We both knew this wasn’t going to last forever.”

That much was true. Buck had only had the letter E to go off of, but that was more than enough to rule Ali out as his soulmate. All the same, the full name of her fated partner hadn’t fully appeared either so the two were more than content with enjoying the downtime together.

Now that the compass within him has a true north, Buck can feel something shifting inside him already. This truly changed everything, putting it all into clearer focus now. There was no more doubting that he was actually destined to be with someone or that his true love had passed away or any of the other wild theories he’d wrapped himself in to help stave off the fear that this day would never come.

It was here now, the proof quite literally in black and white, that it was foretold he had another half, one that was walking the streets of L.A. right now and that he had crossed paths with. To know that he had narrowly missed his soulmate was a shock to the system but Buck had gone this long without having more than the first letter. Surely luck was finally on his side now and he would get the chance to actually meet this man—Edmundo, as it were—face to face sooner rather than later. This was a huge amount of progress to make in one day. If he could make leaps and bounds that great in less than twenty-four hours, Buck was feeling optimistic about what the future had in store.

“Ali—,” he starts off but she simply waves him off, already slipping back on her shirt.

“Seriously, don’t sweat it. I’m really happy for you, Buck. This is a good thing. Now you finally know what you’re looking for.”

Buck can’t help but to agree with the sentiment. Had he not spoken to Ali about this the other night? While he enjoyed hooking up because he didn’t think he had a soulmate, each time he met someone with a name starting with E he would always hold his breath in anticipation, waiting for the rest of the letters to fill in along his flesh but it never happened. Now he has a name in mind, something tangible to use going forward that hadn’t been there in the years before.

Ali gets up from the bed and walks over to him, slipping her arms around his waist. This is goodbye, he knows it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Good luck,” she says softly against his lips, kissing him for the last time.

Even though he knew Ali wasn’t his future, he still sincerely enjoyed these present moments with her.

“You too. I really hope you find your person soon.” He means it from the bottom of his heart. Ali is a great girl and whoever she ends up with is going to be extremely lucky.

Ali offers him one last smile and a peck on his cheek before heading out. Buck just stays in place and watches as she makes her way down the steps. It isn’t until he hears the door close that he turns back to face the mirror and the truth branded onto his skin.

~*~*~

Eddie takes off his watch, blindly rubbing at his wrist. He glances down briefly and does a double take. Instead of three letters he sees four. An N has now hitched itself to the end of his soulmate’s name—or at least what he had believed to be the name. All this time he had been convinced he was searching for a woman named Eva but there it was, clear as day that he had it all wrong. The universe wasn’t finished speaking to him yet; he was off base in his assumption on all accounts.

Evan, his left wrist reads in a hasty scrawl. Eddie traces his finger over the name, following the strokes of the four letters.

Eddie is stunned by this revelation for several reasons, namely that his soulmate is another man. Eddie has only admitted privately to himself that he’s attracted to other guys. He isn’t ashamed of it but he’s never really had the language or capacity to express that to anyone in his life. It was always easier, maybe even safer for him to get caught up in the idea that while Shannon wasn’t his true life partner, there was a woman out there who could be.

But now with this update to his soulmate marking, he’s forced to confront a truth about himself he hasn’t always been so keen on exploring. He reasons with himself now, however. There was no just cause to feel nervous. He is miles away from his unhappy life back in Texas. Los Angeles was meant to be a clean slate, a turning point in his life. It looks as if the city has every intention of living up to the expectations he had for it when making the decision to leave El Paso.

He doesn’t owe anyone any details about his life and, honestly, Eddie is more than tired of feeling like a guest in his own skin. It’s high time he settles into the person he was always meant to be. He owes that to himself.

Eddie sits on the edge of his bed, still staring at the name and trying to pinpoint when he met this man. There was the teller at the bank, he thinks, but Eddie quickly rules that out, recalling that the guy’s name tag didn’t say Evan. He hadn’t had much interaction with anyone. The barista at the coffee shop was a young woman, as was the person he spoke to over the phone with at what he hoped would be Chris’ school. Eddie starts to feel panicked. If he didn’t speak directly to Evan then he must have just been really near to him.

Though he’s had his whole life to grapple with that fact, it only hits him now fully how messed up that is. There are billions of people on the planet. He’s in one of the most populated cities in the United States. His soulmate could be anywhere and somehow the man evaded him even though they were close enough to each other to warrant the full name to appear.

Is it possible he had truly seen the face of the person he was fated to be with and not known it? A naïve part of Eddie thought he would just know the second he met his other half. That the marking would tingle or he’d just catch their eye and it would fall into place from there. Perhaps that was just some dormant romanticism rearing its head. But he knew better than most that life wasn’t that easy and hardly ever went according to plan, especially if it was for something you desperately wanted. At least that’s how the story went for him in virtually every aspect.

He lets out a deep sigh and flops back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling for so long he swears he can see new colors in the white paint. Eddie closes his eyes and sighs once again wondering if the universe will show him kindness or if he’ll have to wait another nine years to solve the mystery of who his soulmate is.

He takes comfort in having a first name. He can’t imagine anything else will follow after this. Now the next leg of the challenge begins: tracking down this man.

“Dad?” he hears Chris call from the door.

Eddie sits up quickly. He hadn’t even heard his son approach with how wrapped up he was in his musings.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Can we have a movie night tonight?” Chris asks, a hopeful smile on his face. Who in the world could say no to that?

“Of course, we can. I’ll order pizza and you pick the movie we watch. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect!” Chris counters. Satisfied with the answer he’s gotten, he turns around and heads down the hall toward the living room.

Eddie remains seated upright, soon burying his head in his hands. There’s so much he still has to figure out. How to be a single father, how to raise his son in a new city where he himself is still getting used to everything. It feels as if he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. His life is the very definition of busy, cartoonishly so. More often than not he doesn’t know which way is up but he’s trying; Lord knows he’s giving it everything he’s got.

Maybe now isn’t the time to go thinking about soulmates, now that he thinks of it. Just because the name appeared in its entirety doesn’t mean he has to do anything about it. After all, he reasons, there isn’t much he even can do. It’s not as if he can take out a billboard on Sunset Boulevard asking every man in the city named Evan to meet him in person. If he really is meant to find his other half, he’ll show up when he’s supposed to. Eddie has to believe that. Until then, Eddie won’t allow himself to open that door.

Renewed in his thinking, Eddie allows himself one more brief moment to come to terms with his decision before getting up from the bed. All he can do now is maintain control over the things in his life that are actual certainties. There’s a little boy a few feet away who needs his undivided attention and that is where his priorities will always remain. He can’t afford any distractions, not when there’s already so much at stake.

“You coming, Dad?” Christopher calls out. Eddie’s ready for action, swiping his phone from where it sits beside him on the mattress.

“I’m calling the shop right now,” he says back, already searching the number and pressing to call as he reaches the door to join Chris in the living room.

~*~*~

When Buck awakes the next day, his hand instantly reaches for the side of his ribs. He barely got any sleep last night with how wound up he was, fixating over the name that had worked its way onto his skin without him even knowing it. That was one of the hardest things for Buck to wrap his mind around. Something so monumental had taken place for him right under his nose and he’d been so ridiculously unaware.

He spent a great deal of his night thinking about Edmundo. He wondered what he looked like, what his hobbies were. He pictured him as being tall and dark haired. He imagined he was an adventurous guy who liked trying new things like him. If this was the person he was meant to be with, he figured they’d ought to have a few things in common.

In one day, he’s gone from not putting any real stock into wondering about the specifics of his soulmate to keeping a running tab on all the qualities he hopes the other man possesses.

Now you finally know what you’re looking for, Ali had said and it’s true. Buck had been directionless for years but yesterday’s update changed all that. He’s still unsure how or when he’ll get the chance to meet Edmundo again but he tries his hand at tempting fate, deciding to go back to the place where he believes this whole thing started.

He has a shift today so he can’t exactly hang around the coffee shop for a while like he wishes he could. All the same when he returns, he quickly realizes just how futile his approach is. He didn’t actually see the guy he bumped into. He can’t even safely guess at a description so truly any man inside the café could be the one. Moreover, the odds that Edmundo is even here right now are slim to none. It’s a brand new day and morning at that. Maybe his soulmate only comes here during the afternoon or maybe he just happened to be in the neighborhood yesterday and decided to drop by.

Variables. Far too many variables that make him uneasy.

Buck notes the time and sees that he has to go. As much as he’s caught up in his personal life, there are other lives he has to center his energy on today. He can’t afford to have his attention stolen away when people are counting on him. He decides to stick a pin in this for now as he exits the coffee shop with one last hopeful glance over his shoulder. Edmundo is out there; he can be assured of that, if nothing else. If luck isn’t on his side two days in a row, there’s still a stretch of time laid out before him for the miracle to take place.

~*~*~

Sometimes it felt like Eddie was the punchline to a joke the universe never grew tired of. His meeting at Chris’ school had gone well; the tour of the building exceeded his expectations. He’d been thorough online, combing through every page on the school’s site and reading up on what parents of students past and present had to say. With his luck he should have known a wrench would find its way into a situation that had, until this precise moment, been utterly perfect.

“All we need now is to speak with Christopher’s mother. After that interview, we should be seeing Christopher in our halls soon enough.”

Eddie blinks at the coordinator for a moment, running through her statement again.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asks, picking up on his hesitation.

Eddie quickly shakes his head and clears his throat. He’s come this far. He’s not about to squander Chris’ chances of success because he’s caught off guard.

“No, not at all.” He isn’t sure how much truth there is to the statement but he’ll figure out a way to make this work. For Chris he’ll move mountains.

Eddie leaves the office and heads to the parking lot, his mind racing. It’s just one more hurdle for him to have to jump when he had felt confident there wouldn’t be any more obstacles in his path. He was dreading having to pick up the phone and call Shannon. He hoped the talk would go well but right now, he didn’t want to dwell on that. His next step was to get Chris and check in with his grandmother and make good on his promise to her.

Eddie heads straight to Abuela’s place to repair her kitchen sink. She’d spoken to him this morning about it when he dropped Christopher off and he’d given his word he’d take a look after his meeting. Her home isn’t too far from the school and he arrives about fifteen minutes later.

Before he gets out of the car, Eddie takes a moment to pull himself together. Though his thoughts are heavy, he doesn’t want his grandmother to see he’s stressing. He isn’t ready to talk about having to speak to and subsequently see Shannon so soon. He’d really convinced himself that he could have a bit of time before he’d have to see her face to face. But Chris’ education and comfort trumped his trepidation. He settled on the notion of calling Shannon when he got home later. He had no doubt the school probably reached out to her the second he left the office but still, he knew he had to relay the information as well.

Eddie quickly glances at himself in the rear-view mirror. His eyes look weary but he supposes his grandmother will just think it’s from getting settled in still. He nods once to himself and gets out, fishing his key to the house out of his pocket.

“Abuela?” he calls out once he’s let himself in and locks back the door.

“In here,” she shouts back from the kitchen. Eddie walks through the house, greeting her with a hug and kiss on the cheek. She has the toolbox already on the ground by the sink for him.

“Where’s Chris?” The inside of the house is oddly quiet. There aren’t any cartoon voices or beeping of electronics.

“He’s out in the yard. He felt like reading outside an hour ago. I certainly wasn’t going to stop him,” she muses.

“Naturally,” Eddie laughs. “Well, let’s have a look at this sink then, yeah?”

Eddie slips off his watch and sets it aside on the kitchen counter before kneeling to the ground and settling on his back under the sink. He gets to work, moving methodically and chatting with his grandmother as she recounts her day with Christopher. She, like literally everyone that knows him, is completely smitten. Not too long after, he’s done. Eddie sets the wrench aside and gets back on his feet. He reaches out to turn on the faucet when his grandmother hurries over, grabbing a hold of his wrist.

“Edmundo, what’s this?” she asks.

Eddie’s heart clenches the same way it does when one misses a step on a flight of stairs. He tries pulling back his hand but it’s too late; the damage is already done.

“It’s nothing worth talking about.” He doesn’t mean it to be rude or dismissive but if he can prevent this conversation from happening, he’ll steer the talk away from going there as fast as humanly possible.

The stern looks she gives him tells Eddie that he won’t be able to avoid it, however.

“You’ve met your soulmate? This…Evan,” she says, tilting her head and reading off the name.

Eddie is too distracted for a moment to answer her question. There doesn’t seem to be any shock to her that it’s a man’s name branded on his skin instead of a woman’s.

“I must have but I don’t know where he is or even who he is for that matter. It just filled in yesterday.”

Finally, his grandmother lets go of his hand and Eddie draws in a breath to steady himself. He grips the lip of the counter with both his hands, his shoulders hunched over. Through the window he can see Christopher in the backyard, laying out in the afternoon sun with his head buried in a book, so blissfully unaware of the turmoil his father has been feeling since he made the discovery.

“I thought—it said Eva for so long that this whole time I thought I was searching for a woman.” Saying the words out loud strikes Eddie differently than when the sentiment was just swirling around in his head.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Abuela says, as if it’s truly just that simple. Maybe it is but Eddie is still trying to piece it all together for himself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what it wants. I need to focus on what my head is telling me.”

