#maybe I’m just sick of grilled meat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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sparklepool101 · 2 years ago

Text

Burgers and Fires

[ Welcome to the CotC fic I finished at 12:40 something am last night because the new episode made me emotional lmao. Spoilers for Craig to the Future below! ]

:readmore:

“Thank you Herkleton! That was the last song of tonight. Exits are located in the back, along with our merch stands wink wink. Have a safe trip home and a rocking night!”

The crowd cheered one last time, before turning and heading back to the lobby, right where Craig was waiting. Kit nudged his arm.

“Alright, last wave of sales.” She said.

“Yep,” Craig said, staring at the doors. Omar and JP had just entered the lobby, laughing together. Kelsey and Stacks were nowhere to be seen.

“I can handle these guys, you go on.” Kit said. Craig jumped a bit before looking back at her. He took in her sideways smile and felt his brow furrow.

“Are you sure? The crowd is bound to be bigger now--”

“Come on Craig, I know you’ve been antsy all night. Go ask them to hang out or something, I can handle the crowd.”

“All right, if you’re sure…” Craig His chest felt like it was full of ants as he approached the duo. It had ended so awkwardly before the concert, but he couldn’t let this chance slip away. Their group had been steadily growing apart since JP entered high school, and he missed his friends so much.

Craig bit the bullet and called out to them. “Hey, JP! Omar!” The two turned their heads.

“Hey, Craig!” JP said, walking over to meet him. “Man, did you see Katie’s trick up there?”

“Nah, I was back at the merch stand.”

“Why?” Omar asked, slinging his arm around JP’s shoulder. “Are they paying ya’?”

“Oh, kind of? David actually commissioned me to make the T-shirts over there and he asked if I’d help man the stand as well.” Craig rubbed the back of his neck.

“Dude really? That’s sick!” Omar said, face lighting up.

“Aw come here!” JP pulled Craig into a hug. “I’m so proud of you man! I’ve definitely gotta buy one now. Babe, you still have my wallet?”

“Right here.” Omar tossed the small leather wallet over to JP, who caught it in one hand.

“Be right back!” JP rushed into the crowd gathered around the stand, leaving Craig and Omar alone,

A few beats of silence passed before Craig gathered up the courage to talk. “So, you guys doing anything after this?”

“Mmm probably just hanging out nearby, maybe grab a bite to eat, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Moment of truth. “You want to come with me to get some burgers?”

“I’m down for that.” Omar smiled. “It’s been way too long since we’ve hung out.” Craig smiled back and put his hands in his pockets. They chatted a bit more while waiting for JP to come back, mostly about teachers at school.

“Oh yeah, no Mrs. Denadio was the worst. One time, she assigned a whole project and only gave us two days to work on it.”

“No. Don’t tell me that’s the final project she’s been talking about all semester.”

“Good luck, man.”

“Hey, guys!” JP called as he ran over, wearing the t-shirt over his sweater. “What do y’all think?” He posed a bit, showing off the shirt.

“As handsome as always, babe. Craig wanted to go grab some food with us, you down for that?”

“Oh absolutely! Let’s go celebrate your first step on the road to fame.

It was odd how easily they fell back into a familiar pattern of banter. (But not at all unwelcome.) Craig felt like he was ten again, walking alongside two of his best friends as they chatted. It just stung remembering that there was only one redhead with them now.

The burger place’s ‘open 24-hours’ sign glowed a neon blue onto the trio’s faces. JP held the door open for the other two as they entered the building. It smelled like over-salted fries and grilled meat, with just a few people sitting at tables.

“Welcome, what can I get you three?” The cashier looked like they wanted to be anywhere else, especially with the huge eye bags they had.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake,” Craig said.

“And add two number three combos to that,” Omar said, pulling out his wallet.

“I can pay for my stuff,” Craig said.

“No way man, I’ll cover tonight.” Omar winked at him and passed a card over to the cashier.

“Thanks.”

“Alright, here’s your receipt. We’ll get the food out in a bit.” The trio stepped back from the register. JP leaned against a pillar while Omar grabbed their cups and went to the soda fountain. Pulling out his phone to text his parents, Craig shot a quick message to the family group chat telling them where he was.

An electronic bell signified that the front door had opened again, and Craig looked up. Kelsey and Stacks walk in hand in hand, Kelsey was rambling about something while Stacks watched her with adoring eyes. Craig felt his heart seize for a moment. The last time he had talked to Kelsey, like really talked to her, was back in middle school, and when they bumped into each other at the concert, she was so quick to find a reason to leave.

“Hey, Kels!” JP called out. Kelsey and Stacks both looked over. Stacks smiled and waved, but for a brief moment, Kelsey looked scared, which terrified Craig more than anything. (Because if he got back in touch with JP and Omar without her, it would never feel right. There would always be something missing.)

“Hi JP! Fancy seeing you here.” Stacks said as she led Kelsey over to the two of them. “You bought one of their shirts?”

“Duh! I had to, especially since ol’ Craiggy boy did the art.” JP boasted, gesturing at Craig who giggled at the old nickname and praise.

Kelsey looked at Craig with wide eyes. “You designed those?”

“Uh, y-yeah.”

“Dude! Those look so good! I didn’t know that you could draw that good! I mean, I knew that you could draw well but, like,” Kelsey started rambling, scrambling for the right words.

“What she means is,” Stacks placed her spare hand on Kelsey’s shoulder. “The shirts look really good, Craig!”

“Thanks.” Craig and Kelsey smiled at each other for a moment before looking away again.

“You want to sit with us?” Craig finally asked, bridging the gap.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get our food first though.” Kelsey and Stacks walked over to the register.

“Dude, what was that?” Omar said, handing JP his drink. “Did you and Kelsey have a fight or something?”

“No. At least I don’t think so, it just…” Craig sighed. “We kept drifting apart once we stopped hanging out at the Creek as much, once I started high school. We never saw each other in the halls anymore, and I started working on art more seriously and got together with Vanessa, and Kelsey got into wrestling properly and started working on her book with Stacks and… I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Well,” Omar said, after a long sip of his drink. “I think you guys will be fine.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes you don’t talk to someone for a while, life happens,” Omar shrugged. “But when you are as close as the four of us are, you can always slip right back into a conversation like no time has passed.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. I mean, just look at us.” Omar smiled.

“Yeah, man!” JP added.

“Thanks, guys.” Craig felt a bit better, like there was hope for the old "Stump Kids" after all.

“Order forty-three!” An employee called from the counter, and Omar ran to go grab it.

“Just talk to her, Craig,” JP said. “Hey, maybe we could even go on a triple date some time!”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’ll call Maney and ask if she’d be down for that, I know Omar would.”

“I’ll think about it,” Craig said. "And ask Vanessa." Omar came back with the trays of food and led the three of them to a corner booth. Soon, Kelsey and Stacks joined them with their own food.

"So, how's the book going?" JP asked before shoving some fries in his mouth.

"Relly good, actually! We're super close to finishing." Stacks said.

"And then it's getting sent off to the publishers!" Kelsey said with a cheshire grin.

"Man, that's sick! Will ya let me read it once it's done?" Omar said.

"You can buy a copy like everyone else, unless we get a punlishing deal within half a year." Stacks said, smiling slyly.

"Well then, get ready to let us read that book for free because I have no dobut you'll get that deal in no time!" JP cheered.

"Oh to have no knowledge of the publishing world." Kelsey sighed, causing Stacks to giggle.

The conversation fell into a lull, leaving the group to pick at their food. Craig glanced up at Kelsey sitting across from him, and steeled his resolve.

"I'm sorry, Kelsey."

"Huh?" Kelsey looked up at Craig, fry halfway on the way to her mouth.

"I should have... I don't know. I should have tried harder to reach out to you and stay in touch, or--"

"Craig," Kelsey cut him off. "I'm sorry too. I-- when you got to high school I was scared that you were going to stop wanting to be friends so I didn't ask you to hang out as much and--"

"No, I'm--"

"Okay, that's enough." JP cutoff Craig and put an end to the apology loop. "You two both difted apart, but neither of you are completely at fault. Yeah you two might have been able to do something differently, but what's done is done. And now we're here, eating burgers and hanging out, even after all that." JP slung his arm around Omar. "We're stuck together guys, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. Besides, you promised I could officiate your wedding, Craig, and I still plan on getting that certification."

"Heh, yeah." Craig looked back around Kelsey. "I really missed you."

"I missed you too." Kelsey slipped out of her side of the booth and onto Craig's side, wrapping him into a hug. "Don't let me be dumb like that again."

"You weren't dumb, Kelsey." Craig hugged her back and rested his chin on her head. "We both messed up, I'm so sorry."

"Stop saying your sorry." Kelsey laughed into the hug before pulling back and wiping at her eyes. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too."

[ yeah thats it lmao sorry. Check out my other cotc stuff on Ao3, I’m sparklepool101, and orange poncho has consumed my mind now :) ]

#craig of the creek #craig williams #cotc #cotc spoilers #cotc fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #orange poncho #jponar #stelsey #idk what to tag but yeah #wow me? making a post on here? its more likely than you'd think lmao

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years ago

Text

If I Fell For You (Part 13) - Whiskey & Cookie Cake

Summary: After returning from his parents, the reader and Jensen have a very special impromptu date. The following day, they make things official and the reader shares an important part of her past with Jensen...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 6,000ish

Warnings: language, flangst

A/N: It’s not my fault if anything in this part makes you cry. Nope, none. Or if you want whiskey and cookie cake ;) Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

“I appreciate you two coming shopping with me,” said Alan as he stared at the flour section of the grocery store, Jensen off in the deli section getting some fresh meat for the grill. “Would you mind getting two bags for me?”

