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marvelstoriesepic · 5 months ago

Text

Whumpcember (day 5)

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: Concussion

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Reader gets concussed; worried!Bucky

Author’s note: This is my first fic for this year’s Whumpcember writing challenge. Hope you guys enjoy this! Thank you for the support after my October writing challenges that motivated me enough to do something like this again!! ♡

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

“Y/n, I’m serious. This is a bad idea.”

“Stop lecturing me, Nat, I’ve got this!”

“You’re two seconds away from breaking your neck. Not to mention ruining my night.”

“I am deeply flattered by your concern,” you tease, shooting her a sideways grin as you shift your weight on the ladder beneath your feet that groans faintly. “But you could have a little faith in me, you know.”

You tug another section of the Christmas lights in your hand loose, readying to hang them up. One foot wobbles slightly as you reach up and you balance yourself out on the uneven ground.

Natasha’s voice drops into that icy, lethal calm you’ve seen her use right before someone gets their ass handed to them. “Alright. If you don’t get your ass down that ladder in two seconds-”

You interrupt her with a huff, rolling your eyes as they stay focused on securing the lights. “Jokes on you, Romanoff - I’m probably the only person alive who isn’t scared of your threats.”

Natasha is leaning against the door to the balcony, arms crossed, her dark red hair catching the glow of the evening light. Her sharp eyes are locked on your form precariously balancing on the ladder.

She exhales sharply. Her brow quirks, but her jaw tightens. “You know, Barnes isn’t going to lose sleep if those lights don’t go up,” she states flatly, voice brimming with the no-nonsense tone you know all too well. “Actually, he won’t notice a damn thing. But what he will notice is you flat on your back in a hospital bed, wrapped in a cast because you couldn’t stay off a shaky ladder.”

She crosses her arms tighter and although she actually looks quite composed to you, you know she’s on edge. Her voice is firm.

You let out a frustrated huff, focusing on freeing another stubborn knot in the string. The December air makes your fingertips tingle. You shudder slightly at a harsh and cold gust of wind, swaying just a little to the left and gripping the balcony edge to steady yourself.

You twirl the string of lights dramatically, then carefully secure the next hook.

“Relax, Nat. I’ll be done before he gets back. And then all he’s going to notice are these beautiful lights-” you grunt while reaching higher “- shining on the balcony. After all, he’s always complaining it’s too dark out here. So, problem solved.”

Natasha uncrosses her arms and takes a step forward, settling her hands on her hips now. Her expression hardens. “Well, he sure as hell couldn’t have expected you to risk your neck by fixing it. Barnes could hang those lights without the ladder, Y/n. Honestly, the man would jump to do this for you.”

You glance down at her shortly, still stubborn and confident, and wave a dismissive hand as you reach to hook another section. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he did it himself.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “A trip to the ER isn’t worth your little holiday moment, Y/n.”

“There won’t be a trip to the ER-”

The jingling of keys at the front door pulls you out of your banter with Natasha, stopping your comment from reaching its end. It startles you enough that your hand freezes mid-motion, the lights tangled loosely in your grip. Your heart skips a beat.

Bucky is home.

The realization hits you as your body reacts - a tiny, involuntary jerk that throws off your already unsteady stance. The ladder sways beneath you. You sharply shift your weight, searching for solid footing, but your foot lands on empty air instead of the rung you expected.

Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once.

The ladder teeters violently, and before you can even process what’s happening, gravity yanks you downward.

A split second of panic floods your chest. A startled shriek tears from your throat. The next thing you feel is the sharp and immediate pain blossoming at the back of your head, as it connects with the hard wall of your apartment. The impact sends stars bursting across your vision.

The world spins briefly, but before the ground can meet you, Natasha’s arms wrap around you, keeping you from crumpling onto the floor and perhaps landing wrong.

“Damn it, Y/n!” Natasha’s voice is almost harsh but she gently lowers you to the ground. Her face is close to yours, her green eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and concern.

“Y/n?”

The shout echoes from inside the apartment, strong and tinged with alarm.

Bucky’s voice barely reaches you through the throbbing in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the pounding pain.

Your name comes again, louder this time, closer - close enough for the panic in his voice to reach your fuzzy mind. You wince.

The sound of hurried footsteps rings out against the floor. The balcony door flies open. Before you can get hold of what’s happening, Bucky is there.

He moves too quickly for your brain to fully process in your clouded state - one moment, he’s at the door across the room inside, and the next he’s crouched in front of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

His eyes rake over your face, your body, wide with worry. He’s scanning you like he’s trying to piece together exactly what happened.

“Y/n,” he says again, voice softer now, but not less urgent.

You can’t answer immediately. The pain in your head pulses severely, radiating outwards in waves. You wince as you reach back to touch the sore spot gingerly.

Bucky’s gaze darts upwards, undoubtedly looking at Natasha who is kneeling beside you, her arm steady around you. “What the hell happened?” he demands, voice dropping low.

“She fell off the damn ladder,” Natasha explains bluntly, nodding toward the object still standing behind you. “Hit her head on the wall on the way down. I caught her before it got worse.”

The pain flares again and you let out a soft groan.

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he looks like he’s holding back a string of curses. His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that feels almost out of place given the tension radiating off of him.

“You hit your head?” he asks quietly, softly. So soft indeed it’s like your mind floats on a cloud. You might as well just let it reach the sky. His thumb grazes your temple, again so soft, careful not to press anywhere that might hurt. “Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Back,” is all you manage. It sounds hoarse. It doesn’t sound like your voice and you’re surprised for a second, blinking confused.

Bucky’s hand is still on your face, his body right in front of you. The sharp and tense exhale that falls from his lips reaches your cheeks. His other hand clenches into a fist before he forces it to relax. His knuckles remain white.

“You shouldn’t even have been up there. What were you thinking, mhm?” he says, voice thick and tight, though there is a glimmer of guilt.

“Lights,” you croak, wincing, wildly gesturing with your hand to the halfway-secured Christmas lights above.

“Why didn’t you wait? Would’a done that for you, doll.”

“Surprise.”

“Tried telling her that. Stubborn as they would come.”

Natasha and you talk at the same time.

You tried glaring at her but it was a rather weak attempt and Bucky’s hand restricts possible motions with your head to meet her eyes.

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line and he shakes his head as if trying to push away his frustration. He shifts even closer, eyes intently focused on yours. You can’t look at him for long. “Y/n,” he instructs softly but firmly, “I need you to tell me if you feel dizzy or if your vision’s blurry. Anything feels wrong, you say it. Got it?”

You manage a weak nod, though the motion sends another twinge of pain through your skull. “My head is pounding, but… no dizziness.”

His shoulders relax just a fraction but his hand doesn’t leave your face and he doesn’t stop assessing you with his eyes. His thumb brushes along your cheek tenderly. “Okay. We’ll get you inside. Ice pack, and then straight to the ER. A doc should check you over.”

You open your mouth but Bucky anticipates your protest. “No arguing,” he scolds stiffly, though there is a pleading undertone that shuts you up.

“Called it,” Natasha remarks dryly, shooting you a chastising glance. A hint of a smirk tugs at her lips, though her tone remains all business.

Bucky doesn’t smile. He doesn’t so much as blink at her comment. His eyes stay locked on yours, and the worry etched into his features doesn’t ease a bit. His brow is pinched, furrowed so tightly, it’s almost painful to look at but that could also just be your aching head.

Bucky and Natasha help you inside and immediately catch you and hold you firmly to their sides when you stumble slightly. Natasha grabs an ice pack at Bucky’s command. She knows better than to argue with him when it comes to you.

So she lets him half carry you to his car while she slips to the kitchen and gets a pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. She hands it to Bucky without a word.

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Bucky crouches beside you in the open door, carefully pressing the pack to the back of your head. The chill bites at your skin, making you flinch just a little. You bring your hands up to hold it there yourself.

After making sure you’re okay with this position and sitting comfortably and no other pains have come up, he climbs into the driver's seat.

His intensity doesn’t waver.

His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it has to be - just shy of crushing - and his jaw works as he grinds his teeth, the muscles in his neck and shoulders visibly taut. You imagine stretching out your hand to the back of his neck and massaging the tender skin there. You blink away the thought. Surprised it even came up.

Bucky glances at you every few seconds and you feel Natasha’s gaze on you as well from the backseat. The silence in the car is heavy.

It’s almost unbearable and you hate seeing Bucky this rigid. You’re afraid he’s mad at you.

“Buck, it’s just a bump-”

You don’t get to finish your reassurance. His head snaps in your direction, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “It’s not just a bump, doll,” he cuts in adamantly, but behind the steel in his tone, there is the softness that always accompanies his voice when he talks to you. “You hit your head hard enough to almost black out for a second. That’s not something to shrug off.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the shake of Natasha’s head catches your peripheral vision and you drop it.

“Should have waited for you. M’ sorry,” you say silently, hands still holding that ice pack to your head.

Bucky lets out a long drawn sigh. Heavy. A hand moves over his face. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Can’t scare me like that, sweetheart. You hear me? I'll take care of those lights, yeah? You stay away from that ladder. Don’t wanna see you up there again.”

His tone is soothing. The gravel of his words again softened but the worry he carried since he found you concussed on the floor of your little balcony is still going strong. His hand - a little hesitantly - moves to rest on your thigh, his thumb swiping over the fabric of your trousers. The motion makes your heart stutter.

Your head feels foggy, like you’re floating just out of sync with the world. A faint, dumbly smile tugs at your lips, the pain in your scull muted for a moment by the softness in his eyes. You blink slowly, words tumbling out before you can think clearly about how you phrase your sentences to make them have a purpose.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, voice slightly slurred. Your head is spinning. Your words come slow. “You always say it’s too dark out there. And they are Christmasy. The lights. S’ nice.”

There is silence for a beat beat but then Bucky lets out a tiny huff of laughter. It’s more like a released breath but it makes your cheeks flush and your heart pick up all the same. You’re grinning again. You love the sound of his laugh. It’s the last thing you want to hear right before you die. It’s the only thing you want to hear for the rest of your life.

You blink again. Damn, your head really is messed up a little.

Bucky shakes his head slightly. He sighs again, deeply. A little strained. “That's sweet, Y/n,” he murmurs and he holds your eyes a moment longer. They are glinting with something. There is definitely fondness there but also something deeper. “And the lights look real nice, doll, but-”

“See?” you interrupt and throw a triumphant grin back at Natasha.

That earns you a full-fledged glare.

You turn back around.

“Still,” his voice drops again, returning solemn just like his expression as he looks back at the road ahead. “No surprises for a while, yeah? Let me handle things like that.”

There is a slight crack in his voice.

You blink at him again, trying to focus, but your muddled brain and the amount of his concern make it hard to form a coherent response. You only nod faintly. Thankfully, your head doesn’t hurt as bad at the movement anymore.

You might also imagine the knowing smirk pulling at Natasha’s lips in the backseat. She’s awfully silent behind you, eyes flicking between you and Bucky with a smugness in her expression. You pinch your brows together and try to figure out what this is about but your mind can’t seem to comprehend much at the moment.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand settles on your cheek. A thumb swipes over your skin. Warm. So warm.

“You still with me?”

His voice is soft. So soft.

“Yeah,” you mutter, the faintest smile tugging at your lips again.

Bucky’s hand makes sure the ice pack is still firmly pressed to the back of your head, every ounce of his focus split between the road and you.

Natasha keeps smirking.

#whumpcember24 #whumpcember2024 #Whumpcember day5 #whump writing #whump prompt #marvel bucky barnes #marvel mcu #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #roommate!bucky

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catslvrr · 10 months ago

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you know all my dreams (you were one)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Being a superhero involves a lot of saving, like saving people from burning buildings, saving cats stuck in trees, and even saving yourself from being evicted from your apartment. There’s one thing that you haven’t saved yet, and that’s your relationship with Danielle.

Contains: cursing, blood, violence, death, cliche hero stuff

You would like to believe that you are a good roommate.

But when you come tumbling through the window, landing with a raucous thud, all you have the strength to do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to the heavens that your roommate graciously ignores you. Again.

This is the fourth time in a week that you have managed to enter your room in such a manner. You rely on the fact that your roommate is abnormally nocturnal and is most likely asleep by now.

You grimace as you remember that one time you accidentally crashed through her window, blacked out, and woke up to her grim face as she poked you with her foot. It wasn’t that far off from how she originally found out you were Spider-Woman two years ago.

It had been a rough day. You didn’t leave exactly scot-free after fending off the attempted escape of some maximum security prisoners at the Raft.

This attempt may have been catalyzed by the recent blackout that you may have caused by fighting off another escape attempt, but who’s to say that’s the case?

Regardless, all escapees were given a scenic swing, free of charge, straight back to prison—a temporary one anyway. Now all you had to worry about was making it home in one piece.

By the time you reach home, the muscles in your arms giving in from the endless web-slinging, you don’t have enough energy in you to ease your landing (which really just meant trying to land on cool superhero poses). You swoop right onto the floor, face-down and limbs sprawled out like a measly bug helplessly trapped in a web.

You’re not entirely sure of the full extent of your injuries in the moment—mostly because of the way your whole body is burning, reminiscent of the building you were thrown into, but you’re pretty confident you have at least multiple bruised ribs, a black eye, and a mild concussion.

“So, all things considered,” you say half-heartedly to no one in particular. “Not too bad.”

(Future note: You actually also had one fractured toe.)

You’re happily drifting off into unconsciousness, with nothing but the belated, slightly panicked thought of whether you locked your door or not, when three sudden strikes at your door jolt you awake.

Suppressing a groan, you roll over and pull yourself up as best as possible, ignoring the way your ribs scream at you. God, you were in so much pain. You let out a breathy exhale and even muster a crooked smile, even though you know your roommate can’t see you.

“Roomie! What’s up?”

A pause.

You cringe. Seriously, ‘Roomie’? You should’ve gone with the name you saw on the leasing contract.

(When you first saw it, you thought that the lease was some sort of scam, because your roommate’s signature looked like someone trying to draw Australia from memory. Upon further questioning of the landlord, you were left with the information that your new roommate, Haerin, was indeed real.)

Before you can even apologize for your lame attempt at a greeting, Haerin’s response comes curtly.

“There was a crash.”

You pick up on a slight inflection of curiosity in Haerin’s tone—is glad that despite her nosiness, she didn’t decide to barge in and see you in your full Spider-suit glory. You force out a chuckle, hoping your roommate doesn’t notice the strain.

“Oh—right. I just fell. Tripped over my own feet. I mean, while dancing. Well. Trying to, you know?”

Your embarrassment grows with every word that bumbles out of your mouth, and when the heat in your cheeks is too much to bear, you manage out a simple:

“Yep,” to eloquently finish it all off. You cross your fingers and hope your roommate doesn’t question the fact that there is no music playing at all.

You barely hear a non-committal hum over the pounding in your ears, and only release your breath when you hear the familiar obnoxious typing of keys, finding your heartbeat in tandem with its rhythm.

There are some things you can always depend on, and one of those things is Haerin’s perpetual typing as she attempts to finish her journalism assignments at the last minute. The incessant clicking of the keyboard gradually becomes soothing, almost therapeutic. You pass out before you can even register any sliver of drowsiness.

And then you wake up to a deafening bang and splinters of your doors ricocheting toward you.

Reflexively, you flick your wrist, effectively webbing any stray pieces of your door to the ceiling. But you also web your roommate’s face. There are a few seconds of silence as you both just stare at each other.

“Funny how you find me in my Spider-Woman cosplay,” you chuckle awkwardly. “Because I’m not, you know, Spider-Woman.”

Haerin slowly peels the web off her face, face wholly impassive, still menacingly holding the ax. “I’m hungry. Buy me Wingstop.”

It takes you an hour to get the Wingstop back home. Ten minutes was dedicated to a mini meet-and-greet.

“What the fuck, Haerin,” you say with a mouth full of lemon pepper fries. “You broke my door down with an ax.”

“I was hungry,” she replies matter-of-factly, as if that’s a reasonable justification for the insane property damage she just inflicted. “But you were also not responding for sixteen hours.”

“I was out for sixteen hours?”

“A bit of an exaggeration. Maybe around 10.”

“Why do you even have an ax anyway?”

“Look at where we live,” Haerin clicks her tongue. “And you being Spider-Woman just slaps a big target on our backs.”

“Pause,” you raise your hand and stop chewing. “I’m not Spider-Woman. I’m just… a huge fan.”

Haerin’s exasperated eyes flicker to yours.

“I’m serious!”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “You make way too many spider puns.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘I’ll swing by’, or ‘I’m kinda tangled up in something right now’,” she explains with air quotes.

You noisily take a sip of a lemonade you bought from a random stall. “Huh.”

“So,” you chew thoughtfully. “Hypothetically, if I was Spider-Woman, how would you react? Would you tell anyone?”

Haerin scans you, still wearing the Spider-suit, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, ungracefully shoving chicken tenders in your mouth with ranch dribbling down your chin. “I’ve known for, like, three months.”

You almost knock the ranch cup over in shock. “What?”

You swallow the chicken tender too quickly, and have to take a breather because you almost choke on it. “How—I mean, why would you think that?”

“You discarded one of your broken web-shooters in my room.”

“Oh. That’s where it went,” you scratch your cheek. “So�� you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Haerin smiles. “Only if you pay for the door.”

You hear the screeching of a chair against the floor, hear the imposing footsteps headed toward your room. You feel something poke you. It’s probably the handle of that stupid ax she’s so attached to.

“You good?”

You respond with an unintelligible noise.

Another poke. “Rent’s due soon, you know.”

You roll over with a groan and pull off your mask. “Spare me some sympathy, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not. You’ve had worse.”

Haerin squats down to your level and dabs a cut on your forehead, leaving a burning sting. “Ow!”

You stay mum as Haerin wipes your face free of grime and blood. It’s rare, but when Haerin patches you up, there’s a tinge of gratefulness that twists your heart, and you know it’s better to leave it unspoken. That’s just how you two are.

You break the silence after a while. “I really need to find a job, don’t I?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Haerin replies. “I think you should start your own business: Spider-Eats.”

“Like… Uber Eats?”

“Exactly,” Haerin nods proudly. “But you don’t need to pay for gas, because you just swing over. And I’m sure people will tip you because you’re Spider-Woman.”

“Huh. That’s actually a really good idea.”

As you shuffle out of your Spider-suit and wince at the way your bloody clothes stick to yourself, you make a mental note to start designing and coding a Spider-Eats app. And to also do laundry again. You languidly stretch your limbs, trying to ignore the aches and pains.

“Thanks, doc,” you grin at Haerin. “I feel better already.”

Haerin nods and walks out to the living room. You hear some faint rustling, and the smell reaches you first: pepperoni pizza. You can practically hear an orchestra of trumpets and horns and trombones sing as Haerin re-enters your room, like an angel from heaven, holding three boxes of pizza. It’s even from the same parlor joint the two of you always loiter around.

“Wait,” you pull a can of grape Fanta out of her hand and toward you with a web. “I’ve always wanted to try something.”

Haerin watches as you dangle from the ceiling upside-down and crack open the can. You bring it to your mouth and attempt to drink it, only for you to choke and spill it on your floor.

“Oops.”

After that sad display, you both find yourselves in a familiar position: sitting cross-legged on the floor across from each other, absolutely devouring the food you’ve chosen to be a victim to your outrageous appetite. It comes with being a superhero.

“Seriously, Haerin,” you sigh in satisfaction. “I love you so much.”

You and Haerin mostly eat in silence and scroll on your phones until all three boxes are demolished. You pack up all the boxes and push them to the side, flopping into a starfish position and feeling bloated already.

“You know,” Haerin starts, her voice surprisingly sincere. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

You slowly exhale. “Yeah.”

She flops down beside you. The two of you stare at the LED strips (set to red and blue) that you both went to hell and back trying to tape on the edges of the ceiling.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You offer a small smile. “Nah. You know how it is.”

The two of you lie there for a while until you both fall asleep.

Unfortunately, being a superhero is not all glitz and glamor. You find yourself to be quite the average Joe, living an ordinary life. At the end of the day, you’re just an engineering college student with no job. Well, besides the occasional side gig of being a masked vigilante.

You tend to relish the mundane moments these days, and maybe it’s the age. (Haerin would roll her eyes if she heard you say this.) Those fleeting moments where you can bask in the serenity of a night without any pings from the local police database you hacked into, although often only lasting several minutes, are valuable to you. Sitting on rooftops and indulging in the view that is the city skyline at night—you never get sick of it.

