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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years

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Sandman II

Hyung Line X Reader

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Horror

Rated: M

Word Count: 4.2K

Release Date: February 26, 2021 @ 5 p.m. (GMT-5)

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. So imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her disappeared, and all her social medias deleted. But perhaps most peculiar was the wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

Warning: Brief mention of death and suicide.

The first words out of Kim Seokjin's mouth when they reached the car, after having been escorted through the back entrance to avoid the press, were "I'm sorry." YN hadn't even known how to react before Seokjin launched into a full-blown ramble, "I'm so sorry about that YN. I just - I have been so worried. We've all been, and we thought you - but now you're here. They didn't even tell us even though we're listed and to just think about how alone you've been. How confused you must feel -"

YN placed her hands on top of his which rested on the shift gear, “It’s okay Jin. I understand.” She smiled at him tenderly before her sister’s words flashed through her mind, ‘Isn’t Seokjin the best?! He’s the only man you can truly rely on.’ Instantly YN took her hands off him, folding them on her lap. Now was not the time to dwell on those things. If Seokjin noticed the sudden shift in the air he didn’t comment on it, simply stating: “You’ve always been so understanding.” Before focusing on the road and turning the engine on, driving away. As they exited the parking lot, YN saw all the vans from the news outlets parked outside. Some she recognized, others she didn’t, but what she did notice was a large sign being held up by one of the reporters. It read: Sandman victim finally returns.

It was as much a shock to me as it was to everyone when Seokjin and I started dating. He wasn’t my type. I can’t say for sure what it was that drew us together - maybe loneliness - or maybe I just liked the way people stared in shock at the fact that someone like him was with someone like me. That didn’t matter though, Seokjin and the others were always there. They were whatever I needed them to be. They would do anything to make me happy, but I wasn’t the only one they treated as special.

When the car approached the front gate of Nagwon villas YN frowned, “Weren’t we going to the hospital?” The thought of being poked and prodded like a rag doll wasn’t a pleasing one, but she knew disappearing for three years and not remembering anything didn’t bode well. The only thing that could give a hint at what she’d endured, and why she’d forgotten, was her body. Seokjin shrugged, “I know you aren’t a big fan of doctors, so I asked Namjoon for a favor.” Namjoon? She wasn't sure she was ready to see Namjoon or any of them for that matter. She hadn't even thought about seeing Jin until he showed up. ‘He’s like something out of a fairy tale, isn’t he? A knight in shining armor.’ YN shook her head, don't think about her or you'll start crying like a child again. Everyone in her family had always called her a crybaby, teased her for not being able to hold her emotions in. Right now, though, she felt less like a newborn and more like an overflowed dam. About to break at any second.

“Are the others going to be there?” Is he going to be there?

“No, Hoseok is out of town. He should be coming back tomorrow though; I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know you were back but it's all over the news.”

That wasn't who she was talking about and they both knew it. Still, if Seokjin was being ignorant then it was for a reason; so she went along with it. "Shouldn't it be Namjoon's dad?"

Seokjin glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “Namjoons a doctor now, babe. It’ll be him you’re seeing.” Perhaps still sensing her hesitance he continued, “Don’t worry his family has a private practice in their house for situations like this.”

“You’re all still friends?” She asked, looking outside the window at the passing houses. They passed several houses she recognized, having been inside a couple of them. Nagwon kids always threw the best parties; likely due to their houses being huge and the large amounts they could spend on booze. Her sister would always drag YN to one when she was stuck babysitting, at first she’d just sit around on her phone. Things became easier when they started hanging out with the guys though: there was always Hoseok to crack jokes, Namjoon to talk random things about, and Seokjin to offer whatever it was she needed. Yoongi was always there too, but they wouldn’t talk much just sit in silence.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be? The best of friends.” There was no sarcasm or humor in his voice, he meant it. Maybe he truly didn’t care? Or three years was a long time to hold onto a grudge especially when the two at-fault for their problems disappeared from their lives. That’s probably why. With YN and her sister out of the way, things had gone back to normal for the men. Nonetheless, it felt like nothing between Seokjin and YN had changed, but that couldn't be true. It's been three years. That statement was difficult for her to wrap her head around, but it didn’t make it any less true. It had been three years and yet Seokjin acted like they hadn’t spent a single day apart. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, so much so she couldn’t help but ask.

“Did we hang out the night I disappeared?”

Seokjin took his hands off the wheel, she hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, the look he gave her was a mixture of incredulity and hurt. “No, we didn’t. You told me you didn’t want to see me again.” His voice was tense, ears getting red the way they did whenever he was upset. “Don’t you remember?”

I did tell him that. She hadn't meant it of course, but YN tended to lash out when she felt cornered. Thinking back now, she remembered her cruel words how she had blamed Seokjin for something that was both their fault. The pain on his face and the desperation in his tone as he begged for her to forgive him, only for YN to kick him out and shut the door.

"I forgot. I'm sorry, Jin." She pressed her fingers into her palm, hoping the pain would take things off her mind.

“Hey.” Jin’s fingers gently gripped the bottom of her chin, “It’s okay. I forgive you, let’s just not talk about it again okay?” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

YN breathed deeply before unlocking the door and getting out. The Kim's large beige mansion stared down at her - it was the first time she’d been there, and the nerves were eating her up. Namjoon will probably have a lot of questions too. She had barely managed to get through one of Officer Taehyung’s questions before having a panic attack, YN had no idea how she would brave against Namjoon. With nerves clouding her senses she failed to notice the black motorcycle parked on the curve, slightly obscured by the shrubs. Had she YN would have avoided walking into a trap.

"Heard you got your ass whooped by Min." Jungkook laughed, as he sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "Did he take you over his knee and make you count to ten?" At that, a couple of others nearby chuckled. Taehyung rolled his eyes, "If he hears you, he'll take you over his knee." Jungkook shoved him softly, though 'softly' in this case meant Taehyung almost fell off his chair. Deciding to ignore him this time, he focused once again on the small font on his computer. Several minutes passed before Jungkook spoke again, "Is this about YN? If you're looking through the case files you won't find anything useful. Trust me, everyone in this room has gone through it multiple times."

There was a reason there was press lined up outside, nothing sold quite like a morbid story. ‘Girl disappears from her bed in the middle of the night with no trace behind’ had a nice hook to it. Taehyung had already been in the academy when it happened, but he was still shocked - especially once he found out it had happened in his hometown. Nothing ever happened in this town, they called it paradise for a reason. Yet someone had broken into the YLN family home and stolen a girl straight from her bed, nothing left behind but a bit of wet sand.

“It doesn’t hurt to look again, plus now we might get somewhere that she’s back. Find out who did it.” Taehyung scrolled down and started looking at all the pictures, he’d have to swing by the evidence locker later to see what they still had left physically.

“I’m just surprised the sister didn’t do it, given everything -”

Taehyung spun around quickly in his chair, “Don’t say that. Minsuh loved that kid, she’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Yeah well that’s not what I heard,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. “I know it isn’t good to speak ill of the dead, but Minsuh wasn’t as dignified as her name suggested.”

Taehyung turned away from the young cop, “Look you’re wasting my time and I have to focus on this case. YN’s going to come back tomorrow and we need to build a timeline, can’t do that without all the facts so just go away.”

Jungkook sighed, “Sorry man. I know the two of you were close,” Jungkook had seen how uncomfortable Taehyung had gotten when YN brought up him dating her sister. “But you know I’m not the only one that thinks so. Regardless, everyone knows it's not true now so there’s that.”

It doesn’t matter, Taehyung wanted to say, she died with everyone in this town thinking she was a murderer. Nothing will ever change that. Instead, he remained quiet, eyes focused on the computer screen. Gaze focused intensely on the pictures of YN’s bedroom as if they would wield together a logical story that would explain where she’d been this whole time.

Everyone in school had a crush on Namjoon. Smart Namjoon. Sweet Namjoon. Dimpled cheeks Namjoon. Girls and guys would swoon over him, talking about how they would love to feel his chest or sit on his thighs. They were all fools. Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon may look harmless but it's always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

It truly was a private practice, equipped with all sorts of equipment one might find in a typical emergency room. YN wondered why they would ever need something like that. Maybe high clientele? Though the closest things to celebrities that lived in this town were both Seokjin and Namjoon's families, then Jung's, and the Min's. Namjoon wasn't there when they first arrived but appeared quickly enough, the gentle smile on his face reminded YN of simpler times. "How are you?" It dawned on her then that was the first time she'd been asked the question. She'd been plagued by 'where were you?' 'how are you alive?' and 'I'm sorrys' since she'd woken up. No one ever thought to ask how she was.

“I’ve been better.” YN answered softly, afraid that if she spoke anymore, she would break down again. The men in the room seemed to read between the lines without her elaborating further. Seokjin squeezed her hand, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if anything happens, okay?” Before YN could respond Jin once again kissed her forehead before walking away. Leaving her alone in the stark white room with Namjoon, who leaned against a medical bed. His left hand patting the space beside him, “Let’s talk YN.” She grimaced slightly. “You’re in a safe space YN. You know me I would never do anything to hurt you and Seokjin is right outside if you need him. We’re your family.”

Family. They had been a sort of family, the five of them: always hanging out, sharing stories, meals, and memories. It didn't matter that she was much younger or that the only reason she was tolerated was that Minsuh was dating Seokjin. They had always been kind, always been loving, always been there. Even when her actual family wasn't. They’re all I’ve got… at least until dad comes. Once she sat down the doctor offered a genuine smile, it reminded her of all the times the two would stay up late studying at the library. A warmth that eased away from the chill she'd had all day lead to the first genuine smile on her face, “Thanks Namjoon.”

“I told you to call me Joon remember?” His broad shoulder playfully brushed YN’s, before he began conducting his examinations.

“You know being clandestine isn’t your strong suit.” Kim Seokjin leaned against the black LeoVince Racer waiting for his friend to exit from the back of Namjoon's private practice. Min Yoongi looked like he hadn't slept for days and had the corners of his lips turned upward in a way that was half-way between a snarl and a smirk. "I'd beg to differ." Yoongi responded, approaching the man as he adjusted white medical papers into his jacket's hidden pockets.

Seokjin eyed them carefully, “If you’re caught with those you could face serious trouble.”

Yoongi laughed, “Who’s going to catch me? The sheriff?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, empty threats and warnings weren’t going to change anything. “What do the papers say?” He tried to grab them, but Yoongi blocked his hand easily. Maneuvering Seokjin off his bike so he could get on it.

"Ask the doc or her. She doesn't keep secrets from you." Yoongi's eyes were cold and his voice lacked the playfulness present before. Seokjin knew better than to press his buttons any further, "Go before she sees you." Not that it mattered much, YN would be face to face with all of them soon - a reunion was inevitable. Nonetheless, Yoongi was a sore spot for her; the more Seokjin could delay their meeting the more things could go according to plan.

“So you’re officially a doctor?” YN asked as Namjoon finished up drawing the last of her blood. They'd done all types of x-rays, physical, and psychological examinations to check her well-being. No words had been shared between the two, but the silence was beginning to bother her.

“Well, yes and no. Still must finish my residency, but I have most of the hours done.” Namjoon replied nonchalantly.

Whenever the subject had come up before Namjoon had dreaded having to take over the family business, feeling it was a role he was being pushed into. Guess things have changed. “I thought you didn’t want to be a doctor.”

He shrugged in response, “I guess I finally understood why my dad loved it so much. Medicine, biology, psychology, chemistry are all things that are useful.”

“You became a doctor became because it was useful? That doesn’t make much sense.” YN chuckled as Namjoon placed a bandage on the inside of her arm. He chose not to reply immediately, instead, holding up a lollipop that was inside his pocket. She took it with little thought. “Little makes sense in life. Human beings are just inherent paradoxes.” Minsuh always said that. It was one of the things the two sisters never agreed on. Minsuh always argued that people could still technically be considered ‘good’ no matter what they did. YN disagreed. Can’t do bad things and still be a good person. Namjoon clapped his hands together, signaling they were done and proceeded to help YN off the bed.

“Thanks, Joon.” She shot him a smile which she hoped looked more sincere than it felt. Though tensions didn’t run as high with Namjoon as they did with the others, it didn’t mean it was smooth sailing. Namjoon, like always, understood exactly what she meant and didn’t push. “Of course, YN. Anything for you.” With the promise her results would be ready in a couple of days, he sent her back on her way.

When she exited Seokjin was waiting outside with a furrow on his brow. Now what? YN didn’t know where else to go from here, what else to do, it felt like she’d hit a roadblock. I could go back home. Was that place even home anymore? Without her family, furniture, memories – could she return, or would it be too painful? Was she even allowed to return? It had looked abandoned when she’d been inside, so certainly YN wasn’t trespassing.

“It’s okay YN. You can stay at mine until we figure something out. I wouldn’t want you out of my sight anyway, it’s dangerous.”

It didn’t sit right with her to rely on Seokjin so much – or be under the same roof as him – but she would be lying if she said it didn’t ease her anxiety. “You’ve already done so much. I couldn’t ask that of you.” Her hands were shaking as she said the words, but even if she wanted to say yes immediately. YN couldn’t be selfish.

“No, I haven’t. Trust me.”

Before YN could ask what he meant Seokjin took hold of her wrist gently pulling her to the car.

Jung Hoseok. Lovely Hoseok. Funny Hoseok. Sweet Hoseok. The boy whose smile lights up the sky and everyone just gravitates towards him. No one could ever dislike him. Mr. Popular always putting others before himself. Dear sweet Hobi is an angel sent from heaven, but he isn’t as innocent as he seems. People tend to forget Lucifer was god’s favorite before he fell from the sky.