“No problem,” you said, bending down to get some. You sat them in the cart and walked down the aisle with him as he tossed in some yeast. “Are you gonna make your own hamburger rolls?”

“No, Jensen’ll get some from the bakery. My wife likes to make bread and send the kids home with a fresh loaf or two whenever they visit.”

“By kids you mean Jensen,” you said with a smile.

“Well, the other two are close by. They still get it. He liked it a lot after the accident. Couldn’t keep much down the first two weeks aside from bread and rolls,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Something about trauma, grief and a major leg surgery not being a good combo the doctor told us,” he said as Jensen came up the aisle with his own cart.

“Hamburgers. Hotdogs. Oh and steaks for me and Y/N,” he said, smiling at his dad.

“You really gonna milk last night for all it’s worth, aren’t ya,” he said.

“Relax. It’s salmon,” said Jensen with a smirk, his dad groaning. “So yes. You’re gonna eat your fish and stay away from the red meat today and maybe we can start letting last night go.”

“You’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmailing you would be saying you’re gonna start taking your cholesterol medication everyday,” said Jensen. His dad opened his mouth and Jensen crossed his arms. “Dad. You’re old. Take the medicine. Please.”

“Old. I run three miles every morning. Three,” he said.

“Daddy. Take your medicine.”

“What else do you want?” he sighed. Jensen smirked and walked down the aisle, pointing to the left. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“One time offer. We will never discuss last night ever again if and only if, you get me what is owed to me.”

“This is a grocery store?” you asked, Jensen chuckling. He ran back to grab your hand, pulling you away towards the bakery.

“Boom,” he said, showing off a massive, massive cookie about the size of two sheet cakes.

“Jensen that’s like two hundred dollars,” you said.

“Eighth birthday. I remember being promised a particular cake from this particular store for my birthday if I got a A’s on every single one of my spelling tests all second grade long and guess who kept up his end of the deal,” said Jensen, crossing his arms.

“Spell optometry,” you said.

“O, p, t, o, m, i-”

“Etry,” you said, his dad walking over.

“Well I think I’ll buy the cake for the one that can spell after all,” he said. Jensen’s jaw dropped and he pouted. “Should you tell him or should I?”

“Jensen that cake behind you says Happy Birthday JJ.” He spun around and looked at the cake, cocking his head. “The one next to it says For Mrs. Rodeux’s best speller. Better late than never.”

“Oh. You...got me a cake,” he said.

“I called them first thing to get the second one done. You think I don’t know you kid?” chuckled his dad. Jensen looked at you and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to share it. It can go home with you.”

“Yes!” he said, doing a fist pump.

“Yeah, figured that’d win you over,” said his dad with a big smile.

“He really likes cookie cake huh,” you said.

“Just don’t let him eat too much at once or he gets sick.”

“I will do my best.”

Later That Evening

“Where’d Daddy go?” asked Zeppelin as you watched him take a bath back home in Austin. You were starting to get him comfortable with at least somewhat washing himself but for the most part he was still too interested in playing.

“I think he went to the bathroom downstairs,” you said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “You want to get in some warm jammies and have a bedtime story?”

“Not particularly,” he said. You got off the bench and squatted down next to the tub, ruffling his damp hair.

“How about we dry you off at least,” you said as you felt the water, a little cooler than you would have liked. “Come on. Time for jammies and bed.”

“No thank you,” he said.

“Hm. Well that sucks considering...well, you know…” you said. He turned his attention away from his boat and stared up at you. “Don’t you know?”

“No. What?” he asked as he got to his feet.

“You don’t know?” you said, his head shaking. “You gotta dry off and get in your pajamas then so we can go see.”

“See what Y/N?” he asked, climbing out of the tub with your help and picking up his towel. You helped him dry off and handed him his shirt and a pair of pull ups. “Y/N…”

“It’s in your room,” you said, never seeing him change faster as you drained the tub. He ran out the second his shorts were on and down the hall to his room, opening the door. He looked up at you and you nodded to his bed. He climbed on top and and you went over to his bookshelf, picking up the stuffed animal. “You know Wolf Wolfington?”

“Yeah,” he said, kneeling up in bed.

“You know how he’s your favorite?” you said, walking over with the animal behind your back. He nodded and you smiled, pulling the toy out. “I thought you might like him.”

“Wolfington!” he said, giving the stuffed thing a squeeze. “This is awesome!”

“I talked to Wolfington you see and he really wants you to get a bedtime story,” you said. “A really quick one even.”

“Okay,” he said, climbing under the covers with his new toy and his favorite blanket. Ten minutes later he was passed out and you put his book back on the shelf, hitting his light off and nightlight on. You skirted out of the room and shut the door. After cleaning up the bathroom, you wandered downstairs and found Jensen on the back balcony.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the back door. You slid it shut behind you, Jensen looking out over the yard. “Feel alright?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. You stood beside him, Jensen shifting behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He rested his chin on your shoulder and you smiled.

“S’nice night,” you said.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. You took his hand and turned back towards inside.

“Meet me on the trampoline in five,” you said. He smirked and headed down the stairs while you gathered up a few items. He was bouncing up and down by the time you got out there, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a container in the other.

“Well this looks promising,” he said, plopping down on his bottom. You set the items down and stepped inside, sliding the container over to him. He popped off the lid and grinned. “You cut up my cookie cake for me.”

“Only if you share,” you said. You cracked the peel off the bottle and took a swig, mouth burning but the taste was good. You handed it to him and took out a piece of cake for yourself, Jensen smirking as he threw back a good two shots. He shook himself out and put the cap back on, taking a big bite of his cake and moaning. He lay back with his head in your lap, smiling up at you.

“I’m gonna keep you,” he said, smirking and taking another bite.

“I’ll make you a deal. You catch me, you can keep me,” you said, leaning down and pecking a kiss to his nose. He wrapped his arms over his head and around your waist, leaving his cookie on his chest. “No silly. You’re supposed to wait until I’m ready.”

“Oh, my mistake, miss,” he said, popping the last of his piece in his mouth. You took a few more of yours and wiped off your hands, Jensen sitting up just in time to tackle you back on the net, making you both along with the bottle and container bounce. “You’re not very good at this.”

“You don’t play fair,” you said, Jensen smirking before he plopped down on top of you. “Jensen.”

“See that’s twice I’ve caught you. I think you should honestly give up now and accept your fate with me forever.”

“Oh no! The cookie cake!” you said. He sat up and spun around, giving you a chance to crawl out from under him and over to the other side of the trampoline. “Sucker.”

“That you’re just gonna have to pay for,” he said. He jumped and bounced over to you, missing you as you rolled away. You giggled and went to stand but he was already right there and picking you up. “What to do with a troublemaker like you?”

“Drink, eat way too much dessert and look at the stars?” you asked.

“Cuddling is non-negotiable,” he said.

“I suppose I can live with that,” you sighed dramatically. He grinned and started to bounce lightly, your arms going around him. “Don’t drop me.”

“Never,” he said, jumping up high with you, your arms squeezing him tight. He laughed and did it again before setting you down. He held up a finger and jogged back to the house, ducking inside and returning with a blanket. He handed it to you and you laid it out on the trampoline, Jensen laying back beside you.

“Just so we’re clear,” you said, taking a sip from the bottle while he got out another piece of cake and trading with you, “I totally let you catch me.”

“Gonna play it that way are we?” he chuckled.

“Yup,” you said, Jensen turning and resting his head back on your stomach. You played with his hair, his eyes closing briefly while he chewed. He stared up at the dark sky, humming to himself. “I can tell you’re better than this morning.”

“Yeah. I know this chick. She has a knack for making everything better,” he said. You ran your fingers through his strands, taking a deep breath. “Did you know I make music on occasion?”

“The guy with guitars and records and music stuff all over his house? No, never,” you laughed. He reached a hand up and ruffled your head.

“I’m serious, like I’ve recorded in a studio. I have an album,” he said.

“Really?” you asked. “You’ve never told me that.”

“I lost the mood for it a while back. It might be coming back,” he said. He was quiet and you twirled a piece of his hair, Jensen smiling and nuzzling back against you.

“Where’d you go during kiddos bath?” you asked.

“Mom had it handled,” he said. You took a bite of your cookie and felt him pull your hand in his hair down to his chest. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You finished off your cookie and he reached into the container for another. “Plane.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Kinda to the left,” you said.

“I think I missed it.” You felt his gaze on you and you turned your head, green eyes looking back. “They get two moms is all. It’s no big deal.”

“They don’t have to call me that,” you said.

“I know.” He went back to looking at the sky, a few stars out in the clear night. “You know I heard from this chick, same one as before and all, that adoptive moms are kinda the shit.”

You sat up and his head wound up in your lap.

“You want that?” you asked.

“Eventually, yeah. After the wedding and everything,” he said. “Speaking of which, and I know a lot of women have their vision and all that but I was thinking maybe you’d be interested in something smaller? You don’t strike me as the let’s have a huge thing kind of person.”