You used to hate this—being human, that is. After the bite all those years ago, being Spider-Woman was riveting. The novelty of your superpowers made you feel competent. Made you feel like someone. (Only after you persevered through the beginner's clumsiness.) Of course, there are the not so great parts of still being human. Like attending mandatory labs, dealing with group project partners who go M.I.A., and the exorbitant rental rates. Regardless, you believe the good still outweighs the bad.

But like most good things in your life, they never stay. How foolish of you, to think that your newfound powers could somehow transcend the inevitability of pain and loss. If anything, you face it more now.

That youthful naivety led to more trouble than you can handle. That night when you swung past that robbery at the bodega, without a care in the world, unwittingly sealing the fate of your aunt. Any last connection you had to your family was violently torn from your grasp.

It was your fault. And nothing can change that. It haunts you every waking hour of the day, manifests itself as a wicked virus, and its suffocating tendrils latch onto you on the nights when you’ve delved too deep into your own thoughts.

You try to block it out now, but the best you can do is repeat to yourself that it’s a reminder. A reminder of who Spider-Woman has to be and what she means to the city. An unwavering hero who stands for justice and protects everyone. A hero who does the right thing.

You hum to yourself as you push the door open with your shoulder, exiting the shop with a bouquet of pale purple forget-me-nots. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie after adjusting your backpack, slightly shivering at the crisp chill of the early morning.

You greet the local store owners as you pass by, even giving a hand in moving crates or supplies to help set up shop. It would be so much easier to just swing to the cemetery, but there’s a sense of reverence you feel you need to uphold, and the only way to do that is just to visit as yourself. No mask, no secret identity. Just you.

You’ve just crossed the threshold to the cemetery with one step when there’s a prickling sensation on your skin. As you get closer to her grave, the discomfort only grows, and so you swing to the nearest tree and perch yourself there.

And then you see her. In the flesh.

“Danielle?” You whisper to yourself, dumbfounded. What was she doing back here, after all these years?

Danielle stills for a moment, and so do you. She turns around and eyes the surroundings as if she heard your voice. You duck and burrow yourself deeper within the leaves.

You observe her quietly, donning her own bouquet of roses, and you smile wryly at the sight of them. Of course, she remembers her favorite flowers. Danielle sits at the grave for a while, her lips moving as if talking, but the music blasting in your headphones blocks it out. You don’t try to eavesdrop.

She’s dyed her hair blonde now, and you didn’t think it possible, but she stands out even more. The color suits her—it matches her personality, akin to a warm and inviting sunflower. Seeing her treat the grave with such care and tenderness makes your heart pang. You grip the tree branches tighter to try to steel yourself, swallowing the guilt and heartache that arises. You don’t expect anything less from her. She’s still so kind and loving even after what you did.

She takes out a small pouch, eventually settling down and crocheting. You’re surprised for some reason, but you also make yourself comfortable in the tree. Even though you’re a hundred feet apart, being in the same vicinity of her fills your body with a sense of repose. You allow yourself to believe that you’re sitting next to each other, still friends, grieving together, and you think that helps you heal a bit.

Half an hour passes before you feel a droplet hit your face. And then another. You and Danielle look up at the same time, only to see the billowing clouds roll in.

Without a second thought, you slip your mask on and shimmy out of your clothes, fishing an umbrella out of your backpack before webbing it to the tree. You clear your throat as you land behind her, as gently as possible so as to not scare her.

“Need this, Miss?” You forcefully deepen your voice, holding out the umbrella above Danielle’s head.

She turns around, lips slightly parted in shock, and it takes all your willpower to not visibly tremble.

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly. You wonder if she would greet you like this if she knew who you really were. “Let me give you something in return.”

Danielle hands you a crochet ribbed beanie, a bright red just like the roses she brought, with a white pom pom on top.

“This one took me a few days.”

It’s incredibly endearing, but you’re panicking at her presence so you can only express your gratitude with an awkward, “Thanks!”, voice crack included, before slinging to the nearest building.

You make sure to wear it on the way home.

Haerin notices it as soon as you return.

“What’s with the new look?” She asks, not looking away from her laptop.

You set an iced Americano for her on the coffee table, and then proceed to drape yourself on the sofa, feet nudging Haerin’s side to annoy her. She chooses to ignore you rather than resort to violence only because you bought her coffee. She also chooses to ignore how your suit is still wet from the rain outside, droplets of water permeating the sofa. You take off the beanie, making sure to gently lay it on the table before slipping your mask off.

You rest your head against the arm of the sofa and close your eyes, but all you can think about is Danielle. The sincerity in her eyes as she gifted you the beanie and her saccharine voice rings out in your mind. You lay there and reminisce in silence for a while. You end up falling asleep for a few minutes.

Then Haerin wakes you up.

“Hey.” She slaps your foot. “Answer my question.”

“What—oh.” You mumble in confusion, trying to regain your senses. “I saw… someone at the cemetery.”

She finally turns to give you a deadpan expression. “Be more specific. A ghost? One of your many archnemeses?”

“Worse,” you rub your face tiredly. “Danielle.”

Her typing pauses. “Wait, the childhood best friend you told me about?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you ghosted?”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“The one you pitifully pine over?”

“Well—yeah.”

Haerin lets out a low whistle. “She gave you that?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “She didn’t know it was me.”

“You should keep it that way,” Haerin says. “It’d suck to open up old wounds after so long.”

“I know.” You puff your cheeks out. “And that’s not even the end of it. I spent forty bucks on flowers just to leave it to rot in a backpack in a tree.”

She glances at the wet puddle you created on the couch. “We can go back tomorrow and get it?”

“It’s okay,” you reply, opening your eyes to the pouring rain outside. You hope Danielle made it home okay. “I’m gonna wait for the rain to die out a bit and then head out again to investigate that weird case. I’ll put the flowers where they belong on the way there.”

“Is there a new lead?” You can practically hear Haerin’s ears perk up.

“Yeah, all the reports of the disappearances seem to pop up in the same area. I just checked for a location that shares an equal distance to all of them and came up with an abandoned warehouse.”

Haerin sits in thought for a second before asking, “Can I come with? You know how the college blog always relies on me for Spider-Woman content.”

“Fine.” You begrudgingly acquiesce. “Only if you get a cool shot of me.”

Haerin takes out her camera and snaps a quick photo of you.

“How about this?” She turns the camera around to show you the result.

You scoff in offense. “Seriously?”

“Is it not flattering enough?” Haerin teases, wrestling the camera away from you.

“I look like a wet dog!”

You web the camera to yourself and delete the photo.

“Stop abusing your powers.” Haerin clicks her tongue. “Go web a towel to clean this mess up.”

“What a coincidence,” you cheerfully ignore her. “The rain’s stopped.”

Like a miracle, the rain has cleared out, the darker clouds making way for the sun. You web a towel to dry your suit (but not the couch or floor) and slip your mask back on again.

“Alright,” you step out onto the balcony and turn to Haerin. “You want a ride there? Uber? Spuber…?”

“Let’s just stick to Spider-Eats.”

“Yeah.”

“And, no thanks,” she winces. “You almost swung into a pole last time.”

“Oops,” you say with no sign of regret. “Anyway, I texted you the coords. Meet you there.”

You hop on the balcony railing and salute Haerin before proceeding to fall backwards with your hands behind your head. The rush as you swing through the city is unmatchable. You savor the wind rushing against you, the boisterous noise of cars honking and mindless chatter zooming in and out of your ears.

You’re back at the cemetery in no time, and after checking if anyone’s around, you stand before your aunt’s grave once again. Danielle’s roses are still lying there. You wipe some raindrops off the headstone before laying your bouquet down. Then, you’re off again. There’ll be time for that later.

The abandoned warehouse is not too far from the docks, a very typical location for people who are up to no good. You perch on the roof of a building opposite it, where Haerin is already squatting and taking photos. You can spot her motorcycle stationed in the parking lot behind the building. She barely flinches as you tap her shoulder.

“How did you get up here?”

“A good journalist never reveals her secrets.”

“Isn’t it ‘sources’?”

Haerin shrugs. “Same thing.”

You squat next to her. “So… did you notice anything before I came?”

“I did some research. Think this warehouse is registered under the name of just Jace.”

“Just Jace? That’s such a sick name.”

Haerin doesn’t bother to correct you.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell though.” You squint and scan the seemingly innocuous warehouse. “And I’m not picking up any heat signals… looks like nobody’s home.”

“How are we getting in?”

“This is a job for Spider-Woman!”

You leap off the roof and swing around the warehouse, sweeping the perimeter to search for a way in.

“There’s always an entrance when you can climb walls,” you muse to yourself.

You open up a voice channel as you crawl up the side of the warehouse, eventually reaching the roof where there is a conveniently open skylight. “Bingo!”

“Psst, Haerin,” you say. “There’s an open window on the roof.”

“Awesome,” she replies, although you note that her tone lacks excitement. “Can you get in and open the door for me?”

“The door?” You peer inside the open skylight. “You mean the gigantic sliding doors?”

“Don’t tell me you’re too weak to open those.”

“No,” you huff. “It’s just that… wouldn’t it be too loud?”

Haerin’s response is reluctant. “I guess.”

“You know what that means,” you sing-song. “It’s time for a Spuber ride!”

There’s some silence followed by a long sigh.

“I thought we agreed to not use that anymore,” she grumbles. “Hurry up and get back here.”

Haerin’s pick up and drop off is quick and easy, much to both of your satisfaction. You asked her to give you a five star rating, to which she replied, “That took literally less than thirty seconds.”

Inside the warehouse is dark, with only some dim flickering lights providing you with a shadowed view of the interior. The warehouse is stocked with looming cargo containers.

“Seems pretty filled for an abandoned warehouse,” Haerin muses, her voice echoing in the void. The silence feels foreboding, which makes you glad that Haerin asked to come, not that you would ever admit that.

“There’s gotta be something here,” you run your hand over the undulating surface of the steel containers. “A secret room, or some complicated contraption.”

“What about that?” Haerin points at a scrape mark on the floor in front of one of the containers, which coincidentally matches the circumference of a quarter circle.

“Oh. That was fast.”

You walk over and tug on the latch, before pulling the door open.

“No worries,” you strain out. It’s heavier than you thought. “Leave it all to me.”

“If you say so,” Haerin says with a smug smile on her face, standing there with no care in the world.

Once you finally get it open, inside the container is a set of stairs that lead downwards to an ominous tunnel.

“Totally not creepy,” you laugh nervously and gesture to Haerin. “Ladies first?”

She rolls her eyes before making her way down. The tunnel is fairly well-kept and it’s not long before you find yourselves in the secret room. It’s a lab, wires running hazardously on the ground, bits and pieces of machinery scattered on tables and filling up boxes, and computer screens displaying complex data and research.

“Okay,” you drawl. “Kinda getting evil mastermind vibes.”

You ruffle through some papers lying around. It seems to be sketches of some cylinder machine with cogs and complicated wiring in it. After inspecting the lab for a bit longer, you both come to the same conclusion.

“He’s trying to time travel,” Haerin notes as she snaps some shots of the lab.

You nod. “His experiments are probably what’s causing all those people to disappear into thin air.”

“What were the statements of the witnesses again?”

“Like the victims were just sucked into an invisible portal.”

Haerin pulls up some files on one of the computers. “It makes sense. It looks like he’s trying to time travel to the year his daughter died.”

You both are silent at this information. Until that silence is broken by a screeching sound outside, one that oddly sounds like the gigantic sliding doors opening.

The two of you immediately break out into a sprint and up the stairs. You don’t hesitate to scoop up Haerin once you’re out of the container and soar up to the roof with a web.

“He’ll know someone was here,” Haerin whispers.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hopefully it won’t lead to anything. We’ll have to come back later.”

Like the true neighborhood-friendly Spider-Woman you are, you give Haerin a Spuber ride back to her motorcycle. She revs the engine once to get your attention, then bids you farewell with a teasing “Race you home!” as she accelerates into the distance.

“So not fair!” You shout out at her retreating figure, swinging to catch up. You’re straining your arms to keep up with Haerin’s motorcycle, but a police car passes by with sirens on, and you know what you need to do. At the last second, you snap your left wrist to make a breakneck turn. Haerin will understand.

You can barely keep your eyes open as Minji nudges you with her elbow.

“Late nights playing 2K again?” The image of her stupid grin floats by in your mind.

“Something like that,” you whine, flicking your head up so your lab goggles fall on your nose. “I should’ve skipped today.”

Minji pulls up the DXF files you made for the project and resumes with the task of readjusting the ratio of some gears. “You don’t even need your lab goggles for today.”

“I look smarter with them on.”

“Yeah, right.” Minji peeks at your rough outlines of the gearbox transmission on paper. Some edges are ripped and it’s crinkled under your folded arms. “Damn. When are you gonna digitize that and render it?”

You slump back in your chair and close your eyes. “When I get a good night’s rest.”

“So, never.”

“Yeah.”

“The assignment’s due next week.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you.” But she doesn’t. Because the two of you have been lab partners ever since you tripped on her lab coat in class a year ago and knocked over a bunch of her circuits and wires, which, to this day, she still blames you for, which is ridiculous, because who on earth owns a lab coat long enough to the point where it spills on the floor? But, you digress. Her lab coat is now properly tailored.

You’re half a second from drooling and snoring when there’s that prickling sensation on your skin again, and the hairs on the back of your neck shoot up, leaving you with that sinking feeling in your stomach. You sit up so abruptly that you almost slam your forehead onto the table.

Minji’s arm flies in front of your chest to steady you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you stammer. “I just… need to go to the bathroom.”

You grab your backpack and sprint out of the lab, navigating yourself to the nearest exit. You’re on the roof of the building in no time, in your suit, and you immediately see what’s wrong. There’s a man in the middle of campus, floating above the ground, and whatever objects are around seem to be gravitating toward him. The objects begin to orbit around him, creating a mini tornado.

You try to call Haerin, but she doesn’t pick up. You try to call Minji too, but no luck. Your stomach coils with anxiety. You don’t have long to dwell on it though.

As objects slam into one another, students begin to file out of class and understandably panic. Campus security is screaming and directing people to emergency exits, but the whirlwind only gets worse and things are smashing into windows and buildings.

“This isn’t good,” you mutter, immediately diving into action. You web benches, bicycles, poles, and trees in all sorts of directions to disrupt their trajectory toward anyone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a blur of orange amidst green, and hear a very distinct meow.

“Tiko!”

You hurtle yourself toward the flying tree and narrowly shoot through the branches, successfully grabbing Tiko. You were going to plop him down somewhere safe, but it seems he had other plans, because he crawls into your backpack and nestles inside it, sticking his head out.

“Hang tight, Tiko,” you scream, swinging toward the mystery man. “I’m going to stop this!”

The man now stands on a rooftop, the debris around him thrashing against the building which is threatening to fall apart. You land not too far from him.

“Hi!” You yell over the deafening winds.

He whips his head around, raising his palm to hurl a rock at you. “Stay away!”

“Wait!” It narrowly misses you as you skillfully duck just in time. “You’re Just Jace, right?”

“How do you know my name?” He falters for a second, taking a step back. “…And it’s just Jace.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” You mumble to yourself in confusion.

You shake your head to focus on the situation at hand. “Please stop this, Just Jace. You’re hurting others!”

“I… I know!” Jace’s hands tightly grip his hair in frustration. “I don’t know why it’s not working.”

As his ire flames up, so do the winds, dust and small rocks starting to obscure your vision.

“Please, calm down!” You desperately yell, slowly making your way toward him with arms raised as a sign of peace. “Let me help you!”

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and you can hear the whirring of helicopter blades behind you. The police helicopter sways in the midst of the tornado, and you fear for both Jace and the police.

“No, no, no!” You try to wave the police away, knowing their presence would only distress Jace more.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

Police officers begin to rappel down from the helicopter, guns aimed at Jace. He scrambles in fear, sending rubble hurling at them in defense. Bullets fly out immediately after.

The sound of gunshots rings through your ear as you expertly maneuver through the ricochets and try to keep everyone safe. You burst through the combat and tackle Jace whilst he’s busy with the officers, trying to Spuber him to somewhere safe.

He wrestles in your grasp, screaming at you to let him go. Tiko gives him a few smacks in response. As you swing through a window, you release your hold on him, both of you rolling over to catch your balance.

You lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch your breath. You’re rubbing your head that’s throbbing in pain, not noticing Jace’s sudden silence.

“The police really have the worst timing, am I right?” You awkwardly laugh.

You look up to see Jace stalking toward you, like a predator to prey, a dark intensity in his eyes. Any trace of the Jace you encountered before is gone. You bounce on your feet immediately.

“Jace?” You say hesitantly, walking backward. “We can talk about this…”

“You broke it,” he snarls. That’s when you notice what he’s clasping onto so stiffly. It looks awfully similar to those sketches you and Haerin saw in that secret lab. He lets it go and it clatters on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try to ameliorate the situation. “I was trying to save you.”

Your pleas don’t seem to reach his ears. He just simply repeats, “You broke it.”

“No need to get so upset,�� you laugh sheepishly, hands in the air, discreetly scanning for the nearest exit. “I know a really good tech support guy.”

Your skin tingles. Jace then lunges at you, and out of instinct, you web onto the broken device and you swing it around to slam it into the space between you and him. The device makes contact with the concrete and shatters into pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. For a moment, you feel as if time has slowed down, and everything sounds muffled, like you’re sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean.

And then everything goes black.

You wake up with a gasp, cold sweat sticking to your body. Haerin steps back, surprised. She’s holding her beloved ax, its handle hovering dangerously close to your cheek.

“You’re awake.”

“What?” You look around frantically, hands squeezing the sofa. “How am I back here?”

“What do you mean?” Haerin frowns. “You fell asleep.”

You stand up and squish your face against the window. The college campus is untouched. “What happened to Just Jace? Is Tiko alright?”

Her eyebrow furrows. “Who’s Just Jace? And Tiko the campus cat?”

You don’t respond, still lost in your own thoughts.

“Did you get a concussion on the way to the cemetery?”

You stop pacing and look down, and sure enough, you’re still in your suit, wet from the rain just like two days ago, and the beanie Danielle crocheted is lying on the table.

Then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god, Haerin.” Your jaw is slack. “I just traveled back in time.”

“What.”

It takes you fifteen minutes to sum everything up.

“But the weird thing is that the device didn’t seem to be done when we were in the secret lab.” You bite your cheek in thought. “I don’t know how he would’ve been able to get it working in the next two days.”

“He probably knew someone was onto him when we left the door open,” Haerin says, searching up ‘If you travel back in time, will you break time and space if you get into contact with someone?’ on Google. Most of the results are fruitless.

“That makes sense,” you nod. “But I wonder why he would end up at our college campus out of all places.”

“Maybe it’s the college his daughter went to?”

“Right,” you nod again. You prop your laptop on your lap as you start scouring through the map of the area around the college. “I need to know where he first appears so I can stop him before he gets to campus.”

Haerin ponders for a second. “You mentioned that there was some research on nuclear fusion, right?”

“Yeah… hold on.” You zoom into a nuclear power plant just a few miles from the college. “The device must need a lot of energy to work. He probably got it from here.”

“So,” Haerin hums. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Haerin’s voice is unimpressed over the static. “This was your plan?”

“You know me,” you quip ironically while weaving in between the blasts of energy that Jace is throwing at you. “My plan was to come up with a plan now.”

“And have you thought of one?”

“Not really!” You coolly avoid his punches and slide in between his legs. “I’ll call you back!”

When you manage to catch Jace off guard with a roundhouse kick, he stumbles and you use the opportunity to swoop into a vent to hide. You did not expect this alternate version of Jace to be so hostile. You tried to talk to him, really.

(You lower your web bit by bit as you dangle upside-down behind Jace. His back is facing you, clearly focused on wiring his device to the generator.

You tap his back. “Hey.”

He swivels around so fast he almost loses his balance, but immediately regains it and squares up. “Stay away!”

“No, no.” You plop on the floor. “I’m not here to hurt you. I know you’re trying to time travel. I’m from the future, actually.”

There’s an air of hope in Jace’s voice. “The device worked?”

“About that,” you rub your nape and flash an embarrassed smile under the mask. “I kinda had to smash it onto the ground for it to work. You were kind of trying to kill me. But no biggie, I forgive easily!”

Jace narrows his eyes. You stiffen as you feel dread trickle into your stomach. His fist jerks out and you jump back just in time, feeling the wind from the blow brush against your face.