“Honestly was it really necessary to put on this whole show?” Hoseok wiggled his wrists causing the handcuffs to jingle against the table. Taehyung’s face remained stoic as he proceeded to read from the file. “A bit strange isn’t that YLN YN returns when you just so happen to out of town, Mr. Jung.” His eyebrow arched highly, Hoseok would’ve laughed if not for the situation he was in. “No it isn’t. I take a family trip around this time every single year detective. I told this to the sheriff three years ago and I’ll repeat this now.” He leaned forward the mirth gone from his mouth, “I had nothing to do with what happened to YN. I wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else for that matter.” Hoseok sighed, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair. “Look officer, I know its procedure and the prime suspect is always the boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.”

Even if Taehyung doubted that with every fiber of his being, he had nothing else to go off on. Jung Hoseok’s alibis were airtight, had always been, not to mention it would be extremely out of character for him to harm a bug – much less orchestrate something to this degree. It had been reckless to ask for him to be picked up from the city, but today had been a long day and there were just too many coincidences for the investigator to ignore. “Very well Mr. Jung. You’re free to go but I suggest you don’t leave town on another family vacation any time soon.” He reached towards his belt, taking out the keys and uncuffing Hoseok. Taehyung was on a tight schedule anyway; it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff returned from his lunch break. Seeing his son’s best friend in handcuffs would only cause Taehyung to be even more reprimanded.

With the cuffs off him, Hoseok stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. "You used to call me Hyung remember? Back when you were desperate for Minsuh and you to be a thing." Taehyung recalled having felt the need to please her friends to get her to look twice at him. Where’s this coming from? Hoseok looked down at him with cold eyes, "You know we never blamed you for how you reacted to things ending Tae. Heartbreak can make a man go crazy after all." The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly a smile broke out on Hoseok's face. "Sorry, it was silly of me to bring that up. We were all kids after all." With that he walked away from the desk and opened the door, turning around just enough to wink at Taehyung before the door closed completely.

Hoseok felt his phone vibrate inside his pants and rolled his eyes, without even looking he knew who it was. Taking the phone out, he swiped right and immediately spoke. “Yah, you won’t believe what just fucking happened. Where are you anyway?”

“Sorry it isn’t much.” Seokjin apologized as he handed YN the pile of clothes. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for essentials.” YN shook her head, “Thanks, I don’t need much. My dad shouldn’t take too long in coming to get me anyway.” She placed the clothes on the banister in the bathroom, content to finally be able to shower and become clean. It had been a long day, some soap and water might not wash the pain away, but she could pretend it would. There was another thing weighing on her mind, a thought that would simply not go away. For as kind as Seokjin had always been with her, even he had his limits. This behavior felt a bit out of character with the person she knew – the one she remembered.

“Why are you doing all this Jin?”

The man in question froze as if stunned, "What do you mean?" His dark brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a grimace.

“Going to see me, Namjoon, letting me stay over. All of this,” she gestured to the bathroom which had been prepared with candles, bath bombs, and calming music. It’s out of character for you. Kim Seokjin had never really been the romantic type, caring yes, but not sentimental. “Is it out of guilt?” Is it out of pity? YN may not remember what happened the night she disappeared, but that summer would forever remain ingrained in her head. "Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Or are you doing this because you feel responsible? Which one was it? Maybe all of them combined?

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, “Yes.” Without elaborating anymore, he walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

When YN walked out of the bathroom she felt much better. All of the day’s events had worn her thin and she was ready to head straight to bed, but not without seeking Seokjin out and confronting him. Yes? Yes, to what exactly? Everything? She hadn’t been able to find the house slippers she’d borrowed, so she traveled through the house and down the stairs barefoot. Barely making any sound. She could hear loud audio coming from the living room and voices on the other side where the library was. Though she could recognize Seokjin as one of the voices, her feet dragged her to the living room, nonetheless. Deeming it better to wait until he was done than interrupting what sounded like an important conversation.

The couch had been changed into a leather sectional angled towards the screen as had more of the décor. It looked less like a family home and more like a bachelor pad now if YN was honest. Seokjin the bachelor. He had always had someone attached to his side whether it be a dancer, cheerleader, private school girl, and eventually her sister. What about you? YN shook her head, wanting the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The television distracted her once she picked up on what was being said. It was a newsreel showing a bleached blonde with shiny hair and pouty lips holding a microphone. Behind him was YN’s home, or what used to be, in the dead of the night it looked eerie. After basic introductions the news anchor began speaking:

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. Imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her present disappeared, and all her social medias were deleted. Perhaps most peculiar was the only substantial evidence found by investigators was wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

“Try as they investigators could find nothing that could tell them what had happened to YN. Then a year later tragedy struck once more when on the anniversary of YN’s disappearance, YLN Minsuh – her older sister - took her and her mother’s life in a murder suicide. YN’s father who was present that night managed to survive. Many people took this to be an admission of guilt on the sister’s part, for the two had never had the best relationship. Though with no note, the case had no choice to remain open. Thankfully for a miracle would occur. Almost three years to the day, YN has returned to the exact spot of her disappearance. Residents and audiences nationally are overjoyed, and hope justice can now be served. Stay tuned as this tragic twisted tale continues to unfold. We’ll now switch back over to Bo for sports.”

A piercing wail left YN’s mouth as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately, she was scooped off the ground into a warm embrace. “Jin?” She cried, but when she met the eyes of her savior the round hazel she was expecting was instead met with sharp feline ones. "Yoongi?!"

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

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The Way You Say My Name

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set immediately post-MAG 22. Martin is trans and Jon is amab non-binary.

CWs: Guilt, self-recrimination, worms (mentioned), arguments, shouting, crying, lying (Martin lying about his CV still), transphobia (mentioned), misgendering (mentioned), child abuse (mention of Martin Blackwood's mother)

Summary: Just after MAG 22, Jon apologizes for his treatment of Martin over the past few months. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to apologize to someone when you don't understand exactly what it is you've done to upset them.

(Of course, once Jon's apologized and Martin's relaxing, well... that's when Jon will finally notice he actually likes Martin, isn't it? Not that he's going to admit to that, even to himself.)

Shoutout to the Martin Blackwood Lovers Discord Server, without whom I would not have written this up and posted it. ;) Jon’s dialogue was (mostly) written by @marianfuckinghawke.

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“Recording ends.”

Jon reached out and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. He sighed and looked at his phone. The message from Jane Prentiss was still glowing on the screen. He ran a hand through his short hair, aware he was mussing the grey-streaked black and deciding he didn’t care.

He had listened to Martin’s account of the encounter with Jane Prentiss with trepidation and worry. Now he could feel his face settling into something more drawn with concern. First, concern for his two assistants who were out of the Archive at the moment. Second, concern for Martin. The man had gotten himself into this mess because of Jon’s words. Due diligence. Was he really such a hardass that he had put one of his subordinates in harm’s way? How had he not realized that it might come to this?

Martin sat fidgeting, shifting in his seat, and Jon could feel the other man’s soft brown eyes on him. He had the look of a frightened, cornered animal and it cut Jon to the quick. He had done this. Jon was responsible for the man’s state, and he had to figure out how to make it better.

There was silence for a solid three minutes. Then Martin opened his mouth to say, “So if I’m going to be--”

Jon started speaking at exactly the same time. “So obviously you’re--” He blinked and said, “I’m sorry--”

“No, no, you go,” Martin said, raising his hands and waving them rapidly.

“No. It’s alright… go ahead,” Jon replied at the exact same time, then frowned.

Martin cleared his throat, then seemed to gather his courage. “Well. I was going to say. If I’m going to be staying here, I’ll need… things. Like, uhh, there’s a cot, but I’ll need, like… a toothbrush? I mean, you don’t have a stash of those sitting around, do you?” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner.

“No, I do not,” Jon replied. “Nor do you have a proper change of clothing… you can hardly wear the same outfit for however long this will take, and you won’t want to sleep in what you’re wearing.” He had a sudden mental image of Martin sleeping naked, and cleared his throat while he shoved it away. Hardly an appropriate thought about a co-worker, even if it wasn’t remotely sexual. “We will have to go out and get such things for you… perhaps after I brief Tim and Sasha on the situation.”

Martin nodded. “There’s a room that might be, umm… did you know one of the rooms that’s filled with boxes is supposed to be the break room?” He gave that self-deprecating laugh again. “‘Course you know that, stupid, what am I saying…” He glanced aside, cheeks flushing. “Umm. Anyway. Umm. It’s bigger than the room you’ve got the cot in? If… if… I’m going to be staying here… I could clean it out… make it livable, maybe, umm, get some snacks and tea and things in, and there’d be more room for extra cots… in case you need somewhere to stay late or… something…” A pause. “Or not! Or just. You know. I’ll just. Have lots of time, so. I can. Clean. The break room.”

Jon did not, in fact, know that they’d had a break room at all. It had been frustrating to have everyone going up to the Admin break room on the ground floor, and he’d said so more than once. No, wait… had someone told him, and had he just told them off about clearing the room out?

He was suddenly horribly aware of how many times he’d griped at Martin for going up there to make tea that he had then gone ahead and drunk. How had he been such a prick to this man?

When Jon had started as Head Archivist, he’d had all sorts of plans for team morale, bonding exercises, and the like. He’d always hated them personally but they were the sort of thing bosses were supposed to do. The trouble was that all of his “how best to run the Archives as a team” ideas had flown right out of his head once he’d gotten down there and found himself at a desk where a woman had maybe died, struggling to record statements, dealing with doggy messes, and that damned persistent feeling of being watched.

Well, now was as good a time as any to start acting the way he should have all along.

“Martin… we will clean the break room. Together. As a group.” He ran his hand through his hair again. He really was going to look a mess. “It is a communal space, it will be a communal job.” He added quickly, “Yes, I know you’ll be here more than the rest of us, but I want us all involved. We need…” He sighed. Time to apologize. “I have been… less supportive of you than I should. And…” He swallowed, aware of the flush rising on his cheeks. “I feel I must apologize. So… I am sorry. But we should do more together, especially given that circumstances have escalated.”

Martin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re… sorry. For… being less… supportive than you should have been.” There was a hard-to-read undercurrent in his tone.

“For being… rude to you… and for punishing you…” Jon replied. “Unjustly.” He gestured to the recorder. “All of this… happened because of your adherence to my instructions…” He frowned. “So. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Martin snapped, “at least you’re finally realizing that it was… unjust.” He glared at Jon, who suddenly felt pinned to the spot by eyes that were no longer soft but had gone hard as agates.

Jon blinked at Martin. “Are… are you alright?” He was apologizing! He couldn’t be messing that up this badly, could he?

Martin drew a long breath in through his nose. “Yeah,” he said, in a high-pitched, clipped tone. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He went to stand abruptly, pushing away from the desk, and in that same tone, “Well, you’d better get to… briefing people, then. I’ll just… go see how far my paycheck can stretch in Chelsea.” His tone was dripping with bitterness by the end.

Jon stood up. “Martin!” He was vaguely aware of saying it in the same irritated tone he always used for the man’s name, aware that Martin visibly flinched at the word, and tried to moderate his tone. “What is going on? I am apologizing! Is… am I missing something?” He moved around the desk to try to be sure Martin didn’t just leave without finishing the conversation.

“No,” Martin said, stopping while facing the door, tone still a good two octaves above normal. “No, it’s fine. You’re apologizing, and that’s good.” His whole frame was stiff, though, and his tone practically screamed “lying.”

Jon couldn’t read people all that well, but even he could read the signs Martin was giving off. “While your words are clear, your body language says quite otherwise.” He tried to moderate his tone again, but he couldn’t help sounding mildly irritated. He didn’t like being lied to, especially concerning his own actions, and he wasn’t sure what he had done incorrectly in this situation. “Now will you stop and talk to me?”

Martin turned away from the door, faced Jon, jaw set firmly. “What do you want me to say, Jon? Do you want me to… to forgive you? To say ‘oh, sure, you’re sorry, so that makes up for the last six months where you’ve made me want to quit my job every day?’ Am I supposed to… to… just… oh, well, there’s danger, so now you’ve realized I’m an actual person, now you’re going to stop kicking me around, now you’re going to pitch in to help around here as I’m not already the one spending all his time trying to clean up the mess while Tim and Sasha run out to research things so you don’t have to send anyone to double-check my work? Never mind that I’ve been trapped for two weeks, I could’ve been dead and none of you bothered to check on me!”

Martin was all but shouting by the end of the diatribe, every line of him stiff and furious, and Jon was suddenly very aware of the fact that Martin was taller and bigger than he was. He cringed away from Martin, took a step back. “I… I…” He turned away to his desk, grabbed his phone. “Here…” he said, handing it to Martin. “Look!” The phone would solve the problem, if Martin could just see… “There… I… just… please…”

The moment Jon had cringed away Martin had hunched his shoulders, deliberately making himself smaller. Now he was taking long, deep breaths, his expression ashamed. He reached out to take the phone from Jon.

The display was still on the screen of Jon’s message history with Martin. Before the last message from Jane Prentiss was a long list of messages from Jon--numerous messages inquiring about Martin’s health, worried and concerned. He had linked articles about foods to eat when feeling ill, then when he’d realized some of those might be hard for Martin to make alone, found new links that had easier recipes.

There were also, Jon knew, greyed-out deleted messages.

Martin, know that your presence is missed here at the Archives. I am wishing you a quick recovery.