“You want me to adopt the kids?” you asked again. He nodded and sat up, moving an arm around your back.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” he said, your head shaking. “What is it?”

“I don’t...want to overstep and…” you said. He smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper.

“We have permission from the beyond it turns out,” he said. He held it out to you and you swallowed. “She wrote me a letter a few years back after the twins were born. I found it in my desk drawer last fall. I finally read it after we got home tonight.”

“Jensen, I can’t. This isn’t for me.”

“Well if you don’t read it, I’m gonna tell you what it says anyways.”

“This is yours,” you said, pushing the paper back towards his chest. “She was talking to you. This was meant for you and only you.”

“Actually you’re wrong,” he said, putting it in your hand. “Some of the letter was for me but this page? This page I haven’t read because it’s not addressed to me. It’s for you and I need you to read it because this is the last of her voice I ever get from her for a really long time so I need you to read it and tell me what it says.”

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath before unfolding the sheet.

To The Next One,

I hope there is a next one. Like seriously. I’m telling you upfront that I was the one that did the asking out, not him. He’s shy and I swear Jensen if you’re reading this I’m kicking your ass the second I see you again.

“She’s funny,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

So. Next person he falls in love with. Here’s the deal. I got some contingencies for you and him getting together. Technically I have no say. Technically I can guilt trip from beyond the grave though so, you know, I win. But if you are the person he loves, tell him that you love him. He bottles shit up and shoves it down. He pretends he’s fine and he’ll take on the weight of the goddamn world with a smile cause he’s good like that. But he hurts and you’ve probably seen him cry as much as I have at this point. You can only be that good and kind and loving when you got a lot of love jammed in there.

So I imagine he was pretty fucked up after I bit the big one. Probably put on a brave face and powered through. But you know that. Do me a favor and put that boy in his place. Tell him to go cry or watch The Notebook. He says he hates it but it’s what he watches when he needs to cry. You know what else? Encourage that shit more. He’s getting there, really he is. He is the least toxic man on the planet. But you know, try to help him diffuse or something? I used to give him lavender bubble bath and he was all, no way and then next thing I know, he’s taking his bubble bath on a stressful day. Pay attention to that stuff I guess is what I’m saying.

Another thing. Presuming he’s not the most handsome geriatic man there could be when you’re reading this, have a fucking kid with him. Have two if you want, or more. Adopt the three that we made. Or adopt if you can’t. It’s fun and he is so good with a baby. He was walking around with Arrow earlier cooing at her and that’s the most adorable shit I’ve ever seen in my life and you deserve to see it too.

He’s special. Normally I’d never agree to sharing him but if you’re the person he gave this letter to, I’ll make an exception for you like I’m sure you had to make an exception for me. Make him happy and the kids. Let them make you happy. Maybe in another life we can catch up over a drink, figure out how to share there too.

And just between us, don’t stop acting like kids in love for the first time. He won’t and you shouldn’t either.

See you around The Next One.

Dee

P.S. His blue henley is the softest thing on earth. He hides it in his gray suitcase. Steal it or I swear we can’t be friends.

“Y/N?” asked Jesen as you folded up the paper. You smiled and put it in your pocket. “What’d it say?”

“I don’t think it was meant for your eyes,” you said, planting your hands behind you and leaning back. “But she’d like us to do everything we’d like. Also found out a few things I’m gonna have to keep a secret.”

“Oh really?” he said, smirking at you. “Like what?”

“I think that’s between us girls,” you said, laying back on the trampoline. “We are going to share you though so I think you’ll like that.”

“You’re really not gonna tell me?” he chuckled. “After all that?”

“She loves you a lot. I mean a lot Jensen. Pretty much it’s her asking me to take care of you guys and some little ways to do that,” you said. He nodded and lay back, smiling to himself. “Do you-”

“No. If I change my mind I’ll just ask to see it,” he said.

“Why’d you finally read the letter she had today of all days?”

“I was ready, after my parents and how you acted. I’m not letting her go or moving on so much as...I want my first girl to love my second girl and I’m pretty sure you two would care about each other, for me and the kids sakes.”

“Well I gotta love her. I happen to know the location of a certain...shirt I’m supposed to steal,” you said. He turned his head and his jaw dropped.

“She told you about the blue henley! No, it’s so soft!”

“I was instructed to steal it so I’m afraid I must make this sacrifice for Dee. It’s really the only respectable thing to do.”

“You two are somehow still managing to gang up on me,” he said with a laugh. “Oh my God. I don’t know if I can handle an afterlife with the both of you.”

“Yeah but threesomes on the reg,” you said. He let out a deep laugh, running a hand over his face while you giggled. “Sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“No, no that’s Dee for ya. She would be more than down,” he chuckled. “Yeah, she’d like you a lot.”

“We both have excellent taste in men,” you said, reaching for the container of cookie. There was one piece left and you held it out, Jensen leaning up to take a bite.

“That’s not the whole thing right?”

“Jensen it was the size of a sheet cake. This is like, a fifth of that,” you said.

“Good cause as you can see, I have no cutoff when it comes to this stuff.” He took another bite and you put the rest in your mouth, his eyes narrowing. He pecked a kiss to your lips and pulled you to lay back with him. “I have a fun idea for tomorrow while the kids are at school and daycare.”

“Lay in bed naked and drink coffee?”

“That is an excellent idea we will be touching upon Tuesday morning. However, it seems to me that my fiance is missing something,” he said, lacing his fingers with your left hand.

“You want to go pick out an engagement ring?”

“Hm, I think you’ll just have to trust me on this one,” he said.

“Okey dokie.” You turned onto your side and curled up beside him. The air was warm and comfortable, Jensen stretching out. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

You woke up to the sound of birds, Jensen groaning beside you. The air felt different and opening your eyes told you exactly why.

“Howdy neighbors,” said Jared. You bolted up and turned on your bottom, Jared chuckling while Jensen grunted again. He pulled you down to lay and Jared laughed. “Stopped by to get the keys to your jet skis when I saw those three inside eating cereal out of the box and watching cartoons.”

“See? They can fend for themselves,” mumbled Jensen. He sat up and brought you with him before rubbing his eyes. Jared walked over to the entrance of the trampoline and smirked. “Shut up.”

“What’d you two crazy kids get up to last night?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Jensen.

“There is a half drunk liquor bottle and you both smell like whiskey and chocolate.”

“It was cookie cake,” you said. “I think we accidentally fell asleep out here.”

“The trampoline don’t make a half bed mattress,” said Jensen. You crawled out of the entrance, Jared holding the bottle and empty container when you handed them off to him. Jensen followed after as you stretched out. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight,” he said.

“Shit. JJ’s late for school,” he said, Jared shaking his head. “Ah, thank you.”

“Gen took her and the boys. I dropped the twins off at daycare after I came out here and made sure you were both alive,” he said.

“I thought something poked my back,” you said.

“I figured I’d let you guys sleep,” he said. “You want to hit up the water with us? Double date while the kids are at school?”

“We have plans,” said Jensen with a soft smile. “But dinner here later?”

“What are we having? Cause you know we got our tradition for last week of school,” said Jared with a grin.

“You guys handle the sides, we’ll handle the meat,” said Jensen. Jared smirked and you shook your head. “You’re a child.”

“You handle that meat real good,” said Jared, Jensen whacking his arm.

“Be careful with the skis. Wear your life jacket doofus,” he said.

“Yes mom,” said Jared as he handed you back the bottle and container. “Six thirty ish?”

“Sounds good. Oh and if Gen is in the mood to make extra queso…” said Jensen, Jared rolling his eyes. “Thank you Jared.”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys finish up your thing early you know where to find us,” he said. He headed back up the yard as you and Jensen ducked inside.

“I am going to shower,” you said. Jensen grinned and grabbed your free hand. “Do...do you want to shower too?”

“We would save a lot of time if we did it together,” he said.

“I like the way you think Ackles.”

“I am so confused,” you said an hour later, sat on the hood of Baby with a blindfold on. “You know normally you would do the blindfold and then give the ring, not the other way around.”

“Eh, quiet with your back sass. I have a surprise for you that requires some preparation,” he said.

“Oh you know prep work is very important,” you laughed.

“Jared’s a bad influence on you.”

“You’re a bad influence on me,” you said. “So to recap, after we showered and got dressed in what I should say is a particularly flattering romper-”

“I like the red one but you had to go with the blue, didn’t you,” he chuckled.

“The red one is so tight on my ass it’s not even funny.”

“We have different definitions of problems with clothing,” he laughed.

“Well, this light blue one is strapless.”

“I know. I find that very, very appealing.”

“Anyways, my randy fiance hits me out of nowhere with a ring he’s had in the closet apparently and then he kidnaps me away to his muscle car, throws a blindfold on me and after approximately twenty one minutes of driving, mainly highway, we park and he has abandoned me like a damsel to fend for myself in the summer heat.”

“You trying to win an Oscar over there?” he chuckled.

“I’d settle for an Emmy.”

“Oh yeah. Everybody can get one of those,” he laughed. “You can calm yourself little lady. I am almost done and frankly your timing estimation is scarily accurate.”

“Well I know how far the brewery is from the house so not that impressive,” you said.

“We’re not at the brewery,” he said.

“We are literally at the brewery. I heard someone shout your name.”