“Which is?” She sighs and shakes her head. “You can’t run from destiny, Eddie, no matter how much it scares you. One way or another, it’s going to catch up with you. It’s inevitable.”

Eddie wishes he didn’t find that statement as intimidating as he does but it terrifies him to his very core. Some people find comfort in knowing what the road ahead looks like. For a time, Eddie himself had clung to that too. When his fights with Shannon turned vicious and intense, he’d lie beside her in bed, facing the opposite way soothing his nerves with the idea that there was more for him out there. He’d feel guilty for it but there was no mistaking that he and Shannon brought out the worst in each other because they knew they weren’t meant for one another. They were trying to force something that didn’t come naturally and that was a method that was doomed from the start.

He’d picture Eva, her face always shrouded or constantly changing. Even without that certainty, the concept of her was enough of a beacon to guide him through the heaviest of storms.

Now that image he’s spent years fixating on has morphed into something he can’t even begin to guess at. It’s too much change all at once and Eddie can’t handle that kind of stress right now, he’s decided. He has more pressing concerns like continuing to get settled in Los Angeles. He’s got Christopher’s school situation almost secured and now he just needs to work on settling into the new job he’s lined up for himself.

“I’ve managed to avoid it for this long, haven’t I? It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She frowns and Eddie can’t bear the sight. He turns his focus back on his son, glad that he’s so far removed from all of this.

“I don’t think you are,” she says. “And I know you don’t truly believe that either.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, his shoulders stiffening after being called out. Eddie knows she means well but it’s jarring to be seen so plainly.

He turns on the tap, letting the water run for a bit. He peers down under the sink to make sure pipe is holding up. Everything is just fine, as he knew it would be. There are at least some broken things he’s capable of fixing.

“I need to get Christopher home,” he says decidedly, glancing over his shoulder at her. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you for watching him. I really appreciate it.”

“Ed—,” she starts but Eddie doesn’t give her the chance to get any further as he heads for the back door and leaves.

He can’t afford to hear the rest of her statement. He can’t stand there being fed a lie that he deserves to be happy. He had fooled himself temporarily into thinking this update to his marking could be a good thing but his life was already hectic as it was. Adding in this new factor on top of everything else seemed more like a liability than an asset. And if there’s one thing Eddie doesn’t need in his life right now, it’s another complication.

~*~*~

Buck tries his luck at the coffee shop again though he knows better now this time than to have high expectations. He gets there a bit earlier to see if ten minutes will make much of a difference but he doesn’t hear anyone say the name Edmundo to their friends. None of the baristas call out that name either when drinks are ready to be served. Today pans out much like the last two days; frequenting the coffee shop has become part of his daily routine now.

Admitting defeat, Buck takes his coffee to go, finishing it on the car ride over to the station.

When he gets to work, he heads straight for the locker room, exchanging greetings with Chimney as he steps inside.

“Have you met the new guy yet?” Chimney asks, lacing up his work shoes on the bench as Buck chucks his coffee cup into the garbage bin by the door.

“There’s a new guy?”

Chimney switches feet and works on his laces again.

“Yeah, up from Texas. Apparently, he’s a lucky get. Bobby says another station wanted him but he picked us.”

Buck’s heart races a little faster. On any other day he wouldn’t have thought much about this. New recruits weren’t exactly uncommon but given the name he can practically feel tingling on his torso right this second, he can’t help but feel his curiosity pique.

He wants to ask flat out if the man’s name is Edmundo but that would raise questions he isn’t ready to answer yet. He’s about to ask just casually what the recruit’s name is but Chimney’s phone starts to buzz and he excuses himself to take the call.

Buck tries not to get discouraged but his heart still sinks regardless as he stuffs his belongings into his locker. His mind can’t help but to jump to the conclusion that this latest addition to the 118 is the man he’s spent the last three days trying to meet. It feels too coincidental that this guy would just show up out of the blue. That the station was lucky to have him. There was a possibility for him to land at another station but he found his way to this one just three days after Buck’s soulmate’s name presented itself fully after nine whole years of waiting.

Steeling himself, Buck leaves out of the locker room and makes his way up the stairs to the loft where he can hear the early morning chatter of his coworkers and Hen’s warm laughter.

There’s a new face seated around the table, one that—admittedly—Buck is attracted to.

Bobby is the first to notice his arrival and he gestures for him to come closer to where he sits at the head of the table.

“Buck, this is Eddie. I was just filling him in on what he can expect for his first day and introducing him to everyone.”

Buck’s knees almost give right then and there.

Eddie.

It’s a nickname that can apply to many different names: Edward, Eduardo, Edwin, Edgar. Hell, maybe his actual name was Eddie. But Buck holds out hope that it’s short for Edmundo. That the universe is putting his years’ long searching to an end.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says a bit stiffly due to shock. He offers up a warm smile to make up for it and in return, Eddie flashes one back.

He’s got warm brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It’s such an open expression that Buck feels as if he knows him. Maybe it’s wishful thinking or maybe this is actually a sign. Either way, Buck knows that Eddie’s smile is something he can easily get addicted to.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Eddie says, extending his hand to Buck. “I’m really looking forward to us working together.”

Please let this be him, Buck thinks as he shakes Eddie’s hand.

A small part of him feels like it’s falling already.

#buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #sulkybbarnes #rafasilvas #bisexualbuck #tylerhunklin #maysgrant #captainstennerstar #athenagrantt #kimmy writes

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chloelucia13 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Six: Empty

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt: You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: You were stuck, but at least you were with Will. That was what mattered.

Warnings: angst, violence, horror elements, language, a little fluff

Word Count: 5639

A/N: So this part is gonna be a little different. I don’t want to give a lot away, but this part will take place over episodes 6, 7, and 8 (for reasons that will make sense when you start reading). I hope you guys enjoy it! Tag lists are open!

Catch up: Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Tag list: @just-my-fandom

“Jonathan!” Nancy screamed from behind you, scrambling around like a chicken with its head cut off. “Jonathan!”

You, however, were completely silent, eyes wide open as you constantly surveyed your surroundings. You faintly heard the echo of Jonathan’s voice, but you felt that if you were distracted for even an instant, that thing would get you.

However, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you noticed how Jonathan never shouted your name.

You almost didn’t notice when Nancy began to walk away, walking towards where she believed Jonathan’s voice was coming from. Quickly, you jogged to catch up with her, beginning to lose feeling in your hand from how tightly you were clutching onto your machete.

Suddenly, Nancy took off in a random direction, making your brows furrow. You turned your back towards where she was running and searched around, your heart immediately dropping to your shoes when you saw that thing coming towards you. “Shit,” you whispered and sprinted in the same direction as Nancy, tucking yourself behind a tree next to where Nancy was. You held your free hand over your mouth and glanced around trying to find a way out.

Your eyes caught a glowing light: the tree from which you entered. “Nancy!” you whisper-yelled, prompting her to turn her head to you. “The tree we went through! That can be our way out!”

She thought for a moment before nodding her head, glancing behind her before making a run for it. You followed behind her, falling to your knees and beginning to crawl through the opening. A sigh of relief left your lips when you watched Nancy get pulled through the membranous exit, inching ever closer to freedom.

Until you felt a tight grip on your leg, and a tug that made you collapse onto your stomach. You let out a blood-curdling scream and kicked your legs with all your might, trying to get out of the creature’s grip. It was no use, though, as it tugged you out of the tree and out into the open. “Let me go! Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

The creature flipped you onto your back, forcing you to look at it in all of its horrifying glory. You let out another scream and kicked your legs up, your feet colliding with its chest and making it stagger back for a moment. Quickly, you scrambled to your feet and held your machete in front of you, swiping at it as soon as it came close enough. It let out a horrific shriek, stumbling back in shock before sprinting away.

As soon as it was out of sight, you turned on your heel and ran back over to your exit.

Or, what was your exit.

You fell to your knees and pressed your hand against the bark, trying to find the hole that was there not even a minute ago. “No, no, no. Please no.”

You let out a cry, beginning to bang your fists against the tree as if it would bring back the exit. An agonizing scream fell from your lips and you collapsed against the tree, tears streaming down your face.

***

Nancy collapsed on top of Jonathan with a thud, both of them lying there for a moment to catch their breaths. They held each other closely, trembling like leaves.

They both jumped when they heard your scream. “Y/N! She’s still in there!” Nancy cried out.

Jonathan’s heart sank at her words, and he immediately hurried over to the tree, watching in horror as the bark shifted to cover the entrance. “No, no, no,” he begged, clawing at the bark in an attempt to try and reopen the entrance. “Shit!” Tears began to well in his eyes, his lower lip starting to tremble.

“Jonathan, we need to go-”

“No! No, we-we need to get her out of there! She’s in trouble!” Your scream kept replaying in his mind, bile rising in his throat.

“But we can’t right now! We need to go back home and figure out a plan!”

“I... I promised nothing would happen to her. Now that-that thing has her and my brother!”

Nancy grabbed his hands and heaved him to his feet. “I know, I know. But if we don’t think this through, someone else will be stuck in there with them.”

Reluctantly, he gave her a subtle nod and gathered their things, making the trek back home.

*** You had no clue how long you had been walking. It seemed as if the sun had disappeared, overshadowing by the dark clouds and ash-like fragments that floated through the air. You had no way to tell the time, or even what day it was. All you knew was that you were tired and cold and utterly terrified.

You hadn’t taken a break since you started walking, too worried that if you stopped, the monster would catch up to you. At this point, your entire was numb with exhaustion. Your eyelids were drooping and your back was hunched, your grip on your blade growing looser with every passing moment.

Just as you were about to collapse to the ground, you noticed a clearing in the woods. A small burst of energy began coursing through you, and you ran towards it, letting out a sigh of relief when you saw The Byers’ house.

You ran up the front porch steps and banged your fist against the door, calling out for Jonathan and Joyce, but there was no answer. With a sigh, you tried the doorknob, noticing it was unlocked as the door swung open with the small amount of pressure you applied to it.

“Hello? Joyce? Jonathan?” you called out, searching around.

It was hauntingly vacant, void of any life whatsoever. There was a thick layer of dust and vines covering every surface in the house, and it was almost colder inside than it was outside. You slowly closed the door behind you before stepping over to the couch and taking a seat.

***

You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep until you woke up with a start, haphazardly swinging your machete around as you tried to remember where you were. As soon as your head caught up with your body, you relaxed into the couch and let out a sigh, rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

You had slept horribly, every dream filled with the creature that you saw last night, the creature that caused you to be stuck in this weird alternate world.

With a huff, you pushed yourself onto your feet and headed to the kitchen, searching through the fridge and cupboards for anything to eat, but they were all vacant. Your stomach was painfully empty, and you couldn’t help but think about how starving Will and Barb were if they were in this place too.

Then, an idea popped into your head.

After ransacking the house for literally anything useful, you headed out the back door and back out into the woods.Your feet carried you forward on instinct, heading towards a location you knew by heart.

A small smile rested on your face when you saw the small stick structure. You sprinted over to it, gliding your fingers over the sign that read “Castle Byers.”

“Will?” you called out, squatting down next to the entrance.

You heard no answer, and your heart sunk a little in your chest.

“Will, it’s me, Y/N.” You took a deep breath and slowly pulled the small cover away from the entrance, crawling inside.

You let out a gasp when you saw a small, fragile body laying on the padded mat inside.

“Oh my god, Will.” You tossed your machete to the side and reached for his shoulder, turning him on his back and shaking him slightly. “Will, it’s me. Please wake up.”

Slowly, Will’s eyes fluttered open. “Y/N?” he coughed out, his voice wavering.

You nodded, letting out a relieved sob and taking him into your arms. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay.”

“H-How did you find me?”

You pulled away from him and brushed his hair away from his face. “Jonathan and Nancy and I went looking for you. We found this-this entrance into this place and Nancy and I went through...” You gulped. “And I got stuck in here. But it’s okay, we’re gonna get out of here.”

“Where’s Jonathan and Nancy? Are they okay?”

You nodded. “They’re okay, they’re in our normal world. They’re gonna help us.” You offered him a soft smile and began shedding your jacket, wrapping him in it. “Are you okay?”

He huddled into your jacket, trying to get as warm as possible. “I don’t feel good.”

You nodded and touched your hand to his forehead, frowning worriedly when he felt clammy and freezing cold. With a sigh, you laid him down on the mat and covered him up as best you can before kissing the crown of his head. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

***

Since you had found Will, you were too on edge to fall asleep. Now you had a whole other person you had to protect from this monster, and he was far too weak to do it himself.

You felt your sanity dwindling away with each passing moment that you didn’t eat, sleep, drink water, or even pull your hand away from the handle of your machete. Every noise made you leap to your feet and wield your blade, and every beat of silence in-between attempted to entice you into the sweet release of sleep.

You also thought you could hear Jonathan’s voice.

You were positive that it was all in your head, a hallucination due to the bad state of your mind and body.