I know it’s sudden, but I find myself missing you. Just thought you should know.

And others, so many others, as Jon had tried to figure out how to pierce the wall built by the texts he’d been getting back from what he now knew was Jane Prentiss, asking to be left alone.

As Jon watched Martin reading the messages he nervously bounced in place, one arm folded over his chest to hold the other. He could feel his skin glowing from embarrassment and he wasn’t even sure why. The blush faded, however, as he watched Martin. Watched the anger fade, and realized what lay underneath. The pain that had been underlying that anger, the way it lifted as Martin read through the message history--it was like a revelation. Martin must have walked in here convinced nobody at his place of employment really cared about him, and Jon realized that that was, indeed, what he must usually think, if something as simple as text messages was making something like hope bloom on his face.

It occurred to Jon, suddenly, that nobody had checked on Martin. For two weeks. No friends, no family. Nobody had even noticed the man was gone.

Jon had to fix this. Somehow. And not by wrapping Martin up in a fierce hug like he very much wanted to; that would not be appreciated from the man’s asshole boss. Even if Martin looked like he really, really needed a hug.

By the time Martin handed the phone back to Jon, his breathing was shaky and unsteady. He dropped back into the chair, like his legs suddenly weren’t working. “S-sorry,” he managed in the barest of whispers. “Sorry.”

“That’s… my line,” Jon said. “I am sorry. I should have said more to make it clear… you are a valued member of this team.” He shook his head, wincing at how… canned that line sounded, but pushed on. “I should have said it at least once. And… I never did. I held you at arm’s length and ostracized you. And… I understand how you felt all that time now…” He sighed. “And… yes, it may have taken this incident to make me realize how terrible a person I’ve been to you since… since you started working here.”

Martin stared down at his hands; Jon could see he was crying, but silently, without sniffling or sobbing. “Why?” he finally managed. He looked up at Jon. “Why? What did I… do? I mean… there was the whole ‘dog’ business at the beginning… what, do you hate dogs that much?” There was a kind of desperation in his tone.”

“No… I mean, sure I’m more of a cat person, but… no… I don’t hate dogs.” Jon frowned. “I… I’ve given that a lot of thought these past two weeks and I think I figured it out.” He sighed. “It wasn’t you I was angry with.” He took a breath. “I was angry at Elias. I like to have a sense of who I work with, to get to know them before I get into anything serious.” Oh, no, wait, that sounded… he hadn’t meant it like… work. He’d meant work! No, he was overthinking that; Martin knew he meant work. He stammered for a moment, though. “It’s… part of who I am… as a person.

Jon took a breath, to steady himself. Focus on the apology. “When Elias… placed you here without telling or consulting me about the selection process, it… felt like a betrayal. I felt that agency over my department had been taken out of my hands. And yes… I know he runs the Institute, but he should have at least consulted me about who is in my department.”

He dropped his head and reached to take a box of tissues from the side of the desk, to slide them towards Martin. An olive branch. “I took out that anger and frustration on you. And that was wrong, I know that now.”

“Not like I wanted to be here either,” Martin mumbled, reaching out for a tissue and wiping at his eyes. It didn’t do much to stop the tears. “I mean, I didn’t even want the damn library job, I j-just…” He stumbled, stammering, “It’s… it’s harder to get a position with a degree in parapsychology than you might think.” He sniffled. “B-but… even on top of that… you and Tim and Sasha, you’re all friends already, you requested them. Even if Tim and Sasha and I get along they don’t really know me, and you… well…” He sighed. “When Elias said I was going to work for Jonathan Sims I just about freaked out. You’ve got a… reputation, you know? I just… I knew it’d be… lonely down here, and it really has been.” There was a furrow between his brows now as he looked at Jon.

Jon frowned. He’d known he had a reputation around the Institute, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He took a deep breath; this wasn’t about him right now. “Then let us work on fixing that. Starting now. Like I said, we need to be working together more, improve the… office atmosphere. I… have come to admire your dedication to your work. ‘Due diligence,’ as you put it.”

Martin regarded him quietly for a moment. Then he said, “The thing that really bothers me… I don’t… I don’t think you’d understand.”

Jon frowned. Then, finally, softly, “Try me. You might be surprised.”

Martin swallowed. “I… I’m trans,” he blurted. “Like, I was… I had a girl’s name, when I was younger. Figured out I was a guy when I was a teenager, started hormones, and… well…” He took a deep breath. “My mum’s never approved, you know? She’s always been… difficult, she’s… sometimes she’ll… well, I mean, you know how parents will… say your name, right? Like, when you’ve… disappointed them.”

Jon’s frown deepened. He did not, in fact, know how parents said one’s name, but he could remember his grandmother saying Jonathan in tones of deepest disapproval when he’d come back from wandering off. So he nodded; he understood the feeling, at least.

Martin wiped at his eyes again. “The way she said my name… it made me hate my name. My deadname, I mean. But it… helped me realize I was trans, because when I thought about something else I’d want to be called, I came up with ‘Martin.’ And… and I’m kind of glad sometimes, that she… misgenders me, and refuses to call me Martin, because it means she’ll never, ever say it in that… disappointed tone. I have never regretted that choice, not once, until…”

Martin took in a long, shuddering breath, then straightened himself, looking Jon right in the eye. Like he knew what he was going to say wouldn’t go over well, but he had to say it. “The way you say my name, when you snap at me? It’s exactly like my mother says my deadname. And nobody has ever made me regret that choice. Not… ever.” He swallowed. “Until I met you.”

Jon stared at Martin for a long moment, horrified. He was non-binary himself, and yet he’d never changed his name, never even asked people to call him by different pronouns although he might have preferred it; he’d never had the courage to do so. He’d always been terrified of what people might think of him. Yet here was Martin, strong enough to change himself outwardly despite his mother’s disapproval, strong enough to keep coming in every day to deal with a boss who made him regret the name he’d chosen for himself.

In that moment, Jon felt very much like he did not deserve Martin Blackwood. That the Institute did not deserve Martin Blackwood. They would have to do better, somehow.

Finally he managed, “I’m… I didn’t know. I--” He curled his mouth in disgust. How did one respond to that? Do better? That was only a marginally acceptable platitude. “I will endeavor to change my tone.” He didn’t like that any better, but it was the best he could do.

Jon really, really wanted to offer Martin a hug. The man looked like he needed one. Tim would have offered a hug, workplace hugs could be acceptable… but, no, Jon was Martin’s boss, and Martin had just said how much he hated Jon--because if Jon reminded Martin of the mother who deliberately misgendered him, then he had to hate Jon--and who would want a hug from someone they hated?

There was something he could do to help, though. To pay Martin back, as it were. So he, too, straightened, and said, “Well. You were talking about how far your paycheck will stretch in Chelsea, but I think that will be quite unnecessary. Given that you encountered Jane Prentiss while in the line of duty, as it were, I think we can expense your essentials to the Institute without too much trouble.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “W-wait… won’t that… I mean… won’t Mr. Bouchard be… upset about that?”

Jon actually smirked. “Don’t you worry about Elias; I fully intend to take out my irritation about his habits as a supervisor on him instead of you from here on out.” Not directly, of course, but Elias would be irritated by the entire setup, and some petty part of Jon enjoyed that thought.

Martin was staring at Jon now. “I… I wouldn’t want you to… get in trouble…”

Jon waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood. “Let’s get to the shops for toiletries before they close and then we can see about getting some clothing delivered. And, ahh, do you have any… prescriptions you’ll need…?” He was thinking about hormones. “I suppose I could send Tim ‘round to your flat, but I wouldn’t want to put him in danger either…”

Martin stood, hesitating. “I’ll… figure all that out. It’s alright. Really.”

Jon came around the desk to grasp Martin by the arms and look up at him, intently. It was the closest thing to a hug he’d let himself get to. “Martin,” he said, as gently as he could manage, with as much respect as he could manage, “you put yourself in danger because of the way your superiors at this Institute have treated you. Let me at least begin to partly repay that debt. Please.”

Martin was blinking down at him. “Uh… umm… aren’t we having… Mr. Bouchard repay the debt…?”

Jon smiled up at Martin as he dropped his arms. "Ahh, but we’re not going to ask Elias to come help clear out the breakroom. Can you imagine him moving boxes?” He could feel the smile edging into a grin. “His arms would break just from trying to pick one up.”

Martin had started to smile, hesitantly. That was what Jon had been going for; he hadn’t realized how much he actually liked Martin’s smile until he hadn’t been around for two weeks. “I-I mean… you’re not the biggest guy yourself… you might have the same problem.”

“Mmm, fair,” Jon replied, “but I am willing to scrub a floor if I must.”

Martin’s smile widened. “Y-yeah, I can’t imagine… Elias… scrubbing a floor.” He giggled, suddenly. “He probably pays people to do that stuff. He… he’d probably have been hopeless stuck in his flat for two weeks.”

Jon laughed at the mental image of Elias Bouchard stuck in a flat, living off canned meals, a laugh so full he actually threw his head back a bit. “Good lord, Elias, having to live off tinned peaches? Can... you... imagine?”

“H-he’d… probably… start shouting for Rosie.” Martin was giggling so hard he could barely get the words out. He put on a bad posh accent and said, “‘Rosie, why do we have all these tinned peaches? I did not approve this budget!’”

They both dissolved into helpless laughter, both reaching out to the other to hold themselves up. There was a moment, as the laughter waned, that their eyes met, and Jon felt something swoop and flutter in his gut. Martin had such a nice smile, and such a pleasant laugh, and it would be wonderful to have both around more often, and it was making him a little dizzy if he was being honest. When was the last time he’d felt that swoop and flutter? Georgie? Briefly, with Tim?

No, no, that was the laughter and the proximity. That was all. They were bonding over dislike of Elias. That was all.

At least he’d managed to clear the air.

Jon straightened, and kept smiling as he turned toward the door. “Come along, then, Martin,” he said, and again deliberately infused the word with as much respect as he could muster. “Let’s get to the shops.”

Martin nodded. “Thanks for this, Jon,” he said, and oh dear there was another swoop at the way Martin said his name. Had he always said it like that? Had Jon just not noticed? “Really. Thank you.”

Jon turned away to school his expression. This would not do. He was not going to let himself feel any more… swoops for a subordinate. It just wouldn’t do. No matter how nice of a smile he had. He did not have a crush on Martin, because he could not have a crush on Martin, and that was that.

Feeling a little better--it was always a relief, sorting out his emotions--Jon headed out to help Martin get settled into the Archives.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #otp: one way or another together #fanfic #my fanfic #canon tma fic #send help i'm in too deep #i owe the discord server at least two more fics already #GUYS HELP

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

a numbers game

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Kiribaku

(AO3)

Bakugou knows his personality and general rage-filled disposition towards everything, in general, isn’t winning him any favours, but the texts have made him contemplate just how shitty he must’ve been in a past life to deserve a fate like this.

Because no one - and Bakugou knows such assholes as Monoma - but no one deserves to be on the receiving end of unsolicited dick pics. From random numbers. At all times of the day. For the last 3ish months.

“I am going to throw my phone out the fucking window, I swear on all that is good and pure, fucking bull-“

“More dick pics?” Camie interrupts with a wide grin, plucking the phone out of Bakugou’s hand.

“What the fuck else?” Bakugou snaps, trying to pull his phone back in vain. Camie holds it just out of reach, eyeing the disgusting penis with a critical stare.

"Hmm,” she says, passing the phone back to him before taking a sip of her terrible grass juice that smells like a badly mowed golf course, “the lighting is bad and he hasn’t done like, any grooming at all. 3/10.”

“You’re being generous,” Bakugou huffs, deleting the picture immediately and swallowing the still raging urge to fling his phone at the nearest wall. “It’s unsolicited. And his fingernails are fucking filthy. -100/10.”

Camie rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic again Kitkat.”

Bakugou counts to 10 in his head, tries to find that last shred of patience he knows is somewhere deep in his dark pit of a soul and breathes out in a rush.

“I need to fucking figure this out before I actually lose it and track down one of these fuckers and choke the life out of them.”

Because here’s the thing- Bakugou has been receiving dick pics and dirty text messages like hi bby want sex? and imma dick you down gud boo – he’s positively swooning, what a lovely way to be wooed – and he has no idea how to stop it. Yes, he could cancel his number and get a new one, but all of his bank details are linked to this one. He’s had it since he first got a phone in middle school, and now all of his documents are attached to the damn thing. The very idea of going to the banks and the DMV and every other stupid establishment to get it changed makes him grimace hard enough that he decides to bear with it.

Except, every time he receives one of these horrible pictures, his urge to blow up the phone, nay, the entire world, simmers at dangerous levels.

“Cool it kitkat,” Camie croons, giving his forearm a squeeze, “you’re making your homicidal face. That cannot be good for wrinkles.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Bakugou grunts, flinging his phone away carelessly and watching it skitter around on the kitchen counter before halting dangerously close to the edge. “I just want it to stop.”

Camie puts her atrocity for a drink down and pulls the fridge open, rummaging around as she says, “I have a theory about all this.” She pulls out a jar of jalapenos and places it in front of Bakugou. The blonde yanks a fork out of the admittedly cute utensil bucket in the middle of their counter before snapping the lid off and spearing a good 3 pieces in one go. He chews on them slowly and directs a raised brow at Camie.

“Well,” she muses, picking her drink back up, “as a woman that receives a LOT of numbers from guys and gals and non-binary folks alike-“ Bakugou makes it a point to roll his eyes hard enough to knock his head back; Camie’s laughter is loud and boisterous “- I have a tactic for when I don’t know how to say no and don’t want to give my digits.”