“Technically we’re on the land next to it, smarty pants. Two more seconds,” he said.You leaned your head back, enjoying the breeze and smell of fresh pizza.

“Hey Jensen. What’s this dinner tradition thing with the Padaleckis?”

“Oh we started it a few years back. This is the kids last week of school. Since tomorrow and wednesday are half days, we kinda always get together as like an end of school celebration that Monday night. We’ll go out this weekend with them but we do a home cooked meal, normally a tex-mex blend sort of thing for this. I got a guy we can get some marinated brisket from on the way home. We’ll put her in the grill on low and she’ll be good to go.”

“You ever have a sandwich with brisket, coleslaw and jalapenos? It is so, so good.”

“I’m gonna have to try that out tonight,” he said, his hands on your arms. “For now though, please remove your blindfold, madam.”

You undid the bow in the back and pulled it off. A small table was set up with a two candles on top, a box of pizza at the end and a six pack beside it.

“You really do know the way to my heart,” you said. You laughed and he walked you over to it, pulling out your folding chair. “I thought I smelled pizza.”

“I know you like the one we sell quite a bit,” he said, taking a seat next to you. “I actually...don’t laugh but this was kinda my idea of how I actually wanted to propose. It’s private but simple. You’ve never been the fanfare type. I thought you would have liked it.”

“You could always ask again.”

“Wanna marry me?”

“Yup,” you said. He wiped off his brow and and you gently smacked his arm. “I do like it. Just us. It’s really peaceful here.”

“I’ve always thought so. Our own little slice of country,” he said.

“I never told you, did I,” you said, smiling to yourself. “I grew up on the outskirts of Austin, about ten minutes down the road.”

“That’s all farm country out there,” he said. You shrugged and he chuckled. “You grew up on a farm?”

“My mom owned acreage from her parents, their parents before them. She left it to me. I haven’t been in over a year. A local farmer makes sure the house is in order but we got fields and a house and barn. I never sold it in case I needed a place between nanny jobs.”

“Would you show me sometime?” he asked.

“Yeah. We can go after our lunch date. Promise.”

“What do you think?” you asked when you walked up the front path to the house nearly an hour later.

“This is gorgeous out here. It’s so quiet,” he said as he looked around at the small hills and trees, the swaying long grass in the breeze. “We should keep this.”

“Huh?”

“You said you kept it for a place to stay between jobs. I think we should definitely keep it though, for us. It’s like a different world almost but it’s within driving distance of home.”

“I haven’t lived here since I was sixteen,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “But...I think you’re right. Mom would want us to keep it. I really did love it here. It’d be great too for when your family is in town. We only have the one guest room but this is a much shorter drive for like your siblings families and they don’t need a hotel or anything.”

“That’s a great idea. I know they’d visit more often if they had the space for the kids and some grown up space even,” he said. You picked up a rock by the steps and grabbed the key, undoing the front door. It smelled only a bit musty as you stepped inside. You left the door open, leaving the screen one shut to air it out as Jensen turned his head. “This place is huge. Your mom got it from family?”

“Her parents died when she was in college. Only child. There’s five good sized bedrooms,” you said. “That was the dining room which honestly we only used for holidays. Stairs, hallway to the back. Left is the family room.”

He started to wander and you followed after, showing him the kitchen before taking him up.

“This was my room,” you said as you opened a door. It was fairly empty aside from a bare bed and a few boxes. He thumbed over the doorframe, catching each notch in the wood.

“Hit your growth spurt around twelve?” he asked. You nodded and he smiled. “I was so short.”

“Not short anymore,” you said while he walked around.

“Do you have any pictures of your mom? The downstairs looked a little bare.”

“Yeah,” you said. You showed him down to the master, opening up a box on the bed. “That’s where they all are.”

“Would it be alright if we took these home with us?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, taking a seat. He sat beside you and you took out an album, Jensen smiling at the first page. “Don’t laugh.”

“That is the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen.”

“I didn’t have much say in the matter,” you said. “That’s from the day I got adopted.”

“You were adorable, even if it looks like you’re wearing a drape,” he chuckled. He turned the page and cocked his head. “Is this your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s so happy,” he said. “I bet that was one of the best days ever for her.”

“I agree,” you said, Jensen flipping some more before stopping at one. “What is it?”

“Where’s this from?” he asked.

“I think Miami. We went there on vacation one year with Ray. I was nine I want to say,” you said.

“Was it March?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Dee went on her spring break to Miami one year in college,” he said. He pointed at a couple of girls that were in the background behind where your set up was, one of them looking very familiar.

“That looks just like-”

“I know. Might not be her. Odds are-”

“How many Danneel’s have you ever met with their name on their bag,” you said, pointing at the purse.

“Oh my God. She was such a little preppy nerd,” he chuckled. “I bet she did that cause of her friends.”

“You can have that if you want.”

“I think we can share it,” he said. He turned through the pages and finished with the album, picking out another. You let him look and ask questions for a while before he’d gone through most of the box. He carried it downstairs with him and packed it away in the backseat before you brought him around to the back of the house.

“Come here,” you said. You dragged him over to the tree with the wide swing, space enough for the both of you to sit. “I used to stay out here all day sometimes. Day of the funeral I must have sat here for hours and hours.”

“Not a bad place to grieve. It’s pretty.”

“It was the last time I sat on this swing. I said I’d never feel at home here again,” you said. “Ray and I got an apartment closer to town, moved the next week.”

“How do you feel now?” You smiled and leaned back.

“Now...home is people, not a place. I want to share this with you, the kids. Our family. I was so unhappy as a child and this place changed that for me cause of my mom and even Ray. It’s a good place again for me. Home is somewhere else now but it feels warm here again, not sad and cold.”

“Thanks for taking me out here today,” he said.

“Maybe we can even do that camping trip in one of the fields. You gotta see the stars out here, way more than at the house.”

“Camping with indoor plumbing only steps away. Best of both worlds,” he said. “Do you own anything else big? We never really talked about that kind of stuff I suppose.”

“Actually I own the Dallas Cowboys. I didn’t want to intimidate you,” you said. He rolled his eyes while you bumped his arm and giggled.

“Okay wise guy.” He threw his arm over your shoulders and you expected a noogie but only got a kiss on the head. “You’re lucky I know how long you spent on your hair this morning or else you’d be so screwed right now.”

“Losing your edge, Ackles.” He didn’t hesitate that time to put you in a headlock and you managed to ruffle his some before he gave in with a laugh. You could feel a few strands out of place but he stood and undid your hair tie, moving behind you and scooping it all up. He hummed and put it back in a messy bun for you, smiling as you leaned back to catch him fixing his hair. “I don’t have much else besides this place, my car and a savings account.”

“You know, speaking of your car...I’m gonna have to be an asshole about something,” he said.

“Oh? What’s that?” you said as you stood. You walked in front of him and he rested his hands on your hips.

“I’m going to have to insist on a new one.”

“Ah, come on. It’s my first car. I got if for my sixteenth birthday,” you said.

“That car is almost as old as you are. I know you don’t have to drive it as much lately since we take mine but please can we get something from the current decade? Pretty please?” he asked, jutting out his lip.

“Are you worried?” you asked. He nodded and you smiled. “I will look at something newer, I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, checking his watch. “Want to go get that meat, get started on it?”

“Oh I bet you want to handle that meat,” you said. He gave his bitch face and walked away as you laughed.

“Your crude humor is very immature,” he said as you caught up with him. “I don’t go for that kind of low brow thing.”

“I watched you make a dick out of a banana and two oranges at the grocery store yesterday.”

“Touche,” he said.

“You’re silly,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “But I like that.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple. “Anything besides the brisket you want to pick up? Chicken? Burgers?”

“Hm, I’ve never made my world famous chicken thighs for you yet. I gotta grill ‘em but the secret is you heat them up in the oven again with this marinade sauce. I got a raise out of it once actually.”

“First off, the face you can grill is extremely attractive. Second, how’d you manage a raise?” he asked, stopping by Baby.

“I made them for the couple I was working for at the time. She took credit of course but they had a fancy dinner party with her boss and she got named partner at her firm for it so she gave me a raise for helping out.”

“Well now that you’ve hyped these things up to here we gotta have some for sure,” he said. “Why don’t we head out to the store. We only got about an hour before we need to grab the twins from daycare.”

“After you babe.”

________

A/N: Read Part 14 here!

#supernatural #spn #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #jensen x reader #jensen series #rpf #rpf series #jensen ackles x reader #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfic

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maneskinimagine · 3 years ago

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HI BABY

Warnings: None

Request: None

MASTERLIST

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

It was a normal day in our house - we didn't really have anything to do, as neither of us had to work today. Although I was nearly 5 months pregnant, Ethan decided to invite the other boys over, and have a pool party, as it was deathly hot outside at the moment.

Ethan and I put on our best costumes and put shirts on, just for now, so we don't burn, and made our way outside to set up for the group of energetic band members that were about to arrive. We set out chips, dips, drinks and candy for the guys to snack on, as we were planning on making some burgers for lunch.

"You know," Ethan starts, leaning against the snack table I was currently organizing, "you look absolutely stunning in that."

"It's just one of your shirts, it can't look that amazing." I giggle, knowing he loved it when I wore his clothes.

"Maybe to you, but to me, you look fantastic." He wraps his hands around my waist and starts kissing up my neck.