But it still brought tears to your eyes every time you heard it, seemingly so close to truly so far away.

“Y/N?” Will coughed, making you jump slightly.

“Yeah, what’s up? Did you have a nightmare?” You scooted closer to his side, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“You’re crying.”

Slowly, you reached a hand up to your cheek, feeling a wetness coat your fingertips. You scrubbed your cheeks and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I was just caught up in my thoughts I guess. Did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “Are you okay?”

You nodded fervently. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” With a deep breath, you pulled your jacket back over Will’s shoulders.

There was a beat of silence as Will laid back down against the mat. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, Will?”

“Are we gonna die in here?”

You furrowed your brows and quickly shook your head. “Of course not! Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here soon. I just know it.” You squeezed his arm comfortingly, offering him a small smile. “Don’t even think about that. We’re gonna be okay.”

***

A rustling in the woods made your heart leap to your throat, and you immediately shuffled towards the door, machete in hand.

The rustling moved closer and closer, closing in on the small wooden fort. Suddenly, a hand pushed the small sheet away, followed by a small shaved head peeking in.

“Eleven?” you whispered, slowly lowering your blade to the floor.

“Y/N,” she voiced simply, stepping inside the fort and lowering to her knees next to you, staring down at Will. “Will.”

“How did you get here? Are you okay?” You rested your hand on her shoulder, searching her face worriedly.

She took Will’s hand. “Mom is coming. Your mom, she’s coming for you?”

“Joyce is coming?” you whispered, to which Eleven nodded. “Is... Is Jonathan there too?” Again, she nodded. You let out a cry and touched Will’s cheek, a small wave of relief washing through you.

Will let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering. “Hurry,” he choked out.

“Just-Just hold on a little longer. Will. Will,” she explained, her face slowly growing into one of panic as she seemed to begin to fade away.

Then a growl sounded.

“Eleven, you need to run. I’ll protect him. Have them hurry, okay?” You helped her out of the fort, but she was glancing around with a look of horror.

“Will? Y/N?”

“I’m right he-”

“Will! Y/N!” She fell to the ground, and slowly dissipated.

Panic filled your chest as you heard the creature grow closer, and you instinctively knelt over Will, your machete up and pointed out.

Within a moment, the structure came crashing down around you and Will, and the creature grabbed you both, carrying you two away from the fort.

You let out a scream and stabbed at the creature, making it let out a squeal of pain, but not letting you go.

***

You woke up on the cold marble floor of what used to be the library, all the air fleeing your lungs when your back collided with the hard surface. The creature stepped away from you, walking over to the wall and dropping Will there. You writhed to try and get him, but you realized that your waist and legs were tied down with the vines that covered everything else in sight.

The creature loomed over Will and began to wrap an odd layer of fleshy-looking goo around him, like a spider entwining its prey in a web. The goo webbed around him and held him in place, and as soon as the creature seemed pleased with its work, it stomped away and out of the building.

You glanced around in a panic, letting out a small sigh of relief when you saw your machete lying only a few feet away from you, You stretched out and grabbed it before beginning to saw at the vines.

Will had let out a small grunt, and you looked over to see what seemed to be a living vine or a tentacle snake towards him. You began to saw even quicker as you watched the vine go up and in his mouth. Your eyes grew wide and you let out a scream, ripping through the vines that wrapped around your torso and starting to cut at the vines around your legs.

As soon as the vines were cut off, you scrambled over to Will and attempted to tug the vine out of his mouth, but to no avail. You let out a sob and fell to your knees, exhaustion beginning to overtake your body. You tried your hardest to push it off as you felt for his pulse, which was weak, but still there.

“Will, if you can hear me, you’re gonna be okay. I-I’m gonna be right here, and your mom will be here soon. It’s gonna be okay.”

You slowly crawled over to sit in front of him, your back facing him so you could keep watch. With your blade clutched tightly in your fist, you waited.

***

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw flashlights shining in through the windows.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you scooted back, shielding Will’s body as you stared at the doors in anticipation. Your fingers were already numb from clutching your machete, but your arms were too weak to even lift it.

Light shone in through the doors, and you held your breath, but you couldn’t tell if it was in excitement or fear. The echoing of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, and adrenaline began to course through your veins, making your entire body shake.

Two figures entered the area you were in, their flashlights shining a light on all of the bodies that met the demise that you were supposed to meet.

“Y/N! Will!” Joyce’s voice echoed as the small figure rushed over to you two, and a small smile graced your face as the other figure came over.

“You guys came,” you whispered, some of the tension leaving your body. You turned back to look at Will. “Ca-Can one of you pull that thing out of his throat. I tried but...”

The other figure, who you realized was Hopper, hurried over to him and grabbed onto the vine as you scooted away to give him space. With a long and harsh tug, he yanked it out of Will and tossed it to the floor. It let out a sharp shriek before Hopper fired a few rounds at it, making it flail for a moment before falling dead.

“Y/N are you-” Joyce began.

“I’m okay. Just help Will.”

Hopper tossed his weapon aside and grabbed Will’s limp body, carrying it to a clearer area and laying his body on the floor. You dragged your body over to them and watched in fear, tears welling in your eyes. “Oh, god.” They both took off their helmets and Joyce held her hear to his mouth. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!”

Joyce began to panic and Hopper grabbed her arm. “Alright, Joyce, Joyce. Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me. I need you to tilt his head back and lift his chin.” As Joyce followed his directions, he began to start chest compressions. “Now when I tell you, you’re gonna pinch his nostrils and breathe into his mouth...”

Their words began to fade away as you stared at his limp body, guilt riddling your body. The room felt like it was spinning as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a sob.

Suddenly, a loud gasp broke you from your trance, and you watched Will shoot up in a panic. Joyce held him close to her as he coughed and sputtered, trying to find his breath. Hopper grabbed a respirator and placed it over his face, the three of them huddling together in relief.

After Will began to breathe steadily, you pushed yourself to your feet. “We... We need to go before that thing comes back.”

They all stared up at you before Joyce nodded. “We need to get you both to a hospital,” she voiced.

Hopper nodded in agreement and slipped his mask back on before scooping up Will and carrying him in his arms. Joyce put her mask on as well and they both rose to their feet. looking between each other before looking at you. “Do you need help-” Hopper began.

“Don’t worry about me. I got it.”

The four of you then began the trek back to the woods, following behind Joyce and Hopper as they led you to a dilapidated Hawkins Lab.

“Why are we going here?” you voiced as you all stepped into the building.

“This is where the gate is. The gate between this world and our world,” Hopper explained.

You just nodded, too tired to comprehend what he said, and trudged along behind them as they stepped into a large hallway and into an elevator. The elevator brought you up to the next floor, where a large, glowing hole in the wall resided. It was surrounded by the same vines and odd goo that covered the rest of this world, and it seemed to pulse as if it was alive.

They pushed through the sinewy goo and stepped through what they called “the gate,” and you followed suit. It felt the same as the tree trunk you had gotten into this world through, just much bigger.

On the other side laid the same room you just came from, but it wasn’t covered it vines and ash. You stepped forward, and then everything went black.

***

You awoke with a start, rubbing your eyes before glancing around the room. After a moment, you realized you were in a hospital room, attached to multiple machines.

With a groan, you removed the breathing tube and the wires attached to your body before getting out of bed and grabbing the metal stand that held your bag of fluids. You trudged out of the room and glanced into each room, searching for Will’s room.

A smile spread across your face when you heard Joyce’s voice echo from down the hall, and you rushed to the room it was coming from, peeking your head into the room and seeing Jonathan and Joyce sitting by Will’s bed. “Why was I not invited to this party?” you hummed.

They all turned to face you, and Jonathan immediately leapt from his seat, taking your hand in his and helping you over to a chair. “Are you allowed to be out of your room?” he asked, helping you sit.

You shrugged. “Probably not, but I don’t really care.” You glanced up at his face, noticing a bruise on his cheek. “What happened?”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.” He knelt down in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, mostly. Pretty hungry, too.” You offered him a comforting smile before turning to look at Will. “Are you doing okay, bud?”

He nodded, giving you a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

You reached over and squeezed his hand. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Hey Y/N?” Jonathan spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna let the boys know that he’s awake. Can we talk in the hallway while they’re in here?”

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet. Jonathan held his arm out, and you clutched onto his forearm, using your other hand to wheel your IV pole. The two of you stepped into the waiting room, letting out a small giggle when you saw Dustin and Lucas fast asleep with Mike sitting next to them.. But Eleven wasn’t there.

“Eleven?” you whispered to Jonathan, who frowned slightly.

“She killed the demogorgon, and she disappeared.”

You mirrored his frown and nodded, walking over to the boys to wake them. “Guys,” you hummed, shaking them gently.

Mike turned to you while the other two shot up. “Y/N!” Mike voiced, jumping to his feet and hugging you, followed by Dustin and Lucas

You let out a chuckle and hugged them back, leaning back on Jonathan so you didn’t fall over. “Careful guys,” Jonathan voiced, helping you keep your balance.

“Is Will awake?” Dustin asked, looking up at you.

“Yeah he is, but he’s a lot more out of it than I am.”

The three boys immediately hurried out of the room, and you and Jonathan chuckled.

“Oh my god, you’re okay,” Nancy sighed from behind you, and you turned to give her a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Nance. It’s not your fault.” You patted her back and pulled away, giving her a smile. She nodded slightly and squeezed your shoulder, smiling at you in return. You glanced around the room, your brows furrowing when you saw Steve sitting there. “Steve?” He popped his head up at your voice, revealing his bruised face. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry if this sounds rude, but why are you here?”

He glanced between Nancy and Jonathan before looking back at you. “I’ll explain later.”

You just nodded and turned to Jonathan. He nodded slightly and led you out of the waiting room, into the hallway.

You two stopped in an area just out of sight of Will’s room and the waiting room. “What’s going on, Jonathan?” you inquired, shifting your grip on his forearm to his hand that wasn’t bandaged. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

He let out a sigh, squeezing your hand for a moment. “Thank you for protecting Will,” he whispered, his eyes focused on your joined hands.

“Of course. I-I would do anything to keep him safe. He’s like a little brother to me.” He nodded in response, sniffling slightly. “Jonathan, what’s wrong?”

“I promised I would protect you. I promised that nothing bad would happen, and then you got stuck in that place. I should’ve saved you.”

You let out a sigh. “Jonathan, look at me.” Slowly, he raised his chin to lock eyes with you. “I’m alive, aren’t I? I’m okay.”

“But you got stuck in that place, and I could’ve kept that from happening! You were in a coma for two goddamn days, Y/N! All because I wanted to find that stupid thing!”

“Jonathan!” you raised your voice, making him jump slightly. “I’m okay. I’m alive. None of what happened is your fault. I don’t blame you for any of this.” Your hand left his so you could touch his cheek. “I’m just fine, Johnny Boy. Don’t blame yourself for this. Please.”

He let out a soft sob and wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you so closely against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your cheek against his.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

***

Your nose was a bright red the moment you stepped out of your car and hurried up the front porch steps of the Byers’ house. You rapped your knuckles on the door and held your wrapped gifts close to your chest as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing a very giddy Will. “You’re late!” he cried, stepping to the side to let you in.

“I hate to break it to you, bud, but I do have a family that I have to spend time with,” you teased, following him inside and closing the door behind you.

“Oh good, you’re just on time!” Joyce exclaimed, rushing over and giving you a hug. Jonathan swooped in and took the gifts from your arms, setting them on the floor underneath the Christmas tree.

“That’s funny, because Will just said I was late!” You chuckled and ruffled Will’s hair before moving over to give Jonathan a hug.

“Can we open presents now?” Will pleaded, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Alright, alright, go hand them out,” Joyce instructed.

You all sat around the living room, all your presents laid out in front of you and the big scruffy dog laying his head on your lap. Jonathan sat to the left of you, and Will and Joyce were to the right of you.

Will immediately began opening his gifts, and you heard the click and whir of a camera next to you. You glanced over to Jonathan, and noticed that he had a new camera in his hand.

The same camera that was wrapped up in wrapping paper and sitting in front of him.

“Where’d you get that?” you asked him, gesturing to the camera.

“Oh, uh... Nancy got it for me,” he explained with a slight smile.

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach. “Oh, cool. That’s nice.”

He nodded and looked back over to Will, snapping a few more pictures of him as he displayed all the gifts he had received. But you couldn’t look away from the neatly wrapped box that sat just inches from Jonathan’s knee.

You heard your heart beating in your ears as your hands slowly inched towards the wrapped camera, waiting until your fingers grazed the paper to swipe it up and quickly tuck it into the inner pocket of your jacket and then acting like nothing had happened.

“Thank you so much, Y/N!” Will announced, startling you out of your trance.

In his hands was an autographed set of the Star Wars trilogy, and a wide smile was plastered on his face.

“Of course, bud!” you hummed, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “I’m glad you like it!”

“Alright mom, your turn,” Jonathan urged, and you all turned to Joyce.