Bakugou has another forkful of jalapenos in his mouth when he narrows his eyes at her.

Camie shrugs, “I usually change the very last digit of my number. Works like a charm. I never meet the person again, and they can’t contact me. Win-win.”

“Win-win my ass,” Bakugou seethes. “Do I look like I’m winning right now? I am this fucking close to killing someone, because of stupid tactics like yours.”

Camie finishes the last of her drink, and speaks around her straw, “You say that, but do you know how many people, and especially dudes, don’t take no for an answer? The only reason I give out any digits at all is when I can’t guarantee my safety. I know it’s not like, the perfect solution or anything, but I’m giving you facts right now.”

And Bakugou does, in fact, know that. He’s met those pushy assholes- people that don’t back down, people that don’t take no at face value, people that push and prod and get up in his space. It pisses him off to absolutely no end.

“Whatever,” he concedes. He spears another forkful of jalapenos before grumbling, “So, what the fuck do I do?”

Camie grins, minx like. “Why don’t you text the number one ahead and one behind your own and ask? I mean, in the best-case scenario you figure it out and get it all to stop, in the worst case, you get to yell at like random people. Isn’t that your second favourite pastime, right after yelling at that pigeon outside our balcony, the one with an agenda?”

“Don’t talk about that fucking pigeon,” Bakugou fumes, “fucking piece of shit bird and those dark, robotic eyes. Something is up with that; you can’t convince me otherwise.” He mulls over the rest of her suggestion before relenting, “Well, I guess I could spare a moment to yell at the fucking extras giving out my number to perverts with no manners and gross penises.”

“I find it so funny when you say the word manners,” Camie says as she walks to her room, “It’s almost like you know what it means!”

She isn’t even looking at him, but she manages to dodge the jalapeno that sails at her head. It hits the wall with a sick squelch, and when Bakugou hears Camie’s door shut, he drops his head on the counter with a loud, resounding thunk and muffles a scream into the marble.

He forgets to send out those texts, and when he receives yet another picture, not three days later, of someone holding their disgusting penis in their hand, like it’s an accomplishment or some shit, he sends out a text message to two different numbers typed with shaky, sweaty fingers.

>> xxx-xxx-xxx6 , xxx-xxx-xxx4

I don’t know who the fuck you are, and you don’t know me, but it’s possible that one of you assholes gives out my number to random people who, in turn, send me fucking dick pics. It’s been over 3 fucking months, so knock it the actual fuck off. And in case it isn’t you, fuck you anyway.

Bakugou wakes up from a restless sleep to sunlight sloping in through the blinds of his room, a dry mouth, and three new text messages from an unknown number.

Because his brain takes time to boot up in the mornings, he foregoes the phone entirely and makes his way to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Camie is always up before him, and he gratefully pours himself a mug of her insanely strong black coffee, the kind to palpitate your heart and make you vibrate in your seat. She calls it jet fuel, Inasa calls it death, Todoroki just blinks.

When he’s half a mug down, he finally retrieves his phone from his room and takes a seat in the balcony, surrounded by plants of all kinds. The sun is bright but not harsh, and he takes a second to enjoy it before opening his messages.

He doesn’t even recall sending the messages last night, and for a moment he’s enraged at the idea that someone sent him even more dick pics, but there’s no photos waiting for him, just three messages.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 omg omg OMG I didn’t think anyone actually used this number im sorry D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 no really im so so sorry holy shit I was just following this idea that my friend gave me cause im terrible at turning people down but I didn’t realize they were messaging an actual other person OMG

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ofc I wont be giving your number out anymore im just so sorry bro, god, this is so damn UNMANLY of me

At least the person has the decency to sound apologetic. Not that it tempers Bakugou in any way, shape or form, but he takes note of it somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind.

Bakugou you better not give it out anymore fuckmunch. I should sue your ass for putting me under so much psychological distress.

The guy replies startlingly quickly. Bakugou opens the message with a quirked brow.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 shit can you actually do that?

Bakugou has no idea, but the key to selling anything is confidence, and he’s got enough to spare.

Bakugou try me

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM REALLY REALLY SORRY OK TRULY D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and not just cuz you might sue me or anything, it was a terrible move on my part :’(

xxx-xxx-xxx4 can I make it up to you somehow??

Bakugou huffs, deflating a little. He’s angry yes, positively incensed for the most part, but the guy sounds genuinely sorry, and he’s finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at someone that’s just being so damn decent and taking full responsibility.

Bakugou I don’t fucking know.

Bakugou just stop giving out my no.

Bakugou I swear to god if I get ONE MORE NUDE

Bakugou I will find you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you don’t have to find me ill come to you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 cuz ill def deserve it at that point

xxx-xxx-xxx4 anyway, im sorry again. really ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get some sleep, so tell me later about how I can make it up to you!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 goodnight

Bakugou checks the clock at the top left corner of his phone screen. It reads 8:31am.

What the fuck does this guy do for work anyway? And does Bakugou care?

He decides no, he doesn’t, because he’s really too busy to care about anything, especially assholes that hand out his number to horny strangers because they’re too chickenshit to say no.

He nods at his own conclusion, downs the rest of his death-in-a-cup, and walks back inside, ready to start another long day of work. Bakugou gives himself an hour before he puts this all behind him, fully forgotten and finally taken care of.

Why the fuck haven’t I blocked this fucker yet, is the first thing Bakugou thinks when he gets more texts from them.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 heyyo!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 did you think of anything????? How can I make it up to you??

Bakugou stop texting me, that’ll be a great start

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I will as soon as u tell me how to make it up to you!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I was being so unmanly and cowardly, I need to fix it!!

Bakugou good for fucking you, leave me alone

xxx-xxx-xxx4 y don’t you keep thinking abt it and lemme know !!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 if it helps, I can hook u up with some free drinks!! I co-own and bartend at a place downtown!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just think abt it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get back to work, talk soon!

Bakugou stop texting me dammit

Bakugou isn’t a naïve person, but he somehow convinces himself that this will be the end of things.

It is, predictably, not the end of things.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I just realized I didn’t give u my name

xxx-xxx-xxx4 Kirishima eijirou!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and you are?

Bakugou blocking you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 aww come on man, don’t be like tht ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 wait, r u a man?????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE AT LEAST TELL ME THAT I DON’T WANT TO MISGENDER U OMG

Bakugou can you calm the fuck down holy shit

Bakugou yes I’m a dude, you’re fucking fine dumbass

xxx-xxx-xxx4 oh phew!!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ok my dude

xxx-xxx-xxx4 please come down to the bar??????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 do you actually drink though?? If you don’t we still have great mocktails

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and I can whip up some awesome protein shakes

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ohhh and our food is bomb,,, I promise

Bakugou do you ever just stop talking

xxx-xxx-xxx4 NOPE :D

Bakugou Not a compliment

xxx-xxx-xxx4 what can I say

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im an opportunist

Bakugou you’re telling me

Bakugou fucker

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM STILL SO SORRY

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE COME TO THE BAR LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU

xxx-xxx-xxx4 actions speak hella louder than words

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I must action you

Bakugou what the fuck

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you get what I mean!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 <location> this is the place

xxx-xxx-xxx4 its name is RIOT, u cant miss it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just lemme know when u can make it

Bakugou I haven’t agreed to shit asshole

Bakugou stop assuming things

xxx-xxx-xxx4 free food, free drinks, free live performance of whatever band’s performing

Bakugou …………………

Bakugou I’ll think about it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 HELL YEAH

xxx-xxx-xxx4 whats your name btw?

Bakugou like id tell you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I need it for the reservation!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so that I don’t accidentally serve the wrong gentleman all your free perks

Bakugou didn’t say im coming yet

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im super optimistic

Bakugou I can tell, you’re giving me a headache

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so………… name?

Bakugou no

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I’ll get it out of you eventually

Bakugou try me

Bakugou fucker

If Bakugou finds himself smiling at the end of the exchange, well, that’s his business.

“So, you finally figured out who was responsible for the penis pictures?” Todoroki deadpans around his cosmo.

“That’s wonderful Bakugou!” Inasa booms, slamming his beer down on the counter with gusto. Bakugou throws a spoon at him.

“Shut it Baldy,” he grunts, going back to chopping veggies. “And yes, I did, but now this fucker won’t stop texting me, insisting on making it up to me or some shit.”

“And this is a bad thing?” Todoroki summarizes slowly. Bakugou turns around in time to see him mouth why to Inasa before taking another generous sip of his drink. Inasa shrugs his stupidly large shoulders before asking, “Why is that a bad thing?”

Bakugou throws another spoon at him. “Because, I texted them so I could stop people from texting me. Now this person’s volunteering information to me about being a bartender and shit and constantly apologizing and it’s fucking annoying.”

“You know what’s interesting?” Camie muses, stirring her bloody mary with a long ass celery stick. “You’re getting all these text messages from this bartender, and you can like, so easily block this one number and be done with it, but you like, keeping responding. And keep, you know, not blocking.”

He can’t see it, but he knows Todoroki is nodding, the fucker.

“That is a good observation!” Inasa booms again, and Bakugou has to resist the urge to fling his entire cutlery set at the man’s thick skull. “Do you like this person Bakugou?”

“What’s there to like, I don’t even fucking know him!”

“Well,” Camie starts, takes a bite out of the celery stick, continues, “he’s well-mannered. Clearly good looking, because you got a LOT of penis pictures these past three months, and that also leads us to believe the business is doing really well, if so many patrons come in begging for a number. All good things, don’t you think?”

“I hate you,” Bakugou says, stirring the curry with barely repressed rage. “I hate all of you. I hate humanity. Fuck people.”

“Or fuck this person in specific,” Camie says gleefully. “You haven’t gotten laid in like 8 months boo, you need to get some.”

“You’re the actual fucking worst.”

“In all seriousness,” Todoroki interrupts, putting his empty glass down delicately, “why haven’t you blocked the number? It seems like an easy enough solution.” The asshole has the audacity to sound genuinely curious, if not slightly amused.

Bakugou hates everything.

“I don’t, I don’t fucking know, ok?” He finally admits through clenched teeth. The blonde kills the heat and places the curry on the counter while Camie brings out the rice and some pickled vegetables from the fridge. She pulls out a beer and twists the cap off before handing it to Bakugou, who snatches it away and takes a quick swig before continuing, “He’s actually kinda nice to me, I guess. And I like watching him be so sorry about all those penises. I may have also mentioned suing him for psychological distress.” Bakugou catches Todoroki’s gaze. “Can I do that?”

Todoroki hums, “You can try, but I don’t think you’ve got that solid a case. Plus, haven’t you deleted virtually all the evidence?”

Bakugou grips the neck of his beer bottle harder. “I fucking hate everything.”

bartender asshole <image attached>

Bakugou what the fuck

Bakugou why are you sending me cat pics?

Bakugou also that cat is stupidly cute

bartender asshole I know right?????

bartender asshole her name is ruby

bartender asshole and id die for her

bartender asshole i just figured ud be a cat person

Bakugou ………….

Bakugou I hate u

bartender asshole :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou Bakugou Katsuki

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

bartender asshole HI BAKUGOU SO NICE TO KNOW UR NAME

Bakugou I hate everything

bartender asshole except ruby. Its not allowed

Bakugou …………………………………

Bakugou except ruby

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

Kirishima, it turns out, is a ray of fucking sunshine. Bakugou has a distinct feeling that looking at him directly would be a blinding experience.

Not that he knows who to look for though; he has no idea what this guy looks like. He guesses that he’s buff, with all the times he tells Bakugou about the gym showers running out of hot water and beating his best weights doing bench presses, but he knows nothing else.

He does know that he’s sweet as fuck, making it impossible for Bakugou to stay mad at him. He doesn’t blink at Bakugou’s cussing, and he sends him cute pictures of Ruby.

There is a part of him, small but steadily growing, that wants to meet this stupidly nice bartender.

Bakugou hates everything.

dumbass bartender so what do you do???

Bakugou front-end development and web design

dumbass bartender oh damn!!!

dumbass bartender so youre like smart smart

Bakugou obviously

dumbass bartender have I seen your work anywhere??

Bakugou I recently redid the website of that protein powder company you don’t shut up about

dumbass bartender ????????????????????

dumbass bartender that’s amazing!!!!!!!!!

dumbass bartender I just revisited the website, it looks so cool

Bakugou duh

Bakugou im the best

dumbass bartender I don’t doubt that!!! :D :D

Bakugou don’t you have work?

dumbass bartender aww bakubro are you looking out for me <3 <3

Bakugou call me that again and I will fucking end you

dumbass bartender before the free drinks??? That you are yet to redeem? ?? at my wonderful establishment?????????? :D :D :D

Bakugou I hate everything.

dumbass bartender D:

Bakugou except RUBY DAMMIT

dumbass bartender :D

“Just to recap,” Kaminari says with an incredulous look in his eyes, “this guy cusses like a sailor, is constantly insulting you, never initiates conversation, and you still like him?”

Kirishima’s answering grin is bashful. “I mean, when you put it like that it sounds not so great, but he’s really not that bad! He’s super funny and confident, and he LOVES Ruby. Plus, I don’t like him like that, I just think he’s cool.” Kirishima picks up another glass from the washer and starts carefully drying it with his dishcloth before saying, “And, you know, I did put him through a lot by giving out his number. His behaviour is kinda warranted if you ask me.”

“I mean, in the beginning maybe, but haven’t you guys been texting for over a week now?”