“What the hell, man?” You pout. “I literally just forgave you.”

He doesn’t waste time and continues with a flurry of punches. “I must’ve been attacking you for a reason.”

You shake your head as you roll to the side. “Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”)

“Come out and face me!” Jace yells, his voice reverberating throughout the power plant. “You’re nothing but a pest.”

You silently crawl out of the vent and onto a supporting beam. Once you’re positioned right above him, you web him up, landing a nasty uppercut. You don’t have time to celebrate though, because on the way down, he grabs your ankles and pulls you down back to Earth.

“Oof!”

“This ends now.” He hisses, blood dripping from his mouth. He charges toward you, bearing a metal rod in his hand.

“Really getting into the villain role now, huh?” You joke, voice strained as you leap off the ground and kick him square in the face. “Give me some time to think of a name for you.”

You side step another one of his tackle attempts. “Oh! How about Prime Time?”

The only response you get is Jace surging forward with more punches and kicks. “You could just say you don’t like it!”

Jace doesn’t deign you with an answer. He unexpectedly throws a crate toward you, and just as you duck to avoid it, he gets his revenge with a successful blow to your chest with the metal rod.

You slam against the wall, slumping as the wind is knocked out of you.

“Like I said,” Jace says with heavy breaths, towering over you and looking down with a sneer. “This ends now.”

You can only see his silhouette because of the light shining through from the entrance to the power plant behind him, and this gives you an idea. You muster up any remaining willpower and web onto two pillars, pulling yourself toward it and using the momentum to swing kick Jace.

You both fly through the air and outside the power plant, crashing on the roof of a passing car. You wince as you feel the dent in the car. Jace rolls down to the hood of the car. Logically, the driver starts steering off course because the windshield is blocked and they’re probably freaking out at the fact that there are two injured people on their car.

Your body moves before your mind processes what’s going on—you’re webbing people out of the way of the speeding car, even though you’re still lying on your side. But the car spins out of control too fast for you to react. It ends up ramming into the front of a cafe. The impact of the crash sends you flying into the glass wall and into the cafe. You’re getting deja vu: glass is shattered and people start screaming and running away.

“Oh no,” you groan, trying to ignore the burning pain. “This will not look good in the press release.”

What’s also burning is the car that you’re pinned under—the heat from the crackling fire licking at you, so hot that you can feel it through the spandex. All you can see is the thick smoke that blankets the cafe. From the shadows emerges Jace.

“Please,” you wheeze, feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Which actually happened once, an experience you wouldn’t recommend to anyone. “This isn’t what your daughter would’ve wanted.”

“Don’t mention her again.” He digs his boot into the car, forcing pressure on you, and you’re exerting all your muscles in your arms to hold the car up. “And some superhero you are. Look at what’s left of this place.”

You strain your neck to stare at the inside of the cafe, and the sight horrifies you. It’s a complete wreckage. Your eyes zero on blonde hair that peeks out under a table that’s been flipped over. Your blood runs cold and there’s a sharp pain in your gut, like a knife sickly twisting itself over and over again.

Jace chuckles cruelly at your silence. “What, no more snarky remarks?”

She can’t be dead. It’s all your fault—you were too busy slinging people out of the way to notice where the car was headed. How did she not get out in time?

“No,” you choke out. Your lip trembles pathetically. “Turn back time. Please.”

He follows your gaze and smirks. “See someone you know? I guess now you know how it feels.”

Any empathy you felt for him is overridden by the sheer anger that engulfs you. Your body shakes with rage. What comes out next is guttural and raw.

“I’ll kill you,” you spit. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jace turns around and cackles, and you wonder how everything went to hell so fast. You wonder how he changed so fast. He’s walking out of the cafe, to the college campus probably, and as much as you want to grab him and beat him until he’s blue, there’s something more important. Or rather, someone.

The adrenaline from the rage earlier is still coursing through your veins and you use your remaining strength to push the car off you. (You wanted to hurl it at him too but your arms were failing). You know exactly what you need to do. You sling a web to the device he’s holding loosely, then repeat that same swinging motion that you did the other timeline, slamming it so hard on the ground you almost feel like your arm will rip off.

Time slows again, and you find yourself in a familiar position, deep in the abyss. The world goes black.

It takes you three times before you realize you’re stuck in a time loop. You don’t know why, but you only get sent back a few hours to the nuclear power plant. You try everything, anything to keep Danielle safe. You know it’s selfish, that you should be caring about everyone else too, but you can’t stand the thought of her dying. You’ve already lost her once, back then when you left her. You can’t be the reason for the world losing her.

In the first loop, you spray the wheels of the car with webs to prevent it from crashing in the first place, but the car stopping in the middle of the road only causes another car to veer off the streets and into the cafe. In the second loop, Jace hurls a boulder mid fight and despite you redirecting it to the building next to the cafe, that building ends up collapsing… on top of the cafe. Everytime, you saving other people leads to Danielle dying in some way.

It’s the third loop. You’re at the nuclear power plant again, head in your hands, and Jace hasn’t noticed your presence yet. You want to cry. Nothing is working. Maybe this is karma for ghosting Danielle all those years ago. Being a superhero is all about sacrifices—is this the sacrifice you have to make? You thought you would be better at letting go by now.

Haerin’s voice is soft in your ear. “Have we had this conversation before?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “This is the fourth time.”

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. And that our solutions didn’t work out.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You bite your lip. “And it’s my fault anyway.”

There’s some faint rustling of paper and typing.

“Nuclear fusion,” Haerin says after a while. “Have you tried slamming the device into the generator? The sheer energy might just break the loop.”

“I might as well.” Your voice is thick with fatigue. “I have nothing else to lose.”

You don’t even bother to greet Jace this time, just immediately pulling the device toward you and slamming it onto the generator. The reaction is instantaneous—the device explodes and the generator rumbles, sparks flying. Waves of energy start pulsing out in irregular patterns. It’s so strong that you’re knocked off your feet and your back hits a railing.

You’re knocked out again. Maybe you’re setting a new world record.

Hidden under the knitted quilt, you stir, the thin web of strands barely stifling the bite of the morning cold. Someone is sweetly humming a melody that’s on the tip of your tongue. The constant hum finds its way into you, it softens your bones and eases your heart. The constant hum sings, enveloping you, lulling you back into the solace of the darkness.

This tranquility is swiftly broken by you remembering. You launch out of bed, blinking your eyes to gain a hold of your surroundings. You’re in a campervan. Nostalgia washes over you as you realize that this is the campervan Danielle’s family used to take on road trips. You wearily eye the photo frame stuck to the rustic fridge. Gleeful smiles and sand-covered faces adorn the frame, reminding you of what you left behind.

You were known as that quiet kid who had no parents. Any attention you received would consist of pitied stares and hushed whispers. You didn’t mind the loneliness—you were used to it. And your aunt took care of you and showed you love. That was enough. You didn’t think you needed any more love until Danielle moved in next door and changed your life.

She was the first to approach you, holding out a four-leaf clover with a bright smile, saying “Hi! I’m Danielle, you look like you need some good luck!”. It only took you a few months to warm up to her, not that it was hard, because she was so understanding and cheery. She never cared about what other people said at school. She cared about what you had to say, and that’s something you never thought you needed, let alone deserved, until her.

Danielle’s family is equally as sweet, and they welcomed you with open arms. Every few months, they would go on a road trip and you and Danielle would always say farewell with teary eyes and lingering hugs. Until Danielle insisted you tag along, and that’s how it became a tradition.

Lightly caressing miscellaneous decorations as you make your way outside, you take it all in. The gentle twinkle of fairy lights shyly shines through the tinted windows that are littered with stickers and magnets. This caravan was your second home. Inextricably imbued with memories with Danielle, the two of you left no inch of this van unexplored and untouched. Outside, the fresh smell of subdued smoke (bacon and eggs) wafts to you, beckoning you. Your stomach growls. You forget about the ravenous appetite of a superhero.

But you’re not a superhero right now. You’re twelve, not yet bitten, meant to be blissfully unaware of the terrors that await you as you grow up. You run outside to find Danielle. She’s preparing a plate of breakfast for you.

“Danielle!” You rush toward her and tackle her in a hug, tears subconsciously spilling onto your cheeks. She steadies herself so that the plate of food isn’t knocked over.

She gasps out your name, concern etched in her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and nuzzle her neck, sniffling like a baby. “I’m just glad you’re my best friend.”

Your voice is so high and prepubescent, which makes you burst into laughter out of nowhere. Danielle laughs with you. “I’m glad you’re mine, too.”

“Where’s your parents?”

You lean back as she tilts her head to the barbeque grill a few yards away. “Cooking up their breakfast.”

You eventually let go, quite reluctantly, and take a moment to admire her. You’re smitten. Her hair is brown, bangs slightly ruffled, and she’s sporting a toothy grin. You’re so overwhelmed with love you can’t even speak, but this is soon overshadowed by guilt. This is the girl whose heart you broke.

Nothing about you gets past Danielle, so she immediately notices your wavering.

“You okay?” She intertwines your fingers together “Let’s eat breakfast.”

‘I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

She quickly sets down the plate of bacon and eggs, her hands instantly finding their place on your waist.

“Maybe you should get some more rest,” she pouts, gently squeezing your waist. You try to suppress the shiver that this causes.

“Yeah,” you agree without a sliver of resistance. “Come with me?”

Danielle sends you a knowing smile. “Okay.”

You both make your way back into the van, ditching breakfast. You climb into the comfort of the bed, lifting the same knitted quilt so that it hugs both of you. Your body relaxes, for the first time in a very long time, and you bask in the heat radiating off Danielle.

As your eyes involuntarily close, you can hear the faint sound of ticking. You’re unsure of what is to come, but the curl in your stomach unfolds and pardons you, allowing you to feel Danielle’s love. For just one more time.

–

There’s a brief moment where you regain a shred of consciousness at the nuclear power plant, but everything is too bright and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. You only feel another wave of energy vibrate against your skin before your vision’s black again. Definitely a world record.

Someone’s playing with your hair. Deft fingers weave through strands of your hair and twirl it, lightly pulling on it before letting go and repeating. You blink your eyes open and are met with Danielle already staring at you. She’s older than the last time-travel episode, but younger than the current her. You’re still smitten.

You’re laying in her bed, in her room, in her house. You surmise it’s probably a sleepover night. She’s wearing those glasses with a clear frame, so it must be midway through senior year. You smile to yourself as you remember that she breaks it just before graduation by sitting on it. (She forgot that she put it on her seat.)

“What are you smiling about?” Danielle pokes your nose. “Are you thinking about how that one kid fell off his chair while falling asleep in class?”

“No,” you giggle as you sit up, nostalgia pervading your chest. “But that was funny though. Thanks for reminding me.”

She’s playing with your fingers now, head tilted with that starry look in her eyes that always leaves you dumbfounded. Your smile slowly fades. You feel like a kid again, even though this was only the two of you from three years ago.

“Danielle,” you say shakily, eyes locked onto your entwined fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I’m from the future?”

She considers your question for a second. “What happens in the future?”

You swallow a lump. Where do you even start? ‘Well, I’m actually gonna ghost you in a few months and we’ll never speak again, but then we meet, well not really—it’s more like I see you, and then you die in a cafe because of me. Oh, and I’m Spider-Woman.’

“You dye your hair blonde,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. You’re holding back tears. “And you go to college overseas to study.”

Danielle’s face shifts into something sadder, half sympathetic. “That doesn’t sound too far-fetched.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. “I do some really bad things in the future, and I’m really sorry.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Danielle tries to lift the mood. “Can’t be worse than the time when you spilled orange juice all over my biology assignment the morning it was due.”

Your rambling teeters on the line of coherence. “I push you away—and I’m such an asshole. But I had to, you have to believe me. I can’t tell you why because it hasn’t happened yet and it will probably break some rule of time-traveling, but I just want you to know that I’m so–”

“Hey,” she cradles your face like you're something delicate. Like you’re not the person who will leave her behind with no explanation. “It’s okay.”

“I miss you so much, Danielle.” It’s all you can say. “I miss you so much.”

Her thumb tenderly swipes away any tears that fall. “I’m right here.”

But she’s not.

You’re sobbing pathetically into her hand. You can’t remember the last time you cried. It must’ve been at your aunt’s funeral. Your head is pounding and even though you’re in the body of your younger self, you can still feel the phantom repercussions of fights with Jace. Danielle continues softly, “I could never hate you, no matter what. All you need to do is talk to me—the me in your world.”

“I love you,” you hiccup, lip quivering. “I never got to say it in my timeline. I hope you know that.”

“You know I do too,” Danielle smiles, bitter-sweet. “Promise me you’ll say it to the other me.”

You nod, looping your pinky finger with hers.

She seems satisfied. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get some rest.” She guides you back onto the pillow and onto your side, nestling behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and clasped on your stomach.

The ticking sounds again, and it slowly floods your mind as your vision fades to black.

“Please tell me it’s over,” you plead weakly as you wake up to the sight of peeling plaster on the ceiling. You force your body up, and you see an unconscious Jace collapsed against the wall. The broken device is just a fingertip away from you. This is the room you Spubered him into while distancing him from the police. You’re back.

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tiko hops out of your backpack and rubs his face against yours.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo, scratching his chin. “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you around campus.”

You pick yourself up, shaking stray shards of glass off you. You web Jace against the wall, and make sure to add extra to ensure he doesn’t escape. You briefly notice the wrinkles on his face and his calloused hands.

“Some things we have to let go,” you say softly to him, even though he can’t hear you. “I need to take this to find the missing victims.”

You leave a space in your heart to mourn for Jace’s daughter, and genuinely wish the best for him. Tiko’s already run off somewhere. You take the device and stretch your limbs, preparing for the long journey home.

Actually, you have two stops before you go home. First stop is a safe place to change out of your suit and temporarily hide the device.

Second stop. You run to find Danielle. You think that this has been a long time coming, considering that you’ve been running away from her for the past three years.

You’re standing like an idiot outside the cafe, hands in your pockets, just staring at Danielle through the glass wall. She seems to feel the weight of your gaze though, because she eventually looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of you. You wave awkwardly, to which she starts packing up her things in a hurry.

You breath hitches as she says your name. It rolls off her tongue in a way that is so familiar.

“Care to join me on a walk?” You rock back and forth on your heels, avoiding eye contact with her.

Her face is passive. It scares you more than it should. But she complies without any questions. “Okay.”

It takes around twenty minutes to reach your aunt’s grave. You pat the space in front of you as a gesture for Danielle to sit down, and she does.

“Before I start,” you say. “I just wanted to say thank you for visiting my aunt. You didn’t have to.”

But she did. Because that’s what she always does—go above and beyond. You take a deep breath before releasing it. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, showing that she’s listening, but doesn’t respond.

“I… was an asshole,” you clench your jaw and close your eyes. “I said some hurtful things.”

(“Are you avoiding me?” Danielle asks, eyebrows furrowed.

It’s another morning of a school day.

“No,” you exhale deeply. You don’t spare her a glance. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’ve both been busy for a while,” she counters, frustration laced in her voice. “But the difference is that we still made time for each other.”

You slam your locker door shut. The spider bite thrums with pain. “Take the hint. I don’t have space for you in my life anymore.”)

“And even after I said those things, you still tried to reach out to me.”

(More unread texts from Danielle. Can we talk? I’m sorry about the other day.

Hey, I’ve been trying to give you space, but I just wanted to check in.

Why are you ignoring me?)

“There’s a reason I ghosted you. Not that I’m trying to justify it, but I just wanted to let you know it wasn’t because of you or anything.”

The other Danielle’s words flash through your mind.

“I love you,” you finally say, and it feels as though there’s this weight lifted off your chest. “I have, for a long time. And I needed to leave you because I love you. Because I was scared.”

Her eyebrows crease in thought. “Because you were scared I didn’t love you back?”

“No—well, not no! Of course I care about that. But that wasn’t my main concern.”

“How do I say this,” you scratch your head. “Oh. You gifted me a beanie the other day. Crocheted by you, red with a white pom pom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Oh.”

You fiddle with the grass that you’re sitting on. “I accepted a long time ago that anyone close to me will be in danger because of, well, who I am. And being Spider-Woman… it’s a responsibility that I have to commit to. I can’t just fall in love.”

A pause. “Who said you can’t?”

“Well,” you stutter. “It’ll put you in danger. And I have to put my Spider responsibilities first.”

She shifts closer to you. “And what if I’m okay with that?”

“You’d… you’d have to actually like me back anyway.”

Danielle punches you on the shoulder.

“Ow!” You frown. “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“You should’ve just talked to me.”

“I know,” you admit. “But I just felt like I couldn’t.”

“I never stopped thinking about you all these years,” Danielle shakes her head. “I was a mess. I wanted to hate you so much, but I just couldn’t. And I hated that even more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Danielle says, and the look in her eyes tells you that she really does mean it.

You hesitantly reach out toward her. She grabs your hand and moves it to her face. It’s your turn to cradle her, making sure that she’s really here and that this is real. Her smile is teary.

“I love you,” you breathe out. And that’s the only thing you want to say for the rest of your life. To make up for all the times that you didn’t.

“I love you, too.” Her smile is so enchanting and you want to lean in and kiss her.

But gunshots ring out nearby and there’s shouting. You turn to Danielle, distraught. She grabs your phone from your pocket and adds herself as a contact.

“Go,” she nods softly, handing you back your phone. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll tend to your wounds.”

Your eyes flit over to your aunt’s grave. You hope you’ve become a hero she can be proud of. And you thank her for everything. You slip on your mask and stuff your clothes in a backpack.

Being a superhero isn’t all that easy, but you’re glad you have people you love to lean on to relieve the burden. You leap off the ground with confidence, swinging toward the chaos.

Dedicated to user phamphamz... happy early birthday!

Title is from Autumn by Niki :]

#newjeans x reader #newjeans fanfic #newjeans fic #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye x reader

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dazaih · 3 months ago

Text

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

chapter five -> the apartment

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: sexual humor, alcohol mentioned, injuries and violence mentioned

a/n: anidala cameo to make up for the angst in the last chapter hehe

Their apartment was, of course, luxurious. Pristine floors, large windows, and sleek, modern appliances—it was the total opposite of the outdated home you shared with Han and Chewie. There was even a balcony with a hot tub. You were speechless. Still, it was small enough to feel cozy, which you’re sure their actual home wasn’t, so you were grateful to be in this space instead.

“The decorations aren’t as cute as yours,” Leia said, watching you gawk at the apartment, “But this is where we live.”

“It’s beautiful,” you told her, taking everything in.

“Thank you. You’re welcome to have anything in the fridge or pantry. We have a spare bedroom that we use as an office space, but there’s a daybed in there too.”

You nodded, glad that you would at least have a little bit of your own space.

“You can use my shower,” she offered, “It’s connected to my room. You can borrow a fresh set of pajamas too.”

You smiled, incredibly grateful for her hospitality.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this, guys,” you said seriously, hoping they understood how much their kindness meant to you. You weren’t always good at expressing deep emotions, but you tried to make your gratitude as evident as you could.

Showering had been nice. The dirt was cleansed from your open cuts, and your aching muscles relaxed some under the warm spray of water. The soap that Leia was letting you use smelled great, and the pajamas she’d given you were comfortable silk. When you walked back into the living room, Luke was baking cookies, giving you a small wave.

“Should you be baking with a concussion?” you asked, though the delicious smell had already infiltrated your senses and made you believe that this was a good idea.

“They never told me not to,” he replied, shrugging, “You look so cozy.”

You chuckled a bit, looking down at your sleepwear and the warm, wool socks she’d left out for you. When you looked back up, you noticed that Luke’s hair was also damp, and he was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a loose fitting t-shirt. Something about seeing him like this made you feel warm.

“So do you. I’ve only ever seen you in slacks and nice sweaters.”

“Oh? You don’t like my slacks and nice sweaters?” he pretended to pout, leaning over the counter to talk to you.

You did like his usual attire. He managed to look soft and stylish at the same time, an air of elegance always surrounding him. But seeing him like this—he just looked so warm. You wanted to fall asleep next to him.

“I never said that. Just that you look different like this.”

“Different? Like, bad different?”

“No!” you said quickly, scrambling to correct yourself, “Definitely not.”

When he quirked his eyebrow at you, you realized that he’d just been messing with you the entire time. You blushed and looked away, only to be surprised when he hooked a finger under your chin and gently pushed upwards, urging you to meet his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning at you, “I just like teasing you.”