She began opening Jonathan and Will’s shared present, which was a scrapbook of pictures that Jonathan took and drawings that Will did. She thanked them both profusely and hugged them tightly before moving to her gift from you.

Inside was a brand new robe and pajama set, along with a new phone and receiver. “Oh Y/N, this is so kind. Thank you!” she hummed, leaning over to give you a hug.

“Absolutely, Joyce. You deserve it!”

She smiled at you before turning to Jonathan. “Alright, honey, your turn.”

Jonathan nodded and grabbed the first gift in front of him. He delicately tore off the wrapping and tossed it to the side, examining the gift.

Your heart began to race again when you realized that it was the multiple rolls of film you had bought him to go with his camera.

You floundered for an explanation for a moment as he examined the gift.

“So Nancy and I had actually got together to get a joint gift for you. She got the camera, and I got the film.”

He nodded and turned to you, his eyes bright. “This is like $50 worth of film,” he pointed out, smiling.

“Well, now you’re set for like a week!” you teased, nudging his shoulder playfully.

He let out a chuckle and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas.”

He had already pulled away and opened his other gifts by the time you snapped back to reality, so caught up in your own panic and worried thoughts that you didn’t even realize it was your turn until Jonathan called your name.

“Right, sorry.” You cleared your throat slightly and grabbed the first gift in front of you, which read that it was from Will. You tore it open and saw that it was a framed sketch of you that he had done. You smiled and traced your finger along the glass before looking up to Will and leaning over to give him a hug. “I love it, Will! Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

You gently set it aside and opened the next present, which was from Joyce. Inside was a brand new pair of combat boots, which you desperately needed. You hugged her and thanked her profusely before going back and reaching for your next gift, which was from Jonathan.

But it wasn’t there.

You turned to Jonathan, who immediately leapt to his feet. “I had to hide it in my room because the shape would give it away. Let me go get it,” he explained, leaving you with a confused look on your face as he ran to his room.

He returned a moment later, hiding the gift behind his back. You playfully pouted at him and he shook his head, instructing you to cover your eyes. You let out a sigh but obliged, placing your hands over your eyes. Something was set in your lap, and Jonathan permitted you to uncover your eyes.

In your lap was a machete, along with a sheath attached to a belt. You let out a chuckle and grinned up at Jonathan, who had a nervous smile on his face. “I thought, y’know, since your other one is in the upside down,” he stuttered, finicking with his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t like-”

“I love it, Jonathan. Thank you.” You set it to the side and gently lifted the dog’s head off your lap before pushing yourself to your feet and hugging him tightly.

***

“Shit, I need to head home,” you mumbled after checking the clock and seeing that it was already midnight. You got up from the couch and tugged on your shoes, gathering all your new presents and stuffing them into your bag, and slipping on your jacket.

“I’ll walk you out,” Jonathan offered, getting up off the couch and walking over to you.

You nodded, waiting for him to slip some shoes and a jacket on before you opened the door. The two of you stepped outside and walked over to your car, idling for a moment before you got inside. “Thanks for walking me out, Jonathan,” you hummed, giving him a smile.

“Of course.” He gave you a smile in return and shuffled awkwardly for a moment.

You furrowed your brows. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I, uh... I actually have another present for you.”

“Jonathan-” You let out a sigh. “You didn’t have to get me anything else. The machete is awesome, really.”

“But I wanted to.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, wrapped box. He handed it to you, stepping back and watching your face as you opened it.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace, with a small pendant in the shape of a bee.

A beaming smile split across your face and you looked up at Jonathan. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He mirrored your smile.

“Yeah.” You traced your finger along the small bee. “Can you put it on for me?”

He nodded and you handed him the box before turning your back to him and lifting your hair away from the nape of your neck. A moment later, Jonathan draped the necklace around your neck and hooked the catch together, his fingers glided lightly against your neck.

You rested your fingers against the necklace and turned to face him. You searched his face for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded, hugging you back just as tightly. “Anything for you,” he responded, so faintly you almost didn’t hear him.

Slowly, you pulled away and walked over to the driver’s side, pulling the door open.. You hesitated on getting in for a moment, worrying on your lower lip, before stepping away and going back to Jonathan. He gave you a confused look as you stepped close to him and pushed yourself onto your tiptoes, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheekbone.

With a smile, you pulled away and stepped back over to the driver’s side of your car, resting your hand on the car door. “Merry Christmas, Johnny Boy,” you hummed.

He blinked a few times, his cheeks blooming into a light red, before nodding. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he coughed out.

You let out a chuckle and hopped in your car, driving away.

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asgardianthot · 5 years ago

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Hunting Season (sambucky) - Part 4

Series Masterlist

A/N: ello :) I hope you’re all safe and sound, and I hope you’re surviving quarantine. Here’s an angsty update for you to enjoy!

Words: 3329

Day 3.

The morning had prepared for the happy couple an hour of kayaking. Bucky got his tired ass to the lake with the least amount of motivation possible, for he had spent a sore night. The idea of Brock Rumlow spending the night in that house had his bones rattling. Sam, on his part, couldn’t blame him; Brock only stayed there when the two were an item, so the fact that he was tagging along indefinitely had ‘ill intentioned’ written all over it. Bucky’s theory was that Brock probably thought he was gonna crash the lunch party and win him over again, stay the night at their old bed instead of a small guest room downstairs.

On the bright side of matters, Sam and Bucky were still the only ones to have a hunting clue. The envelope that had fallen out of the Viktor Frankl book had a hand-written note, specifically placed there by Nana. It read as following: If you found this clue, congratulations, you have a brain. Frankl was more than just a man in search for meaning: he was a neurologist and a psychiatrist, as well as a philosopher. It’s not hard to guess why my husband was obsessed with him. Now find out more about the author and try to guess what else he and Theodore had in common. You’ll know where to look.

Those words meant absolutely nothing to Sam, but it made some sense to Bucky. All they had to do was research about the author of the book and find a connection, for now. The rest would be a problem for later.

Right now, meaning at that very exact moment, Sam’s problem was kayaking.

“Okay, so what now?” he asked Bucky, holding the paddles like they were going to hurt him.

The second the word ‘kayak’ had been brought up when discussing future activities, Sam knew he would make a fool out of himself, for it was something he had never done, while the rest of the guests had been practicing every summer since they bought the damn house. Still, he put on his swimsuit and showed up. For Bucky. They were the ones closest to the lakeside, as Bucky was still teaching Sam, meanwhile the other Barnes were already paddling away or messing around in circles, as they prepared for a race.

“Now, you kayak.” Bucky replied simply, which earned a death glance from Sam.

He was already having enough trouble adjusting to the new sport, which left him with little to no patience. Fortunately, Bucky pitied him and laughed as he moved to the front seat, agreeing to help.

“Okay, wait,” he grunted as he struggled to accommodate behind Sam, “let me help you.”

Sam felt the warm pressure of Bucky’s chest against his back without any type of warning, and flinched a little. He could feel the drops of water that hadn’t dried out in Bucky’s skin stick to his own, and it sent shivers down his spine. He decided to believe the shivers were caused by the startling feeling of water droplets.

“You’re holding it wrong.” James explained as he took the paddles from Sam’s hand.

Wilson rolled his eyes, “Of course I am.”

“Someone’s cranky.” Bucky remarked, “Didn’t sleep well?”

Sam thought hard about that one. As a matter of fact, he had woken up plenty of times during the night, only to find Bucky struggling to catch his own sleep next to him. The situation was weird as it was, so Sam pretended to miss it.

“You kick your feet a lot.” Sam lied.

“There’s always the divan.” Bucky reminded him.

“Will you shut up about the damn divan? No one should sleep in anything called like that.”

However, the ridiculous discussion came to an end when Bucky managed to get Sam to paddle correctly.

“That’s about the hang of it.” he congratulated him before turning his body and dropping it into the water.

The water barely reached his chest, so he stood there in waits for Sam who accomplished his goal of successfully kayaking away.

“Now come back to me.” Bucky instructed his apprentice, “Turn.”

Watching him swirl the canoe so concentrated, Bucky couldn’t help but find him slightly adorable. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen Sam learn something like that before, but it definitely was a good look on him. A smile creeped up his face, however, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, his ears picked up on a conversation behind him. He saw that uncle Milo was talking to Brock, and he only then figured they probably had been the entire time, which made him feel observed and, most of all, uncomfortable. Bucky was so distracted by the interaction that he almost didn’t see Sam returning to him, but he noticed right on time to stop the tip of the kayak before it hit him.

He shook it off by shooting a smile in Nana’s direction.

“Sure you don’t wanna hop in the water, Nana?” he messed with the woman who looked over everyone from her chair.

“I want another drink, sweetheart.” She messed with him back.

Bucky winked at her and returned his attention to the fake boyfriend, who seemed a lot more comfortable with the sport. They most likely wouldn’t win the race, but at least Sam wouldn’t feel bad for sucking at it.

“You know what?” Nana’s voice was loud and clear this time, which got everyone’s attention, “First one to get me a drink gets a clue."

The bold statement was followed by hesitant glances. Most of the family exchanged weird looks, none of them sure of how to proceed.

"Is she for real?" Bucky said, frowning.

Then, cousin Colin jumped to the water from where he was paddling, and started swimming towards land. Rebecca went second. Bucky and Sam were quick to notice how they were the ones closest to the lakeside, which didn’t make it seem like Nana was unbiased. If anything, it made the couple look like the favorites. Alas, Bucky and Sam climbed onto land fast, hearing people rush across the water behind them, until they heard a scream.

As they both turned towards the noise, they saw Rebecca slapping her hand around, swallowing water, and barely managing to yell the word ‘cramp’.

Bucky dove back on the water to save her. Literally. As Sam awaited kneeling on the shore, he couldn’t help but notice nobody else went to help. As usual, Bucky was Rebecca’s knight in shining armor.

"Rebecca, are you ok?" Winnifred barely asked above her usual tone to be heard.

The siblings were too busy trying to stay afloat –Bucky dragging her to land and Rebecca coughing her lungs out– to answer, so the mother insisted.

"Rebecca?"

Luckily, Sam cut in to get the unhelpful and mediocre concern away from the scene, "She- she's fine! We got this!" he assured the woman.

Once the siblings reached the wooden shore, Sam pulled Rebecca up by her arms while Bucky climbed up, panting. The young woman held her leg in pain.

Right on time, Brock approached them to save the day.

He extended his hand towards Rebecca, "Here, let me-"

"Get the fuck away from us!" James shot him an aggressive warning while placing a hand on Rebecca's back, not dignifying the man with eye contact.

Rumlow raised his hands in defense, "Just tryna’ help, Jamie."

The snap in Bucky’s brain might as well have been hearable. He was so done with the hovering figure he used to call his partner, everything in his head went red with fury. He looked up at him with such rage, Sam anticipated his outburst even before it happened.

"Shut up, Brock, shut up!” He yelled directly at him, microscopic bits of spit being thrown in Brock’s direction, and followed by a uncomfortable, still silence, which Bucky couldn’t stand either, “Are you deaf or are you a fucking idiot? I said leave!"

Rumlow accepted the offense and shook his head, putting on a disappointed façade.

"You're insane." He informed Bucky before turning on his heels.

As the man walked back inside the house, the spectators of the show remained silent. All that could be heard was Bucky’s heavy breathing, until Rebecca spoke.

"Way to go, brother." She whispered, which was only heard by Sam and Bucky.

Bucky’s expression revealed how shocked he was at his own courage to pull off such a stunt.

"That felt so good." He admitted, drawing a big proud smile on Sam’s face.

The outburst that morning, no matter how fulfilling, had taken a toll on Bucky. The rest of the day, it was all he could think about, and therefore, it naturally got the paranoid spinning wheel in his brain running at full speed. Cousin Colin, after the lake scene, was the only person insensitive enough to actually go through with Nana’s demand; the man had brought his grandmother a nice summer drink from the kitchen, which the lady received with a roll of her eyes. Unfortunately, she had promised the deliverer a clue, so she reluctantly kept her word and gave him the help in private.

It didn’t necessarily worry Bucky nor Sam, because the couple still felt they were winning so far. They had found the first clue by themselves, no help needed, so the best Colin could do was keep up with them before they got the advantage again.

No, what had them both worried was this cocktail gathering after dinner, right now. It was too early for anyone to be tired enough to go to bed, but it was late enough for people to start making bad decisions. That had been Bucky’s case. Drink after drink, worry after worry, the liquor had found its way into Bucky’s system long ago. In fact, he was sitting down, resigned to his sorrow, with a glass of champaign in hand.

He was wasted, and Sam could tell. While Bucky played around with the almost emptied glass, Sam’s chest felt heavy.

"He's watching." Bucky suddenly said, his enunciation already affected by the booze.

His eyes were fixated somewhere in the room, over Sam’s shoulder. The latter didn’t need to turn around to know who he meant.

"Don't pay attention to him." He shrugged it off.

"He used to do that,” Bucky, however, acted as if Sam hadn’t even spoken, “when he didn't approve of something."

"Hey.” Sam called, demanding his attention, “Hey, look at me. I'm here with you, okay? Not him."