"Okay, the boys will be here soon, keep your hormones in order please." I push him away as he lets out a seemingly dramatic battle cry.

I laugh as I make my way inside, and retrieving the cold meat from the fridge.

Soon enough, the band make their way through the front door, making themselves the human embodiment of a tornado, making a mess with every step they take. They all hug me and say a quick hello to baby Torchio, before moving on to say hello to Ethan.

"So what are we eating?" Damiano comes up to me, as I start cutting up some tomato's for the burgers.

"Ethan's gonna grill up some burgers for us, but it'll only be later, can't have you boys getting sick because you ate before you swim." I focus on cutting the tomato's, not wanting to chop off a finger.

"Such a great mother you are to us, but speaking of mothers, how is the baby Torchio?" Damiano smiles, as he was the only other member to have a child, he can relate to our emotions right now, which is amazing because Ethan needed someone to talk to about everything, and Damiano was more then happy to help.

"They are okay, not a lot has been going on really. Have you told Leonardo about it yet?" I ask, knowing that he's been asking Damiano for a baby for a while now.

"I'm telling him this weekend, I was hoping that I could bring him over, and introduce him to the baby?"

"Of course, I haven't seen him in a while, so it'll be nice to spend some time with you two, besides I need all the practice I can get."

"What are we talking about?" Ethan enters the kitchen again, wrapping his arms around my waist, and kissing my head.

"Damiano gonna bring Leo over this weekend, so we can introduce him to the baby." I explain.

"Everyone wants to meet baby Torchio and they haven't even been born yet." Ethan laughs, as he puts his hands flat on my stomach. "You hear that, you're famous baby Torchio."

We all laugh, but that all comes to a complete stop when a sudden kick to my stomach stops us in our tracks.

"What was that?" Ethan asks, sounding scared.

"I think they just kicked for the first time." I say, not really believing the words I said.

"Oh my god, can I feel?" Damiano jumps down from the counter, and as soon as I nod, he pushes Ethan's hands away, replacing them with his own. "They aren't doing anything." He pouts.

"Ethan, say something." I say, Ethan gives me a strange look but complies anyway.

"Um, hi baby, I'm Ethan Torchio, I'm a drummer in a really cool band, nice to meet you." Another jolt to my stomach makes Damiano squeal, as he removes his hands and runs outside to get the other two.

"I think they likes your voice." I say to Ethan.

"I would hope so, they're stuck with it either way."

"Right, where's my godson or goddaughter?" Vic screams as she walks into the kitchen. I step away from Ethan, knowing that for the next hour the boys will try make the baby kick, but I knew that the only person that they would kick for, was their dad.

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twilightmalachite · 3 years ago

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The Seven Faces of the Shapeshifting Youkai - Chapter 2

Author: Yuuki Yoshino

Characters: Hinata, Tetora, Tomoya, Sora

Translator: Mika Enstars

Proofers: 310mc & meteorgreen

“No, no! I’m Hinata-kun, the older brother! I’m just feeling a little under the weather for some reason, don’t worry about me! ♪”

Season: Summer

Location: Garden Space

Tomoya: Hey, Tetora! I got the very last omurice. I’m so glad I ordered in time~!

Tetora: Tomoya-kun, you get omurice about every time we go to the cafeteria. That’s gotta be your favorite, huh?

Tomoya: Mhm. Sort of like how you got the kalbi yakiniku[1] again?

Tetora: Well, there’s a lotta other yummy-lookin’ stuff, y’know? But nothin’ screams “manly” like meat!

Though, when I’m not with ya, I tend to get the pork cutlet bowl or the ginger fried pork meal.

Tomoya: There’s nothing wrong with meat, but you should eat your greens too sometimes, you know? Though, I can’t really imagine filling up on just veggies, so it’s not like I don’t get where you're coming from.

Tomoya: Hmm?

Tetora: Whoah!? I almost crashed into ya there! What’s up?

Tomoya: Oh, I think Hinata’s having lunch over there. Look, he’s sitting with Harukawa.

Tetora: Ooh, you’re right! Those look like Hinata-kun’s headphones, not Yuuta-kun’s, huh?

Tomoya: Heya, Hinata, Harukawa! Mind if we join you guys?

Hinata: Ah, it’s Tetsu-kun and Tomo-kun. H-Hey~...

Sora: HoHo~, hello! Sora greets anyone he knows! ♪

Tomoya: Ahaha, you’re so polite, Sora.

...Oh, you got omurice! Are you also a fan?

Sora: HaHa~, omurice is a dish filled with happiness! It envelopes you with a warm and gentle color~♪

Tomoya: I totally get it! Eating it makes all my worries float away.

Even when that masked pervert dampens my spirit with all the impossible things he demands from me, just remembering the taste keeps me going...!

Tetora: Erm… I like omurice too, but a man gets the most out of eating lots of meat, so...

Imma eat my yakiniku with rice! *munchity munchity*~♪

Tomoya: Slow down your eating, man~. You’re flinging grains of rice all the way over here!

Tetora: Oops, so sorry! I’ve got a lotta physical training in the morning, so I’m starving like crazy.

Huh, ya think they allow refills on the rice? I should’ve ordered a bigger serving!

Hinata: …

Tetora: Hey, Hinata-kun? Aren’tcha a li’l quiet today?

Aren’tcha the one who’s always runnin’ their mouth nonstop, to the point I don’t even get the chance to get a word in?

Tomoya: You’re right. Are you feeling sick? You look like you can eat just fine, though...

Wait, maybe this is actually not Hinata-kun, but his little brother?

Tetora: Huh? But Tomoya-kun, weren’tcha the one who said that the one with the pink hairpin is Hinata-kun?

Tomoya: Yeah, but those two switch places for their classes sometimes...

Hinata: No, no! I’m Hinata-kun, the older brother! I’m just feeling a little under the weather for some reason, don’t worry about me! ♪

Tomoya: Huh..? Why are you acting so distant, Hinata? We’re friends, remember?

You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you out. Go ahead and tell me what’s up.

← prev | story directory | next →

Yakiniku (焼肉) is a japanese term that broadly refers to grilled or barbecued meat. Yakiniku is often served in bite-sized pieces and is historically inspired by Korean cuisine.

#hinata aoi #tetora nagumo #sora harukawa #tomoya mashiro #translation #scout #the seven faces of the shapeshifting youkai #youkai shichihenge

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nctsjiho · 3 years ago

Text

How Haechan And JiHo’s Friendship Evolved Over The Years [Part 2]

PART 1

[2018 | Role Model | New York]

“And I have a question for JiHo.” JiHo turned her head towards the interviewer who just mentioned her name. “You’re a fairly new addition to the group.” The girl nodded along with his words. “The boys have been singers for a few years now, is there anyone in the group who you particularly look up to?”

The fans in the studio ooh in interest as JiHo looks at the boys in thought. Meanwhile, Johnny, Mark and Jaehyun translate the question to the other boys who now look at her expectantly. “Hmm. I guess...” She then looks to her right and motions her hand towards Haechan.

The boy looks surprised - as do the others - when he realises he got chosen. The fans on the other hand begin cheering. “Since we’re only a few months apart in age I can relate to Haechan a lot more. He’s really good at everything he puts his mind to and he also has a great personality.” She explained seriously but Jaehyun on her left side can’t help but smile brightly.

The interviewer noticed how Jaehyun and Mark whispered among themselves and asked what was wrong. “Oh nothing.” Jaehyun said between chuckles. “JiHo just fed Haechan’s ego, he’s not going to let her live this one down for a while.” Mark added.

And by the looks of it Mark was right, because right after Johnny finished translating JiHo’s words to Haechan, the youngest boy had a big grin on his face. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as looked down on his lap. This caused JiHo to sigh. “You can never just be nice to anyone here.” She said in a light-hearted tone.

[2019 | Cheat Day | Rooftop Café in Seoul]

“And let’s work hard during our promotions! NCT fighting on three!” Yuta yelled holding his glass up high. Everyone followed and Yuta started counting. “One, two, three!” “NCT fighting!” Everyone yelled in unison.

The promotions for ‘Superhuman’ were beginning the following week, so NCT and their staff had decided to have a little kick-off party to start things on a high note. They were all gathered together on the rooftop of one of Seoul’s café’s with the best view, cooking food and grilling meat together - of course with the required drinks for everyone who was legal and wanted to drink.

Haechan stood with his plate next to Johnny who was in charge of grilling the meat. “Can I have some more hyung?” He asked, acting cute. “I already gave you so much.” Johnny laughed but continued adding more meat to the younger boy’s plate.

As Haechan moved over to the next table with food he noticed JiHo sitting alone poking at the food on her almost empty plate. He carefully approached her and sat down next to her. “Are you not eating?” At his voice JiHo jumped a little and then sat straight in her chair. “You scared me.” She gasped causing the boy to chuckle. He then pointed his chopsticks at the girl’s plate to redirect her attention.

“I’m not really hungry.” She sighed. “Well don’t mind if I do.” He reached out his chopsticks and grabbed the half of a boiled egg that was sitting on her plate. Shoving it in his mouth he sent her a wink. “Yah! You’re so annoying.” She pushed him by his shoulder and watched as Haechan choked on the piece of egg. He quickly regained his composure though so JiHo wasn’t worried.