“I can tell,” you huffed, pulling his hand away from your chin, though you continued gripping his wrist, “Making fun of me after all I’ve been through today. How sinister.”

He giggled, and if you weren’t so exhausted from the events of the day, you might have tried to pull that sound from him again. It was just so perfect.

“My bad,” he replied, smiling at you, “I’ll make it up to you. I’m making cookies, y’know.”

“With a concussion, yes. I can see that.”

Just then, Leia came barreling out of her room, looking stressed and tired, holding her cell phone up to her ear.

“It’s them,” she said, pointing to her phone, “They want me to FaceTime them so they can see that you’re okay.”

Luke’s grimace was amusing, but you felt anxious that you’d show up in the frame. You heard the familiar sound of the phone call switching to video, and you couldn’t believe that you were about to hear the senator and her movie star husband scold their kids. Leia flipped the camera and pointed it at Luke, who offered a small wave.

“Hi Mom,” he said tiredly.

“Hi, Luke,” you heard his mother say, “I’m glad you’re okay. Your father is on his way home, so I’d say that you have a few minutes to explain yourself to me before he gets here.”

Leia handed him the phone, and he flipped the camera back around to front-facing. From where he was leaning over the counter, you could make out his mother’s face. You’d seen her on television before, but never in the comfort of her own home, and yet she was still incredibly beautiful.

“Great,” he mumbled, sighing, “Well, basically I—“

“Padme!” you heard someone shout on the other line, the sound of the door swinging open audible to you as well, “Luke—“

“Ani, he’s on the phone,” she told him, and you heard him approach.

When Anakin came into view, you were equally as stunned. You’d never seen his movie, but he certainly had the face for Hollywood, having aged like fine wine. No wonder directors wanted to get their hands on him.

“Tell us what happened,” Anakin demanded, and you watched as he placed a quick kiss on Padme’s forehead, a silent greeting to her upon his return home. Cute.

“Someone attacked my friends, so I stepped in. And I had other people with me,” Luke explained.

“So it wasn’t just a bunch of drunk college kids fighting over something stupid?” Padme asked, seemingly surprised.

“What? When have you ever known me to just start fighting people for the hell of it?”

“We thought you could’ve been going through something,” Padme said, and you had to stifle a giggle. Their concern for him was precious, and their willingness to try to understand his actions even before getting an explanation out of him showed how much they trusted their children. You briefly wondered what Han would say upon realizing that the Skywalkers might actually be perfect, and that their facade as a happy family was hardly a facade at all.

“No,” Luke protested, already over this conversation, “I’m not—it wasn’t a dumb bar fight. There were like, adults your age there.”

“What?” Padme exclaimed, her concern growing, “Adults were beating up students? Why?”

“Who were they?” Anakin added, frowning.

“I don’t know, but they were beating the hell out of my friend, and then they were restraining my other friend, and we heard someone scream, so we ran outside.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“You have a black eye. Are those stitches?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Do you have any other injuries?”

“No, Mom.”

“Leia, does Luke have any other injuries?” she asked again.

“Concussion and bruised ribs,” Leia confessed, shooting Luke an apologetic look.

“Did you land any hits on the other guys?” Anakin asked, speaking for the first time in a while.

“Anakin!” Padme chided.

“What? Self defense is important.”

“A couple, yeah,” Luke said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nice.”

“Anakin.”

“Fine,” he huffed, and you could see him cross his arms. So that’s where the twins got their attitude from, you supposed.

“Are your friends okay?” she asked, and her concern for others made you like her a little more.

“One is in the hospital, and the other is spending the night here,” Luke said, moving the camera slightly to get you in frame. You weren’t expecting to meet the Skywalkers today, and you hoped you didn’t look too rough.

“Hello,” you greeted them politely, giving them a wave.

“Hello, sweetie! I’m so sorry to hear about what happened tonight. If there’s anything we can do for you, please just let us know,” Padme offered, giving you a warm, beautiful smile, much like her son’s.

“Thank you,” you replied, surprised by her sincerity, “Your kids have already done so much for me.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said happily, smiling at you again. Anakin nodded, grinning a bit. He looked proud. You wondered if he might say as much.

“Ben’s in the state on business. We’re sending him to check up on you soon,” he said instead, Leia and Luke groaning in response.

“Don’t be like that,” Padme scolded, “You love Ben.”

“Not when he’s coming for the sole purpose of admonishing me,” Luke mumbled, “It’s really not necessary. Leia and I have each other. We’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“But you’re still young, honey,” Padme said, “And we’re your parents. We’re supposed to worry about you and then make sure you’re okay when something goes wrong.”

You were beginning to envy the relationship the twins shared with their parents. Han and Chewie were the only family you had. The thought of them made your heart sink, and you longed to be in the emergency room with them, at Han’s side like you always had been. But since you didn’t know how long he’d be there, taking shifts with Chewie so you could both have the chance to rest wasn’t a bad idea, not to mention the fact that the events of the day had left you extremely rattled.

“I promise we’re fine. Besides, we’ll be busy tomorrow. We have to check on our other friend who hasn’t made it out of the hospital yet.”

Their faces fell, and their eyes were sad. Padme’s tone softened.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said gently, “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

“I will,” Luke agreed, tone becoming lighter at their kindness, “I promise. I’m not supposed to look at my phone very much with my concussion, but I’ll text you when I can.”

“And FaceTime us so we can see you.”

“If I have time,” he pushed back a little, and you saw Anakin roll his eyes.

“Leia, make sure Luke does everything the doctor told him to,” Anakin added.

“I’m a grown man,” Luke complained, a slight pout tugging at his lips.

“You push your body way too hard sometimes, Luke. You’re like your father.”

“I’m a student athlete.”

“Do not go to practice with a concussion,” Anakin told him, his voice sounding serious but also the tiniest bit amused.

“I won’t,” Luke promised, and you wanted to laugh at his attempt to defend himself. He looked exhausted.

“He’s not stupid, Dad,” Leia added with a bored sigh.

“I know he’s not,” Anakin agreed, “But do you remember when he pretended not to have the flu so he could play in the last home game of the season? Or when he played with a fractured elbow?”

Luke sighed and buried his head in his hands. He exhaled and looked up again, glaring at his parents through the screen.

“I was in high school,” he countered, “You seriously don’t have to worry. I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

“Okay,” Anakin said reluctantly, “But seriously. Keep us updated on how you’re doing.”

“I will,” Luke replied slowly, emphasizing the word as much as he could.

“We’ll let you go then. I’m sure you must be tired. It was nice to meet you, dear,” Padme said, waving at you, “And I meant what I said before. Please let us know if we can do anything for you.”

You waved back and muttered a small thanks, Leia taking her phone back, and the twins bid their parents goodbye. When the call ended, Leia sighed and looked at Luke.

“Dad’s press tour is soon,” she announced, her meaning not quite clear to you.

“I know,” Luke grumbled, turning to take the cookies out of the oven, “And I look like this.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she added, “I mean, the school is private property. No one will be able to take your picture there.”

“What’re you guys talking about?” you finally asked.

“Dad will be getting a lot of press for his new movie, which means the rest of the family will be getting a lot of press, too. And now Luke has clearly been hit. So if people didn’t have questions about the local headlines that have already started emerging, they certainly will once the paparazzi publishes a photo of his fucked up face,” Leia explained, worming her way behind the counter.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, swatting her arm once he put the cookie tray down, “Do I really look that bad?”

“No!” you said quickly, Leia huffing out a “Yes!” at the same time. Luke turned to look at you with a grin.

“Yeah?” he asked sweetly, leaning over the island again to stare you directly in the eye, “Thanks. I’m glad someone here thinks highly of me.”

“Gross,” she mumbled, grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass.

He offered you a cookie then, and you hummed happily when you took a bite. They were magnificent.

“These are great,” you told him, and he beamed at you, “Thanks for baking.”

“Underneath that student athlete facade, Luke’s quite the housewife. He’s a good baker, and he sews too. I’m surprised he hasn’t started brewing his bedtime tea yet, but I bet he’s probably too embarrassed because you’re here—“ Leia teased, Luke cutting her off.

“Why is everyone shitting on me today?” he whined, snagging the bottle out of his sister’s hand and pouring himself some wine.

“You shouldn’t be drinking with a concussion.”

“The only reason my head is hurting is you,” he retaliated, though you could tell that his tone was still playful. Leia chuckled quietly to herself and stole a cookie.

“The daybed is set up for you. I put clean sheets on it,” she told you, smiling.

“You didn’t have to make the bed for me,” you replied, the kind gesture making you feel warm.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, echoing Luke earlier, “You’re our guest.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied sincerely, “It means a lot. I didn’t really wanna be alone tonight, if I’m honest.”

Leia nodded sympathetically, picking up her now full wine glass and sighing.

“I’m gonna take a bath and go to bed. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to wake me,” she said before turning to Luke, “And you better not drink too much wine with that concussion. I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”

“Dad would do the same thing,” he scoffed, “Go to bed and stop worrying over me.”

“It’s hard not to worry over you. You should go to bed.”

“Later,” he told her, “I just got the shit beat out of me. I’m having an adrenaline rush.”

She rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm, the gesture undoubtedly affectionate in nature.

“Be nice to our guest,” she ordered, fixing him with a stern look.

“Oh, I intend to,” he replied with a smug grin.

“Don’t be gross. Goodnight, guys.”

He giggled as she left the room, his eyes following her until she shut the bedroom door. When she was gone, he turned his focus back to you.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I feel like I should, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I’m still—I don’t know. I know I’m safe here with you guys, I just—“

“It’s okay,” he said, surprising you by reaching over the island countertop and grabbing your hand, “I understand. We can stay up and watch movies, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to stay up with me, Luke. And you shouldn’t be looking at screens, remember?”

“I want to. Show me some of your favorites.”

“Han warned you about that. I’m gonna talk your ear off.”

“I know,” he replied with a soft smile, “I want you to. And the more you talk, the less I have to look at the screen. Sounds good to me.”

Your face flushed. Who were you to turn down the opportunity to ramble to a gorgeous young man about your interests? You’d had a hard day, after all.

Nodding, you followed him into the living room, carrying the plate of cookies and two glasses of wine with you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You woke up a few hours later with a sharp pain in your neck and something hard pressing into your cheek. Confused and disoriented, you sat up slightly, only to realize that the culprit behind your awkward sleeping position had been Luke Skywalker himself. As the realization that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder dawned on you, you felt your stomach sink. Maybe he wasn’t awake. Maybe slumber had grasped him first, and he hadn’t even noticed—

“Hey,” he whispered, voice raspy. He must have fallen asleep too, but unfortunately for you, he was acutely aware of your position.

“Hi,” you replied, your nerves running wild as you finally forced yourself to look up and meet his stare. He looked at you through eyes that were only half open, but his gentle smile told you that he was awake enough to understand the implications of your proximity.

“Guess we fell asleep,” he said, “We should try to watch this movie again. Like, under normal circumstances.”

You giggled, humming in agreement. Your thighs were still touching, and your side was pressed up against his arm. You were surprised that he didn’t move away from you.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asked, shifting so that he was turned more towards you.

“Guess I should,” you murmured, avoiding his eyes now, “I’m sorry that I fell asleep on you.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a pretty big fan of physical affection.”

You laughed again, grateful that he was more casual about these things than you were. You hoped that he couldn’t sense your nerves.

“None of my friends are like that. I think Han has probably hugged me three times since I’ve known him.”

“He touches your hair,” Luke pointed out, and you were caught off guard by the fact that he’d picked up on that detail, because you were pretty sure that Luke had never actually been around when Han had done that.

“What?” you blurted, the exhaustion adding to your confusion, “How do you know that?”

Luke seemed caught off guard by that question, and in the dim light of the living room, you could barely see a faint blush begin to spread across his cheeks.

“He messes up your hair. Like, he ruffles it. I don’t know. I saw him do it once,” he mumbled, suddenly very focused on the rug.

“You were watching me,” you realized, lips curling into a mischievous grin, “At the bar after I left you and your friends. That’s the only time you could’ve seen it.”

“So?” he replied, and something about genuinely making Luke Skywalker feel embarrassed made you giddy.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to buy into your own lie, Luke,” you teased, poking his side.

This time, he sat up all the way, his eyes no longer clouded by sleep. He put some space in between you and suddenly stood. The abruptness startled you in your tired state, and before you could inquire about what was up with that reaction, he had already regained his composure.

“Come on,” he said softly, folding the blanket the two of you had been sharing and looking everywhere but your eyes, “You need to sleep. In a bed.”

You cocked your head a little, trying to meet his gaze. When you finally succeeded, you weren’t able to read the look in his eyes, so you just stood and resigned yourself to being agreeable.

“So should you,” you replied, touching his arm gently, “I’m really sorry about today, Luke. I never wanted you to get hurt by hanging out with me. I promise that stuff like that doesn’t usually happen. Usually, the most danger we’re ever in is when Han and Chewie hotbox the van.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but you guys are good people. I don’t regret defending you.”

“Thank you,” you told him, hoping your face reflected your sincerity, “You guys are really sweet. Your parents, too. I hope they don’t think I’m a bad influence or something.”

Luke laughed quietly at that, shaking his head.

“No way. My dad’s a worse influence than you are,” he replied, “But really. You don’t need to thank me. I wish I could’ve done more than just land a couple of hits on him, but to be honest, I’m not much of a fighter.”

“You were really good at it,” you noted, recalling how agile he was, “It was impressive.”

“Yeah?” he asked in that flirty voice of his, though now it was still slightly raspy, “I mean, I know how to fight. I just don’t like doing it.”

“Why do you know how?” you blurted, your exhaustion doing a bit of damage to your filter.

“I’ll tell you another time. You should really be getting some sleep.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn’t protest. He was kind enough to walk you to the spare bedroom, offering you a small smile as he told you goodnight.

“Wake me up if you need anything, okay?” he added softly.

You stood toe to toe, close enough to kiss, but neither of you made a move to even touch each other. It felt too intimate, too real.

“Sure,” you whispered, staring at him, “Night, Luke.”

With that, he walked away, shutting the door behind him. You crawled into the daybed and turned your ringer all the way up in case Chewie called. You hoped that sleep would find you easily.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You woke up to your phone dinging, signaling an influx of incoming texts. You blinked the sleep away from your eyes and immediately checked it.

4 new notifications

Chewie: he’s awake and ok but on a shit ton of painkillers

Chewie: bruh the police are already here asking questions wtf he’s barely awake

Chewie: r u still with the twins? how r u feeling?

Chewie: gonna run home and shower while he naps. lmk when u feel like visiting him and i’ll give u his room info

You breathed out a sigh of relief at the knowledge that Han was doing okay, despite the medication needed for his injuries. You sent a quick text back to Chewie to let him know that you were at the Skywalker residence, which was still a rather surprising turn of events for you. Just then, you inhaled the sweet scent of lavender, and when you turned your head, you saw a cup of tea on your night stand.

You immediately knew it was Luke who had brewed it for you. The kind gesture made your heart flutter a bit, but you tried not to think about the implications of that as you took a sip. Still warm. You gave yourself a moment to relish in the peaceful atmosphere, sunlight peaking through the blinds and silky pajamas hugging your skin. After finishing your tea, you got out of bed, fixing the covers and walking into the kitchen. Upon entering, you were immediately greeted by the bickering of the twins.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Luke complained, hovering behind Leia as she stood over the stove.

“I’m capable of making eggs, Luke,” she snapped.

“Apparently not, because you aren’t even adding anything. You can’t just scramble them. It’s so easy to just—“

“Well, when you don’t have a concussion, you’re more than welcome to cook for yourself. For now you should just shut up and be grateful.”

“I can cook just fine. I baked last night. I made tea this morning—“

“And you shouldn’t have done any of that! And I can’t believe you were watching movies last night. You need at least a day of rest, Luke. You can gradually start doing daily tasks again after that, but you shouldn’t be thinking too hard or looking at screens yet.”

“You’re asking me not to think. That’s impossible.”

“Is it really? It seems to me like you hardly ever think about anything—“

“Good morning,” you said, clearing your throat and announcing your presence before they could continue.

“Good morning,” Leia replied, turning to you, “I’m making breakfast right now, but Luke keeps micromanaging me. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept great! Thanks again for setting up the room for me. And I can see that,” you noted, feeling bold as you came up behind Luke and squeezed his waist with your good hand, “Sit down, Luke. You should be relaxing.“

He turned sharply at that, eyes wide for a split second before regaining his composure. Your flirting had started to evolve into a competition of sorts, as you felt determined to catch him off guard now. So far, he was beating you, but you tried not to let him see that. You watched as his momentary surprise was quickly replaced by the expression he wore when he was about to say something out of pocket to you, his eyes slightly lidded and mischief written all over his face.

“I’ll sit down if you sit on my lap,” he offered, smiling at you innocently.

“Luke,” Leia groaned, turning around and glaring at him, “Chill out. It’s ten in the morning. If your ribs weren’t bruised, I would hit you.”

“Where’s your sense of humor?” he huffed, relenting as he went to the other side of the kitchen island and took a seat in one of the barstools, turning to you, “Will you sit next to me, at least?”

“If you can behave,” you told him, taking the stool next to him.

“Oh? And if I don’t? Gonna punish m—“

“Luke!” Leia hissed, slamming her spatula onto the counter and turning to him, “Did you lose brain cells when you hit your head? Shut the fuck up. Oh my god.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, sighing dramatically, “How do you expect me to act when you’ve got me on house arrest? I can’t even watch TV.”

“Aren’t you tired?” you asked him, stepping in to deescalate their bickering before it turned into an actual argument, “It was a long night. And you got hurt.”

“I feel fine,” he protested, but the smile he gave you didn’t reach his eyes. Leia shook her head disapprovingly and turned her attention back to the stove, sighing as she often did.

You frowned, not really a fan of whatever fake confidence he was trying to offer you, and without thinking, placed a hand on his knee. He flinched slightly, and then tried to cover that up with a smile too, but you didn’t return it, instead just keeping your hand there as a gentle reminder that you saw him. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn’t move away from you, and resumed a more normal conversation with you and Leia as she prepared the food. Occasionally, you would gently rub patterns into his knee, and when you felt him continue to relax underneath your touch, you felt like you had finally figured something out about him. You recalled his offhand comment about enjoying physical affection, and you realized that offering him reassuring touches here and there was probably comforting for him. You filed that information away as your thumb traced circles into his skin, noting that his eyelashes would flutter every now and then and he’d sit up a little straighter to shake himself awake. Had he slept at all?

“Here, eat,” Leia commanded as she placed two plates down in front of you and Luke. You saw him give you a sideways glance when you removed your hand from his knee, the cast on your other arm demanding that you only use your hand for one task at a time. He said nothing though, and was content to eat quietly.

“When you’re feeling up to it, we can have our driver take you to the hospital to visit Han,” Leia offered, pouring a glass of orange juice for you, “Just let me know. We can also get you back to your apartment, but you’re more than welcome to stay with us for the next few days while you all are getting back on your feet.”

Luke looked right at you then, though his expression was unreadable to you. Not quite sure what the meaning behind his stare was, you felt a little self conscious, and turned your gaze back to Leia quickly.

“Thank you so much,” you told her sincerely, “I’m okay to go back to my place tonight though. You all have already been so kind and hospitable. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. But I might take you up on the ride.”

“You wouldn’t be overstaying your welcome,” she insisted, “But I don’t want to pressure you. Let me know if you change your mind.”

With that, she handed you her phone, and you put your contact information in. Luke remained silent for the entire ordeal. It was starting to unnerve you. Perhaps he wanted you out of his apartment so he could finally get some rest. With a newfound determination to not be a nuisance to the Skywalkers any longer, you hurried through your breakfast and helped Leia clean up. At some point, Luke had disappeared back into his room, and although you felt slightly affronted, you pushed those emotions to the back of your mind for the time being. The change in his demeanor was giving you whiplash, but there was no way that you’d be able to sort through his thoughts.

“Text or call if you need anything,” she insisted, standing at the doorway to see you off, “And if you wouldn’t mind keeping me updated on how Han’s doing…”

“Of course,” you told her, your heart warming a bit at her concern for him, “Tell Luke I said bye.”

Her face fell slightly at that, and she placed her hands on her hips, glaring at the closed door of his room.

“I’m sorry that he’s being weird,” she said, sighing, “I think he’s trying to act tough because he’s shaken up about last night. He’s really sensitive.”