As much as Bucky wanted to lean into those words, embrace the support and such, he knew it wasn’t truly real. Sam was there to help him out of pity, or so he thought. He used to love imagining having a boyfriend who would take away the pain, wipe away the tears caused by Brock. He used to like that image, but sometime in the horrible long-lasting relationship, he just didn’t think it possible. Anyone loving him after Brock? Anyone putting up with that baggage, with the lurking ex-boyfriend watching them at all times?

It simply wouldn’t happen. It’s why he wasn’t there with an actual boyfriend. It’s why he had to play-pretend with Sam. In his head, there was no place for anyone to love him. Not after he’d been chewed on by Rumlow and spat out a hundred times.

"But you're not.” Bucky sad dryly, almost insulting, “Not really. I'll never get the real thing."

Sam’s brain had a hard time with that one confession. Did Bucky mean that getting his friend to play fake boo was the closest he'd ever get to a boyfriend from now on? Or as he implying a world where Sam could have become the real deal? His confusion left him almost speechless.

"And why is that?" he managed to ask with a heavy heart.

Bucky was too quick in answering Sam’s doubts, "Cause I'm messed up. 'Cause of him."

That being declared, James stood up from the table, leaving his company sitting there by himself, rudely. Sam watched him get to the bar, which consisted of a few tables set up for drink service, attended by one of Nana’s kitchen employees. It did the trick in looking fancy enough for an improvised bar, and still, Bucky managed to look fairly pathetic, leaning on the table and ordering yet another hard liquor.

For the next half hour, Sam brought himself to chat and interact with the Barnes, but mostly, he was checking up on Bucky every other minute. Fortunately so, since it allowed him to spot Rumlow as he approached the drunk figure. Wilson excused himself and headed straight for the bar, and was noticed by the man who looked, as usual, like he was up to no good.

"Samuel, we were just talking about you." Brock greeted him cynically.

"Leave him alone." Sam said, not messing around.

Bucky’s eyes were fixated on his drink, avoiding exchanging gazes with his ex, no matter how hard Brock tried to catch his attention.

"I don't think anyone should leave him alone like this." Rumlow cocked a brow, giving off the most pedantic posture yet.

As much as Sam didn’t wish to sound just as condescending as the ex-boyfriend, he needed him to back off. So he stood his ground, planting himself in front of Bucky, and raised his chin.

"Oh, goodie, that's what I'm here for." He clarified with a taunting tone.

All of a sudden, Bucky decided to stand his ground as well. Unhappy with the exchange of words about his state, he got himself in front of Sam, stumbling a bit.

"I don't- don't need anyone to look after me." He managed to croak out, frowning.

After he delivered the words, he propped himself on the table unsteadily, causing Sam to gesture catching him, but Bucky seemed to be partially alright on his own. Brock, on his part, gave him a deeply disappointed look. Suddenly, Sam understood so much; the paternalistic vibe he gave off, like you’re nothing for yourself and are in desperate need of his aid. The way Rumlow judged people could get anyone to doubt themselves. Luckily, Sam wasn’t giving in.

Brock extended his hand to the more-than-tipsy man, "Come on." He said, more a demand than an offer.

The response was even more abrupt than that morning by the lake. In sight of his hand so near him, Bucky’s paranoia crippled through his bones, provoking a different kind of outburst.

"Don't touch me, you fucking maniac!" he yelled, taking a step back.

Sam’s skin crawled. During the tense silence that followed, he felt eyes staring at them three. Brock, however, didn’t seem nearly as shocked, but instead acted like this was just typical Bucky. He did seem embarrassed, though, being the victim of the scandal for the second time that day.

"Let's go." Sam pleaded, not daring to touch Bucky in a jumpy state like that.

That was Rebecca’s cue for approaching the lot, allured by the fuzz.

"What's going on?" she demanded an explanation in a low, but harsh tone.

"Nothing.” Rumlow spoke before anyone else got the change, “He's making a scene, as usual."

Rebecca shot him a threatening glance, to which he simply rolled his eyes and abandoned the bar area. Sam took his place in order to check up on Bucky’s face, and found his eyes beginning to water. He was frozen in place, eye sockets reddened by the drunkenness and lips caught between his teeth.

"James, get it together.” Rebecca whispered, “Everyone's staring."

Although Sam was expecting more comfort from the man’s sister, whom just so happened to be scolding him for no reason, he kept his quiet this time. The two sober characters dragged Bucky’s body to the nearest chair and forced him to sit down, which only attracted more attention towards him, but that way he could remain still and far from tumbling scandals.

"Get him some coffee before he embarrasses himself even more." Rebecca told Sam, sternly.

As she kneeled sat next to her brother in order to pretend normality, Sam just gave her a look of disbelief. He didn’t think she could act so heartlessly before.

"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" he threw her a sarcasm dagger, refusing to move.

"Believe it or not, I'm helping him.” She spat, looking around frantically in hopes no one was judging them, “Coffee, Samuel, please."

Sam took one last good look at Bucky before obeying the very persuasive sister. The drunken mess was avoiding all sorts of eye contact, and was almost pouting like a child. Wilson didn’t have much else to do but get himself to the kitchen, although reluctantly. At that moment, he hated everything; every person and light were getting under his skin, and even the sound of glasses clinking together pissed him off. Right before he reached the kitchen, the sound turned muffled, abandoned far away, and there was a sense of peace. Silence. And breaking through that silence, there was a sharp voice.

“I’m telling you, this is our chance.” The voice echoed from inside the kitchen.

It was unmistakably Rumlow’s. Of fucking course. The man was a goddamn ghost lurking around every room of the massive house. Sam was determined on turning back, until he heard another voice responding.

“Give me a few days-“

“I don’t have days to give you.”

It sounded like an altercation that had just recently began, right before it could get too heated.

“Is your lawyer not your personal bitch this time?” the other man accused Brock, “You not screwing him, too?”

“You want the money, right?”

The inciting question was followed by a tense pause. Therefore, Sam seized his chance and walked into the kitchen, hopefully being able to pretend he hadn’t heard any of it. He recognized the other man as uncle Milo, when the two angry men straightened themselves too quickly, in an attempt to dismiss their previous altercation.

Sam gave them an uninterested glance, ��Am I interrupting?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What can we do for you, Samuel?” uncle Milo raised his voice with false friendliness.

“I’m just gonna make some coffee.” He replied, waltzing towards the busier side of the kitchen, further away from them.

Before he could even get a hold of the coffee maker, Rumlow’s forceful interruption made Sam stop in his tracks.

“Nicole can take care of that for you, right darling?” he called for the maid in a patronizing tone, “She’ll even pour it for you and everything.”

Sam glanced at the woman who was still putting the dishes away when it definitely was the end of her shift. It wasn’t just about Rumlow’s treatment of the staff, it was everything, from the way he put Sam in an uncomfortable situation, to the smirk on his face while doing so.

“No thank you, I got it.” Sam told the working lady.

“Actually, she’s got it,” Brock insisted, this time much more taunting, “that’s her job.”

Sam found himself cornered, and resigned, although not without showing his discontent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and agreed tiredly.

“Fine, uh… Can you just take it up to James’ room when you get the chance?” He forced a smile in Nicole’s direction, whom nodded politely, “Thank you.”

When he was leaving to return to Bucky, Sam took a turn on his heels at the last minute. His blood still boiling, he gave the two plotting men a small but clearly exaggerated reverence.

“Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.” He let uncle Milo know his anger wasn’t directed towards him, then spoke directly to Rumlow, “Fuck you, Brock.”

“Classy.” The appellee complained.

“You’re right.” He lied, then turned to the maid one more time, “Nicole, my apologies for such rudeness. On behalf of Mr. Rumlow, of course. I guess money can’t buy decency.”

After addressing that last insult to the obnoxious man, Wilson headed back to the cocktail gathering in order to retrieve his drunk friend.

#sam wilson/bucky barnes #sambucky fanfiction #sam x bucky #sambucky #fake dating au #sambucky au #sam/bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Heavy is the Hand You’re Dealt

Part 4

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,676

Prompt: Impost - Bearson

Warnings: language, light smut, angst up the wazoo, puppy Thor

A/N: This was written for @youngmoneymilla ‘s challenge. I’m probably failing at the prompt. This is growing and growing and well, enjoy this next bit. Let me know what you like/think. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work. xoxo

If you want to be tagged, please send me an ASK.

It’s like a really bad joke. Only there’s no punch line.

No. You are the punch line.

This nightmare you find yourself in suddenly.

How many times have you dreamt of this moment? Wanted him to come back? How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep in the corner of some dingy hotel room, or abandoned shacks, or the solitary depths of a moss covered cave, or…hell, you’ve stayed in too many temporary shelters over the last two years, they all blur into one.

You’d spent your time running from this. This very moment and wishing for it all the same. You knew that if it came—and it’s finally here—that you’d be torn.

You’d be pissed. And you are.

You’d be overjoyed. And you are.

What you didn’t expect to be is uncertain.

You didn’t expect to have a second set of blue eyes…well, one amber, one blue…engrained into your soul. It had happened over the past month. It had happened quickly.

Almost like it was meant to. As if this had been inevitable. Waiting…those eyes—one honey, one sky—had been longing for you, thinking about you, wanting you, for two years.

Those mismatched eyes are attached to a rugged face, sweet, and kind with pink lips, a semi-long braided haystack colored beard and the long wavy hair to match.

You shake your head, refusing to accept this and search instead for those mismatched eyes and the warmth you’ve reluctantly allowed them to bring you.

The room is empty.

Steve is at the foot of the stairs now.

When had he moved down the stairs? When had everyone left?

Thor? Your mind pleads, terrified of what you might do. What you might say. Your heart is in shreds and yet, the closer Steve comes, the more wildly it beats.

“Hi.” He says, as if it’s that simple. Like he didn’t tear your world down and leave you to be crushed amongst the rubble.

“Hi?” You gasp, angry, hurt, voice shaking a little but not from weakness. It’s the power in you that trembles your throat. “Hi?!”

Steve’s face falls, his beautiful golden face, with those storm blue eyes and full peach lips. He looks like he literally stepped out of one of the old movies you like to watch with those high pants and that shirt, all tucked in and ironed.

Did Peggy iron his shirt? Doesn’t sound like something she’d do but…you don’t know her.

“Y/N…” He begins, but you shake your head.

“No.” You spit, denying his broaching. “You don’t get to come back here, two years later, and tell me hi!”

“I know.” He says, remorse thick in his voice.

It sways you. Makes you want to give up the tough shell you’ve built for yourself.

“I-I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” You growl, hating him now but loving him still too. It’s so confusing. You shut your eyes.

You shouldn’t have shut your eyes.

Steve’s hands are on your biceps and you tear them open again. Searching for his gaze of familiarity because it feels like it all happened just yesterday when he touches you.

“Why are you here?” You demand, irritated. Confused.

“I…” He thinks. He thinks hard as he stares at you, his thumbs stroking the skin of your arms. “I don’t know.”

He admits, looking guilty and confused, just like you.

Then he feels one of them. A scar. An old knife wound. With a furrowed brow, he tilts his head to the left. “Are you hurt?”

It’s surreal to be here. Steve holding onto you. Showing concern and love because you can see it in his eyes. It’s all wrong of course.

A lie.

That fondness he's staring at you with. The look of sorrow and happiness all mixed with affection is a lie.

Steve doesn’t love you. Never has maybe. Everything he’s ever said to you, expressed, and made you feel is called into question because of what he did two years ago.

The first time he told you he loved you. The first time he slept with you. When he asked you to move in. When he made you a terrible tasting meatloaf. When he bought you a necklace simply because he thought it would look pretty around your neck. When he took you to the little restaurant he used to take you to and then held you close when you cried because the owner had been taken with the Snap.

The ring you found in his sock drawer.

Everything that Steve had ever done to show you that he loved you became a lie the moment he chose to leave you.

Anger, white hot like your lightning only not as pleasant or comforting, floods your brain. It clenches your fists. It sets your jaw. It hardens your heart.

Then you channel it. You force your body to relax and watch as Steve begins to fuss. It reminds you so much of before he chose to abandon you.

He pulls your arm up and around to look at the scar on the back of your bicep but spits another up higher and he reaches with his hand to move the strap of your tank top slightly off your shoulder.

You just stare, straight faced, at the growing frenzy in his eyes.

He finds the beginning of your big scar on your clavicle, the different colored skin a mar on your once unblemished—well, it hadn’t been damaged like this—body.

He freezes as he blinks in shock then he follows the trail behind you. His heated hands pressed against the spot between your shoulders before he simply just lifts the back of your shirt.

You hear the release of his breath as he recognizes the healed gunshots and the knife wounds and then the big scar that had made Thor hiss.

Thor…your mind pleads, because Steve’s hands on your back feel good even if it also pisses you off to no end.

“What are you doing?” You speak slowly, calmly. The threat in your voice is seething but controlled.

You’ve learned more from your two years alone than just how to patch yourself up in a crisis.

Steve’s hand freezes on your back and he seems to realize his slip up. That his touch is unwelcome. He lowers your shirt, taking his hands away, stepping back.