“Denki, are you forgetting that giving out another number was your idea?” Kirishima mutters, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “I’m in this mess because of you.”

Kaminari suddenly seems to find the glass in his hand a lot more interesting. Kirishima’s laugh echoes around the empty bar.

‘What’s so funny?” Ashido muses, bringing a crate of bottled beer behind the counter.

“Kirishima is going gaga over angry dick pic man.”

“I’m not going gaga, what the heck-“

“I think it’s cute,” Ashido says with a big smile. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you actually be interested in somebody; it’s really cute!”

“I don’t like him like that,” Kirishima stresses, though his cheeks are a little warm. He can blame that on the lack of air conditioning, he thinks.

“We talking about angry dick pic man?” Sero asks with a shit-eating grin. “10 bucks say he’s actually a middle-aged guy with a cheese fetish.”

“That’s so random-“

“You’re on!” Ashido yells, slapping her hand into Sero’s. “I think he’ll be a hottie.”

“He hasn’t even said he’ll come,” Kirishima says, eyes downcast.

“He’ll come,” the three chorus, going about doing their tasks. Kirishima shakes his head fondly and finishes up with the glasses. Just as he’s put all the shot glasses away, he feels his phone vibrate.

Bakubro just finished a massive project

Bakubro could use a drink this weekend

Bakubro know any good spots?

Kirishima’s face breaks into the biggest smile as he rushes to answer.

Kirishima I know a bar that serves free drinks with your name on it!!!!

Kirishima amazing food, dope music, the bestest drinks

Kirishima ive heard the bartender is a great guy too

Bakubro way to toot your own fucking horn damn

Kirishima :DDDDD

Kirishima bt seriously

Kirishima please? ???? ??

Kirishima PLEASEEEEEEEEE??????????????????

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro fine.

Bakubro Friday night at 8

Kirishima looks up from the screen and calls out, “Denki!”

“Yeah?”

“Switch shifts with me, I’ll do Friday.”

“Um, ok, why though?”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, just goes back to texting, his heart thudding in his ribcage.

Kirishima YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Kirishima cant wait :D

Bakubro I’m bringing my stupid friends btw

Kirishima wait

Kirishima you have friends???????

Bakubro I am going to end you

Bakubro you know what? Fuck you im not coming

Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

Kirishima IM SORRY OFC U HAVE FRNDS

Kirishima please come

Kirishima how big a table should I reserve????

Bakubro don’t bother

Kirishima IM SORRRYYYYYYYYYY

Kirishima <image attached> <image attached> <image attached>

Bakubro bastard

Bakubro you playing dirty by sending me pics of Ruby

Kirishima need to weaken your guard somehow

Kirishima pls tell me it worked

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro ill be there

Bakubro reserve a table for 4

Bakubro your stupid bar better be worth it

Kirishima I promise it will be!!!!

Kirishima whoops in joy, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He looks up to see three sets of eyes looking at him with varying degrees of amusement.

“You get a really mushy look on your face when you’re texting him, it’s almost gross,” Sero points out with a laugh.

“Hush you,” Ashido admonishes, whipping her dishcloth at him. She walks over to Kirishima and gives him a big hug. “I think it’s very, very precious.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s coming this Friday!” Kirishima beams, holding Ashido closer against his side.

The three giggle.

“10 bucks say Kirishima messes up the drinks at least once.”

“HEY!”

Ashido squeezes around his middle. “Hon, I love you, but I’m not dumb enough to go against that.”

“HEY!”

They end up laughing and fibbing at each other for the rest of the prep time, and Kirishima feels his heart absolutely soar.

Friday brings with it crunch time, running lines and lines of code, having a mini-breakdown because the stupid text block keeps floating around on the webpage like it’s in outer fucking space, being forced into one of Camie’s ridiculous vlogs and having an existential crisis about what to wear on a non-date get-together with the guy that ruined Bakugou’s life for close to three months.

Camie spends most of the day laughing at him. Bakugou throws more condiments at her.

“Fucking help me at least, you useless wench,” Bakugou growls, shifting to clothes as he throws a pair of jeans at her. Camie dances out of the way and doubles over, laughing till she tears up from the force of it all.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” she wheezes. “Did you just say wench? What era are you from babe?”

“FUCK OFF,” he roars, leaping towards her. Camie shrieks and ducks away, making a beeline towards his closet.

“Ok, ok, let’s get you dressed! What kinda look are you trying for?”

“Fuck if I know,” he grouses, feeling oddly out of his depth. He wants to look good, but he has no idea for what.

That’s a lie, he knows why. He just won’t admit it.

“Well, why don’t we pick something simple but flattering? Plus, if it's in your style, you’re bound to be more comfy.” Camie pulls out a pair of black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a black fitted round-neck tee shirt, and some black boots. While he’s changing, Camie pulls out a silver chain, some bands for his wrists and a collection of rings.

“Do you want me to do your eyes?” she offers, holding up some mascara and an eye pencil. Bakugou shrugs and sits on the edge of his bed. Camie’s smile is soft as she stands between his thighs, gently but efficiently applying his make-up. When she’s done, he walks over to the mirror to look at himself, and he has to admit- he looks good. Always one to take care of his body and his figure, Bakugou is lean muscle packed into a 5’10” body. His blonde hair is as messy as ever, but the combination of his make-up, the accessories and his clothes give him an edgy look like no other. Camie throws a dark fitted jacket at him before sauntering over to her own room.

He continues to reply to some work emails when his phone buzzes.

dumbass cant wait to see you!!!

dumbass just ask for me at the bar

dumbass or I might be the one to greet you!! :D :D

Bakugou I know dumbass

Bakugou what, are you nervous or some shit?

dumbass I mean, kinda????

dumbass it’s our first time meeting afterall

dumbass I don’t even know wat you look like!!!!

Bakugou blonde wearing all black

dumbass redhead wearing a shirt with the riot logo!

Bakugou whatever

Bakugou ill be there at 8

Dumbass cant wait <33333

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou scoffs, his own nerves calming at the thought that he’s not the only one that’s a bit out of sorts. It’s nice to know that sunshine Kirishima is jittery about all this.

Also, interesting to know that he’s a redhead. Bakugou can’t quite imagine it, but in a few minutes, he won't need to.

His stomach roils with anticipation, and Bakugou hates every single thing.

Camie pops out of her room at half-past 7 in a maroon romper that cuts above her mid-thigh, hair done in a loose bun, makeup absolutely perfect. Her heels put her at a height taller than Bakugou, but he’s gotten used to being the shortest in their stupid posse. Doesn’t piss him off any less though.

She gets a phone call just as she pushes a tube of lip gloss into her purse.

“We are downstairs!” Inasa’s voice rings through her speaker, stupidly loud.

“Can it, baldy,” Bakugou grunts with a roll of his eyes, “we’ll be there in a sec.”

“See ya!”

Before Bakugou can usher Camie out the door, she pushes her clutch into his hands and walks over to the kitchen cabinet, pulling out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“Wha-“

“Liquid courage, my dude,” she says, pouring two generous shots and pushing one at Bakugou. She picks her own glass up and gives him a devilish smirk, “Bottoms up bitch!”

Bakugou picks the glass up with a resigned sigh but smirks back equally devilish. They cheers, smack the glasses against the counter and drain them smoothly. Camie puts the glasses in the sink, places a smacking kiss on Bakugou’s cheek and laughs brightly as she dances out of the way of his rage.

They finally load up in Inasa’s range rover, Todoroki plays classical Japanese music over the speakers and Bakugou regrets everything.

Riot is apparently something of a beloved establishment in its neighbourhood, and Bakugou growls when he sees how long the line leading to the bar is.

“Holy moly, that’s a lot of people!” Camie points out helpfully as she disembarks from the car.

Todoroki straightens his two-tone denim jacket and runs a hand through his hair as he says, “We have a reservation, so I think it’ll be fine?”

“Yes, I agree with you Todoroki,” Inasa beams, locking the car behind him as they walk towards the building. The outside is made of exposed brick and neon lights, and the RIOT sign is a deep red colour, eye-catching and beautiful.

They bypass the people in the line and walk up to the bouncer, who eyes them warily. He’s built like an absolute tank, broad and block-like, and his silver hair shines in the artificial light.

“Can I help you?”

“Bakugou, table for 4,” Camie says cheerily. The bouncer looks immediately enamoured with her before his eyes go wide.

“Wait, Eijirou’s Bakugou?”

Bakugou’s ears burn at that.

“I’m not fucking anybody’s!” he snaps. The bouncer immediately looks at him, and his face breaks into an even wider grin.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Can I see some ID real quick?”

Bakugou cusses colourfully under his breath but pulls out his license, and after a quick check, the bouncer, whose name is Tetsutetsu, steps aside to let them in.

“Have a good time!” he says happily, almost too happily. Bakugou feels his hackles rise.

“What the fuck?”

“It appears that Kirishima talks about you at least as much as you talk about him,” Todoroki observes, walking next to Bakugou.

“I don’t talk about him, fuck you!”

Todoroki’s delicately raised brow makes him want to punch something. Or someone. Preferably both.

“Fuck you all,” he reiterates before stomping inside.

Now, Bakugou is a relatively creative soul – his job kinda demands it – so it’s not his fault that he’s actually quite captivated by the interiors of this stupidly popular bar co-owned by a stupidly nice person.

The inside has exposed brick as well, and most of the furniture seems to be retro. There are large pipes and barrels behind the bar, made of what seems to be pure copper. Black marble covers the bar tops, and the lights are a mix of neon and muted whites, bright enough to see but still bathing the room in an alluring aura. There’s music thumping through the speakers, loud enough to dispel any silence but still at a bearable volume.

“Swanky,” Camie whistles, taking it all in.

Bakugou nods begrudgingly before setting his eyes on the bar.

“I’ll go get us a fucking table,” he mutters before walking over, hands digging deep into his pant pockets. He sees a lanky black-haired guy and a girl with tan skin and pink hair behind the bar, talking animatedly with the patrons as they serve them drinks at a dizzying pace.

When he finally gets a spot at the counter, the pink-haired girl finishes up with a customer and bounds over to him.

“Hi,” she greets, smile wide and happy, “haven’t seen you around before! What can I get you?”

“Kirishima,” Bakugou says because apparently, his brain to mouth filter has decided to abandon him in his time of need. The girl tilts her head in confusion and Bakugou feels the life drain out of him.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m fuckin here because of dumbass Kirishima,” Bakugou barely grits out, fingers digging into his palms painfully. “The name is Bakugou, table for 4?”

He sees it all in slow-mo- the way her mouth goes slack, the way her eyes light up like firecrackers on New Year’s, and then the way her smile becomes positively blinding. He hates her already.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, “of course! So glad you’re here! Oye, Sero?”

“What?” the black-haired guy says without looking, topping up a perfectly poured glass of beer.

“You owe me 10 bucks.”

This gets his attention- he hands the drink off and looks at her, “Why would I-“

The girl just gestures at Bakugou and winks, “It’s him.”

Sero – or plain face, Bakugou’s brain helpfully supplies – immediately looks at him, his eyes widening. “Shit, seriously? Aw, man.” His smile becomes mischievous. “I’ll get Kirishima.” He opens the door behind the bar and disappears.

“What the fuck was that?” Bakugou snaps, beyond irritated to be so out of the loop.

“Nothing, nothing,” Pinky sings, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Kirishima will show your party to your table. Do you want anything in the meantime?”

“… a beer,” Bakugou concedes because he’s not dumb enough to not get a drink before he sees Kirishima if he can help it.

“Coming right up!”

He waits at the bar, watching as his group of dumbasses ooh and ahh at the place, looking delighted. A bottle of cold beer hits the counter with a satisfying thunk, bringing his attention back to the bartop.

“Enjoy!” Pinky still has a stupid smile on her face but before Bakugou can say anything, the door behind her is thrown open and plain face steps out.

“The restocking can wait, literally the only thing you’ve talked about for the last 3 days is finally happening.”

The guy following him is all tanned skin and thick muscles under a fitted deep red tee shirt. His hair is a bright unnatural red, pulled into a high pony with a few strands still framing his face. His eyes are a softer red than Bakugou’s own, his cheeks sharp and high, and when his eyes meet Bakugou’s, a zip of electricity races down his spine and along his limbs till he can feel it in his toes.

When the man makes his way over, Bakugou also notes how damn tall he is- easily around 6’4”. His smile is shy, and he smells like sandalwood.

“Bakugou, hi,” he breathes, hesitantly holding his hand out. Bakugou takes it in a daze, still amazed by just how stupidly beautiful this stupidly kind bar owner is.

“Heyyo, you disappeared fam, how’s it going?”

Bakugou hates everything.

He reluctantly slips his hand out of Kirishima’s warm, firm grip and turns to Camie with venomous eyes. “I literally just met him Cam, shut the fuck up.” He turns back to Kirishima, “Can you show us to our table?”

Kirishima shakes his head once before his smile turns blinding, and Bakugou finds himself fighting the urge to shield his eyes. “Of course,” he says in a voice that’s deep and warm and honey-like, “right this way!”

Bakugou snags his beer off the counter and takes a quick swig before Camie steals it and takes a few sips of her own. He growls at her but otherwise behaves, watching Kirishima’s back as he leads them through throngs of people engaged in cheerful conversation.

“Ok, well, he’s hot,” Cam says around the lip of the bottle. “Total beefcake. Whaddya think, boo?”

“I think you should fuck off,” Bakugou hisses, his face burning.