He watched carefully as the girl grumbled to herself whilst continuously poking at her food. “Somethings wrong. Tell your role model what’s wrong. Maybe my sexy brain can think of a solution.” Completely taken aback by her member’s word, JiHo sent Haechan a disgusted look. “First off all, you should stop referring to yourself as my role model, I already regret calling you that a year ago. And secondly, I never said you had a sexy brain.” She fake gagged. “But you were thinking it.”

The smirk on Haechan’s face definitely annoyed the girl, but she had gotten very used to it by now and actually found that his annoying attempt to cheer her up was working. “The new manager put my on a diet again, and I seriously hate eggs, chicken tastes like cardboard to me and I’m sick of eating raw tomatoes and salad.” “Why don’t you just get food that you like?” Haechan asked nonchalantly, grabbing the other half of the abandoned egg from her plate. “He’s watching me like a hawk up there. He almost grabbed my plate to pick up the food for me.” She sighed.

Haechan took a few seconds to think and scratch his non-existent beard. “He doesn’t let you get the food you want. That’s what you said right?” JiHo nodded and watched as Haechan’s face lit up. “Wait here.”

JiHo waited alone for a few minutes until she saw Haechan approach her again with Jungwoo and each had two plates with them. Placing them in the middle of the table Jungwoo and Haechan sat down next to the girl. “Let’s feast!” Haechan beamed. She just watched as her 2 members began eating carelessly. “He isn’t watching. Just eat.” The youngest of the two boys said patting her shoulder.

A smile found its way on JiHo’s lips as she finally dug in, grateful that her friends were there to help her cheat her diet and feel more comfortable.

[2020 | Su Casa Mi Casa | NCT Dorm, 5th floor]

“He definitely fell on his butt.” “Wasn’t he embarrassed?” “It’s Mark I’m talking about, of course he was, but we’re so used to it now. So no one called him out for it.” JiHo giggled. She was video chatting with one of her friends from back home in France, while getting ready for bed. “I swear to God, your friends are so weird!” “Hey, you’re also my friend.” JiHo reminded the girl on the other side of the screen.

Suddenly the door to JiHo’s room opened and in walked Haechan. Wearing comfortable clothes and with a Nintendo Switch in hand he blindly fell onto JiHo’s bed. “Wait a second.” JiHo told her friend and turned her attention to the intruder. “What are you doing?”

Acting as if JiHo’s presence was new to him, Haechan looked at the girl with a raised eyebrow. “Hmm?” She shook her head at his clueless tone. “I’m talking to my friend right now. What are you doing here?” “I’m not bothering you right? You can just continue. It’s not as if I can understand what you’re saying anyway.”

JiHo rolled her eyes and decided to ignore him. “What’s going on?” JiHo’s friend asked with a giggle, amused by JiHo’s I’m-so-done-with-him look. “Haechan mistook my room for his again.” Haechan perked up at the mention of his name, but JiHo continued to ignore him. “Ow, don’t act like you mind. You’ve told me otherwise before anyway!” Her friend exposed her and JiHo rolled her eyes. “Okay~ Whatever.”

The conversation between JiHo and her friend continued on for another 15 minutes and when JiHo finished her night skin-care routine the friends ended the call.

“Move.” JiHo motioned Haechan to move over as she sat down next to him and watched the game he was playing. “Did Johnny oppa get mad at you bothering him too much or what?” “Nope, I just like your room, it smells nice here.” A puff of air escaped JiHo’s lips, which were turned up into a smile. “It’s called ventilation and a lot less hormones.” This time it was Haechan’s turn to roll his eyes.

When Haechan didn’t say anything - which JiHo did not expect - the girl spoke up once more. “Okay, I know you like how my room smells or whatever, but it’s still my room.” “You don’t care when people enter your room.” Haechan stated. “I don’t, but not at midnight when I’m about to go to bed.” “You don’t care if it’s Lucas.” “It’s because I like Lucas more than you.” JiHo stuck out her tongue and Haechan mirrored her mockingly.

Getting slightly annoyed JiHo pushed Haechan by his arm. “I want to sleep.” “I have every right to be here.” “What? No you don’t. It’s my room.” JiHo countered.

Finally Haechan put down his Switch and turned to the “annoyed” girl. “What’s the saying? Su casa mi casa?” “It’s mi casa su casa, you idiot.” JiHo couldn’t help but snicker at the boy’s mistake. “And also that doesn’t work here, because it’s both our house. We live together.” “Well more reasons that I have every right to be here.” Haechan grabbed his Switch again and laid back in a comfortable position. “Now move, I’m about to beat this level.” He bit his lip, focussing on his game.

A loud groan left JiHo’s lips as she stood up and grabbed her pillow. “What are you doing?” Haechan asked wide-eyed as the girl turned towards the door. “I’m either sleeping in Doyoung’s room or stealing your bed.” She explained and started to walk away, but Haechan stopped her and pulled her by her wrist. “What?” “How am I going to annoy you when you’re not in the same room?” JiHo squinted at Haechan and tried to walk away again, only to be pulled back once more. “Haechan-” “Wait, just stay here and watch me beat this last level. Please.” He pleaded sweetly and JiHo couldn’t help but sit back down next to him.

For about an hour JiHo watched over Haechan’s shoulder as he tried to beat the boss level of his game. Once he finally finished it he noticed how she had already fallen asleep. A chuckle left his lips as he climbed over her until he was standing beside the bed. Haechan pulled the blanket over her body and made his way back to his room.

[2021 | Lara Croft | SM Practise Room]

Dream was definitely one of the louder and more chaotic units within NCT. So when Mark entered the room he wasn’t surprised to see Jeno trying to fight Jisung and Chenle trying, and succeeding, to annoy Renjun. What he didn’t expect to see was Jaemin watching Haechan braid JiHo’s hair with the most focussed expression.

“What’s going on here?” Mark chuckled confused as he settled next to Jaemin. “He wasn’t going to stop bothering me until I let him braid my hair.” JiHo explained. “Your hair is finally long enough, I don’t get why you always kept your hair short.” “Why? You don’t like my hair short?” JiHo questioned looking slightly offended. “No! I didn’t mean it like that.” He then placed both hands on her cheeks and turned her head so she was facing the front - away from him - again.

Mark gave up on asking more questions and decided that a conversation with Jaemin would be a better idea. A few minutes passed until Haechan let out a loud screech. “DONE!” “Don’t yell like that!” JiHo scolded the boy and hit his thigh.

JiHo then looked at Jaemin and Mark expectantly. “How does it look?” “Uhm. I guess you kinda look like Lara Croft?” Mark said hesitantly. JiHo seemed to be pleased with the answer and started walked towards the mirror. “Yeah if she took a big ass tumble.” Haechan quickly added just as JiHo could inspect her reflection.

“Lee Haechan!” The braid that fell over her shoulder looked, for a lack of a better word, rough. The three strands of the braid were completely uneven and some parts of her hair stuck out of the braid. “I thought you knew what you were doing?” “I thought so too. I guess I just need more practise.” He bashfully replied, fingertips scratching the back of his head.

Soon enough the choreographer entered the room and the guys began their practise. JiHo had filled in for Mark while he had to miss the first 2 practises, so she was there to help him find his place in the different formations.

Going through some of the moves JiHo ended up getting knocked over by Jeno. He quickly helped her up and apologised. “Don’t worry about it.” She smiled and the other boys began teasing her for “messing up”. The comments were all very light hearted and JiHo could laugh with all of them, but Haechan decided to throw a little harsher comment. “JiHo, you had one job and you couldn’t even do that!” He dramatically threw his hands up in the air.

“Excuse you, Haechan-ssi.” She emphasised the formal way of addressing him. “I came to help you guys, but if you want to I can leave.” She said while making her way to the door of the practise room. “Wait! Don’t leave!”

Haechan pulled the girl towards him, enveloping her tightly in his arms. “I’m sorry!” He apologised profusely to which JiHo, and the other boys, began laughing. “Why? You don’t really need me, I think Mark got everything down. No?” She eyed Mark and he nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m all set.” “No! You know Mark hyung. He forgets easily, you need to stay until the last practise.” Mark scoffed at the minor insult towards him, but couldn’t help but smile fondly watching how clingy Haechan was towards the girl.

“Okay, I was just joking. I’ll stay, so let me go.” “What are you talking about?” Haechan said while still suffocating the girl in a tight hug. “You’re still holding me. Let go.” She tapped his arm a few times to signal he should let her go. “No I’m not.” His smile wasn’t visible to JiHo, but the rest of the boys could see how much he enjoyed teasing - or it could be holding - JiHo. “Guys please help.” She reached her hand out towards the other boys, but they just watched the girl struggle while Haechan seemed to be having the time of his life.

#jiho.guide #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct female member #nct imagines #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct haechan fluff #nct haechan imagines #nct female addition #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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solarsunsimagines · 3 years ago

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HI BABY

Pairing: Corbyn Besson x female!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy Request: Nope

MASTERLIST

——————————————————————————————————–

It was a normal day in our house - we didn't really have anything to do, as neither of us had to work today. Although I was nearly 5 months pregnant, Corbyn decided to invite the other boys over, and have a pool party, as it was deathly hot outside at the moment.

Corbyn and I put on our best costumes and put shirts on, just for now, so we don't burn, and made our way outside to set up for the group of energetic boys that were about to arrive. We set out chips, dips, drinks and candy for the guys to snack on, as we were planning on making some burgers for lunch.