You fix your shirt, turning around slowly until you’re facing him again.

“Sorry.” And he looks very sorry. He really does.

But your shock has worn off. His touch sobered you up with the sharpness of its pain. You’re ready for him now.

Your heart still stutters when your eyes meet his, but you don’t shut them again this time. This time they’re wide open.

“Wh-” He only hesitates for a second. The wounded bravado of a man who’d once been able to touch you whenever he wanted to. “What happened? You have so many sc-”

“That’s none of your business anymore, Steve.” You shake your head just a little, annoyed, disbelieving in this entire day suddenly.

He looks hurt by your words. He actually has the balls to look hurt?!

“I know.” He says, despite the pain clearly etched into his face. “I just…when I left, you-”

It’s not what he’s saying but you latch onto the words to get your point across.

“Yes.” You nod. “You did leave me. You left me. You didn’t even come after me. I waited and waited and I-”

The image of old Steve standing by the bench fills your mind and you know that once again he doesn’t choose you here.

“Y/N…” He begins, sorrowful, as if someone precious has died.

You avert your gaze, hating the tightening in your chest. The choking grief that had finally begun to shift into memory. Your eyes fall on his hands, fidgeting nervously at his sides. Fingers clenching and unclenching.

A small glimmer of gold catches your eye and your hurt doubles harshly, taking your breath away. You take a step away from him and he looks down to see what’s caught your eye before he quickly, nervously, shoves his left hand into his pocket.

“Y/N…” He tries again.

“Why are you here, Steve?” You gasp, breathless. “It can’t be for me because you-you’re married.”

Fuck, it hurts to say that aloud. You want to be gone suddenly. On the run. Trekking across the Himalayas or maybe sleuthing your way through Europe. Anywhere but here where Steve is back to torture you with proof that he built his life without you. A life that had been yours for five years now thoroughly squashed.

“I-” He steps towards you, reaching out to touch you but you raise your hand as if to block him, taking another step back. “Things are…complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“With Peggy, we’re…not doing…” He stops speaking, unable to finish his words because he can also see how wrong he is to be here. He looks down at your feet, gathering his thoughts. He’s trying to find reason in his madness and you’re not sure that you can forgive him for bringing you into this again.

“So, you and your wife are having problems, and you abandon her too?” You ask, incredulous.

“No.” Steve says, passionately. “I would never leave Peggy, I…”

He seems to realize his mistake again and he screws up his face as your own nearly crumbles.

“Of course not. Not Peggy.” You spit at him.

“Baby…” He says, and you know that it just slipped out. Habit. He said it because it’s what he always called you and he couldn’t help himself, but you hate him for it anyway.

“What?!” The torture of it is too much. Your panic rises and with it your temper. You’re suddenly done with him and his wife and his stupid new life without you.

“Shit.” He gasps. “No…I mean, that’s not what I—fuck, this isn’t coming out right.” He fumbles.

“Why are you here, Steve?!” You yell at him, voice echoing off the large glass walls behind him.

“Because I still love you!” He yells back, frustrated with himself, and responding to your anger. “And when I can’t get my head on straight, I think of you. It’s always…always you, now.”

You scoff, hating him. Hating his words because when things had been tough for him before, yes, he’d turn to you but at times you’d find him with that stupid compass, staring at what you now know was Peggy’s picture.

“Now you think of me?” You put your hand on your chest both to indicate yourself and to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest. “Now?”

“I know that it’s not right. I get that. I understand what I did-”

“Do you?” Your voice shakes. “Do you, really?”

He says nothing, just stares at you.

“You understand that when you chose to go back and stay behind in the past, that you took the five…no…the ten years that I spent with you, and made them nothing? You understand that you took—I loved you, Steve. It was always you. I lived my life with you in mind for my future. And when you took that from me…I had nothing.

“I had no one. No family. No friends because the Avengers…they were your friends. Nat was my friend. And she left me too. And Tony. And then you…and…You have no idea what you did to me when you left.

“You turned our life together into a lie. You took everything that we ever did together and made it into a joke.” You nod, your history with Steve so painful that you rarely let yourself think about it.

His face is all sadness and melancholy. Eyebrows draw down at the corners, eyes red, lips frowning. He has no right to look like that.

“Don’t be sad.” You tell him angrily, almost growling it at him. “You have no right to look at me like that.

“You did this to me. To us. You took us and you crushed us and—you’re married, for fuck’s sake!” You gasp, laughing once because it impossibly stupid that this is even a conversation you’re having.

“Y/N…” He begins again, moving towards you.

“No.” You move back again, this time turning away from him. “Fuck. I can’t do this. Stay away from me.”

“Baby, please.” Steve says, pleading with you, making you angry again. Fuming.

“Fuck! Steve, stop calling me that!” You turn around, hand out, and maybe it’s because you’re an emotional wreck or because maybe it sensed that you needed its strength, but a faint whistling suddenly fills the air, too far away still.

“I’m sorry.” Steve gasps, frustration in his voice. “I don’t mean to.”

He reaches for you again, and you turn holding your hand out towards him to keep him away.

“Stay away from me, Steve.” You plead, growing angrier.

“I just want to explain…”

“Explain what?! Why you left me? You loved her and I was shit. You didn’t love me. It was all just a big fat lie. I get that. Okay? I really don’t need you to tell me in so many words.”

“No!” Steve suddenly booms, angry. “You are not and never have been shit. I love you.”

“Stop lying!”

“I love you!”

“THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE?!” You’re done.

And Mjolnir flies into your outstretched right hand.

Steve is startled back away from you a few steps as you point the new Mjolnir at him, black handle glistening in the light of the morning.

“You can’t love me,” You shake your head, biting your lip hard as you drop your right hand beside you, Mjolnir held secure as you press your left hand to your chest again. “And do what you did to me, Steve. You just can’t. Either you loved me, or you didn’t, and you left me so, you didn’t.

“I found the ring.” You tell him and he pales. “I went to look for some clothes and I was looking for that black bandage that we used on your elbow when you broken it and we had to re-set it? And I pulled open your drawer and it was right there. Right underneath the first pair of socks.

“I mean,” You scoff. “You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Steve’s eyes move from Mjolnir to you. He’s in shock. About what you’re not sure. But as soon as you mentioned the ring, his eyes were on yours.

“Why did you buy it?” You ask, finally able to get an answer to this curiosity.

Steve flexes his jaw, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “Because-”

His voice comes out as wind, no volume. He clears his throat.

“Because I wanted to marry you.”

Your eyes sting but you focus and push it down, deep. Even though your emotions have gone up and down and you’ve been yelling your ass off and just fighting with Steve, you’re happy that not a single tear has been shed.

You smile bitterly, shaking your head.

“I hate you.” You sigh. “I hate what you did to me. Maybe I should be over it by now, but…You robbed me of a life when you went back to her and I can never forgive you for that. You should have at least taken the ring.”

“I forgot I had it.” He admits and that burns deeper than anything he’s said yet.

“You forgot?” You ask, very much close to giving into those tears that had begun to burn.

“I-” Steve meets your eyes again, suddenly realizing what he’s said. “No…”

“You forgot that you wanted to marry me?” Defeat is a terrible thing. In all of your mission. In all of the beats that you’ve suffered because you have been beaten even if you haven’t technically failed a single one, you have never felt this way.

“Look, I just…I need some time to get my head on straight. I’m not doing this right and I’m saying all the wrong things. I’m nervous. Okay? You still make me nervous and I-”

“I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d kept that gym door shut and left me out in the rain. I wish I’d never kissed you on that car park.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve pleads. “What we had-”

“Go back to Peggy, Steve. I don’t know what problems you two are having but I’m not here to ease your worries anymore. Just…leave me alone.” You swing the hammer, only a little. Just to adjust its weight in your grip.

“Y/N…”

“Leave me alone, Steve. I mean it.” You say sternly, already walking away from him. “Stay away from me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

What did he do? What has he done to you?

“You’re still here?” Bucky’s voice is like a welcomed balm, but it only soothes Steve’s aching heart a little.

“Where is she?” Steve asks, desperate but only Bucky would be able to see it.

“After that yelling match earlier, I figured you’d have gone back to Peggy.” Bucky sighs and moves to sit across from Steve, hands on his knees.

Steve scoots to the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands tightly.

“What happened to her? Why is she—the scars on her back?” He can’t seem to finish the question or find the right words. Worry has gripped his heart and it’s making him a little crazed.

“That’s none of your business anymore, Steve.” Bucky reminds him. “But if you really need to know, she joined the S.T.R.I.K.E. field team about two weeks after you left.”

“What?” Steve asks, shocked and hating the idea of you out in the field.

“Then she went off on her own, left the team. Kept her comms in case we needed her, and it was the only way to get her old team’s missions. She’s been going off doing them alone.” Bucky shrugs. “At first Sam and I thought she was just trying to…I don’t know, get herself killed? But she was really trying. And she was good. She’s brought in almost three hundred perps on her own.

“Now that she has the hammer, I think that’ll only go up.” Bucky states.

“She’s been going on missions alone? Why didn’t you do something about it?” He demands, angry at Bucky suddenly. “I asked you to keep an eye on her.”

“And I did.” Bucky assures him, just as angry right back. “I kept her safe while you left to-”

Bucky stops, looking down at the black marble floor, sleek and cold. He reminds himself that Steve is his best friend. That he’s his brother.

“Steve, she had a right to deal with what happened on her own terms. You know, I keep trying to understand what it is you’re doing here. If you were coming back for her, you’d have come back the moment you left so that it would be like you never did. Then you and she could have fixed things.”

He sounds almost hopeful and Steve knows that he’s right.

“You don’t know what you want, do you?” Bucky asks him, a knowing look in his steel blue eyes.

Steve licks his lips and slowly shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Steve. She was getting better. She was starting to be happy again. She was moving on.” Bucky narrows his eyes at the look of confusion on Steve’s face at his words.

Steve is at an absolute loss. You hadn’t seemed in the least bit happy and the rage and pain he’d seen you display with him earlier said that you were anything but moving on.

A silly thought pops into Bucky’s head. The thought that Steve might have only seen you when he came in. That when he first saw you, he saw you and only you and no one else. Bucky knows that he loves you and Steve probably missed you more than you could ever imagine—not like that excuses Steve anything he’s done, but still.

“What did you see when you got here, Steve? Where was Y/N standing?” Bucky checks, sure that he’s wrong, but just in case.

“Y/N? She was, in the kitchen. Why?” Steve’s brow furrows in consternation, his mind flashing back to the moment he saw you, stretched up on your toes, reaching into the cupboard for something. Your face was all lit up and you were smiling, and you looked so happy and nothing like the broken woman you’d been when he’d last seen you.

You were positively glowing. Beautiful and perfect and his heart felt lighter just seeing you there and all he had wanted in that moment was you.

“Steve…” Bucky sits back, shaking his head. “What was she doing? Who was she with?”

Steve’s eyes wander to Bucky’s feet, thinking back to the moment he walked across the top landing and spotted you in the kitchen.

The picture clears and sharpens, focusing on you but also everything else. His heart drops and he meets Bucky’s eyes, as his stomach rolls and his chest nearly caves in.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been sitting in here for hours. Waiting. Getting more and more upset the longer you sit here, thinking. Wallowing.

The door opens and you stand up, Mjolnir at your feet.

When he turns around, Thor’s somber expression melts away in favor of happy surprise.

“My little dove,” He almost gushes, moving towards you quickly. “You’re in my room.”

You reach up and put your hands on his massive biceps, staring at his wide chest as you try to get a grip.

“You left me.” You whimper, more at ease with Thor. Your emotions laid out for him to see.

“No, little dove. No, I-” He stammers, thinking quick as he shakes his head and his smile falters then returns in full force as he tries to explain.

“You told me you loved me.” You counter, cutting him off because what he has to say is not as important as what you have to say.

It’s a little unfair of you, you know this. You haven’t returned those words to him, but he knows. He must. It’s in every lingering gaze. Every touch. It’s in your body when you meld with his.

Still, how can he know when even you didn’t know just how deep these emotions ran until you were faced with Steve and all you wanted was Thor?

“I do!” He gasps, hearing the doubt within you. Chasing it away with his hands as he grips you to him, holding your waist as he seeks to chase away the distance between you. Emotionally. Physically. All of it.

With Thor, it always feels as if he needs you closer. Even when he’s inside you, shifting you, arms on either side of your body as his hands rip into your shoulders and he thrusts deep.

You’re never close enough.

“But you left me!” You’re not being loud, not like with Steve, because if you get loud, you’re afraid you’ll fall apart.

You don’t want to cry yet.

“Y/N-” Thor reaches up, right hand cupping your cheek as his left wraps around to the small of your back.

“You left me. Alone. With him.” You simper, wanting his comfort but also hating him for leaving you too.

Why does everyone leave you?

You push against his chest and he doesn’t resist when you renew the distance between you.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” You look up at him and he’s reading you, taking in the finality in your tone. “I needed you there, Thor and I…I don’t want to need anyone. It needs to be only me. If you leave me…”

“I won’t leave you, my dove.” Thor protests, trying to reach for you but you put your hands over his and push them away gently.