“Really?” you blurted, surprised that she would use such a word to describe him. The Luke you knew was sensitive to your feelings, sure, but he didn’t seem to be all that emotional himself.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling softly, “He pretends like he isn’t, especially around those dicks he calls his friends, but he gets worked up about things—anxious, I guess.”

“I met them last night.”

“Really? How’d that go?”

“I threatened to hit one of them,” you admitted sheepishly, “But they were fine after that. They were pretty helpful in the fight, actually.”

“You threatened to hit them? You should’ve done it,” she said excitedly, beaming at you, “But yeah, I’ll give credit where it’s due. Although, I still think they only joined in because they wanted to say they won a bar fight.”

“And because they worship Luke,” you added, recalling how they followed him around all night.

“It’s weird, right? He doesn’t even realize it.”

“It’s really weird, but it’s kind of funny, especially because he doesn’t realize it.”

She laughed, and then surprised you by pulling you into a gentle hug.

“I’m glad you guys are getting to know each other better. I think you’re good for him,” she said seriously.

Her words made you feel guilty, as you weren’t quite sure how much of your relationship with Luke was genuine. Still, you nodded in agreement, forcing a smile.

Feeling confused and a bit forlorn, you departed from the Skywalker residence.

#luke skywalker #mark hamill #star wars #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker fluff #luke skywalker imagine #luke x reader #star wars imagine #han solo #mark hamill x reader #princess leia #star wars au #star wars fanfiction #chewbacca #esb!luke #leia organa #luke skywalker headcanon #luke skywalker x you

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stirthewaters · 2 years ago

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Too Sharp to Touch pt. 1

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight language

Summary: After getting into another fight, Wednesday has no choice but to come and get you.

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

It was the second time this month, and you had somehow gotten into another fight?

At this point, Wednesday was beginning to think that you wanted another detention.

She had been on her way to drop off her botany assignment, finished early as usual, stopped by a familiar tap on the shoulder from Thing.

Her eyes flicked to her shoulder, voice hinting at irritation

“What is it now?”

Thing signed a couple times, and Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, a frustrated sigh escaping her.

“Y/N is fighting…again?”

Thing responded with a couple more taps, and she closed her eyes, summoning what patience she’d be able to have for you right now.

“She isn’t my problem, Thing. I have more important matters than deterring yet another trivial dogfight.”

Thing tapped again, growing impatient, almost tumbling from her shoulder when she halted abruptly.

“I do not care for Y/N, Thing, I merely keep Enid from going hysterical over her well-deserved wounds due to her lack of fighting skills.” -she fixed the hand with a cold glare - “Suggest something like that again and I will be locking you out of the dorm again.”

The hand stubbornly continued to sign, causing the raven’s eyes to narrow.

“I agree that Y/N lacks self-control but that does not mean I shall be taking responsibility for it.”

Wednesday began walking again, trying to ignore the ever-frequent tapping on her shoulder, that of which was becoming harder and more insistent.

You couldn’t be that hurt yet. You were tough (though she’d never admit it to you or anyone else). Despite this…she couldn’t ignore the fact that your abysmal fighting skills would indefinitely cause yet another concussion. She knew that you’d never let her or anyone else hear the end of it if you were walking around for the next couple of weeks with a head injury, complaining and whining annoyingly as you always did, and she did not have the patience to go through that again.

Wednesday also knew, irritatingly, that you would not listen to Enid, no matter what her roommate attempted to persuade you with; as close as you two were you tended to be infuriatingly stubborn at times, and now seemed to be one of them.

She turned and glared darkly at Thing, who was still tapping away insistently.

“This is the last time, and I will be doing it solely keep our sanity intact. Say otherwise and I will not hesitate to follow through on my threats.”

She was most certainly not doing this because she was concerned for your safety, which you obviously had no personal regard for.

If she was lucky she’d at least get to see some bloodshed.

As expected, upon entering the quad, there you were, beside the fountain, locked in a fight with a boy almost twice your size; obviously another werewolf by the size of him, and the untamed hair that nearly every male werewolf possessed.

Enid was among the couple of students watching, glaring at you as she looked for an opportunity to step in and pull you away; not that Wednesday thought you’d listen to her.

Wednesday noted disapprovingly that your hits were clumsy; surely this wasn’t the best you could do? She continued to watch as you swung left when you should’ve swung right, and caught a blow to the side of your stomach, rolling her eyes in disgust.

other students looked on with concern, worry, or perhaps exasperation, whereas Wednesday watched as her roommate tried desperately to pull you away from her opponent, the blonde’s eyebrows furrowing with frustration as her attempts were repeatedly proved useless, the faintest of smirks hinting at Wednesday’s lips as she watched her try and persuade you away from the fight, even though your eyes were alive with adrenaline, and what she thought to be a hint of sadism, blood dripping from your nose, and a wonderfully nasty bruise beginning to form on your cheek. Blood could look good on anyone, she observed, somehow even on you.

After about five minutes of what was clearly a pathetic attempt at fighting on your end, she let out a sigh of frustration and swiftly began moving through the quad toward you, muttering under her breath. With one hand she neatly grabbed your wrist and with enough force neatly yanked you backward, placing her heel firmly behind yours, which caused you to trip backward and onto the ground.

Ignoring your look of indignance and surprise, she stepped forward and dodged a swipe from your opponent, kicking out into his stomach and sending him reeling backward, glaring at him so fiercely that he didn’t dare try and fight back.

Turning to you, she fixed you with an equally cold glare, grabbing your wrist once more and pulling you up to your feet. Her eyes darted to the blood dripping from your nose, and the growing bruise on your face, and an irritated sigh escaped her. “What was it this time?”

“He wolf-whistled me,” your response was breathless through your pants, as the faint animalistic glow began to leave your eyes, signaling you were beginning to calm down.

“So you decided to fight him?” the raven raised an eyebrow, annoyed - “The least you could do is fight decently.”

You frowned slightly and began to respond before you were interrupted by Enid approaching, a visible frown of exasperation, annoyance, and concern on her face. Wednesday released your wrist, fixing you with that same cold glare before leaving you with Enid and exiting the quad, returning to her original task.

It was about ten or fifteen minutes later when Wednesday returned from the greenhouse, and when she opened the door to her dorm found you on Enid’s bed, with Enid tending to your wounds..

Ignoring both of you, she sat down at her desk, placing a sheet of paper in her typewriter. As she began typing, her eyes remained locked on the words being type, although unfortunately she couldn’t drown out your occasional grumbles or huffs.

*Smack*

“Ow! Enid, what the hell?!”

“Stop squirming!”

Wednesday continued typing, but the sound of your well-deserved little smack from Enid did bring a slightly sadistic hint of a smirk to her lips as she worked, though your already irritating little complaints were becoming more and more annoying.

“Silence would be appreciated,” she remarked coldly, still typing.

“You’re not going to pay any attention to me?” your voice came out slightly congested; clearly the bloody nose was catching up to you.

*smack*

“I said hold still!”

Wednesday couldn’t help rolling her eyes, continuing to type. The steady hum of her typewriter became more of her focus as she honed in on the sound of it rather than your grumbles; although she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed hearing your soft winces of pain every now and then.

As she tore one of the finished pages carefully from the typewriter and aligning it in the box containing her novel, you complained.

“You’re taking too long on purpose.”

Enid responded with a hint of impatience.

“Then stop wriggling so much! It’s like I’m bandaging a child instead of a damn werewolf.”

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“No, you can’t. If you were in charge here you’d just “let it heal on it’s own” and do nothing. Now shut up and let me work, I’m almost done.”

Wednesday exhaled through her nose; she most definitely did not want to help, but she needed you out of the room so she could focus, and Enid was taking a ridiculously long amount of time to finish what could’ve been done in five minutes.

Standing stiffly and pushing away from her desk, she walked over to Enid’s side, approaching you on the bed; upon closer examination, the bruise on your cheek was beginning to swell, though luckily the bleeding in your nose had stopped. Rolling her eyes, she glanced at Enid, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t consider getting an icepack?”

The blonde looked back up at her with a small, indignant frown - “it took me this long just to get Y/N’s nose to stop bleeding.”

Wednesday gazed over at you, eyes narrowing slightly as she sighed

“Thing, go retrieve an icepack from the cafeteria.”

The faint scuttling of the hand obeying her command gave her the confirmation to move on, and she reached out, touching your bruise firmly but carefully, causing you to wince and pull away.

“Stop moving, you’re acting like a child. Even Enid is tougher than you,” she remarked, causing a huff of annoyance from the blonde. “If you hadn’t been fighting in the first place this wouldn’t even be happening.”

Her eyes briefly flicked up from your bruise to your eyes as you responded

“It’s not my fault. He started it.”

“Do I even have to ask?” She muttered, eyes returning to examining the bruise, which, although it was swollen didn’t look too serious. “He was nearly three sizes bigger than you; the least you could do is choose an appropriate opponent.”

“I’d call it brave, taking on a guy that size and leaving him with the marks that I did.”

“Foolish, more like.”

You rolled your eyes, and her lip curled into the faintest of smirks. Thing returned promptly, balancing an icepack on top of him as he hopped atop the bed. Nodding once in thanks, she took it and wrapped it in a handtowel that Enid had prepared, handing it to you and watching with another sigh as you pressed it your cheek.

“Y/N, you gotta stop getting into these fights. Learn to control yourself,” Enid said with a disapproving frown, causing you to scrunch up your eyes with indignance,

“I do control myself.”

“Wrong.” Wednesday glared at you. “You’re impulsive.”

You glared right back up at her. Bold of you. “So are you.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, “I’m starting to believe you want to become a rug.”

“I would make a lovely rug,” you muttered, eyes darting away. Good.

You got to your feet, still holding the icepack in your hand, and looked down at Enid.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll try and ‘control myself’, better in the future, okay?”

Enid looked back up at you and her expression softened, as usual. She couldn’t stay mad at you for long. “Good. I don’t want you dying on me. Wolves gotta stick together, y’know?”

Wednesday could feel herself getting nauseous at the horrible cliche, and she frowned, eyes narrowing. “Just leave; I have work to do.”

You turned, a small smirk on your face as you mock-saluted, turning on your heel. “See you later, Dr. Addams.”

Rolling her eyes, Wednesday stared at the door for a moment, arms folded, before she noticed Enid with a huge smirk on her face, similar to yours. Raising an eyebrow, she frowned slightly, “what?”

“Nothing,” she said in her dreadfully sing-song tone, which the raven chose to ignore as she sat back down at her desk, returning to her novel, eyebrows furled in annoyance as it took her a moment to wipe the image of you covered in both your and your opponent’s blood from her mind. Odd. Blood really did look good on anyone.

—————

pt.2 here!

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #jenna ortega #werewolf wednesday #werewolf #werewolf reader #tstt

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little-bumblebeeee · 2 years ago

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Quick Steddie blurb ♡

Years after Vecna, when scars have healed and people have moved far and wide, Steve goes and visits Eddie. It's not the first time, not even close. Between acting like Dustin was their child and passing him off to each other like two divorced parents on each other's weekends and just wanting to talk again, they've actually gotten close. Eddie is the second person Steve calls when something happens, sometimes the first - only because he and Robin are roommates in their small apartment together, if they weren't Eddie would still be the second.

Steve's just cooking for his best guy friend that he may or may not be in love with, right? Nothing strange that Eddie is hiding, right? Wrong. Out of nowhere, Steve hears a meow and something - he assumes a cat - comes hurtling full force at his head, knocking him back slightly and digging its tiny claws into his forehead. "Shit- Eddie what the fuck!?" Steve shouts, flailing like a maniac to get the small cat off his head. "Ozzy, no! Bad!" Eddie says, picking up the cat by under its front two arms.

"Did you just throw a cat at my head!?" Steve says, wiping the tiny droplet of blood off of his forehead that bloomed there. Steve glares at the tiny culprit who Eddie is...cuddling. And cooing to.

"Tha's a bad boyy. You hurt the Stevie" Eddie whispers in between kisses to the Ozzy's soft forehead. "No, I didn't throw my cat at you. He just likes to climb and you're very climbable. He probably just jumped off the fridge" Eddie says, barely even looking up to see Steve's bewilderment. Steve shakes his head and returns to the food before it burns. "I'm in love with that." Steve whispers under his breath with a huff. Though he's sure he only thinks it, Eddie's head perks up.

"Aw, see Ozzy, he loves you even when you gave him a fourth concussion!" Eddie says, smiling widely. Steve, who had frozen up the second Eddie spoke, unclenches every muscle. "Yeah. Yep. Mhm." He says quickly. A little too quickly. But Eddie doesn't say anything more.

Eddie finally sets the poor Ozzy free and slinks up behind Steve, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as if they do this every day. "I know you meant me, sunshine" Eddie teases before snatching up some of the food and bolting, leaving Steve absolutely dumbfounded.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #joe keery #joseph quinn #steddie #joe quinn #steve x eddie #steddie fluff #steddie blurb #brainrot #Little bitch cat #This was based off of my cat hurtling at my head full force while I was playing Burn from Hamilton on piano #Why do you like this so much #i wrote this in like 15 minutes

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songmingisthighs · 2 years ago

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[12:14] boxer!san × nurse!reader

⇀ he's your favourite outlaw and it's not because of his rugged charm, surprisingly it's because of how tender he actually is

⇁ bouncy killed me istfg

⇁ happy sannie day ❣️❣️

genre : boxer!au, romance, outlaw!ateez

wc : 1.8 k

It didn't take much for you to recognize him.

Even with his body sitting down and leaning on the stairs as he faced the floor, you could easily recognize that it was him.

You wanted to greet him as you usually would, but as you got closer, you noticed something weird about him. His back was moving in a rhythmical manner like how he usually would when he was breathing but it was slower than usual. The closer you get, the more you realize that he had cuts on his arm and some bruises.

"Oh my God, San," you called, rushing to his side as quickly as you could, your fatigue from 12 hours shift suddenly went away at the sight of his bloodied tank top. You knelt in front of him and peeked up to see that he had his eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed but he wasn't responsive. Usually, at the sound of your voice, the flirt would throw you a lazy gaze and a Cheshire-like grin that would make you blush and sputter. But seeing him in this unresponsive position actually scared you. You genuinely felt like something was wrong and knowing that he was an underground fighter makes the situation even worse for you.

"San, can you hear me?" you asked as you made an initial assessment, hands brushing his bangs out of his eyes to look at his face. From the get-go, you could see that he had a bruised cheekbone, a busted lip, and possibly a concussion. You can only imagine what his body must be like. And you meant that as in the bruises on his torso and not how it must look. Because you know damn well it's sculpted as fuck from the many times he walked past you and intentionally flashed you his abs.

You tried lifting his head up but he let out a grunt and shook his head. "Too bright," he complained.

Understanding this, you nodded and moved to sit next to him closely as you brought one of his arms and rest it on your shoulder. "I need to take you to my apartment so I can properly tend to your wounds. Do you think you can move?" true to his mannerism, he chuckled and leaned his head to the crook of your neck like a feline seeking contact, "How 'bout you give me some sugar first? That might help me gain some strength." You automatically rolled your eyes at his remark but you had to admit his words made you feel better because at least you know that he was fine. "Okay big guy, we're moving you," you stated as you started pulling him up and leading him to the elevator. "Big guy? Have you been checking me out, pretty?" he teased. You kept quiet thought because a. yes, and b. he needs to shut up.

The elevator ride up was thankfully not that hard as San was holding his own weight for the most part, you just guide him so he wouldn't sway or even fall down. He also stayed quiet which concerned you but you were just glad that he was still moving. Sure, he stumbled slightly as he got into your apartment, but other than that, he settled down on your couch easily and even respectfully towards your cat.

You rushed to get the first aid kit that you always kept stocked in your bedroom, knowing that San and his roommate, Wooyoung, would sometimes come knocking in after a night of fighting be it in the ring or in an alley with people they messed with. So it wasn't really a surprise to go back to your living room to see your tabby cat, Taco, splayed on San's lap looking like he just found the comfiest bed ever. You obviously wouldn't mind trying but for now, you just wanted to make sure that San was alright.

"Taco, move away from Sannie, mommy needs to clean him," you called out as you sat next to San. But Taco, in all his absolute pettiness, simply lift his head up and stared dead straight into your eyes as if challenging you as he fluff up San's thighs with his pudgy paws. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at your hellraiser with equal challenge, letting him know that he was not the boss of you. When he didn't move his chubby butt, you were forced to deliver the last blow, "Or else no snacks." That seemed to speak to him on a profound level as he jumped off after giving you one last dirty look and retreated into your bedroom. "Sorry about him," you grinned sheepishly, taking San's hand into your lap as you began cleaning the first wound your eyes fell on. San couldn't even feel the pain of his wound getting cleaned anymore, so instead of worrying over the result of the last night's fight, he focused his eyes o you, "No worries, I like him. And I love the fact that you called me Sannie to Taco which leads me to believe that you might have been talking about me to him a lot," he teased.

Your eyes widened at his (very accurate) assumption and you wanted to believe that he didn't notice the blush that bloomed on your face, an absolute testament to what this man could do to you without doing much. "So," you cleared your throat, "What happened?" you asked, changing the topic before he could tease you more. "What else do you think? I won," he boasted, proud that he made bank from his hard night's work.

Though it was a good thing that he won, you couldn't help but sigh in disappointment hearing that he went rounds upon rounds to secure his achievement. "I worry about you," you blurted out, turning around to get betadine and a cotton pad to dress his wound properly. Though San had a confident look on his face, he could feel his heart skipped a beat at your confession. "Why so?" He asked, hopeful. Without lookinf up at him, you answered casually, "Because I don't like seeing you getting hurt like this," but even in that tone, San could sense that you were being genuine.

In all honesty, San teased you because he thought that was the only way he could get your attention. Sure he had hoped that the the spare glances you threw at him were actually sincerely from your heart but he can't convince himself that someone with a legitimate career like you would want to have anything to do with a bloodied bastard who beat people up for money. So San settled for the lowest expectation because that's what peope always expect of the underdog anyways. But your words were shaking his belief down like a stickhouse in an elephant stampede, which goes to show how strong San's resolve is towards you and it's bad. He was down bad. Part of him was glad that you seemed to want to keep an arm's length from him but part of him want to be in your lap at night, having your fingers card through his hair softly as you told him again and again how glad you were that he was able to come home in one piece. Because that's what he actually want, a home.

San's mind was snapped back into reality when he noticed you were snapping your fingers in front of his face and calling out his name. "San??" You called out again with furrowed eyebrows, "Shit, I think you're having a concussion," you muttered, moving your position so that his body was straight, facing forward. "Eh?" San blinked confusedly with a slightly tilted head, looking so much like Taco whenever you brought a jinggly toy near him. Thankfully you were too busy making sure San didn't have brain damage to blush and sputter, trying to do your job as best as you could for him. You situated yourself at a fair distance, not to close yet not too far and you put both of your hands between you and him and held out a finger each. "Can you see my fingers clearly?" With your best effort, you tried to suppress the fact that you were very much worried about him because it wasn't your time to show emotions and ended up having him worry over you instead. Looking at your fingers, San did a double take before his relaxed-confused look turned into disbelief-confused, "Are you flipping me off?" He scoffed. Almost immediately you let out a sigh of relief before straightening up and nodded, "I had to get a reaction out of you, you were mumbling about a parrot talking about chilli peppers when you were zoning out, I had to know if it was concussion or perhaps you took something."

Just as you were about to turn around to get a damp rag, San pulled you with his powerful strength, causing you to yelp and freeze when you realized that you had fell into a particularly compromising position. Your hands were on his strong, broad shoulders with your left leg bent and resting on the outside of San's right thigh and the other in between his spread legs while San had one hand on your wrist and the other on your waist with a confident, lazy smile on his face. God how much you want to wipe that grin off his face. With your own lips.

"Baby, why would I take drugs when a moment with you gets me high for days?" And of course he had to make your stomach flip by pecking you gently on the nose. Your breath hitched and a small squeak escaped from your clamped mouth, not knowing what to do other than stare at him with wide eyes. San seemed amused at how you reacted however, pulling away and leaning back against the couch with arms spread wide, the confident bastard.

For a moment you sputtered, eyes darting everywhere but San's face before remembering what you wanted to get merely moments ago. You somehow found the strength to stand on your two feet and turn to the kitchen but not before tripping on your feet slightly and almost falling. You didn't even have to turn to know that San was looking at you amusedly, delighting in how affected you were by him but this time it wasn't because he just wanted to see a reaction out of you. He was seeing you in the light of someone he had a chance of having normalcy with. So while you were cursing yourself for being a klutz, San was enjoying the domestic fantasy in his head.