"You know," Corbyn starts, leaning against the snack table I was currently organizing, "you look absolutely stunning in that."

"It's just one of your shirts, it can't look that amazing." I giggle, knowing he loved it when I wore his clothes.

"Maybe to you, but to me, you look fantastic." He wraps his hands around my waist and starts kissing up my neck.

"Okay, the boys will be here soon, keep your hormones in order please." I push him away as he lets out a seemingly dramatic battle cry.

I laugh as I make my way inside, and retrieving the cold meat from the fridge.

Soon enough, the boys made their way through the front door, making themselves the human embodiment of a tornado, making a mess with every step they take. They all hug me and say a quick hello to baby bean, before moving on to say hello to Corbyn.

"So what are we eating?" Jack comes up to me, as I start cutting up some tomato's for the burgers.

"Beans gonna grill up some burgers for us, but it'll only be later, can't have you boys getting sick because you ate before you swim." I focus on cutting the tomato's, not wanting to chop off a finger.

"Such a great mother you are to us, but speaking of mothers, how is the baby bean?" Jack smiles, as he was the only other member to have a child, he can relate to our emotions right now, which is amazing because Corbyn needed someone to talk to about everything, and Jack was more then happy to help.

"They are okay, not a lot has been going on really. Have you told Lav about it yet?" I ask, knowing that she's been asking Jack for a baby for a while now.

"I'm telling her this weekend, I was hoping that I could bring her over, and introduce her to the baby?"

"Of course, I haven't seen her in a while, so it'll be nice to spend some time with you two, besides I need all the practice I can get."

"What are we talking about?" Corbyn enters the kitchen again, wrapping his arms around my waist, and kissing my head.

"Jacks gonna bring Lav over this weekend, so we can introduce her to the baby." I explain.

"Everyone wants to meet baby bean and they haven't even been born yet." Corbyn laughs, as he puts his hands flat on my stomach. "You hear that, you're famous baby bean."

We all laugh, but that all comes to a complete stop when a sudden kick to my stomach stops us in our tracks.

"What was that?" Corbyn asks, sounding scared.

"I think they kicked for the first time." I say, not really believing the words I said.

"Oh my god, can I feel?" Jack jumps down from the counter, and as soon as I nod, he pushes Corbyn's hands away, replacing them with his own. "They aren't doing anything." He pouts.

"Corbs say something." I say, Corbyn gives me a strange look but complies anyway.

"Um, hi baby, I'm Corbyn Besson, nice to meet you." Another jolt to my stomach makes Jack squeal, as he removes his hands and runs outside to get the other guys.

"I think they like your voice." I say to Corbyn.

"I would hope so, they're stuck with it either way."

"Right, where's my godson or goddaughter?" Jonah screams as he walks into the kitchen. I step away from Corbyn, knowing that for the next hour the boys will try make the baby kick, but I knew that the only person that they would kick for, was their dad.

#jack avery #wdw #wdw corbyn #wdw dani #wdw imagines #wdw jack #wdw zach #corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jonah marais #why don’t we master list #why don’t we imagines #why don’t we

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seancekitsch · 4 years ago

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I was Never Young: A Klaus x Reader fic

Anyways uhhh heres my fic based on the Klaus spin off series!! I made sure not to really spoil anything in the series if u guys haven't finished it yet but it does take place after the series events. there's no smut which is weird for me bc i usually write just smut but like yolo this is where it went.

Klaus had been through the ringer. Los Angeles seems to just be more of the same, so why even leave home? Right, he’d been kicked out and cut off. Well, at least one of those problems has disappeared, he thinks as he pats the ugly little satchel full of money at the side of his hip.

He meanders down the street, no real direction or motive as he shuffles down. The diazepine is starting to wear off, and he’s going to need something to dull the corners of his mind in about an hour. A neon green sign draws his eyes, looks as sick as he’s about to be.

‘Cobra’s’ the sign says, and this one is probably as good as any.

The bar has exactly six people inside of it, he realizes as he pushes the door open. It’s hazy, full of the stale and welcoming scent of menthol tobacco. Perfect, Klaus thinks.

The bartender is a stern looking man, like he used to be a wrestler. Maybe this is what Luther or Diego will look like in thirty years if they don’t eat their wheaties.

There are two other men sitting in a booth by the corner, deep in conversation with one another. They’re boring suits, no one that Klaus could have for company. He’s just looking for someone alive to have a conversation with while he numbs himself. Someone alive, he clarifies to himself. His last friend left for heaven’s greener pastures, which he’s happy for him, but maybe the guy could have stuck around on this plane of existence for a weekend longer.

There’s a couple at the end of the bar that looks like they're on a date. In the middle of the day? Wonder if their spouses know they aren't at work. Klaus laughs out loud, poor bastards.

And then there's you, with your mixed drink, absentmindedly swirling it with your little stirrer. You seem like a safe bet, so his feet drag him over to sit down at the middle of the bar near you. He more or less throws himself into the chair, his feet immediately feeling the relief. He’s still clammy and feverish in the come down, his stomach hurts, but that’s nothing a little booze and sugar can’t help.

You notice the guy as soon as he walks in. Of course you do. After a few years, you start to recognize people even if you don’t know them. You don’t recognize him. He looks paranoid, fresh off a set and worried about what a job will do, for and to him. Poor thing. Probably one of those River Phoenix types. Young, pretty, and overwhelmed. In teen mags one day, in the obituaries the next. All preventable, hundreds of people that could step in if money meant more than the people around you.

“Hey,” the guy next to you greets you, his voice uneven, watery and cautious. His hands shake a little as he pulls a stack of cash out of his threadbare satchel, pulling a few bills from the rubberband holding it together and flattening them out against the bar.

“Hey, yourself. You new here?” He looks surprised as the words leave your lips, but is interrupted by the bartender approaching.

“Yeah, whatever that special is for today, that’ll do,” he orders like he doesn't really know what to do at the bar. He turns back to you, looking ever so boyish and lost with his big green eyes.

“How did you-?”

“How did I know you're new here?” You throw the rest of your drink back, carelessly placing it at the far end of the bar from you, “Because you don't look absolutely beaten down. I mean, you look a little twitchy, but you look fresh.”

Fresh? That’s not at all how Klaus would describe his look, having not slept in days and having been using an extreme amount of controlled substances, even for his standards.

The bartender slides a glass towards him, and he scrambles to catch it. There’s a total of two umbrellas, a flamingo stirrer, and two straws in it. In all, garish and hard to look at. The bartender takes the money, and they nod at each other.

“You look kinda young to be here,” with that remark, Klaus takes a long sip of the fruity cocktail he ordered, a sickening blue color so intense you bet it could substitute as hair dye.

“You do too,” you quip. You’d been working in this town for a few years now, on and off movie sets and bartending clubs with live acts. This boy? He looked fresh. Like he’s just been taken for his first ride. He looked rough and unused to it.

“How old are you?” he asks, he can’t place your age or accent. You look just as young as him, if not younger. You sound southern- Boston- Chicago- western and somewhere European he can’t place. Is that what Hollywood does to people's speech patterns? Is that gonna happen to him? But you seem to be as much an anomaly here as he does.

“How old are you?” you mimic back.

Klaus stares in awe as you rest your elbow against the bar, making sure he sees that as you snap your fingers, a cigarette materializes between them. You quickly shift the rolled tobacco to rest between your index and middle finger, ready to place it against your lips.

“Listen, I’m old enough.” That's all you have to say about that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Sometimes I think I was never young.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, the hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, alright.” You fish around in your jacket pocket for the lighter and ask, “Do you wanna get out of here? Only smoking bar in town, but it ain’t got hotdogs.”

Hotdogs, Klaus thinks, He remembers having sausage back home, but he’s never had a hotdog.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? You never been to a baseball game or something?”

He shook his head, no. Klaus hadn’t ever seen a baseball game. He knew the history of it, the impact it had on American society. All from a very clinical and academic standpoint. Sports weren’t really his thing.

“Nah, I always preferred activities with a bit more... uh, substance.” He laughs at his own joke, whether you get it or not really doesn’t matter.

“Right, right. So River, what’s your real name?” You talk with the cigarette but between your teeth, lighting it quickly, before the lighter in your hand vanishes from sight.

“It’s….. uh, It’s Klaus.”

You give him your name, and he repeats it, tests the name out on his tongue.

You take a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

“So Klaus, wanna buy us some hotdogs?”

You leave as soon as he finishes his drink, and he talks in a way that he thinks might be too much. But you listen. You’re the first living person that’s actually listened to what he had to say since he got here. He asks about you, your story, but he doesn’t get as much as he wants. You like your smoking, you’re a special effects designer, you dropped out of high school to come out here, and you fucking love Alonzo’s hotdogs.

“Hey ‘Lonzo!” you shout, interrupting Klaus mis sentence, raising both arms above your head, the baggy sleeves of your jacket falling closer to your elbows.

“How’s my kid doin?” The man shouts back. A tall man, with heavy brows and a mustache. “And who’s this?”

“My friend Klaus here just directed a movie! With Vivian Clarke, and the kid’s never had a hotdog! Can you believe it!” Your footfalls come quicker, starting to jog as you clear the end of the block, Klaus starts to shuffle quicker to catch up. When he gets to see the man up close. clear chocolate brown eyes greet him. He looks pretty trustworthy, Klaus thinks, Like Santa Claus, or John Stamos. Basically, like anyone but Dad or Viv.