“You already did.” How do you convey the depth of the despair that you felt seeing Steve again? Hearing the things he said, seeing that stupid ring and all through it wishing Thor was with you? How can you make him see that it’s too dangerous to need someone like that again?

Steve had been your world. Thor can’t be your world too. He’ll take it away. Just like Steve.

“Sweet pet,” He begins, smiling hopefully as he reaches out to caress your cheek again.

“I can’t do this, Thor. It’s too much. I can’t fail like I did before. I need to be strong.”

“What are you saying?” Thor asks, confused and serious.

“I’m saying that we can’t be together anymore.” You sigh. “You’re bad for me.”

You leave him there, staring in stunned silence at his bed as you head out to seek some much-needed advice.

The meeting runs long. It’s tedious and you haven’t missed this part of the job.

You’ve been on your own too long that being at the table with the team feels odd.

It sucks even more because you can see Thor shooting you sad puppy eyes every few minutes, desperate to catch your eye and talk again.

You’ve been avoiding him, and he finally got the hint last night that you need space and he’s been giving it to you, but he also really wants to talk, and you hate pushing him away. You want him close.

You want him beside you, and that terrifies you. This need to feel him there is familiar because you’ve felt it before. With Steve…who is also sitting across from you.

His gaze is annoying too. Irritating because he keeps looking at you with longing and then he looks at Thor with suspicion and what right does he have to give your Thor—wait, not your Thor…fuck—that look?

The sheer nerve of him to be jealous is infuriating.

You look up to find Thor staring down at his thumb, tracing circles against the glass of the table. You bite your lip, wanting to reach out and place your hand over his. Your chest is yearning for his arms. For that smell of juniper in his beard when he tickles you with it.

You want to run your hands through his hair and pull him down until you can kiss those big pink lips, as he squeezes you to him.

Fuck! This isn’t happening.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself then inadvertently look at Steve to find him staring at you, frowning.

Ugh! “Are we almost done here?”

You snap, looking up at Sam who puts one hand on his hip, annoyed with you too. You don’t blame him. You’ve been in an insufferable bad mood.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we intruding on your schedule?”

“The League is in Northern Canada, right? Just dispatch a scout, find out where exactly, how many there are, what we’re going to go up against and then we can all go together.” You gripe, wondering why this meeting is endless.

“We already sent Wanda and-”

“No, Sam. Send in a stealth team. Someone that can blend in and infiltrate the bunker. The world knows our faces. I mean…your faces. The team.” You feel left out suddenly but you did this to yourself.

In one startling moment, you regret ever leaving. You’ve lost two years of time with the team.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Rhodey nods, tapping his finger against the table. “It’ll take about a month for them to get in and then get back out and we’ll be able to learn a lot more about them this way.”

“Fine.” Sam sighs, “And where do we find this covert team?”

You sit up straighter, feeling slightly uneasy with all eyes on you. Not to mention Steve’s and Thor’s each with a different type of longing.

“I can get us a few agents. I’ll call them now.” You get up from your chair and move towards the kitchen only to hear footsteps behind you.

With your phone pressed to your ear, you turn around and frown when it’s Steve moving closer.

You frown at him, heart dropping, as you move through the kitchen and down a secluded hallway.

“Y/N…” Steve calls out and you stop, hanging up your phone.

“Why are you still here?” You ask him, curt and uncaring, no matter how much it really hurts you.

His feet slow, sadness overtaking his handsome face. “We need to talk.”

“No.” You shake your head. “We really don’t. You should go back to your wife.”

“Hey,” He reaches out and grabs your wrist as you turn to move away from him. He turns you towards him, pulling you closer until you’re inches from his chest, his face leaning down towards yours. “Just give me a chance to talk, Y/N.”

“For what, Steve?” You shake your head, smiling bitterly up at him.

“I love you.” He confesses once again, quietly, almost with hesitation.

You scoff. “And you’re still married.”

“Did you mean it?” He asks, his hand softening, caressing down to your elbow as his other hand takes gentle grip of your hip.

“Did I mean what?” You shift uncomfortably, wanting him so much when he touches you. “Let go of me.”

“Did you mean it when you said that you wanted to give me kids?” He asks, shyly, sadly.

Your chest nearly cracks, ribs aching from the tearing your heart is doing right now. How dare he!

You blink, stunned for a moment, tilting your head to one side as you watch the desire on his face. It isn’t sexual. Just a different kind of longing.

“Is that why you’re here? Because she won’t give you kids?” You realize, suddenly considering the possibility that Steve might actually come back into your life, to stay. For good?

Because you offered him what he so clearly wants now.

His jaw tightens and you know that you’re right.

“I bought that ring with every intention of asking you to marry me, Y/N. But then Scott came back and changed everything and-” You try to pull back, you don’t need this right now.

“I understand, Steve. I helped keep you patched together when everything went tits up you left me because I’m not the girl you marry and have kids with. I’m the one you fuck when things get tough, right?” This particular thought has been on your mind.

“Don’t say that.” He begs you, pulling you so close your breasts are right up against his chest. “You’re perfect and…I made a mistake.”

He’s saying all the right things and it sounds like he’s saying he’s going to stay.

“You made a big fucking mistake.” You counter, and Steve is so close you can taste the sweet strawberry of his breakfast toast on your lips.

As he breathes it wafts over your tongue, sweetening it, his heady scent of crisp citrus soap and clean linens transfixing you.

“Forgive me.” He begs, his lips ghosting over your own.

“No.” You tell him, unable to forgive him. As much as your body wants him, your heart is forever hurt.

You hear a small thud and pull back, turning to look down the hallway as Thor’s fist lifts away from the wall he just punched, which crumbles as he moves it. He turns and he’s walking away from you, long blonde hair swishing with his angry strut.

“Thor…” You call, firm.

You shove Steve away, ripping yourself from his arms and fix him with a glare.

“Go home, Steve.”

“I am home.” He counters, his own jealousy sneaking in.

You growl and hurry after Thor, watching as his wide back turns the corner into the common room.

“Thor, wait!” Your heart is in a panic.

You love him, damn it. Even if you don’t want to. He needs to know that what he saw was…it won’t happen again.

“Thor!” You turn the corner and almost fall back as you crash into another strong chest. Two arms—one metal, one flesh—catch you.

“Careful, Sugar. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bucky steadies you and then waits until you’ve caught your balance. “Hey, that was a good idea about the covert team.”

Shit. You need to call Fury.

Fuck it. Just text the team.

You can always beg Fury for forgiveness later.

Quick as you can, you type out a group message and shoot it off.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

“No.” You sigh, frustrated because Thor is probably gone by now. Where would he go? His room? The skies? He wouldn’t leave Earth again, would he?

Your heart is in a panic again, thumping wildly against your ribcage. Sharp edged pain pierces your gut and you kind of want to hyperventilate. Instead, you blink once, hard. You take a deep breath and release it slowly, urging yourself to stay calm.

“Steve?” Bucky asks and you wheel yourself around in search of him. “No, I mean, he’s bothering you?”

“He almost kissed me.” You confess, regret in your voice. “I…Thor saw…” Your shoulders slump and Bucky sighs.

“Look, I…I think I have an idea of how we might be able to get him to go back home.” Bucky waits, dipping down to look into your eyes. “If that’s what you really want?”

You’d be a fool to not hesitate. For five years Steve had loved you. He’d devoted himself to you until he simply couldn’t anymore. His heart had called him elsewhere.

“I do.” You nod.

“You really like Thor, huh?” Bucky asks, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I love him.” You admit, to someone. To Bucky. “It’s my weakness.”

“Loving someone isn’t a weakness, Sugar.” Bucky says.

“What’s your idea?” You press, ignoring his other words.

Bucky moves a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks towards the large wall of windows at the opposite end of the common room. Rhodey and Stephen are huddled around a stack of papers, talking and rifling through them. Everyone else has left.

“You’re not gonna like it.” Bucky tells you, turning back to you with a withered sigh.

“What is it?” You wonder with trepidation.

“We have to go see old Steve.”

467 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 5

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks

Summary: The visit to the market, the special dinner, and an unwelcome surprise.

Note: Meilin’s name means “plum jade.” Wen Qing seems to refer to Fourth Uncle as shifu, but I did excessive research and it can also be jifu, so I went with that. Yes, I brought in the concept of zhiyin, which has historical origins and has been talked about as a word that could have been used in The Untamed, a missed opportunity that means both “soulmate” and more literally “understanding the music,” as in of the heart/soul. Which, given that Lan WangJi wrote Wei WuXian a love song and they play a duet of it near the end of CQL, like omg. I did far too much research on shit like dying cloth and what plants grow best in poor soil, etc. Some dialog is adapted from episode 29 of CQL.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

---------

The trip to town is blessedly uneventful. Wen Qing sends one of the older aunties, who had introduced herself as Meilin-jie at breakfast and who is put in charge of the money, and Wen QiongLin, who insists Lan WangJi call him Wen Ning.

He sends the missive to XiChen first, then does his best to distract himself from what must follow before his brother’s arrival: a long overdue conversation with Wei Ying. After his musings of the morning, Lan WangJi had realized perhaps the best way to minimize damage and protect his zhiji was to, with his consent, formalize the handfasting from years ago.

He only hopes the idea does not upset or offend Wei Ying; Lan WangJi himself has no scruples on the matter. His understanding of his feelings toward his soulmate have cleared since coming to Burial Mounds.

With the letter sent, Lan WangJi has only days to approach him.

Wei Ying is, unsurprisingly, easily sidetracked in each shop, flitting around to browse while Meilin selects supplies for sewing blankets and fibers for the making of bedding. Lan WangJi is pleased when she asks his opinion when it comes to fabrics for the more practical robes the aunties will sew for him, letting her explain the benefits of certain fabrics. Ultimately the choice is simply a matter of color.

Lan WangJi is practical, and chooses the least expensive option, an undyed fabric that’s a mottled cream. His choice receives a nod of approval from Meilin. She easily haggles the price down further by buying a bulk amount, clearly planning to make more robes.

“On the way home, we’ll harvest bamboo leaves,” she tells him, and pats his arm with a smile. “We can use them to dye the fabric a pale green for you. Very light, but it will even out the color, make it look nicer. We’ll get a cheap mordant in the market.”

Her thoughtfulness toward him, when he’s foisted himself on the refugees, is touching.

Wei Ying chooses that moment to wander over. “Light colors stain so easily, though.”

Meilin only laughs at him. “Not everyone is like you, young master. There are other dyes we can create for you, darker ones. I was once a seamstress, you know!”

Lan WangJi had never considered the art of fabric dying to be something he would learn, but he is willing to help the aunties if needed; any learning is worthwhile.

She chooses other, heavier fabrics for use creating blankets and bedding, haggling ruthlessly but buying in large enough quantities that the shop owner is satisfied.

A bookstore is nearby, giving Lan WangJi the opportunity to quickly peruse books about plants and farming.

“Carrots, beets, squash, beans, tomatoes,” he reports when he rejoins them outside.

He feels mildly guilty for perusing without purchase, but practicality dictates his actions now.

“There are a lot of v-varieties of squash,” Wen Ning contributes. “So we can t-try to grow several?”

“Not potatoes?” Wei Ying asks, sounding a bit put-out.

“Wen Qing is correct in that they are not as easy to grow,” Lan WangJi tells him.

Wei Ying just sighs. “Well, at least it’s something other than radishes.”

Meilin insists they have a bit of lunch to tide them over, purchasing inexpensive food from street vendors. Wen Ning does not require food, and Lan WangJi claims to be practicing inedia and insists Wei Ying eat his share. And with the three of them watching expectantly, he for once doesn’t argue.

Since they expect XiChen in the coming week, Wen Qing had given them leave to purchase a small amount of tea. Lan WangJi selects based on scent, choosing one he is certain his brother has never tried, but is likely to enjoy.

After some time in the market purchasing plants, seeds, herbs, produce, meat, and building material, it becomes easily apparent that bringing their purchases back to Burial Mounds will not be a simple endeavor. Meilin’s suggestion that they buy a cart, which will also be useful during farming and building, is a welcome one.

By the time they head back toward Burial Mounds, Wen Ning pushing the laden cart, the sun is starting to set, and dusk is fast approaching when they reach its borders. The trek to the small settlement leaves them nearing twilight. Though it is still hours until hai shi, Lan WangJi’s day has been full, and he looks forward to rest. He can only imagine Wei Ying, whose body is weakened by prolonged lack of food, is exhausted.

Wen Qing seems to agree. She takes one look at him and tells him to go lay down “before I make you,” holding up a needle.

While Lan WangJi prefers she not threaten him, he also knows his stubborn nature likely has made that a necessity. Wen Qing waits until Wei Ying is past her on his way to the cave, then looks at him pointedly and jerks her head subtly in a silent order to go with him.