That was until loud knocks were heard from your front door that was followed by a very familiar screeching voice that made Taco jump out and hiss at the direction.

"CHOI SAN YOU LITTLE BITCH YOU LEFT ME IN THE DUMPSTER!!"

So much for domestic peace.

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reason-with-the-underdog · 7 months ago

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highkey tho cyno & kaveh's friendship is my favorite

1) when kaveh is like "i won the interdarshan competition and all i got was massive trauma, a concussion, & this rare TCG card. hey cyno, you wanted this right?"

cyno: wait but this is rare 🥺🥺🥺 kaveh: eh i dont need it and then cyno is like "yo. srs tho. ARE YOU OK?? i will help you"

LIKE SWEETIE.... and then him giving kaveh mora which kaveh immediately spends on a fancy meal out for the family

at this point cyno doesn't know about kaveh's bankruptcy and tbh im not sure he ever finds out?

2) THE POST-COMPETITION MEAL WHERE EVERYONE JUST MAKES FUN OF KAVEH FOR TALKING ABOUT ALHAITHAM SO MUCH....

kaveh & cyno are both so earnest like neither of them should be sarcastic they're not good at it 😭😭😭

KAVEH GENUINELY THOUGHT CYNO WAS WARNING HIM ABOUT ALHAITHAM'S PRESENCE

anyways kaveh in his voiceline about cyno says that he needs a beer before cyno's jokes but that means he DOES like them sometimes

3) the fact that cyno had a bad impression of alhaitham pre-AQ bc he only knew of alhaitham from hearing kaveh rant to tighnari & collei about his insufferable roommate (& maybe seeing their message board debates)

& being the sweetheart that he is, he's going into this thinking

"that's him. that's the man who stole the show from my carefully planned jokes at dinner the other night by being terribly annoying to kaveh. apparently he doesn't put away his books??? which is a serious trip hazard actually. i'm on my guard 👁️👁️"

and then in classic alhaitham fashion, alhaitham makes a horrid first impression (he would rather make zero impression at all, thank you)

like of course cyno & alhaitham are naturally suspicious of each other bc of their akademiya affiliations but like STILL

it brings me much joy to know that before they became genuine friends (going from "nodding at each other in passing on the street" to "we always go to the tavern to celebrate" 🥺)...

cyno was primed to dislike alhaitham bc "you seem to upset kaveh??? so i dont think i like you"

i think cyno listened to kaveh rant about alhaitham's latest injustices (he took kaveh's favorite house slippers) and took them very seriously

look at how upset kaveh is when recounting them!! clearly kaveh is truly upset & this alhaitham fellow must be a real problem

like at that point i dont think kaveh & cyno were all that close? they met through tighnari but kaveh was pretty busy before finishing the palace & afterwards he managed to keep his bankruptcy a secret from cyno

but still cyno was already kinda protective of kaveh & his feelings

4) basically i think its amazing that if you cross kaveh, not only do you have kaveh's temper to worry about

..but also you have the legendarily scary & imposing general mahamatra himself on your tail... (+ the grand scribe & the general watchleader & lambad & half of sumeru city)

5) tl;dr is kaveh & cyno are both extremely earnest people who are very intense about their chosen professions and have very strong hyperfixes/hobbies

which can lead to miscommunication bc they take each other too srsly and then have to backpedal/explain BUT STILL THEYRE SO GOOD!!!

& i love that there's no judgement from each other

kaveh isn't all "wow cyno's love for tcg is so weird/too nerdy" instead he says "oh i got the prize my friend wanted, lets give it to him free"

while cyno's just like "ok kaveh your life is a mess but its a life you chose so 👍"

#genshin impact #kaveh #cyno #dev thoughts #meta #twt crosspost

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schrijverr · 2 months ago

Text

You Are Listed as his Emergency Contact, I’m Calling on his Behalf

Divergence from chapter 7, where Buck gets hurt on the job, so they have call his emergency contact: Eddie. The expectation is some frat bro, but instead it’s Buck’s husband and child that show up to the hospital for Buck.