“If you wanted to go on a date, you probably shouldn’t have invited us,” Todoroki says, taking the offered bottle from Camie.

Before Bakugou can explode in their faces, Kirishima stops and turns around. “Here ya go!” He gestures to a table behind him, tucked into a more private corner of the bar. It’s large and cushy, and when Bakugou gets in after Camie, he’s surprised at how soft the material is.

“So?” Kirishima says, eyes trained on Bakugou.

“Fuckin what?” Bakugou snaps, voice lacking any heat.

Kirishima laughs, head thrown back to reveal a long, thick neck and Bakugou is so damn weak.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue before gesturing at each of them, “Camie, marketing expert by day, YouTube beauty vlogger by night, pain in my ass always. Todoroki, environmental lawyer and a soba obsessed weirdo. Inasa, physiotherapist and resident dumbass.”

Kirishima gives them all a wave before saying, “Kirishima, co-owner of Riot and the reason why Bakugou saw more unwarranted penises than strictly necessary in a lifetime.”

“Asshole,” Bakugou grumbles, earning him another laugh and a bashful hand ruffling the back of Kirishima’s head.

“Still so sorry about that man,” Kirishima offers, “everything’s definitely on the house for you all! Speaking of ordering-“ Kirishima moves on to explain their ordering system-

“You can scan the code with your camera app,” the redhead says, pointing at the barcode on the centrepiece of their table, “and it pulls up our bar and food menu. Just enter your order and your table number,” he points at the large digits on the side that glows a bright 15 back at them.

Inasa pulls his phone out to order. Before he leaves, Kirishima says, “Can I get your drink order before I go?”

Camie asks for a LIIT, Inasa gets a Soju bomb and Todoroki starts off with his usual- a cosmo.

“You good on that beer?” Kirishima asks Bakugou warmly, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, sliding lower into his seat. “Maybe get me another, your choice?”

“Coming right up,” Kirishima beams before stepping away, and Bakugou’s heart splutters around his chest at the sight of sharp white teeth and cheek-aching grins.

“He’s so cute!” Camie squeals, stealing the last of his beer. “And he’s totes into you too.”

“I have to agree, he’s very attractive,” Todoroki says impassively.

“Certified hottie,” Inasa rounds up, flashing his own biceps for some reason.

Bakugou is so done, and they’ve been here all 5 minutes.

“Kirishim- Kirishima, the beer is overflowing,” Ashido says, pushing him away and taking over. “God, you’re so gone for him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

Kirishima snaps out of his stupor and moves to take the glass back. Ashido hip checks him away.

“You’re being a little stupid, go help Satou with plating and take the food to lover boy’s table.”

“He has a name, you know,” Kirishima mumbles, but Ashido simply laughs, and Kirishima feels his neck and ears go warm.

Because who let Bakugou walk into his bar looking like that? Looking so damn gorgeous in his all-black get up and his perfect eye make-up and that fierce scowl?

Kirishima’s heart had pretty much stopped at the sight of him, and it was yet to regain its usual rhythm.

The redhead rests his forehead against the wall and mumbles, “I’m so screwed.”

“We know buddy,” Sero says, patting his back sympathetically, “we know.”

For all that Bakugou hates outings and people and outings in places filled with people, he finds himself having a moderately good time.

Because the food is delicious if lacking a little heat, the alcohol is mixed perfectly and the music is fantastic, filtering through old rock classics with some alt stuff mixed in.

And then there’s Kirishima- tending the bar with ease, laughing along with his co-workers, and sending Bakugou wide, happy smiles that sets his entire face on fire.

“This place is awesome,” Camie whoops, banging another shot glass on the table before knocking it back with ease. Todoroki joins her, his impassive face not so much as twitching at the taste of strong tequila before he bites into a lime. Inasa is already beer drunk, cheeks dusky as he hums along to the music.

“Insufferable,” Bakugou mumbles around his 4th-ish beer. He likes to keep up his grumpy act till his last shred of dignity melts away cause of the alcohol, and he’s probably pretty hit already because he lets Camie pull him into her side with her arm around his shoulder, his nose suddenly privy to the scent of her mellow perfume.

“I love you guys,” Camie beams, picking up her beer and waving it in front of her. Todoroki and Inasa clink their drinks against it, and Bakugou silently waves his own bottle around before downing it.

“You guys good on- oh my god, are you Camie? THE Camie?”

It’s Pinky at their table and her eyes are so comically wide that Bakugou can’t help his snort of laughter. He feels Camie straighten up, but her arm around him stays, holding him close.

“Define THE Camie,” she says with a smile in her voice.

“The beauty blogger that I’ve only been following for the last 3 years, holy shit I love your videos.” And then suddenly, her eyes narrow on Bakugou before she snaps her fingers. “NO WONDER YOU LOOK FAMILIAR! You’re the angry blonde in all her videos!”

“Haan? You wanna go pinky?” Bakugou growls, moving to stand up. Camie keeps him firmly by her side, her laughter shaking them both.

“That’s us!” Camie says. Bakugou finally fights his way out of her grip and throws her a withering look, or his drunken attempt at one anyway. She winks, and he fake gags. “I don’t get recognized in public all that often LOL, this is fun.”

“Did you just say LOL in a verbal fucking conversation?”

“What do you mean you don’t get recognized; you literally have like 3.2million subscribers.”

Camie ignores Bakugou and shrugs at Pinky. “I guess my primary demographic aint here fam. Speaking of which,” she thrusts her hand out, “what’s your name?”

“Ashido Mina,” she says, taking her hand firmly. Camie introduces her to the others, and Bakugou looks back at the bar, disappointed to see that he can’t find Kirishima.

“Can I top you guys off?” Kirishima says, suddenly right next to their table, effectively startling the shit outta Bakugou.

Camie chirps an affirmative, Todoroki asks for a water and checks to see if Inasa’s breathing as the big olf continues to sleep, curled up in the corner of the booth.

“And you Bakubro?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bakugou frowns before adding, “I should probably stop, I’m already kinda tipsy.”

“Lightweight,” Camie teases.

Bakugou gives her the stink eye. “Woman, the one time I tried keeping up with you, I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and you didn’t have so much as a hangover, so fuck off.”

“Seriously?” Kirishima says, eyes wide.

“That’s amazing,” Ashido murmurs, her smile crooked and dangerous.

Bakugou. Hates. Everything.

“He had no lasting liver damage, we’re all fine,” Camie reassures before diving into a conversation with Mina about beauty hacks and good mascara brands and global warming.

Kirishima leans close to Bakugou, bathing him in that warm sandalwood scent. “How about I get you some water and one last beer? A Hefeweizen?”

Bakugou turns to look at him, and his breath hitches in his throat when he notices how close they are, when he sees just how red Kirishima’s eyes are, how the heat seems to radiate off his skin. He exhales in a rush and looks away, answering with a jerky nod.

Kirishima gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze – he’s so warm, his hand is fucking huge – before walking to the bar and picking their stuff up.

When pinky finally meanders away from their table to serve other customers, Camie leans her head on Bakugou’s shoulder and says, “We’ll leave soon, ok?”

Bakugou nods again, leaning some of his weight back into her. Todoroki catches his eye and flashes him a warm, tipsy smile, and if he returns it with one of his own, well, he’s drunk out of his skull and has approximately no fucks to give.

Long after putting Bakugou and his posse in a cab, before which they insisted on paying pretty much the entire tab since they ate and drank a LOT, Kirishima and the rest are cleaning up when Ashido whips him with her cleaning rag.

Kirishima looks at her with betrayed eyes, “Wha-“

“Ei, you better text him again.”

“About what?” Kirishima says glumly. “I did what I said I would do, and I promised to leave him alone after that.”

“Boy please,” Ashido scoffs, roughly wiping down one of the tables, “ya’ll made such gooey eyes at each other all night, plus I’m pretty sure he paid the entire tab just so you could keep up whatever façade you guys have going on to cover up the fact that you have INSANE chemistry with one another.”

“Yeah, the tension was palpable bro,” Sero chimes in, throwing an arm around his waist. “I think you should text him too. He seemed really amusing, and his whole group was a riot.”

Kirishima rolls his eyes at the pun but smiles at them, feeling a new burst of energy in his limbs.

“You guys are absolutely right! Worst case, he blocks me. At least I won’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah boy, get it with that optimism.”

Bakugou wakes up to a slight headache, a mouth that tastes like ash, and a profound sadness that settles atop his sternum, weighing him down and pressing him into his mattress.

He sees the glass of water on his bedside table with ibuprofen placed neatly next to it and downs them both without so much as a second thought. As his brain slowly comes back online, he takes a moment to finally navigate his messy feelings and comes to a crushing realization-

Kirishima doesn’t have to text him anymore.

The redhead had said that he’d leave him alone after making it up to him, and yes, it was Bakugou’s standoffish nature that got them into that situation in the first place. And yes, Bakugou had paid the tab mostly because it was too high a bill to be footed by the bar and Bakugou made bank, but also because a small, minuscule part of him hoped that the gesture would make Kirishima insist on another outing or something to ‘make it up to him'.

The blonde doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the fact that he forgave Kirishima almost two days into texting him.

He almost avoids his phone out of fear alone and makes it through a whole cup of coffee and 3 chapters into a novel recommended by Deku before finally picking up his phone to check for emails and notifications.

He expects none from Kirishima.

So, of course, there are 3 from the redhead.

Bakugou’s heart leaps to his throat and he can’t seem to unlock his phone quite fast enough.

fuck he’s cute hi Bakugou, thank you for coming last night!!!

fuck he’s cute it was actually really cool 2 finally meet you. U didn’t have to pay the tab tho :’D

fuck he’s cute bt since u did, I still owe u. can we figure it out later??? Also, what did you think of the place???

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou you’ve got a swanky place, I’ll give you that. Food was fucking good too. could be spicier.

Bakugou you got cam completely hooked

Bakugou and yeah, you better make it up to me later. Asshole.

Kirishima replies a few hours later, just as Bakugou finishes up a yoga routine that stretches out his back in the best way possible.

fuck he’s cute :D :D :D :D :D

fuck he’s cute can’t wait

fuck he’s cute <image attached>

fuck he’s cute ruby says hi

It’s a selfie this time, not a picture of just the kitty. Bakugou can appreciate how cute the mutt is, but for once, he has no attention to spare her. Not when Kirishima’s eyes are crinkling around the edges from how hard he smiles up at the camera, not when he’s wearing a tank top with relaxed arm holes, showing off bulging muscles and hints of ink, and not when just the mere thought of him makes Bakugou’s stomach flop around uncontrollably.

He barely manages to reply coherently.

Bakugou the only bright spot in this shitty world

He presses his phone to his forehead and quietly contemplates just how gay he is. Camie pets his head on the way to the kitchen.

It takes Bakugou some time to get used to waking up to Good Morning texts and a stream of random thoughts from Kirishima all day. The flutter in his stomach disappears a few weeks into talking to the redhead, instead replaced by a bone-deep warmth that always manages to make him feel a little better.

dumbass kirishima GOOOOOOOD MORNING :D

dumbass Kirishima someone threw up on my fave shoes last night

Bakugou HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Bakugou suffer

dumbass Kirishima y u so mean to me ☹ ☹

Bakugou cause its fuckin hilarious

dumbass Kirishima ☹

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou <image attached> [it’s a picture of Bakugou’s balcony, and all his plants look vibrant green as the sun hits them just right]

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima legit felt my serotonin just spike

dumbass Kirishima thxxxxxx

Bakugou whatever

Bakuguo dumbass

---

Bakugou if I plan a murder can I count on your stupid muscles to help me move the body

dumbass Kirishima D:

dumbass Kirishima at least take me out to dinner b4 involving me in your crimes

dumbass Kirishima what a lack of manners

Bakugou stfu

dumbass Kirishima :”D :”D

dumbass Kirishima youre joking right?

dumbass Kirishima right??

dumbass Kirishima RIGHT?????

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU THIS IS A BAD TIME TO LEAVE ME HANGING BRO DO NOT DO THIS

Bakugou don’t call me bro

dumbass Kirishima THAT IS NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW

Bakugou lol I didn’t do shit dumbass don’t worry

Bakugou or did I?

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

---

dumbass Kirishima <image attached> [it’s a gym selfie; Kirishima is crouching in front of the mirror shirtless, hair pulled into a bun atop his head. He’s glistening with sweat, and he’s got a more serious look on his face. He’s not actively flexing any muscle, but the pose makes his thighs, calves and biceps bulge. One hand holds the phone, the other is resting on his bent knee]

dumbass Kirishima working on deez gainz

Bakugou what time do you usually workout

dumbass Kirishima depends on my schedule actually

dumbass Kirishima I prefer the morning, but when I take the late night shift I usually go be4 work the next day

Bakugou hmmm

Bakugou let me know

Bakugou maybe we can go together

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh I changed my mind

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima no takebacksies

Bakugou fucking fantastic

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

---

“So, let me get this straight- you guys gym together at least once a week, you talk every day, your stomach flutters at the mere thought of him and Cam swears he’s making googly eyes at you all the time, and you still haven’t asked each other out yet?”

Bakugou flips his phone off, “Fuck off Deku, don’t be a little shit.”

Midoriya’s face morphs into an amused smile on the other end of their facetime call, “Are you being bashful Kacchan? That’s adorable.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“NOOOOO,” Midoriya bemoans dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m missing all this.”

“Yeah, well, who the fuck told you to teach kids English halfway across the world dumbass?”

“I miss you too Kacchan,” Midoriya beams, making a heart with his hands.