He leaves the rest of the settlement to unload the cart, his mind turning once again to the need to address their relationship, the need to address what he knows Wei Ying does not understand about what happened in the Cold Spring cave those years ago.

A-Yuan’s interference, running for Wei Ying the moment he sees him and insisting upon being picked up, allows Lan WangJi to catch up. Popo is lagging behind the boy, looking quite tired.

“Ah, Wei-gongzi, a-Yuan hasn’t taken his nap yet. He was too excited waiting for you.”

The slight smile on her face tells Lan WangJi that the elder had made sure of that; it’s nice to know these people are also trying to care for Wei Ying however possible.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem to notice the smile, swinging a-Yuan around in his arms. “Okay, my little radish, let’s get you a nap before dinner.”

Lan WangJi offers a short, polite bow to popo who waves it off in embarrassment, and follows them to the cave.

“I will play ‘Rest,’ so he may sleep easier.”

That gets a sideways glance from Wei Ying, but he seems to accept that Lan WangJi isn’t going to yield.

While they nap, Lan WangJi attempts meditation, but is kept from it by his own thoughts, his own fears. Instead he finds himself watching them, Wei Ying curled around the boy protectively, a-Yuan’s face snuggled against his chest.

He expects Wei Ying will be angry he never told him of the handfasting, but he also fears he will be against the very idea. Lan WangJi feels as though they have danced around defining their relationship for years. During the Phoenix Mountain hunt, he thought perhaps that had changed when Wei Ying called him zhiji.

But there were different types of zhiji, and he has never asked what Wei Ying means by it. Lan WangJi would be happy for Wei Ying to be his zhiji, his zhiyin, and beyond. His everything.

He longs to be the same to Wei Ying.

He fears his regard for Wei Ying surpasses Wei Ying’s regard for him, that he will regard Lan WangJi with disgust.

It is an old fear, one he is well-acquainted with, and one he can no longer allow to control him.

He also hopes to convince Wei Ying to confide in XiChen about his golden core—at least about no longer having one, if not how.

Lan WangJi does not usually keep secrets from XiChen—the handfasting is the exception. But even though Wei Ying had not asked Lan WangJi to keep his secret, he will not reveal it to XiChen himself.

Lan WangJi has already done so much to lose Wei Ying’s trust, and he never wishes to give him reason to doubt him again.

Eventually Wen Qing comes to summon them for dinner. They exit the cave to find red lanterns hung on the trees and structures, and only then does Lan WangJi remember her comment about a “special dinner” the night before.

Wei Ying looks surprised to see the Wen remnants waiting in the communal area. They stand and gather around when he walks in.

“Ah, you’re all still awake? Isn’t it late?”

Lan WangJi realizes that they probably retire shortly after dark, keeping to the schedule of farmers.

“All these lanterns… Aren’t the lanterns too costly?” Wei Ying asks.

“We made them, of course,” Wen Qing replies, carrying in a plate of food and setting it on one of the tables. “We’ll hang more along the mountain path. The last thing we need is you slipping and breaking a leg, making more work for me.”

Wei Ying laughs softly, and sits at a table. None of the others move.

“What, you haven’t started dinner yet?”

“No. We were waiting for you.”

Wei Ying blinks at Wen Qing.

“Why did you wait for me?”

She offers him a cup, acting as a proper hostess.

“You’ve worked hard,” she tells him.

Though he takes the cup, Wei Ying looks uncomfortable. Lan WangJi knows he’s never been comfortable with gratitude, even though he’s often earned it, almost as though he still feels unworthy. When he thanks others, it’s often in a self-effacing way, as though he is undeserving of the kindness he has received.

“You’re suddenly talking so nicely to me,” he comments, grinning. “I’m a little scared.”

His voice is undeniably fond, and another laugh ripples through the small group. There’s a camaraderie among these people, one Lan WangJi hopes he might be able to join. These months and their struggles have made them close, though he doubts Wei Ying allows himself to feel a part of it.

This dinner, he realizes, is the way they have chosen to let him know he truly is family. Wei Ying adopted them when he saved them from certain death, and they have adopted him in return.

Wen Qing smiles. “In fact, they all wished to have dinner with you. To thank you. But you’re always running around and busy, or shutting yourself in your cave for days on end not letting anyone disturb you, and they didn’t want to disrupt your work and annoy you.”

Lan WangJi watches Wei Ying, the way his face slackens from the smiling expression he usually maintains, the words of gratitude making it hard to maintain the mask he presents to the world.

“They thought you didn’t like interacting with others and didn’t want to talk to them,” Wen Qing scolds gently, “so they were too embarrassed to protest.”

A murmur of agreement rises among the Wens.

Surprise crosses Wei Ying’s face, and Lan WangJi realizes he had probably kept his distance believing the Wens would want little to do with him. Regardless of the unconcerned face he presents to the world when he’s criticized and when crass and slanderous stories about him are shared, he knows his zhiji feels them deeply. The smiling mask he presents to the world hides the pain of all the traumas and ills he has suffered.

And with Wei Ying’s role in the war, he had probably assumed despite having saved them they would fear him. So he had kept his distance, had split from his adopted clan to appease cultivation politics, and had accepted loneliness as his only companion all these months.

Lan WangJi’s heart aches for him, remembering his reaction over lunch just yesterday to the news of his shijie’s impending wedding, the excitement so quickly followed by a forlorn dejection as he realized he would never see it, that he had sacrificed that ability through his choice to remain true to his sense of justice and righteousness.

Wen Qing smiles at him again with a soft sigh, the expression gentle as though she too knows Wei Ying’s pain.

“Now a-Ning woke up, and we’ve been busy celebrating. Hanguang-Jun’s decision to stay, we’ve been busy with arrangements. Meilin-jie said you had a nice lunch in town, but even if you’re not hungry, please sit with us and chat and have a few drinks.”

The Wens take this as a call to disperse to the gathered tables to eat, and Lan WangJi takes a seat at Wei Ying’s table, along with popo, a-Yuan, Wen Qing, and jifu.

Wei Ying’s expression is momentarily reflective, but then perks up.

“Drinks? There’s liquor here?”

He is clearly excited, as though Lan WangJi hadn’t bought him wine during lunch just the previous day. Wei Ying’s obsession with alcohol, combined with his mental state, worries him.

Someone brings over a jar, and jifu opens it, smiling widely.

“Fruit wine,” he clarifies. “Made from the wild fruit growing on the mountain.”

Lan WangJi focuses on filling his bowl, not commenting as he would like that perhaps the fruit would have been better for Wei Ying to eat, given his emaciated state. But this is not his celebration, and the Wens are obviously elated to be able to offer a luxury to their benefactor.

But given the spread of food on the tables now, the fact that there are still funds remaining, the comments he’d heard over breakfast about the impending radish harvest, he can focus on helping ensure Wei Ying gains health again.

These refugees and Wei Ying deserve a bit of luxury in the face of all they have lost. Such small luxuries offer slivers of hope in the darkness they have faced.

“Jifu likes drinking. He knows how to brew, and he made it especially for you,” Wen Qing tells him. “He’s been trying for a while.”

“Really? I’ll have to try some!”

Wei Ying sounds excited and eager, the first Lan WangJi has seen since Yiling the previous day, and his excitement only grows when he tastes and deems the wine delicious. Jifu watches, laughing, his expression one of paternal affection.

When jifu offers some to Lan WangJi, he thanks him but declines. Wei Ying’s laugh is unexpected, his eyes turning to half-moons with glee.

“Lan Zhan has no tolerance for liquor!” His smile is true and beautiful, the kind he hasn’t seen from him in what might be years now, since before the war perhaps. “I once tricked him into drinking and he passed out after only one cup! If all Lans have such low tolerance, no wonder alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses!”

Gentle laughs rise up from the tables around them, but Lan WangJi isn’t offended. Though he had submitted himself for punishment, that the memory gives Wei Ying joy now is enough compensation for him.

“Ah, I was a brat,” he comments. “But somehow we became close anyway.”

“You still are a brat,” Wen Qing tells him.

Wei Ying makes a show of being offended, but is quickly distracted when Wen Ning brings out more food and jifu pours him another bowl of wine.

Through the conversation, Lan WangJi learns Wen Ning has cooked all the dishes, is a proficient chef. He gathers the food is better prepared than they are used to, with a wider variety of flavors. He doesn’t contribute to the conversation while eating, and Wei Ying explains that Lan principles prohibit speaking while eating, and the Wens nod in acceptance. They still speak to him, but don’t expect a response.

A-Yuan giggles at Wen Ning’s appearance, as he has streaks of charcoal across his face from cooking, and calls him Coal-gege, to the laughter of the group. Wen Qing stands to wipe his face gently, in a motherly way.

Wei Ying’s eyes grow distant at that, the smile fading a bit, and Lan WangJi knows he is thinking about what he lost. He starts filling his zhiji’s bowl, taking care to avoid radishes, and it has the desired effect of distraction.

“You’re spoiling me, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, his smile still dimmed, but firmly in the present again.

“You’re too thin,” popo tells him. “Always giving your food to a-Yuan.”

“Mn,” Lan WangJi agrees, skirting the line of the principle about speech without directly violating it.

He is, after all, not in the Cloud Recesses, even if he chooses to follow the rules regardless.

“And no one wants to have to carry you drunk to bed,” Wen Qing adds, “so you need to eat if you’re going to drink more.”

More soft laughter follows, along with a toast to “Wei-gongzi.” Lan WangJi joins with his cup of water. The atmosphere of the meal, the soft chatter at each table, is wholesome and comfortable, and very different to what he is used to, lacking the silence of Cloud Recesses or the strained feeling of banquets.

Distinctly distant from his own experiences, a sort of controlled chaos, and yet he finds it soothing.

Too soon, it seems, it is hai shi. Lan WangJi bids the room goodnight. Wei Ying waves as he heads out, still engaged in lively banter and drinking with several of the uncles, including jifu. Popo carries a sleepy a-Yuan from the area, accompanying him partway to the cave.

“Goodnight, Rich-gege,” the boy murmurs, half asleep. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“I am as well.”

He pats the boy’s head before retiring to the cave.

Lan WangJi is still only somewhat familiar with life on Burial Mounds, and though he would normally wash his face before sleeping he will need to learn where to go for water in the morning instead.

Hours later, he’s woken by a shout of panic and a thump, followed by Wei Ying tripping over him blindly. He lights a talisman to find him plastered against the wall, his eyes wide and wild.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying barely glances in his direction, then back to the center of the chamber, his flute held out like a shield.

“Dog. Dog, Lan Zhan.”

His voice is filled with more panic than Lan WangJi has ever heard from him, even in the midst of the worst battles in the war.

A growl catches his attention and elicits a whimper from Wei Ying.

Near the boulder Wei Ying uses as a bed, Lan WangJi can make out a pair of glowing red eyes. As he focuses, he can see the outline of a large dog, its body made of and leaking resentful energy. Animal ghosts aren’t uncommon, but this one seems especially hostile.

The normal protocol is to attempt liberation first, followed by suppression or elimination if necessary, but Wei Ying is pressed against the wall, curled in on himself, his voice a hoarse croak.

And so Lan WangJi does not feel guilt manifesting his guqin and using Chord Assassination to eliminate immediately, rending the resentful energy into wisps that dissipate into the shadows. He dismisses the instrument, and turns to Wei Ying, who is shaking, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Wei Ying, it’s gone.”

Wei Ying looks his way again, and Lan WangJi realizes he’s beyond words, his pupils blown wide in terror. He’s beyond even speaking, just mouthing “dog.”

Lan WangJi worries that manifesting his guqin again could send him into a full panic, that he could hurt himself. So instead he imbues his spiritual energy into his voice and hums “Clarity,” letting the song reach out to him to soothe.

It takes a couple of verses before Wei Ying’s tension starts to ease, the flute lowering. But his shaking doesn’t stop. Lan WangJi reaches for him slowly, pulling him away from the wall, closer to him.

“It’s gone, Wei Ying,” he repeats.

“Gone?”

His voice cracks in the middle of the word.

“Eliminated,” he clarifies. “It won’t come back.”

The sound Wei Ying makes in response is almost a sob, and he goes almost boneless in relief on the cave floor. Even now, he’s trembling, his breathing erratic, and Lan WangJi recognizes he’s having a mild panic attack.

He didn’t know Wei Ying was so afraid of dogs, never expected a phobia of this intensity—he’s seen him face down some of the most terrifying monsters with barely a blink, but he’s been sent into a state of near-hysteria by a ghost dog.

But Wei Ying is in no condition to explain, and he’s still in the throes of panic; he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t resist when Lan WangJi pulls him closer, shifting on the bedroll to share it, covering them both with the blanket, barely reacts at all. Wei Ying’s breath smells of alcohol, and he’s certain it made his fear worse.

Lan WangJi imbues his voice again and hums “Rest,” letting his zhiji settle against him. When he’s still, his breathing even, he softly sings “WangXian” to him somewhat self-indulgently, then listens to Wei Ying’s breathing until he, too, has fallen back to sleep.

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #cql #chen qing ling #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wen ning #wei ying #wen qionglin #my fanfiction

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