On ao3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, guilt

~~~

From the moment Buck goes through the floor, Bobby can’t breathe. They were doing an unusual smell check of all things at a house that looked abandoned, but could be used as a drug lab or something else that could blow. It was rickety and Bobby remembers Chimney making an ‘and a huff and a puff’-joke when they arrived. Holding an unconscious Buck’s hand, that isn’t as funny anymore.

Bobby doesn’t ride in the ambulance with patients, doesn’t go beyond the glass door, even when they’re his own people. He has a responsibility to the greater public, a sin to make up for. He can’t get bogged down in the ‘what if’ of people they bring to the hospital alive.

Yet there he is, holding Buck’s hand as they speed towards the hospital. He certainly has a broken leg and a concussion, possibly a spinal. He thankfully still has a strong heartbeat, though he’s definitely out of it.

It aches when Bobby has to let him go once they reach the hospital and Hen transfers Buck to a competent team of doctors. Chimney picked a good hospital to drive to.

“Cap?” Hen asks softly when he keeps standing there at the door.

Bobby clears his throat: “Uhm, I- I’l have to call his emergency contact. Let’s wait until they get here, just so that there’s someone here.”

If Hen guesses the truth, which is that Bobby can’t bear to leave Buck alone here, she doesn’t say. She just nods and gives him space, going to find their gurney and inform Chimney of his orders.

Meanwhile, Bobby takes a centering breath. Buck is fine. He just saw him. He might be badly injured, but his chances are good. The useful thing Bobby can do for Buck is call his emergency contact. He can’t be a mess for that. Buck will be fine, he just needs Bobby to be calm for him. Bobby is great at being calm in situations that feel world-ending.

With that reassurance to himself, he pulls out his phone. Modern technology is a marvel, but he’s not a superstar, so it takes him a moment to navigate to Buck’s file. He has all of them in his phone so he can reach them, regardless of where he is or what is happening.

Buck’s emergency contact is labeled Edmundo Joseph Diaz. Relation is not noted.

Bobby assumes it must be one of Buck’s roommates with all he knows of him. It doesn’t feel great to call a frat bro as a back up for Buck in this situation, but it’s the person Buck put down to be there, so Bobby will see the request through. Still, as he listens to the phone ring, he hopes Buck picked one of his more responsible friends…

“Hello, this is Eddie Diaz,” a young but sensible sounding voice picks up after barely a few rings, which is a relief.

“Mr. Diaz, this is Captain Bobby Nash, Evan Buckley’s Captain,” Bobby introduces himself.

“Oh, yeah, Buck has told me-”

Bobby interrupts Eddie’s niceties, knowing he’s going to find himself rude for it later, but needing to rip the purpose of this phone call off like a band aid. “You are listed as his emergency contact, I’m calling on his behalf.”

The noise Eddie lets out at that sounds like he’s getting the breath punched out of him. “Dios, is he okay?” he immediately asks and Bobby is pleased that this Eddie character is both concerned and has an okay head on his shoulders.

“Right now he’s in surgery. We confirmed a broken leg and a concussion, but he might have a spinal injury. I’m sure he’d want someone to be here with him when he wakes up,” Bobby explains. “We’re here now, but I can’t take my team off the roster indefinitely to stay with him.”

“Which hospital?” Eddie asks.

It’s no nonsense and practical, another plus for him, Bobby notes as he answers, rattling of the name of the hospital, despite not having paid any attention to the outside world when Chimney drove. He can identify every hospital in LA at this point in his career.

“We’ll be there soon,” Eddie says, then hangs up before Bobby can reply.

He frowns at his now black screen and mutters to himself: “We?” dreading as he conjures a whole fraternity showing up to this ER, which is already chaos enough on its own.

Hen and Chimney join him again once they see he has hung up. Chimney asks: “So, what’s the verdict, Cap?”

“Buck’s emergency contact is on his way,” Bobby relays, deciding to omit the we for now. “I said we’d wait until he gets here.”

“Who did Buck even have listed?” Chimney wonders out loud. “Is it still his parents? He seems like the type. You think we’re meeting Mr. and Mrs. Buckley today?”

“Maybe, though maybe it’s another relative that lives closer. I don’t think I heard him mention his parents,” Hen replies.

“True, he would have, the guy’s a chronic over-sharer,” Chimney nods.

Before the speculation can get further out of hand, Bobby just tells them: “It was one Eddie Diaz, no listed relation. I think it’s a roommate.”

“Ahh, that makes sense too,” Chimney nods and Hen makes an agreeable noise.

With that, they settle down in the waiting room, keeping an eye on the door as they wait for whoever this Eddie Diaz is to show up.

Bobby scans every person that comes in. It’s the usual crowd of concerned moms, frequent fliers, girls with stomach aches who swear they can’t be pregnant, unfortunate mishaps, concerning fevers and rushed in bad accidents.

Fifteen minutes pass and no horde of frat bros is to be seen. Bobby hopes that there won’t be, but also wishes Eddie would get here sooner. He has never been a fan of hospitals and the longer he sits there, the more he can ruminate on his thoughts.

He should’ve seen that floor was rotting and unsafe. He shouldn’t have send Buck up there to check in the first place. He is supposed to be the responsible one, the leader, Buck is supposed to trust Bobby’s judgment as he grows into his own as a firefighter.

This is Bobby’s fault. Another life he touched, thus ruined. God, why does he keep getting second chances?

It feels unfair, but this is the path he's been forced to take. He was supposed to walk it alone. He wasn’t meant to let people in, but sitting there, he realizes that Buck wormed his way under his defenses. He cares about the kid and he let him down.

His depressing thoughts get interrupted by a new movement at the doors. It’s a young man with a child on one hip, crutches in the other. Probably an injured kid and a panicked parent, Bobby guesses, about to dismiss him when the man starts scanning the crowd, before zeroing in on them.

Both Chimney and Hen notice too, straightening up when the man doesn’t follow the normal procedure of those entering the ER. All of them share a confused look and Bobby can't even begin to think of what is happening right now, because the man is right there.

“Are you Captain Nash?” the man asks. “I’m Eddie, we just spoke on the phone.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Yes. I’m Captain Nash, call me Bobby,” he tries to recover, getting up and holding out his hand, before dropping it when he realizes both of Eddie’s are full. This is not what he pictured when Eddie said we, he thinks, looking at the child.

It’s a young boy, six maybe seven, who is peering up at Bobby through thick glasses. His eyes are filled with worry and there is a small crease on his forehead. The look is identical to the one on Eddie’s face, but Bobby can’t shake the familiarity of the kid’s curls as Buck’s. God, doesn’t that just make it all worse.

Before he can get caught up in that, Eddie is talking again. “Okay, Bobby is good. What’s the news on Buck?”

Eddie’s unusually focused attitude despite the circumstances helps Bobby snap back into his own professionalism. He says: “No updates since I called you. I’m his Captain, which only gets me so much access to medical information.”

“Hm,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “Luckily, husband trumps Captain. I’ll be right back.”

With that shocking bomb dropped on all of them, he turns on his heel and marches to the front desk. As he watches him walk away in stunned silence, Bobby can final place the attitude as military.

“Wait, did he just say husband?” Chimney breaks the confused silence loudly.

“Uh, yeah, I think he did,” Hen confirms that that is indeed what they just heard.

None of them have even been introduced to the kid yet, but it doesn’t take much to add one and one together. Apparently Buck has a husband and a kid; a family. And none of them knew.

A whole new layer of guilt crashes through Bobby at the revelation. He didn’t just injure a firefighter, a young man who was supposed to trust him, he could have killed or permanently injured a father and a husband. A man that has people who need him. Buck isn’t some lonely frat boy, he’s a responsible young man.

It’s almost too absurd to picture, though it makes perfect sense once he tries.

God, Buck has a family.

His own chaotic thoughts are well captured by Chimney, who goes: “Okay, what the fuck.”

“The kid looks to be about Denny’s age,” Hen says, sounding somewhat horrified. Probably because she is a good ten years older than Buck, thus has mentally calculated how old Buck must have been when the kid was born, a math question Bobby is now also solving.

A teen parent. That also makes sense with what they know of him, though Bobby supposes they knew nothing at all, so all that should be thrown out the window right now.

No, that’s unfair. Chimney said it earlier. Buck is a chronic over-sharer. There is a reason he didn’t mention any of this. And now it has come out in a way that is beyond his control.

Bobby hopes none of them made him feel uncomfortable, while also hoping it wasn’t anything worse that stopped Buck from sharing. He really wants the kid to get out of surgery and be okay, so he can explain, even thought Bobby isn’t entitled to an explanation at all.

But they probably all want that... except Eddie and the child, who probably just want Buck to be okay, no answers necessary.

Bobby has no clue how to act towards them. If they know that Buck didn’t say and if they feel uncomfortable too. Or if only Eddie does and they sheltered the boy.

He doesn’t get to figure it out before Eddie gets back. And then Buck’s well being is more important to all of them. “What did they say?”

“Still in surgery, but looks like escaped the spinal,” Eddie answers, looking a little grim, but having relaxed somewhat.

“Don’t worry, the doctors are going to make him all better again, daddy,” the boy tells them, bright smile now on his face.

Eddie looks at him, surprised for a moment, then deeply fond. “Yes, they are, mijo,” he agrees, before saying: “You want to introduce yourself there, buddy?”

“Oh, sorry,” the boy says adorably, getting smiles from everyone. “I’m Christopher, it’s nice to meet you.”

They all introduce themselves as well, charmed by Christopher. Bobby is still reeling at the news that Buck is a dad, but he can’t deny his son is a good kid... like father like son, he supposes.

Everything gives him a familiar ache in his chest. The one he always gets around good kids that do get to grow up, like Brooke and Junior don’t.

He prays Christopher will lead a long and good life with both his parents in it.

Once the introductions are done, Christopher excitedly says: “Papi is going to have crutches like me and daddy says I can teach him all the tricks. I got loads of good tricks wanna see them?”

“Maybe not in the ER, Superman,” Eddie chuckles, though he does put Christopher down.

“He seems comfortable here,” Hen comments with a smile as he does.

Eddie gives her a short glance, gauging her intentions before he says: “Yeah, luckily not a lot of ERs, but enough hospitals for this little guy.”

“Daddy, I’m not little,” Christopher pouts.

“I’m sorry, mijo,” Eddie smiles, ruffling his hair, then he straightens up, keeping Christopher close to his side as he does. “Thank you all so much for bringing him here and staying. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”

“It’s our job and he’s one of our own,” Bobby deflects the thanks, not feeling like he deserves it.

“Yeah, man, of course we wouldn’t have left him here, so no worries. Nothing but the best for our probie,” Chimney grins, for which Bobby is grateful, because it invites any reaction to be directed at him instead of Bobby.

“Still, we’re very grateful. Aren’t we, Chris? Say thank you,” Eddie encourages Christopher.

“Thank you so much for looking after papi and bringing him luck,” Christopher tells them.

“Luck?” Hen asks.

“Oh, yeah, it’s what Buck told Chris when he had to have his surgery, that having someone waiting brings you luck,” Eddie explains a little embarrassed though also deeply fond of Buck.

“Your papi is very right, little man, that does bring luck,” Hen directs at Christopher. “Thank you for taking over from us and looking out for your papi.”

“Thank you,” Christopher beams and Eddie sends her a grateful smile.

“I hope we didn’t keep you too long,” he says.

“Of course not. We were happy to wait,” Bobby tells him, though he is glad to plan his escape. He truly does hate hospitals. “Wish Buck well if he wakes up before the end of our shift. We’ll be by.”

He doesn’t mind making that promise for the others, knowing they would have come regardless of if he said that. The LAFD looks out for its own, Chimney meant it even if it was said jokingly.

Indeed Chimney and Hen back him immediately, before the five of them say their goodbyes and they return back to the firehouse.

The gossiping starts the moment they get back into the ambulance. Chimney turns the ignition and says: “Gotta be honest, I saw none of that coming. I mean, a husband and a kid? Buck? Like our probie, Buck? Who would have thought.”

“Yeah, certainly wasn’t on top of the list of my assumptions either,” Hen agrees. “He has a sweet kid though.”

Chimney gives an agreeable hum, then says: “Still having a hard time picturing Buck as a father. Like, the vibes just don’t match at all.”

“I mean, he’s good with kids on calls,” Hen only semi-protests the notion.

“Let’s not talk about our colleagues like that,” Bobby interrupts. Unlike Chimney, Bobby can picture Buck as a parent very well now and despite the shock, he doesn’t want this somewhat dismissive attitude to linger for Buck to hear. While he didn’t seem keen on telling them about it, Bobby imagines it would hurt him to hear it.

Both mumble an apology, before going on with their speculation and surprise, albeit this time in a slightly different tone. Bobby tunes them out, he did his Captain-ly duties, now he can stew in peace.

He replays Buck’s fall over and over in his head, analyzing the surroundings and trying to find what he missed. The clue he should have spotted, but didn’t. The thing that could have prevented Buck from getting hurt.

Bobby can’t afford to make mistakes like the one he made today. The one that nearly cost Buck his life. The close call that he escaped from by God’s grace. Another undeserved second chance for Bobby that makes him seem like he isn’t the screw up he knows he is.

He doesn’t understand why God keeps letting him get away with it all, why it’s always those around him instead of him. If he is cursed and this is a sign he has to stay away from people, or if it’s a reminder of how easy it is to fuck up. Like Bobby doesn’t know that already.

Maybe it was a reminder to be vigilant. Bobby is letting himself slip, creating attachments he wasn’t meant to have, his reaction to Buck’s fall proved as much. Maybe this was God’s way of telling him he shouldn’t get closer to Buck than he already is. That he doesn’t deserve to have people close and God will take them from him if he dares.

Perhaps this was a warning.

That thought is the one that sticks. It forms into a biting hand, sharp nails digging into Bobby’s brain as he spends the rest of his shift in a half disassociated state. It feels like he isn’t fully there, everything moving past him instead of with him in it.

The world doesn’t come back into focus until they’re on their way to the hospital again after their shift is done. Despite his spinning thoughts, he can’t imagine not going to see Buck. After all he has conjured for himself, he knows he won’t be able to sleep until he’s seen Buck be okay and heard the verdict of his injuries. He can start distancing himself again tomorrow.

When they arrive, Eddie and Christopher are still there and Buck is awake. He clearly has been for a while, because Eddie is quietly flipping through a magazine and Chris is drawing using Buck’s side table to do so, while Buck watches the two of them fondly.

Eddie spots them first and gives them all a quick smile, before nodding a greeting and saying: “Hey, mijo, why don’t we go see if we can get some food around here for papi.”

“Can I get a chocolate bar too?” Christopher asks instantly, eyes lighting up in a way that is definitely similar to Buck, though not exactly the same.

“Maybe,” Eddie says, though everyone can hear him giving in.

As the two leave the room, Christopher greets the three of them cheerily and Buck finally spots them when he lolls his head to follow where Eddie and Chris are going, his confused look morphing into a smile slowly. Jup, definitely a concussion.

Bobby lingers in the back, just taking Buck in as he comes alive a little despite his concussion to greet Hen and Chimney. How he flourishes under their fussing and laughs at Hen snatching up his chart and flipping through it, promising her to be careful and nodding along to her recovery tips.

A choking feeling crawls up his throat as he watches it. An ache that he has to let this go, because Buck looks happy and Bobby has only realized today that he cares about the kid and now he has to let him go, because he also remembered today he cannot allow himself to care about anyone. And that sucks and it hurts, but it’s his cross to bear.

Still, it is not easy to accept that when Buck spots him behind Hen and Chimney and in a somewhat drugged up yet delighted tone goes: “Pops!” a name he hasn’t called Bobby since his second month at the 118.

Hesitantly Bobby allows himself to get pulled forward until he’s next to the bed. Softly he goes: “Hey, kid, how are you feeling?”

“Good,” Buck nods dopily. “Chim pushed the button.”

“Glad you’re not hurting,” Bobby says with a small smile, he doesn’t condemn painkillers just because he passes on them now, making a note to keep an eye on Buck after, so he won’t repeat Bobby’s mistakes.

“”m glad you’re here,” Buck says suddenly getting emotional.

Bobby freezes, sending a helpless look over to Hen, only to find the spot empty as Hen and Chimney have backed out of the room to give them space. He gives a short glare at their backs, then quickly wipes it away to soothe Buck. “Of course, kid, wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Really?” Buck asks with big, hopeful eyes, still swimming with tears but already starting to dry.

“Yeah, really,” Bobby promises, hating how raw his own voice sounds, because he knows he means every word and he knows he can’t continue to keep them.

Buck sniffles and wipes at this eyes. “Thank you,” he says meekly. “I- I don’t- If Eddie wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have had any- anyone ex-except you. You’re- you’re- you’re my friend.”

Bobby can’t tell if he is disappointed or glad that sentence ended with friend. If Buck decided to note the unspoken somewhat paternal attention Bobby now realizes he’s been giving him, he doesn’t know how he would cope. However, he also knows that hangs between them and Bobby is going to have to break that now.

Still, it would have been harder if Buck truly had no one, but he does. So, Bobby will be the one to hurt the most and he can live with that. So, he gently says: “But you have Eddie. You’re okay, Buck.”

Apparently that is the wrong thing to say, because Buck starts crying. Bobby has no clue how that happened, but he rushes forward, taking Buck’s hand, despite the promise to himself to keep his distance.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks now worried. From what he’s seen of Eddie, the man seems to care for Buck. Hell, it’s been hours and he’s still here, but now maybe it seems he was wrong in his assessment. Bobby is not wrong often.

“Eddie doesn’t love me,” Buck cries. “I- I love him, but he- he doesn’t. We’re just- just mar- married for Chris and he- he’s going- he’s going to leave m- me and I’ll be all a- all alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Bobby tries to comfort him, still holding his one hand and patting his head with the other, trying not to think of how he’d do the same for Brooke. “You got Chimney and Hen and Chris will always be there, right. He’s your kid.”

“He’s n- not, I adop- adopted him, but he’s- he’s Eddie’s and when- when he goes, he’ll take- he’ll take him and I’ll n- never see him a- again. I’ll be by my- myself,” Buck replies, leaning into the comfort Bobby gives him as he does.

If the appearance of Eddie and Chris after the accident had been a surprise, this is even more of a surprise. But Bobby doesn’t know if this is the moment to ask more questions. Buck has been in an accident and is now on painkillers, not to mention that the others can come back at any time. So, he just says: “You won’t be by yourself.”

“You think so?” Buck asks, heartbreakingly hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Bobby says, because he can’t imagine that someone as good as Buck will ever be lonely, since no one who meets him could hate him. Even if Bobby can’t allow himself close, doesn’t mean others won’t. Eddie is a fool if he doesn’t realize that.

“Thank you,” Buck wobbles again, this time accompanied by a tiny smile that Bobby has never been more grateful to see. However, his minute relaxation is too early, because then Buck goes: “For being here. If- When I don’t- When I don’t have Eddie to put down anymore, I- I always thought I’d have- I’d have no one to- to put down there but I- I have you.”

And in that moment, Bobby realizes he can’t break Buck’s heart alongside his own. He can’t leave the way he had planned. Buck needs him. He never realized any of it, not how much Bobby cared about Buck and not how much Buck relied on him. He can’t break that. Maybe it hadn’t been a warning to stay away, but to show him how he couldn’t leave.

Bobby has been trying to make up for all the hurt he’s caused by saving people, going on only because he’s not allowed to die before he makes it right. However, Buck has forced him to be alive again, to be a person, because he needed someone to look to. Today Bobby messed up and it got Buck hurt, but Buck still trusts him, still wants him there. If someone as good as Buck wants him there, maybe that is a sign he is on the right path.

He doesn’t know what is up between Buck and Eddie yet and he doesn’t know to what extend Christopher is involved in it all. But he’ll get more answers once Buck has healed up and he’ll be there in his corner through it all, no matter what happens.

“Yeah, you have me,” Bobby says, choked up voice. “When you’re discharged, I’ll come bring you food, whatever dish you want.”

At that, Buck lights up, all thoughts of his earlier sadness forgotten as he hopefully requests: “The tater tot hotdish?”

“Okay, tater tot hotdish it is,” Bobby smiles. With that promise, he has done the opposite of what he is meant to do, but he can’t regret it. He still has a lot of pain to make up for, a lot of wrongs to right, but he can’t live for just that. Not when Buck needs him.

Sometimes it’s good to to go beyond those glass doors

A/N:

There is a universe where this happens in like the first few weeks of Eddie working there lmao, but I just love writing the ache of those early days, I have ideas for AUAUs that take place later, but I was on a kick what can I say xp

Also sorry for basically going MIA, I’m in a slump and have a writer’s block and being social has been overwhelming (but I do appreciate all the comments, even if I haven’t been replying!!!)

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simonsrosebud · 10 months ago

Note

Andreil. Neil has a little accident and has temporarily amnesia. He flips out and is running, falling in old patterns. Andrew and others look for him

THIS WAS SO FUN!!

 Andrew knows Neil. Inside and out. He knows how he moves on the court and off, how he sounds when he and Kevin go at it versus when he’s beneath Andrew, how his lips twitch when he tries holding back the grin he sees in his father and the squinty eyes he doesn’t care to hide when he laughs, how he opens himself up when laid bare on the bed and wants wants wants whatever Andrew is willing to give. Andrew knows how he thinks, how he expresses himself, how he panics and worries and takes initiative.

Andrew knows Neil.

But when Neil wakes up in the hospital, one thing is clear.

Neil does not know Andrew.

It starts on the court, the Foxhole Court, during a match against Edgar Allan. It would, of course. The nest closed just a year and a half ago, and despite half of the players either killing themselves or getting killed, there was still something of a team left over when the season started in the fall. Not good enough to win, but not bad enough to lose easily.

Andrew’s post in goal was the same as always. Watch, defend, reflect. This time around with significantly less goals to block, since Kevin and Neil have taken control the second half.

Neil Josten, legally and fully, zipping around the court faster than the speed of light. Vice Captain, Andrew’s roommate and something else, PSU’s best legacy thus far.

And he goes down like he weighs less than a feather.

To be clear, his helmet comes off first, flying and rolling away from him as he goes tumbling, into the wall head first, and then underneath a beast of a human being post-impact. And when the Raven shakily gets up, Neil doesn’t.

Andrew blacked out after that. He blacked out from the second he realized it was Neil’s helmet teetering beside Kevin’s foot to the second Wymack told him he was stable, just unconscious.

That was yesterday.

Yesterday was bearable after that. Neil was alive and asleep and definitely had a wild concussion, but he was fine and within Andrew’s reach.

Now, he’s throwing up in a bucket and freezing when his eyes land on Andrew. And Andrew knows, he knows, right then and there, that this is not the same Neil Josten that came into this hospital. This is Nathaniel Wesninski. This is Abram. Andrew just doesn’t know where Abram left off.

The panic is there clear as day, so is the pain and the confusion, and Abram is lucky that he’s wearing the hoodie the doctor allowed Wymack to put on him while he shivered early this morning because Andrew’s pretty sure if he catches sign of his arms he’s going to have a meltdown.

Still, he tries. “Neil.”

Abram looks, answers to the name, swallows heavily. Neil exists in there somewhere. “You got checked into the wall, your helmet came off.”

And he’s shaking his head, trembling fingers coming up to his hair to pull on it. “Why am I- You- Millport isn’t- I-I, I can’t be here. What the fuck- What are you doing here?”

And oh, Neil Josten exists alright. If only just barely.

Andrew stands, calmly presses the button to call the doctor, and sits again. “You are my teammate. What is the last thing you remember?”

He scoffs, fingers tightening in the sheets. Don’t look at your hands. “You are not… You’re Andrew Minyard.”

“Old news.”

Neil, predictably, starts panicking more, because then Kevin is waiting outside the room and peeking just barely through the glass until Andrew locks the door on him, and Neil is scrambling against the bed, fingers shaking too much to take the IV out of his arm despite trying. “Fucking Christ,” Andrew grunts as he swats his hand away from it, reverting to gripping Neil’s wrists. If it wasn’t for his own good it would make Andrew sick to be restraining him like this. “Do not,” he warns.

“You brought him. I have to get out of here, I won’t- I won’t go back there-“

Neil chokes on his breath, trying to pull his hands away and jesus did he just try to head-but Andrew? “Abram,” Andrew raises his voice just loud enough to cut through the breathing and grunting and struggling.

Neil freezes, and it’s not in realization but in deep rooted terror. His face blanches and his hands make fists. “Who are you,” he whispers. “You’re- You’re supposed to be a no one, you’re not- you’re not supposed to know- I- you have to let me go.” “No-“ “Andrew please-“ “Stop it.” “You- You can’t make me go- He’ll kill me, they’ll kill me, you have-“

“Knock it off,” Andrew barks. He lets go of Neil’s hands and backpedals. He can’t do the touching and the begging and the memories, the grief, the brief loss, the-

“Your father is dead. Romero and Plank are dead. Lola is in prison, Riko is dead, no one is dying, and I am not a mole taking you back to Baltimore so shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he says. It’s fast and stern and Neil shuts up so fast that his head looks like it spins. Andrew isn’t used to talking so fast, not after being off his meds.

He takes a deep breath. “It is October, 2008. You are a junior at Palmetto State University, you are the caption of the Foxes Exy team despite your attitude problem. Your name is Neil Abram Josten. Your father kidnapped you a year and a half ago and tried to kill you. Your uncle’s people got there in time and killed him. We left Nathaniel in Baltimore with your father.” Neil drops his head to his hands. “The FBI made Neil Josten a real person. Kevin knows who you are. We all do. No one cares. We’re past that.”

And… Neil clearly doesn’t know what to think considering the way he shakes his head slowly and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “How the fuck do you expect me to believe that?”

God, how to answer such a thing? Andrew can’t recount where Neil’s scars are because it would only allude to the idea that he looked without permission. He didn’t have photos on his phone to show proof, though he could text Nicky to bring as many as possible at the drop of a hat.

He could tell stories, though. “You burned and buried your mother on a beach in California after a run in that got her shot. Your father smacked you with a hot iron because you didn’t sit still enough. Lola taught you how to use knives; you, Kevin, and Riko all watched your father cut a man to pieces at Evermore when you were a child. You had a tryout for Tetsuji before your mother took you and ran,” he says. “When you got shot,” he points to his own shoulder, “you wouldn’t take off your kevlar vest to even take a shower. You have a binder that hides money and safe houses within codes. You speak German, French, some Spanish, and have been learning Russian with me for the past year. You have friends and a life and protection from the Moriyama’s,” he says and crouches by the bed so that he’s only a bit lower than Neil. “You are safe. You just have amnesia.”

Neil continues to stare. The monitor he’s hooked up to shows how fast his heart is beating, but Andrew doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t look away from Neil because he needs to be able to see the truth and raw honesty in Andrew’s face. He can see the wheels turning, gears piling themselves up, and something finally must click or at least nag at his brain because Andrew catches Neil’s eyes flick down to his lips for a moment. “Why are you here? Why not- If you’re telling the truth, then…” he trails off.

“Because you are paranoid about hospitals and have a fear of needles.” Neil frowns further. “And because I wouldn’t let them take you without me,” he says in Russian. Neil’s eyes dart back to his, wide and alert and yes, because Andrew knows he understands him. He wants to count it as a victory.

“How the fuck do I know Russian?” It comes out louder than Andrew thinks he means to. “I don’t think… I don’t know if I could speak it, but I understood you. Why did I learn it with you?”

Jesus. Andrew sits back in the chair beside Neil’s bed and raises a calm eyebrow. “You were sick of people trying to figure this out,” he gestures between the two of them. “And I didn’t want anyone to understand us when telling you I want to blow you.”

Neil almost flinches in surprise at that. This time he lets himself stare at Andrew’s face unashamed. “So that’s why you’re here.”

Taking Neil home is an ordeal. He has a panic attack when he sees his arms and face; another one when Kevin finally gets himself into the room unannounced; flinches and tries to curl in on himself when Wymack comes storming into the room upon hearing that he’s awake; sits awkwardly while Robin cries when he doesn’t remember her; and has another meltdown when Nicky finally shows up with photos, proving Neil’s existence on the Foxhole lineup and essentially that everything Andrew said is true.

He’s given painkillers for the raging concussion headache he gets by the time he’s discharged- pills that he doesn’t take, to be clear, and stumbles to Andrew’s side when Wymack steps closer to grab the hospital bag from him. He accidentally latches onto Andrew’s sleeve, then lets go instantly like he’s been burned. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“He’s coming with us, Coach.”

Kevin gets booted from coming to Columbia because Neil is still wary of him, and Aaron comes just because Andrew tells him to, even if just for his medical knowledge. Aaron tries telling him he’s not in med school yet, but it doesn’t change his mind. Nicky, well, Nicky just comes for the ride.

The week following is…

Well, for starters, Andrew hates sleeping on the couch because of it being out in the open, but there’s no way he will continue sleeping in his bed with Neil like normal. They’re not there anymore.