“I truly loathe you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Midoriya puts a few papers away before sighing. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, are you going to make a move? How do you plan on doing it?”

“I don’t,” Bakugou ruffles his hair and ducks his head to hide his rapidly warming cheeks, “I’m not asking him out Deku, fuck that.”

“Why not?” the asshole whines, eyes wide and innocent. “You deserve happiness Kacchan. Plus, he seems like a really nice guy.” Midoriya leans forward and adds in a whisper, “I’ve heard he has a fantastic butt.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and flips him off again, “Fuck off, you can’t say that without actually meeting him.”

“I’ll be back before then. You guys better be dating already when I get there.”

“Stop telling me what to do, shitty Deku!”

“Never Kacchan, that’s what you do for the people you love.”

“Ugh, how are you so gross when you’re so far away, I hate you.”

Midoriya’s laugh sounds tinny over the phone speaker, lacking its usual body and warmth. Bakugou huffs again before picking his novel back up to read.

“Hi Zuku,” Camie calls out from over Bakugou’s shoulder. “You need to come back soon and help me with Kitkat, he refuses to make the first move!”

“Butt out of my fucking love life, you freaks!”

“Can’t butt out of something that doesn’t exist Kats,” Camie deadpans.

Bakugou feels extremely justified in flinging a stress ball right at her. The kitchen fills up with raucous laughter, from his phone and from the person standing in front of him, and Bakugou thinks that adding a deeper, warmer laugh to the mix, coming from a specific redhead might not be the worst thing in the world.

Kiri bakugouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Bakugou what?

Kiri just wanted to say hi <3

Bakugou wth

Kiri we still on fr the gym tomorrow?

Bakugou obviously you dumbass

Bakugou I need you to spot me

Bakugou im beating my personal best tomorrow or im going to die trying

Kiri so manly :O :O :O

Kiri I’ve got you bruh

Bakugou don’t call me that

Bakugou and I know you do

Kiri <3 <3

---

Bakugou <link>

Bakugou that playlist you were asking about

Kiri u da bomb katsuki

Bakugou katsuki huh?

Bakugou getting cocky I see

Kiri I mean, weve known each other for like 4 months now???

Kiri ur one of my closest pals

Kiri I don’t have to, I just thought ud like it more than bro

Bakugou I do like it more than bro

Bakugou eijirou

Bakugou I guess ur not terrible

Eijirou ????

Eijirou did you just?? pay me????? A compliment??

Eijirou who r u and wat have you done to katsuki?

Bakugou fuck you

Bakugou just fuck you

Eijirou <3 <3 <3

Bakugou wakes up one morning, approximately 5 months after meeting Kirishima for the first time, with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His work goes smoothly. The coffee tastes potent and fresh, his body feels fine, his plants are thriving, Camie is busy with her own deadlines and therefore not bugging him, even the sun is mellow and warm; the perfect weather.

The pit in his stomach worsens with every hour.

It doesn’t help that all of his messages to Kirishima have gone unanswered; he hasn’t even been online all day. In the months that they’ve communicated, he’s never gone a day without texting the man, and now it’s like he fell off the face of the Earth.

When it gets closer to 6 in the evening, Bakugou decides to call if Kirishima doesn’t get in touch himself. Because the pit in his stomach is making him nauseous, and he needs to know if the redhead is ok if only for the sake of his own damn health.

He gets a call from an unknown number at 5:20 in the evening. The pit in his stomach becomes a yawning chasm as he picks up the call.

“Hello?”

“Bakugou, it’s Ashido, from the bar.”

Bakugou pulls in a deep breath. “Where is Kirishima?”

“Um, there was an incident last night, at Riot.” She sighs deeply before continuing, “Kiri got jumped in the alley outside by a bunch of really drunk homophobic assholes that saw him turn down some guy’s number. He actually fought them off for the most part, but he’s sustained a broken nose and some fractured ribs. We’re at the hospital right now.”

Bakugou sinks to the ground, his stomach plummeting with him. “Are you fucking serious right now? Fuck-“

“I’ll text you the hospital details, ok? I’m sorry we didn’t call sooner, between talking to his moms and the hospital folks, it slipped my mind.”

“I’ll be there,” Bakugou says, standing up on shaky feet and stumbling back to his room. “Just don’t leave him alone.”

“Never in a million years.”

They hang up and Bakugou changes, hails a cab, and gets to the hospital in a complete daze.

His affection for the redhead, brimming and spilling from every crevice, makes itself evident when he lays eyes on him in the hospital bed and feels a surge of protectiveness. He wants to kill the people that did this, he wants to gather Kirishima in his arms and hold him tight, he wants to crawl into bed with him and talk about stupid shit and see him smile again.

“He’s pretty high on pain meds right now,” Ashido says from somewhere behind him, pointing to his IV lines, “so he’s been saying really funny stuff. The doctors did a full evaluation and said he should recover completely in 5ish weeks.”

Bakugou nods and swallows thickly. Ashido squeezes his arm before leaving the hospital room, shutting the door behind her softly.

Kirishima hasn’t seen him yet, so Bakugou approaches his bed carefully before placing a hand on the guardrail. The noise pulls Kirishima’s attention towards him, and Bakugou’s gut tightens when those large, warm eyes go completely soft at the sight of him.

“Kassaki~” Kirishima slurs, his smile large and dopey.

“You absolute dumbass,” Bakugou chokes out, his hand moving from the rail to grip Kirishima’s tightly. Kirishima’s fingers twine with his own with practised ease and his smile turns gooey.

“Hi Kats, you look beautiful today.”

Bakugou half-laughs, half-sobs and rubs his eyes fiercely. Kirishima’s face is a bit bruised, and there’s a huge bandage on his nose, but he doesn’t look nearly as bad as Bakugou had first feared. The pit in his stomach finally calms, slowly loosening until he can breathe normally again.

“Shut up Eiji,” Bakugou grumbles, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. He leaves his hand in Kirishima’s.

“Ok,” Kirishima agrees easily. It takes 10 seconds for him to break the silence again.

“Hey Kats?”

“What?”

“Are we dating?”

Bakugou startles at that, eyes snapping over to Kirishima’s. He doesn’t look accusatory or hurt or weirded out or anything- merely curious.

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Kirishima frowns, “Why not?”

Bakugou huffs out a small laugh, “Because we’re both idiots.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, then nods. “That kinda tracks.”

“HEY!”

Kirishima’s smile becomes dopey again, eyes crinkling in the most endearing way.

“I really like you Kats. You’re so smart and funny and you always smell like fabric softener, and you’re just like. Really pretty.”

Bakugou feels his face heat up completely, his grip on Kirishima’s hand tightening.

“Just rest, you dumbass,” Bakugou says weakly, his entire body too hot for comfort. He watches Kirishima’s smile become something warm and loving in a way that hits his heart, and he doesn’t let go of the redhead’s hand, right up until the end of visiting hours.

When he exits the hospital alongside Ashido, he feels the last of his energy drain.

“I cant believe we didn’t get to him sooner,” Ashido mumbles, rubbing at her eyes fiercely. “The bar was noisy, and he just wanted to dump out some trash. Hanta noticed he was gone a while before we went out back and found him punching the last dude.”

Bakugou purses his lips. Truth be told, he cant believe Kirishima had gotten so badly hurt so close to his own bar, and he’s pissed as fuck that the idiot brigade had even let it happen, but the sincerity in Ashido’s voice tugs at his chest painfully.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Bakugou laughs humorlessly. “He’ll probably say there’s nothing to forgive in the first place.”

Ashido’s laugh is hollow, “That’s our Eijirou.” She looks at Bakugou again. “You coming tomorrow?”

He flashes her his best sneer. “You best believe I’m going to come by every single fucking day till he’s discharged.”

Ashido’s smile becomes a little more genuine, a little more well-rounded.

“I’m really glad he has you.” Her voice goes all soft and gross as she continues, “You mean a LOT to him, in case you didn’t already know.”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou mumbles, before waving her off and walking away.

Because he does know.

He also knows he’s falling madly in love with him, and that he’s completely and utterly screwed.

And he finds that he really doesn’t mind all that much. Some people, he rationalizes, are worth the horrible butterflies and the too hot too cold feelings down the back of his spine.

Some people, he realizes, are worth loving with everything you’ve got.

It takes Kirishima five weeks of house arrest to recover completely. Bakugou spends every weekday and a few of the weekends with him, staying over more often than not. He fusses over the redhead, forces him to take his medication on time, and cooks him everything under the sun.

“You’re spoiling me,” the redhead whines when Bakugou serves him what smells like the best mapo tofu he’s ever going to have.

The blonde grins triumphantly, “You’re damn right I am.”

They bicker and banter constantly, but they also curl up and marathon old bond movies at night. Kirishima goes over the bar’s paperwork while Bakugou works off his couch, and they take turns making the coffee. Ruby falls in love with Bakugou and curls up on his chest every chance she gets, and Bakugou laughs at Kirishima’s look of betrayal. The redhead’s couch is ridiculously comfortable, and he leaves his memory foam pillow with the blonde.

“You refuse to take my bed,” he grumbles, “so you damn well better accept my stupid pillow.”

Bakugou’s neck thanks the redhead profusely.

It’s new and weird, living with someone for the first time. Kirishima’s posse are in and out through the day, and Camie comes by just as often, bringing a change of clothes and gossip with her. Todoroki drops in with some high-quality tequila sometimes and Inasa brings his infectious energy, and through all of this, Kirishima remains in high spirits, even if he goes a little stir crazy sometimes.

It’s new and it’s weird, going from casual touches to more loving ones, more comforting ones. It becomes commonplace for Bakugou to rest his head between Kirishima’s shoulder blades on the days that he has a bad time at work. It’s normal for Kirishima to place his head on Bakugou’s lap while they watch shark documentaries. It’s easy for them to bump knees and press their calves together while enjoying their morning coffee.

It’s new and it’s weird and it’s amazing.

Because Bakugou finds himself falling in love with the little things. The way Kirishima sticks his tongue out when he’s smashing the PS5 controller during an especially intense game of Mario party, the way he makes the coffee with a sleepy smile on his face, the way he hums off-key to a song that’s stuck in his head, the way he can understand Bakugou- can differentiate between his frustrated fuck, his bashful fuck, his angry fuck, his sleepy fuck.

And how he accepts it all without so much as a hitch in his step.

Bakugou watches himself fall in love, slowly, and then all at once.

“How is it that he lived with you for almost 5 weeks and you STILL didn’t ask him out? Or kiss him stupid? Or something?”

Sero has a finger pinching the bridge of his nose, the other flexing loosely in front of his chest as he tries to fathom the stupidity of two people that could not be more into each other if they tried.

“I, I uh-“ Kirishima hangs his head, “I have no excuse.” He sighs deeply. “I was scared he’d give me a pity answer cause I was injured and everything.”

Ashido looks over her shoulder with incredulous eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“Eiji, I know you love us so like, if any of us were hurt like this you’d take care of us till we were better too. But do you think someone like BAKUGOU would practically move into someone’s house to make sure they were ok if he wasn’t nuts about them? Really?”

Kirishima’s face flushes, and he waves her away. “I don’t want to read into it. He’s just a really, really, really good guy. And what we have is good, it’s great! We’re bros. Pals. Friends. It’s all good.”

Ashido continues to stare at him for another moment before throwing her hands up and yelling, “BOYS!” She stomps into the kitchen to help Satou with prep for the day.

They continue to stock up the bar, Kirishima assigned to prepping limes and the ice machine, when the door opens and someone steps in.

“Sorry, we’re not op- Bakugou?”

And there stands the blonde with the biggest bouquet of flowers – chrysanthemums and sunflowers – that Kirishima has ever seen. The redhead distantly hears the sound of a door close behind him, and suddenly they’re alone, the tension positively stifling.

“Bakugo-“

“Go on a date with me.”

Kirishima sucks in a startled breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Go on a date. With me,” Bakugou repeats, his neck and ears tinging the loveliest shade of red. “The romantic kind. Where we dress up and get food and drinks and fight over the bill and walk each other to the door and get super awkward before we kiss. All that shit.”

Kirishima isn’t sure how it happens- one moment he’s on this side of the bar, the next, he’s jumping across and gathering Bakugou into a tight embrace, mindful of his newly healed ribs but still unwilling to release the blonde until Bakugou returns his hug, burying his face into Kirishima’s chest.

“Is that a yes?” Bakugou mumbles when they finally pull away, his hands fisted in Kirishima’s shirt.

“In every possible language out there,” Kirishima answers, ducking down to softly kiss Bakugou on the cheek. He laughs as the blonde cusses and shoves him away and laughs even harder when Bakugou’s own smile covers his entire face, bright and open and oh so breathtaking.

That smile is Kirishima’s and Kirishima’s alone.

Eiji hiiiiiiiiiiii

Bakugou I swear to god Ei

Bakugou if you’re late for our first date I will find you

Eiji and give me a kiss? :*

Bakugou I don’t kiss people that don’t have good time management

Bakugou so fuck off

Eiji still so mean to me ☹

Eiji I want that kiss tho

Eiji so ill be ready

Eiji promise

Bakugou good

Eiji <3

Bakugou <3

Eiji :D :D :D :D :D :D

Eiji YOU LIKE ME ENOUGH TO SEND EMOJIS HU H <3333

Bakugou it will never happen again

Bakugou so fuck right off

Eiji :”D

Bakugou im outside

Eiji be right there

Eiji <3

#bnha #kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #flustered #boku no hero #mha #they're idiots your honor #giving out the wrong number au???#if that's a thing??????#this one's a monster y'all

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bitch-butter · 3 years

Text

(Modern!AU Webgott idea. Longish? Will eventually be called true bluish light. Tell me if this is interesting lol

Rated C for mentions of Joe's poor COVID protocol)

* * *

The blackout curtains that hung over the single window in the somewhat narrow bedroom were intensely effective, shrouding the occupants of the bed in a heavy darkness that even the daylight outside could not permeate. The still potent smell of sex lingered over the room, sweat and saliva and everything else casting a gross and homey aroma over the rumpled sheets and discarded clothing along the floor. Just around the edges of the curtain was a thin, white glow, but beyond that absent suggestion of light the room remained dark and still, as though nobody was there at all.