Alonzo asks all about Klaus’ recent accomplishment, not exactly something he wants to talk about, but he likes that Alonzo is genuinely curious and polite. The only thing you say is “extra relish, on both. Big shot director pays.” during the conversation, focusing more on finishing your cigarette and stubbing it out with the toe of your boot. Klaus looks down and the cigarette butt leaves no trace on the concrete.

“So back there,” he says as you wait for your dogs to be handed over, “That cigarette business, are you a magician?”

“Nah,” you say, not fully meeting his gaze, “I’m a Libra.”

You nod at the guy as he finally pulls the dogs over the edge of the cart he operates. Extra relish, just like you asked. When he places the hotdog in Klaus’ hands, the redhead’s eyes go wide. Guess he wasn’t kidding about never having relish, you think.

“Huh,” he starts, dumbfounded by the hunk of grease and meat and relish in his hands, “I’m a Libra too, actually.”

“Guess that’s something about balance or something,” you say, effectively ending the conversation again by opening your mouth as wide as you can to accommodate the sheer mass of one of Alonzo’s hotdogs.

He looks at the meal, his first and probably only for today, and then takes your lead, opening his mouth as wide as he can before finally chomping down on a huge bite of it. The bite is… heavenly. Pickled vegetables and chutneys exploding on his tastebuds, the coolness of it contrasting with the fresh off the grill meat. No offense to mom or Pogo, but none of their cooking could ever hold a candle to this street hotdog.

“Good, yeah?” Your voice, distorted by a mouth full of food, breaks his almost nirvana like trance.

“So good,” he tries to say, mouth just as full as yours. He finishes chewing, swallows with a huge gulp.

“You got any more food spots to show me?”

#my work #klaus hargreeves x reader

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tooweirdforyou · 4 years ago

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Prompt #34 With Luffy

A/N : here’s the other request you asked for, anon! Sorry this took a while but I hope you enjoy! :)

this was super cute to me, I absolutely enjoyed writing this!! :D

But I am worried it barely makes sense nor has anything to do with the prompt-

Prompt #34 : “listen to my heart.. it’s beating right out of my chest for you.”

Summary : Luffy confesses his feelings for you.

“[Name]! [Name]! Look!”

Excitedly, your captain points to the giant fish he had caught and landed onto the main deck with stars in his eyes.

“It’s so big! Man, I wonder if it’s tasty!” Drool was dripping from his lips as he stares at the fish in awe, Chopper and Usopp doing the same.

“Man, it does look pretty good. How should we eat it?” You grin at the sight of the big fish and walk over towards it, next to Luffy.

“You want to ask Sanji to grill it? Or cut it up into small pieces and eat it with some rice and-“

“OOH, that’s a good idea!” He awes out excitedly. “Let’s grill it!” He shouts with a wide grin, eyes shutting.

You chuckle and nod at him, thinking his excitement was rather adorable. “Sure, Luffy. I’ll go tell Sanji to grill it up for you.”

You ruffling his hair lightly, beginning to turn around and make your way to the kitchen, unknown to Luffy’s smiling stare as he watched you.

Inside his chest, he could feel his heart beat picking up at your smile to him, at your smallest gesture of affection towards him.

At first, he wasn’t sure what it was. He was new to the feeling, but he did know he felt something similar before, when he’s with his brothers. But this was different.

His face would get a bit hot, his chest would feel all weird and tingly, and every time he saw you, he couldn’t help but grin widely and call for your attention on him.

So he had asked Nami, thinking maybe, she could help him.

“In love? Well, of course I’m in love with her! I love Ace, I love Shanks, I love meat, and I love all of you.”

Luffy crosses his arms and tilts his head confusedly, not quite understanding the navigator’s expression.

“Luffy.. that’s a different kind love. Okay, for example, you would do anything for [Name], right?” Nami questions, trying to get him to focus.

Luffy nods in understanding, hearing Nami speak a bit slower to let him process. “Of course.”

“I know that’s how you feel for everything else, but you have to understand that loving people as family or loving things that you enjoy, is different than being in love with a person that you want to spend your life with.” Nami explains softly and slowly.

“Huh?.. I don’t get it.” Luffy began picking his nose, brow raised at Nami as he sat cross-legged.

“Okay.. then, how about this? Would you kiss your brothers?” Nami questions and Luffy tilts his head as he thought. “Well... when we were kids, I would. I would kiss them on the cheek before we sleep!”

“Okay, would you kiss them on the lips, now?” Nami tries again.

Luffy then shakes his head. “Makino told me that kissing someone on the lips means that you love them.. EH?! If I don’t kiss you guys on the lips, does that mean I don’t love you?! Nami, let me kiss you!”

Shoving his face away, Nami felt frustration building up inside as she scowls. “Forget it! Just know that you’re in love with [Name]. You’ll understand at some point of the difference, but for now.. just don’t do anything stupid.”

“But Naammiiii! What should I do about this? It feels weird whenever I see [Name]!” Luffy pouts, still feeling extremely confused and pretty upset over this.

He didn’t understand what was going on, not that it was a bad feeling or anything. Was he sick? No, there’s no way Luffy would get sick. So what was it that kept making him all warm inside?

“I know, why don’t you ask her if she loves you? I’m sure [Name] will understand what you mean if you just talk to her.” Nami advises, relaxing herself as she stared at Luffy and his pouts.

Luffy stares at her, feeling at a loss before nodding slowly, looking down to think for a moment.

So that’s what led him shouting after you.

“Hey, [Name]!”

Just as you approached the kitchen door, you glance down from the upper deck and see Luffy staring at you with a wide smile.

“Yeah, Luffy?” You hum, smiling back at him and waited for him to speak.

Few seconds passed before Luffy shouts out mindlessly. “DO YOU LOVE ME?!”

...

“HUH?!” The crew, who were outside and listening, all stare at Luffy, bewildered at how bold he was to just straight up ask you like that, out of nowhere.

“Luffy, where did that come from?!” Usopp asks, pink cheeks forming as he stares at the captain in disbelief.

Nami sweatdrops at him, Robin and Brook sharing their amused chuckles, Chopper staring and looking around with innocence, whilst Sanji slams the door open and utters out to his captain.

“OI! WHAT’S WITH THAT SUDDEN QUESTION TO [NAME]-CHAN, LUFFY?!”

“When i told him to ask her, I didn’t mean like this..”

“Yohohoho!~ how bold of our captain!”

You just stare at Luffy in surprise, lips parted at his sudden outburst. You then giggle lightly at him.

“Of course I love you, Luffy.” You answer, smiling at him as the others’ jaws dropped. “I’ve always love you.”

Luffy feels a grin spreading onto his face as his cheeks warmed into a bit of a pink tint. “Then let me kiss you!”

“O-OI!” Before Sanji could protest further, you ignore the exclaims of the others and walk towards Luffy, your own faint blush forming on your cheeks.

“Uh Sure, but Luffy, next time, ask me when we’re alone together okay?”

“‘Kay!” He hums, stretching his arms and immediately pulling you towards him instantly.

He pulls you onto his lap and sat you there, holding you close into his chest.

“Can you hear it? Listen to my heart, [Name]. It’s beating right out of my chest for you!”

Luffy grins wider as he laughs heartily. “Shishishi! Nami said that it’s because I love you. And Makino told me you’re supposed to kiss the people that you really love, so let me kiss you!”

The others stared slack-jawed at the sight, unable to comprehend what was going or what even just happened.

You smile warmly at his words, your blush only darkening as you continue to hold a smile. You felt a bit embarrassed, but seeing such a cheery and cute grin on his face was worth it.

“They’re both right. And I can hear it loud and clear, Luffy. Have you always felt this way around me?”

Luffy’s smile softens as he closed his eyes and nods. “Yeah. I didn’t know what it was at first, but now I know.”

He then grabs your cheeks, cupping them and instantly connecting both of your lips together.

The crew stared wide-eyes, a small blush forming on their faces at the sight of their crewmate and captain kissing.

The kiss didn’t last long but it was still long enough to feel the sparks that connected between the two of you.

You pull back a bit shyly after the kiss ended and smiled at Luffy. “Well? Are you satisfied? Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” Luffy nods as he beams brightly. “Now I know that you love me and I love you! Let’s do it again!”

“DO IT ON YOUR OWN TIME!”

Chuckling at the crew, you smile to Luffy and pat his head. “Maybe later. We still have to enjoy the giant fish you caught, right?”

Luffy widens his eyes as he remembered and let’s you up before getting up himself and nodding.

Luffy turns to the chef, ignoring him kneeling on the ground and sulking whilst cursing the Captain for taking your heart and kiss.

“That’s right! Sanji, grill the fish so we can eat already!”

“Damn you, Luffy.. ALRIGHT!”

You only watch them as another cute chuckle escape your lips, the never ending warm blush staying on your cheeks as you stood by Luffy’s side.

Still thinking about his unique and abrupt confession, you smile to yourself.

“What a cutie.”

a/n : is my writing getting worse? Or is it just me? Or am I just rushing this all and now it just doesn’t make sense to me and doesn’t really have much to do with the prompt or anything? God someone answer me please ;-; I’m worrying so much about this.

.. :( I hope you still liked it though.

#tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece writing #writing prompt

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