The only upside is that when Andrew tells him he’s sleeping in his room, Neil goes upstairs and stands in the doorway of his room, albeit unsurely, without being told which room is which. His autopilot has been working, but when it comes to detail and memory he blue screens.

He doesn’t sleep, and Neil is in pain because he won’t take anything to relieve the pain, and Aaron won’t shut the fuck up about forcing him to take something.

Then, Neil runs.

He’s out the door before anyone else is awake, before he can be caught, and runs two miles. Through the neighborhood and onto a main road. He runs. His phone is left on Andrew’s bed and he shouldn’t even be running anyway with the state of his head.

Nicky is the first to notice. He’s nosy as always, and peeks into the bedroom to check on him at 5am. Andrew knows the second he rushes downstairs with a haunted look on his face. Stubbornly, all Andrew can think is not again.

To his frustration, Aaron is the one who finds him. Tells Andrew to follow Neil’s usual running pattern, path. Andrew’s never been on a run with him, though, because he’d rather stab himself. Nicky did it once in Palmetto, and Aaron gave in with Neil and Kevin back in March when he and Katelyn went through a brief rough patch.

And despite all odds, despite Neil not truly knowing his way around Columbia in this state, he’s sitting on the curb at his usual halfway point spot. Also known as the spot Nicky picked Aaron up from when he gave up after two miles.

Neil doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t make excuses. Just slides into the passenger seat and waits for the other two to go back inside before saying to Andrew, “Don’t let me run.”

“Don’t run.”

“I can’t- I’m not all there… yet,” he looks distraught as he taps his temple. “I know I shouldn’t run, I clearly have a life here and people I care about. But I’m-I’m still in Arizona in my mind. It was my first reaction to everything for longer than I can remember.”

So Andrew nods. “I won’t let you run.”

Day three and four are fine. Neil knows he likes pecan pancakes even though he had never had them until three weeks ago, and him and Aaron are just as douchey to each other as usual despite Aaron saying anything to make him believe he’s a dick. Neil Andrew catches him asking, yes or no, before stealing Andrew’s cigarette.

Night five is when nightmares start up, and they continue throughout the next week. Andrew isn’t a stranger to them, neither is Neil, but these are vivid. They are fuzzy memories twisted with what his mind fills in, and the second time in one night that Neil wakes up nearly screaming, he staggers down the stairs on unsteady feet into the den where Andrew is, sitting up and alert as he stands in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights. Neil drops to his knees, gasping, and pushes himself against the wall. Andrew has to lower in front of him slowly, and makes sure that Neil is watching as he puts a hand on the back of his neck. The effect is the same as always.

“Riko waterboarded me,” he wheezes, sucking in a harsh breath. “True or not true?”

Andrew purses his lips. “True. He invited you to Evermore over winter break your freshman year with a threat to make my rehab… therapeutic reenactments.” It feels like bile on his tongue, Neil snaps his head up, though, as if understanding what the reenactment was. “You went. He tortured you for two weeks.”

“And… Ichirou shot him in the head,” he whispers. “True? Or not true?” He shudders when Andrew nods.

Neil chews on his lip. “You and me… having sex,” it rocks Andrew to the core, thinking that Neil is still referring to a nightmare, but the curious and comfortable set to his body tells otherwise.

“True.”

Neil hums, ears and neck pink. “Do- Did we… do that a lot?”

Andrew wills himself not to crack. “Sex, no…” he started slowly. “Only twice,” he murmured. “Other things, yes.”

Neil looks away for a hot moment, taking a slow steady breath despite his red cheeks and goosebumps along his collarbone. Then he frowns deeply again, reminded of something more sinister than careful touches and honey eyes. There’s a few more he confirms or denies, and eventually Neil closes his eyes. “They’re blending together. All these fucking nightmares.”

“I will set them straight for you,” Andrew promises. “Trust me to tell the truth.”

Neil swallows, heavy and nervous, and cracks his eyes open. It takes him a few minutes to settle, to let his eyesight fully focus, before he looks up and meets Andrew’s eyes, blue gemstones alluring and tormented. “I trust you.”

#aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #kevin day #david wymack #palmetto state university #my writing #andriel

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tr0p1cal · 9 months ago

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cats got your tongue smau

twenty one - why were you there?🖍️

➤ finding a cat in the alley beside the Star was not how you expected to end the worst day of your life, but maybe it’s just what you need to bring a little light back in on a gloomy day.

general warnings: sexual themes and language, cussing, mentions and consumption of alcohol, mentions of cheating and toxic relationships, kys/kms jokes

series master

master | prev | next

chapter warnings: mentioned assault, hospitals, concussion and sprained ankle. honestly it’s mostly just cute, but also kind rough. Let me know if I missed something

w/c: 2.6k

The lights in the ceiling above shined brightly down on you as your eyes slowly blinked open. You glanced around, realizing you were in a hospital room. As you slowly sat up, all you could remember was Mingi. You were in the bathroom washing your hands when suddenly you were hit over the head with something hard. After that, you remembered waking up briefly to see Mingi, your shitty ex boyfriend.

You heard shuffling next to you so you looked down, seeing your roommate stirring slightly in his sleep as he clutched onto your hand like it was his life line. “Minho?” You said, voice horse as the word passed your lips.

Just then, the door pushed open and in came your two best friends, coffees in hand. At the sight of you, Jeongin gasped, almost dropping his drink. “Rain!” He exclaimed, waking up the boy laying on the edge of your hospital bed as he ran to your side.

You looked at him in shock, “Wow, calm down Innie, it’s not like I’m dying or anything.” You said lightheartedly as you gently moved your opposite hand to pat his head since he kneeled down next to your bed. Minho gripped your hand impossibly tighter and he sat up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Seungmin handed Minho the extra coffee and he thanked him quietly.

“Are you feeling okay? When did you wake up?” Jeongin asked, ignoring your remark.

“My head hurts a bit and I feel a little nauseous, but other than that I feel fine.” You glanced around the room, trying to recall the event that lead you here, but unable to remember anything after washing your hands in the auditorium bathroom. “Um…” you hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed that you didn’t remember how you had gotten there. “What happed?” As the question came out, the three shared a look. You couldn’t decipher the emotions swirling in their eyes as they looked back at you.

“Rain.. you were attacked. I think you might have a clue as to who could have done it.” Seungmin said and again, Mingi shot to the front of your mind. He was there in the bathroom with you. Did he really act on his threat? Did he and his gang try to forcefully take you back in with them? Question after question flooded your head and the room felt like it was spinning. Everything felt so fuzzy, why couldn’t you remember? And god, why were the lights so blindingly bright all of the sudden?

You felt a thumb gently run over your knuckles, silencing all the noise and chaos. You looked up, eyes meeting Minhos for the first time, but he adverted his gaze, choosing to look at his hand in yours instead of meeting you eyes. He looked exhausted from the brief look at his face you got. The dark bags indicating he probably wasn’t asleep for long before he was woken up. You’re sure it wasn’t comfortable sleep either if he was in the position you found him in the whole time. You shook your head, trying to get yourself back to the conversation.

“How long was I out for?” You asked quietly.

“Two days,” Jeongin said with a sigh, pushing his hair out of his face and standing up.

“Two days?!” You exclaimed, grabbing your head as it started acing from the loud noise you’d made. “Ah fuck, my head,” you hissed.

Before you could ask more questions, the door swing open once more and in walked Song Mingi followed by who you could only assume to be the doctor watching over you.

“Hello, I’m doctor Baek. Good to see you’re awake Mx. L/n. Can you tell me what you remember?”

You looked passed the Doctor, not even processing what he said to you as you stared at Mingi. Why was he here so casually? Wasn’t he the one how hurt you? What’s with the black eye? You defintely didn’t remember hitting him. And why did the boys not even blink at his presence? “Mingi?” You asked meekly. “What- what are you doing here? What Happened? All I can remember is washing my hands in the bathroom and then getting hit on the back of the head with something hard. After that I remember coming in and out and seeing your face staring down at me as I laid on the floor,” you said, confusion laced in every word as you spoke.

All eyes went to Mingi and he stared right at you, relaxed and his hands casually in his pockets. He didn’t look like a guilty party, but why else would he be there? “I was there, you’re right,” he said, stepping forward a little. “You were attacked by the gang that was dealing around campus after they found out you’re the one that outed them,” Mingi said easily, like it wasn’t one of the biggest secrets you kept from your friends. Your eyes widened at his words. How would they have figured out you were a double agent? What did Mingi have to do with it to be there at the scene.

You gulped, glancing to see your friends reactions, but you figured they must have already heard Mingi’s story before you had woken up. You sighed, rubbing your temples since your head was still pounding. “Why were you there?” You asked, genuinely confused as to how he played into it.

“I heard about it and went to try to stop them, but didn’t make it in time. I’m sorry for that, but once I got there and got it sorted, I brought you here to make sure you were alright,” he stated, and you just sat quietly, taking it all in. You were really targeted by a lousy college drug circle and they pulled one over on you. You were frustrated you didn’t see them coming and needed Mingi to save you. You were usually more than capable of fighting for yourself, so knowing someone like him ended up saving you, made you feel even more sick.

“Fucking assholes,” you groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. “Well, I guess you know why I was M.I.A. for a while there. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Innie. I didn’t want you to worry,” you said the last part softer, locking eyes with your best friend, your brother. He sighed and pulled you into a hug, your face buried in his chest.

Doctor Baek cleared his throat, causing you to peek out from Jeongins hold. “If it’s alright with you, we need to do a few tests now that you’re awake. We’re pretty sure you have a concussion and a sprained ankle, but the concussion in the main worry,” he stated.

You nodded and pulled away from Jeongin, glancing once more at Minho, who still hadn’t said a word. You never understood what went on in that pretty little head of his and now was no different. “Yeah, whatever you need, sir.”

The next days were nothing short of boring. Minho barely left your side, even after hours of begging him to take care of himself and go home to get a good nights rest. He refused to leave your side again. You thought maybe he felt guilty for what had happened to you, so you constantly reassured him you were fine and nothing serious was wrong.

“Min…” you said quietly, moving your hand to ruffle his hair. “Do you want to lay with me for a bit? You need to genuinely rest and since you won’t even go to the couch, just come lay with me,” you offered, moving to the other side to make some room on the small bed.

He looked up at you and nodded, half asleep. You were glad he didn’t decide to argue. As he crawled into the bed, and you opened your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Once he was settled in, you rubbed his back comfortingly, trying to coax him to sleep. “I just wish I could’ve protected you,” Minho said softly.

You smiled at the sentiment. “There was nothing that could be done about it, so don’t dwell on what happened, okay?” He nodded and you could hear his breath getting lighter as he nestled into your neck, drifting off to sleep. You smiled as you played with his hair and scratched his back. You wished you could be close like this more often, but you tried not to think too much about that desire.

As the morning light shined through the hospital windows, you woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and hushed voices. You opened your eyes, gently rubbing the sleep away. The weight of your roommate was still present as he slept soundly, partially on top of you. You couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you looked at the boy.

“Ooo, Rainy and Minho look comfy, don’t they?” You heard the teasing voice of Jeongin as he sat across the room. Your head shot up to look at him and you noticed he and Seungmin had brought you breakfast. You smiled as the stood to hand it to you.

“Oh my god you’re life savers. I think I will die if I eat anymore hospital food,” you whined quietly as to not disturb your personal weighted blanket.

“Are you excited to get discharged today? Since all your tests and scans are clear, you’re good to go. Just be mindful of the sun and bright lights in general,” Seungmin spoke, handing you a coffee. You took it with an excited grin, sipping it and letting out a happy sigh.

You nodded, looking between the boys. “More than ready. Even if I can’t walk because of this stupid ankle, and the sun is my number one enemy right now,” you joked, slowly sitting up a little.

“Okay, but really,” Jeongin started, pointing between you and Minho. “What’s up with this huh? Breaking your own rules already?” He teased with a mischievous grin. “Oh and don’t worry, I got plenty of good pictures for you two love birds,” he teased more as he winked.

You couldn’t hold in your laugh, effectively causing the boy resting on you to stir, starting to wake up. “Shut up Innie, it’s not like that, I just felt bad that he was staying with me this whole time and hadn’t been able to sleep properly,” you said with a sigh, trying to control the blush threatening to tint your cheeks. You unconsciously started playing with his hair again to sooth him back to sleep. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Jeongin and Seungmin though, so they had to tease you about it a little. “Yeah right, you’re literally petting his head like a cat and you want us to believe you don’t have even a tiny crush on him?” You rolled your eyes at the remark, but part of you knew it might have some truth behind it. You did like Minho, in more than just a roommate type of way, but how could you ever admit that?

“I..” You sighed, trying to find the right words to defend yourself. “It’s not like that, okay? Even if I did like him, why would he ever like me?”

Jeongin dead panned at your words. “He would be lucky to have a chance to be with you, Rain. I know you don’t see it, but you’re amazing and deserve the world and more.” He looked between you and Minho a few times. “And you’re crazy to think he’s not madly in love with you by now. He hasn’t left your side since he got here and he can’t go even an hour without physically touching you.” Again, a smiled threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth at his words. He had a point, but who were you to assume anything. It wasn’t worth the risk of losing him all together.

What you and your two best friends didn’t know was that Minho was awake the whole time, quietly listening. His face heated up as Jeongin spoke about his obvious crush. He debated looking up at you and telling you how he felt right then and there, but it wasn’t really the way he had been imagining it would go, so instead he decided to act like he was slowly waking up, even if it meant losing the closeness he longed for. He groaned softly as he rolled over, looking up at you from where he laid, sleep still present on his features. “Wow, this is the second time I’ve woken up in your arms this week. We could make it three when we go home tonight,” he teased with a sleepy grin taking over his face.

You looked at him and let out a short laugh. “Yeah, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you liked sleeping in my arms,” you teased back before glancing at your friends. They shot you a knowing look and you rolled your eyes, sipping the coffee they brought you.

“How’s your head today? Feeling any better? What about your ankle?” Seungmin decided to chime in to change the subject.

“Yeah, it’s not too bad yet, but it’s mostly when I try to get up, so I guess we’ll see what happens when I get up to leave,” you said with a shrug, still not really fazed by what happened to you and they couldn’t help but notice that, but chose to not mention it.

After chatting some more about how things have been for everyone over the past couple days, the door opens and Mingi walks in. Everyone looks at him, but all he sees is how Minho was cuddled up with you on your bed as you scratched his back absentmindedly. He raised a brow at you and you shot him a look to keep his mouth shut. He let out a chuckle as he stepped farther into the room. “Morning guys,” he said to the group before focusing in on you. “I got everything worked out with the doctors, so you’re all clear to leave after one last check up. The doc should be in here any time now,” he said as he leaned against the wall. He felt like he was punched in the gut from seeing you so close to someone else, but he also realized where he messed up and couldn’t go back to change that.

As if on command, Doctor Baek knocked and entered the room. “Good morning Mx. L/n. I just have a few things to check and then you’re free to leave,” he said as he stood at the edge of the bed. Minho decided it would be best to move, so he rolled out of the bed and back into his chair. You grabbed his hand as he moved without even thinking, seeking the comfort of his touch even though it was only absent for a moment.

The check up went smoothly and you were all set to leave. The boys packed up the little bit of stuff in the room and you all headed out, finally being able to go home.

“Let’s go home and actually get some solid sleep, cause I know you have to be exhausted,” you said, looking at Minho and he nodded. He looked worse than you and you had just been assaulted a few days ago. You turned to the others. “Wanna come over tonight for dinner?” You asked with a look they knew well, telling them they really didn’t have a choice.

You figured it was time to tell them the whole story.

a/n: this ended up longer than I thought, but also I might do a written one for the next one as well to get it all cleaned up.

tag list🏷

@thisrandombitch @lakeeeee @hanniemylovelyquokka @minniepoo143 @puppy-minnie @jiisungllvr @samhomo @beckiguess @skzhoes @gaysontheprince @miniature-tragedy @conwunder @mae-is-cute980 @deadcrow-donteat @aalexyuuuhm @thisisnotjacinta @poollabug @jabmastersupriseee @instabull @lailac13 @puppyminnnie @blackbluerose666 @alice-went-away @navyyyyyys-dumb @justiceforvillains @kkamismom12 @jazziwritesthings

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pumpkin-padparadscha · 1 month ago

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oh my fucking god oh my god oh my god.

fic where roman gets amnesia and remus is there to take him home and roman assumes this is just his roommate who really cares about him and is funny and sweet and looks good

and roman finds HIS OWN DIARY and is like i'll read this, SURELY it will help me get some of my memories back or orient myself in my life.

and it's just. SO MANY PAGES about pining for remus. how handsome he looked in x outfit, how pretty he is when in the kitchen, how talented he is, how whoever he ends up with will be SO lucky, how much he wishes he was brave enough to kiss him

and so roman is like i've been given a new chance on life, i have to shoot my shot with this guy!

and so obviously he kisses remus. and remus is like WHOA THERE, you're very confused and possibly concussed, but i'm your brother

and roman. is like "what? no that can't be right. it says in my diary that i've been in love with you for years???"

and remus is, understandably like "YOUR DIARY SAID WHAT"

idk i just think it would be funny

#remrom #romrem #rero

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smiley-mcdoggington · 5 months ago

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ANOTHER ABO SMUTSHOT BECAUSE I SPENT 2K ON THE OTHER ONE OF JUST FUCKING DIALOG IM SO PISSED OFF ANYWAYS TW STANCEST TW DESCRIBED SEXUAL ASSAULT

One thing he missed about home was having room to pace. His socked feet thumped back and forth across the floor in an unsteady rhythm, dodging a stack of books every second step and turning 180° every fourth to continue his stride. Fiddleford was doing his level best to ignore him, but it was clear Ford's stress was contagious, even though he was sure his new roommate had no idea what he was even pacing about.

Stanley was late, an hour late. He had no reason to be late, but he was. Was he caught by campus security using Ford's ID? Did something happen at his work? Was he attacked? Ford continued his effort to wear a hole through the shag carpet.

Then he heard a key in the deadbolt, and he was over to the door in five steps, all but throwing it open. "Where were you?!" He demanded before a faint sour smell hit him.

Stanley had a fresh red bruise on his cheekbone, a split on his lip and the smell of an alpha on him. Ford's stomach dropped. Statistics scrolled by the back of his head while he yanked his brother inside. "What happened? Who did this? How far did they go? Are you okay?" He questioned, holding his bruised face like porcelain, trying to look for more bruises.

Stanley gave him a smile. "I'm fine, Sixer, geez. I was just at that new boxing place, nothing I haven't gotten before." He said easily, putting his smaller hands over Ford's anyway.

"It's not the same. You smell like one of them..." He said lowly. "What did they do to you?"

Stanley sighed, sitting down on his bunk. "Not a big deal, big guy was trying to put me down but he got close to an omega's neck and started acting like a teenager." He said as if they weren't just eighteen. "Mighta licked me once or twice, but I knocked him on his ass in the end." Stan said as if it were a satisfying conclusion.

Ford wanted to rip the invading alpha's tongue out. Was there no sense of decency at that gym? He looked closely at the nape of Stan's neck and saw slightly red, inflamed skin. He should call the police, it was an outrage, if Stan was in a more legal living situation he would.

"Heh, hey, Sixer, look on the bright side, how many people can say they gave someone a tent and a concussion in under a minute?" Stan joked crassly, hand holding Ford's tightly.

Ford sighed. "Really Stanley, not the takeaway here." He said fondly. "Let me clean that off?"

"Please." Stanley huffed, and Ford dragged him back up and out of the dorm with a quick and awkward goodbye to Ford's more legal roommate while Stanley grabbed their one towel.

The shared bathroom for the floor had the door hanging open, which was a relief. Both twins hurried inside, shutting and locking themselves in.

The bathroom smelled fairly neutral, since the floor was almost entirely betas, if not the most pleasant because they were mostly still teenagers.

Stan handed Ford their towel before sitting on the lid of the toilet and shucking his shirt.

Ford left the sink to run. "So I suppose that gym was a bust."

"Nah, they're fine mostly, this was just one asshole."

Ford squinted. "Just one asshole that they banned from the property for sexual assault?"

"A little licking and-- I don't think that counts for anything."

"Licking and?" Ford said lowly.

"And nothing! It's fine, Ford."

"Now I know you're lying! What did he do?" He asked severely, letting a slight rumble in his chest escape him.

"He grabbed my ass, okay? It's not a big deal, I punched one of his teeth out." Stanley said, but that just didn't make sense. How had the fight continued after such a blatant move? How did he even--... Stanley was still lying.

"No one can grab things with boxing gloves on, not that quickly." He said faintly, and Stanley's eyes slid away from his to stare at the wall. "Stanley, were you even in the ring when it happened..?"

Stanley's hand reached up and started itching at his already swollen glands. Ford grabbed his wrist to keep it away. Stanley could have pulled out of it but he didn't.

"Stanley."

"I fucked up, okay? I know I fucked up, I didn't mean to--" Stanley was acting like Ford was mad and him and it made his stomach turn. He grabbed his twin's face to make him stop and look at him.

"Stanley. You didn't fuck up. You didn't fuck anything up, okay? It was that damn alpha." He spat the name of the presentation as if it were sand in his mouth. "You were perfect, okay? You always are."

Stanley leaned into his hand like it was the most comfortable place in the world. "Okay..." He said, sounding very small.

Ford ghosted his thumb over his brother's purpling cheekbone. "Wait here, I'll only be a second." He said, and waited for the weight of Stanley's head to leave his palms before drawing away.

He checked the temperature on the running sink - the ancient pipes finally sputtering out water that wasn't ice cold. He wet a corner of their towel and brought it back over to Stanley.

His brother dropped his head to the side to give Ford access, and he quickly ran the warm, wet towel over the reddened glands.

Stan let out a pleased huff, a low rumble beginning in his chest as Ford ran the warm cloth over his neck and shoulders. "Six... You gonna tell me what they taught ya's in that fancy physics class?" He said distractedly, lolling his head to the other side to let Ford at that side of his neck.

"We learned about time dilation." Ford said. "About how when you're far from earth, time moves differently. I could be a billion lightyears away for a minute and years could have passed without me."

"Time travel, neat."

"I don't know. It seems lonely more than anything."

"Easy fix - just lemme on your ship, space man..." He said drowsily, lost in the towel bath-turned-petting Ford was lavishing him with.

"Of course. What's the point of a Stan O' War sailing with just one Stan?"

Stanley huffed one single, distracted laugh. "Maybe we could get married up there. International space waters."

"I'd call it closer to extranational space."

"Nerd."

Ford snorted.

The glorified rag they called their towel was cold under Ford's hands, and Stan shivered. "Too damn cold in here." He grumbled, eyes squinting open like the lights offended him.

"We could head back, put our blankets on top of eachother." Ford murmured into his brother's hair, running fingers down his spine.

Stanley hummed. "I know a quicker way to warm us up." He said and suddenly Ford felt warm fingers itching under his green gym shorts.

"Are you sure you're up for it tonight? After what happened?" He said, even though the sour smell was gone, replaced by familiar sweetness.

"Ugh, how am I supposed to think about a damn ruthead when I've got you right in front of me?" Stanley replied, standing up meet Ford in a bruising kiss. Ford put one hand on Stan's chest and the other in his hair, along for the ride as Stanley licked into his mouth.

Stan pulled away suddenly. "I'll turn on the shower." He said, voice hoarse and hot, and Ford watched him walk over to the small seperated shower room with three different heads all with different amounts of plumbers tape cobbling them together. Ford pulled off his vest and started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt while he heard the pipes strain through the walls before a hissing filled the shower alcove.

Ford shrugged his shirt off at the same time Stan started fumbling with his loud, clicky belt. He looked over and watched. Really, the belt was redundant, Stanley's jeans hugged him so perfectly, showed off every curve of muscle, the way the softness of his thighs squished under a set of six-fingered hands. His eyes devoured every inch of skin as the denim was slowly pulled away. On closer inspection he was wearing Ford's boxers. Ford wanted to cry.

Stanley pulled those down too, until all he was wearing was a little gold hoop earring. Ford saw every little movement that went into Stanley's slow stroll back to the showers. "You coming, Sixer?" Stanley asked. "It's getting lonely over here."

Ford got rid of his shorts and underwear and was quickly following Stanley to the shower before Stanley could finish the sentence.

Stanley turned to face him and he shoved him into the wall, meeting his lips desperately while warm water rolled off his back. Stanley pushed back until he found his own back against the wall, he didn't care as long as Stanley didn't stop.

Five-fingered hands roved up and down his torso, rolling a nipple with one hand and holding a hip with the other, he was all over like a starved man.

"St-anley." Ford groaned while Stanley licked over the glands on his own neck. Stanley's hands itched lower, lover than his ass, the next second Ford was off his feet and pressed even further into the wall with a startled yelp.

Stanley giggled, before adjusting his hold on Ford again. Ford got out a breathy "Don't you dare--" before Stanley raised him high enough his legs could rest on Stanley's shoulders, still pressed against the wall. "Stan - oh." He felt slight warm pants warming his dick as Stanley leaned forward, taking in as much as he could at once. Ford keened, hands in Stanley's hair, feeling like he was on a mechanical bull as his whole body rocked up and down the wall to the movement of Stan's bobbing head. A steady stream of huffs and moans slipping from his throat as he desperately chased his peak.

Then Stanley pulled away and Ford whined at the loss.

His brother gave him a dopey grin. Ford laughed breathlessly. "Whats that look for?"

"I love you."

Heat rushed to his face. Stanley was looking up at him eagerly. "I... Well of course I love you too, knucklehead."

Stanley smiled widely, kissing Ford just below the bellybutton before lowering him closer to eye-level. Ford immediately wrapped his legs around Stanley's hips. And one of Stanley's hands inched off his leg and lower.

One finger ran over his wet hole and he nearly jerked out of Stan's arms, his brother scrabbling to keep him steady. "No?" Stanley asked.

"Yes." Ford replied. "Please." He added to state the urgency.

Stanley groaned into his neck. "You're killin' me." He whined, and two fingers slipped into Ford's entrance.

Ford started rolling back onto them immediately, not minding the burn and eager for what comes after.

Stanley was looking at him the way he looked at an art piece, a third finger sneaking in with the other two, making a wet noise the shower could not muffle. Ford pushed up his slipping glasses as he continued fucking himself until Stanley's breath hitched and he again stole Ford's stimulation from him, pulling his fingers out and leaving Ford hollow and wanting.

Then he felt something else press at his entrance, and he took a breath, groaning as Stanley sank in, waiting on Ford to move first.

When Ford's hips started rolling, Stan whined, thrusting back into him with everything he was.

Stanley let Ford set the pace, following the rolls of his hips dutifully but going no faster. Ford let himself get lost in it, like a rocking boat.

Then Stanley leaned forward, panting into Ford's ear. "Mark me."

Ford shuttered. "Really? You're sure?"

"Please." Stanley said, sounding close to crying for it. "I wan' it - I need it - please please please, Sixer, Stanford - fuck - I, I just wanna smell like you forever." He cried desperately, and Ford groaned in turn, salivating at the idea.

"You s-sure?" Ford asked, hips speeding up a little as the thought sunk in. Stanley nodded furiously, and Ford opened his mouth, letting his canines graze soft flesh, pulse fluttering under his teeth. A string of begging was pulled from Stanley's mouth before Ford couldn't control his hips anymore, rolling desperately, filling himself over and over. He bit down on the side of Stanley's neck, teeth digging into one of the glands as he came against his brother's stomach. Stanley made a half-choked wimper, coming inside without warning, head ragdolled to show Ford as much of his neck as possible while he shook, trying to keep his legs from giving out all at once while he sank to the shower floor. Ford pulled his teeth out and held Stanley while he came down.

When Stanley finally had the presence of mind to look up at Ford, he gave him another dopey smile. "I'm your problem now." He said smugly, voice completely wrecked.

"You always have been, Stanley." Ford said, combing his fingers through his hair. "You always will be."

#stancest #RIP Stanford Pines you would have loved radical feminism #RIP Stanley Pines you would have loved therapy that isn't twin brother bussy #If there are typos no there aren't wake me up when spring comes goodnight #a/b/o dynamics #drafts

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