Pulling in a deep breath, Joe admitted he really shouldn’t have been there.

Shouldn’t have stayed the night, at least, if anything for the sake of his own reputation. He’s not typically one to go full spoons with a stranger (or, practically a stranger) no matter how good the sex had been, and he’s definitely never been one to spend the night somewhere that is not his bed. He’s spent years crafting his bed, has read actual magazine articles about how to create the best, most comfortable space, and after many years of hard work he is lucky enough to have created what many have called the Coziest Place in America. Suffice it to say, he does not like to spend a night in someone else's bed and he doesn’t think he needs to apologize for it.

This bed isn’t the worst, though.

And the guy that came with it wasn’t the worst either, he had to say. Joe had been ready to delete the app that led him to this guy and his bed, but it’s funny what a ‘ping’ on a lonely Friday night after nearly a year of no sex could do. Turns out that celibacy has made him into a fucking cuddler.

He’s not all that sorry about it. Keeping his distance from contact with other humans has handily prevented him from catching COVID thus far, and not everybody in his circle can say the same thing, as Tab had caught it first out of all of them via an ill-timed jaunt to Miami and Lip had had it twice now by virtue of his shoddy lungs and over-eagerness to lend a hand to people in his building. But a year is long, and half a bottle of cold Kim Crawford accomplished a lot at diminishing his capacity to give a shit about anything other than getting some attention on his dick. As long as the guy had sworn he tested negative, which he had, and Joe himself had tested negative, which he was, he saw no reason not to waltz into a total strangers apartment to merrily screw for as long as they both could stand to.

And it turns out this guy can stand a lot.

Joe has to admit at least half the reason he spent the night was that he actually was exhausted by the sheer voracity of their fucking. They oughta hand out medals for this shit, or something.

He finds himself smiling as he lets his mind wander over their earnestly passionate exploits of just a few hours past, and proceeds to let his eyes linger on the form of his companion. Though the room outside the warm enclosure of the blankets is a little cool the guy has one bare leg stretched out along the sheets, pressed up tightly against Joe’s own blanketed legs, with the remaining covers bundled against his chest. Resting mostly sideways on his belly, his face is turned towards Joe in sleep, mashed into the pillows and yet somehow managing to look as effortlessly gorgeous as he had looked in his photos on the app. His body moves with deep breaths, the steady inhale and exhale in combination with the sheltering warmth of the blanket nearly lulling Joe back to sleep.

Nearly.

He needed to get up, at the very least to find his phone and check the time. As carefully as he could he extracted his body from the tangle of covers, stepping lightly onto the carpet with his eyes on the other guy's face all the while, mindful not to disturb him. The night before he hadn’t even bothered to check his messages before passing out, and as such headed straight for the amorphous blob of his pants that rested just a foot away from the bed, crouching and reaching into his back pocket to grab his phone.

He hadn’t told Babe where he was going, as he’d only gathered the stones to go circa 11p.m. and he figured Babe was either asleep or performing his Getting Ready to Fuck routine and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. He almost feels sorry for Babe, who had loved the idea of dating a future doctor until this year when the sexiness of it was side-swiped by the actual danger the position entailed. As such, the Getting Ready to Fuck routine had an extra layer of manic energy to it, and Joe knew better than to try and pull Babe’s attention away from the hours preceding Gene’s rare, rare, rare visits to the apartment.

Even so, the amount of message icons he was presented with was unexpected to say the least.

He raised his eyebrows, nearly humming in interest as he noted the time. Jesus Christ, these blackout curtains are really worth their salt if it was nearly noon.

Tapping into his messages, he found a trickle of anxiety rolling down his spine.

FRI AT 11:42PM

Babe

Hey where r u?

I gotta talk to you

SAT AT 12:00AM

Babe

Are you coming back?? Srs need to talk

Feb 5 12:00AM

Missed call/Mobile

Babe

SAT AT 12:02AM

Gene Roe

Hi Joe, it’s Gene. idk if i gave you my number?

Trying to get a hold of you, call/text when you get a chance

Thanks

SAT AT 12:20AM

C h u c k

Babe is trying to find you

Feb 5 12:30AM

Missed call/Mobile

Babe

SAT AT 12:50AM

Speirs Ron

Why am i getting texts at 12:45 at night asking me to find you?

Well, something is fucking happening. And he’s at least 100% sure he wants no fucking part of it because any drama that starts after 11p.m. is the drama of the goddamn devil.

Fighting not to heave an enormous sigh, Joe reluctantly acknowledges that he should pull his clothes on and get out of here if there really is an emergency in the vicinity of his roommate. Looking back over his naked shoulder Joe tries to catch a glance at the guy in the bed, at the length of his bare leg in the semi-darkness, and the angle of his shoulder protruding from the blankets where he curled. He’d happily get back in that bed and go another round or five.

As though alerted to Joe’s presence by the cosmos, his phone begins buzzing in his hand. Huffing in annoyance, he attempts to reject the call at least until he can get out of the room, but throws himself off kilter and bangs his elbow into the bedside table, jostling a glass of water and a pile of paperbacks.

“Shit,” he curses, grasping at his elbow and shooting a glance back to the guy, whose eyes are already open and alerted to the noise.

Damn it.

The guy blinks slowly, bleary, for a moment before pulling his face from his pillows and angling up onto his side. “Hi,” he greets softly, running a hand through his mussed hair.

“Hi,” Joe nods back, grimacing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

The guy shakes his head, looking for all intents and purposes like he means it. “Not at all,” he sniffs, meeting Joe’s eyes in the darkness with a still-sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“Oh man, it’s like noon.”

Furrowing his brow, the guy nods back before shooting Joe a wry smile. “We tired ourselves out, huh?”

Joe laughs, seeing his phone light up in his hand with a new message. “Speak for yourself.”

At the interested quirk of the other man’s brow Joe hastily gives a shake of his head and stands. “I’ll get out of your hair quick, no worries, just be a minute.”

The guy frowns, sitting up in the bed to let the blankets pool around his hips, hands coming to rest between his legs. “Oh, well, don’t feel like you have to.”

Joe pauses, pants in hand. “Oh, it’s not -”

“I mean, if you want to go then for sure, but like…” the guy waves a hand, pursing his lips before smiling and coughing out a laugh. “Are you hungry? I have eggs, I can make you something before you go.”

He hesitates, eyes pivoting from the guy, to his phone still in his hand, and back to the guy and his open, expectant face. After a moment, he clears his throat. “You know, I could eat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I could, could you?”

The guy smiles, and even in this mostly dark room Joe can see he has dimples and has to hold himself back from practically swooning, cursing his half-drunk self of the night prior for not remembering exactly how attractive this guy was. “I could use some coffee, is what I can use,” he says, stretching his arms over his head, and Joe is treated to the sight of his bare, bitten up chest. Usually he doesn’t take much notice of his partner's body hair, but as he lets his eyes trace over the guy's chest and legs as he moves to stand he finds himself clearing his throat and getting a little warm along his neck.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he responded distractedly, pulling his eyes away from the luscious sight of the guy's ass as he bends to retrieve his underwear and instead moving to put his own on. After a second thought he pulls on his shirt as well; might do him some good if he finds himself flushing up at just a glimpse of this guy's ass.

As he slips his shirt over his head, the guy turns to him with a bit of a sheepish look on his face. “Can I admit something?” he asks, lips scrunched.

Joe pauses, still grasping the hem of his shirt. “What?”

“I…” he starts, before chuckling somewhat awkwardly. “I don’t totally remember your name...”

A fair bit of relief surges through him at that, and Joe finds himself huffing out a laugh of his own, and adds another one at the half-embarrassed and half-expectant smile the guy gives him. “Can I admit something back?”

“What?”

“I don’t remember yours either.”

The guy's eyes widen minutely, before he tips his head back and laughs, nodding gently as he rubs a hand over his face. “Is it bad manners to say that’s a relief?”

“I think it’s alright as long as neither of us care,” Joe said, pushing his hair back, before stepping up to the guy and extending a hand. “I’m Joe.”

The guy grasped his hand in a sure grip. “David,” he replied with a little shake of their hands, before leaning in and pressing a dry kiss to Joe’s cheek. “Nice to meet you.”

Joe turned his face into David’s, catching his lips in a tender, if chaste, kiss. “Nice to meet you.”

#webgott #modern!au #it's my personal hc that joe not only loves to be in bed but is Very particular about it #mentioned:baberoe #this AU sponsored by Kim Crawford

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

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theinvisibledreamergirl · 3 years

Text

Hopeless

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Klaw Craig)

Words count: >1.7k

Category: Angst

Warning: none

A.N: Well as per your request this is the awaited fic for you and maybe you didn’t expect it to be such this angsty. Let me know what do you think. This event starts after this post for everyone who’s not familiar with it.

———————————————————————

Klaw had never ran so fast in her life like now.

She had to do something.

Something to stop Simon from telling Dr. Ramsey about the Instagram photo she posted. And the reason?

Simple. After Dr. Ramsey admitted to her the infamous patient Mr. Nigel Platt- nothing went normal as she thought at first. Nigel had several symptoms that none of them concluded to a specific illness but leading to more questions than answers. Again this wasn’t the real problem.

Nigel’s attitude against her while questioning her abilities to handle this case, made her blood boiled despite she held a great poker face to him that everything seemed to go flowing. It was ironic this kind of situation happened again to her- when she confronted the mafia man Miles in her first day, the latter doing the same thing as Nigel. With all of her anger and frustration she blamed Dr. Ramsey for this and decided in a drunken state to create an emoji and to show off to people on Insta what an asshole he was. But when she got sobered like today, she was pleading that everyone would get it as joke and not something that should be taken seriously. Because it was a moment of anger okay? She didn’t know how to revenge to him because he was her attending after all. She couldn’t file a complaint to him. Right? After finishing this case she wanted to have a man to man talk and to understand why he assigned this kind of patient especially to her. Did she do anything wrong?

If yes, what?

Because of Dr. Banerji’s secret?

Her mind was fogged up with lots of questions while she was running in the halls of fifth floor- where his office was. When she turned the corner she bumped into nurse Sarah and apologised.

“Sarah do you know where’s Dr. Tennant?”

“Oh. I saw him with Dr. Ramsey while exiting the Diagnostics Office.”

“Shit.”

“Something wrong Dr. Craig?”

But Sarah didn’t have an answer as she saw the young intern run again. Klaw knew where the diagnostics was and her breath hitched when she saw the two doctors conversing with each other in such seriousness that made her shivering from fear. Then she saw Simon slipping from his white coat his phone and telling something to Ethan. But before that she lunged forward while shouting.

“STOP!”

Both attendees flinched when they heard her frantic voice and saw her raised hands while shaking. They frowned in confusion at her as the baritone voice asked.

“Dr. Craig what is this? Another stunt of yours?”

“No no please just hear me out because I know that I owe you an apology Dr. Ramsey.”

He raised a cold eyebrow. As always he would never change that reflex she thought. “Pray, tell.”

“Well... I think that you’re quite aware now what I’ve done so far and... I’m truly sorry for that. I mean... who in the world does the mockery of someone in social media that everyone starts to make fun of it? Me with a whiskey around yesterday decided to throw that thing but I fully regret it. So... I’m saying it again Dr. Ramsey that I’m sorry I posted that photo on Instagram and I promise to delete that immediately.”

“What’s that photo?” He asked in confusion while shaking his head. “Because I didn’t get this Rookie. Would you like to explain to me what the hell is even the Insane thing?”

“But weren’t you seeing it with Dr. Tennant right now? He was showing it to-”

“Uhm-” Simon cleared his throat. “Klaw, I was showing Ethan the tomography of our patient after we diagnosed him.” He turned his phone to her and immediately she wanted nothing more than to burn herself or hide somewhere because now she felt so screwed. “I wasn’t going to tell him y’know.” Then he snorted when he finally realised what her intention was.

“Excuse me, can someone right now tell me what in the hell is going on?” Ethan glared at them when he felt his anger building up seeing the interaction between these two and the fact that they were sharing a secret made him raged.

The young doctor gulped hardly when she lit up her phone, opened the app and showed it to her attending. But what made Ethan even more angry despite he was remaining calm all the time was the description she had written:

Ladies and gentlemen I present to you the icy blue-eyed Dr. Ethan Ramsey in his usual mood- killing the interns.

Even though it may sounded funny to someone’s else ears, he wasn’t killing anyone. Especially when he wanted to push her to be the best doctor and to learn by hard. But clearly to him, maybe it was a mistake for picking her so that was his final straw.

“My office.”

He gave her phone back while trailing off and Simon gave her an encouragement smile as if meaning that it was the usual one of the many Dr. Ramsey’s moods but for Klaw this was unusual.

Ethan didn’t even let the door open for her as he did always and slammed it forcefully in her face. And that was her final straw.

“What the fuck?!”

“Language Craig!”

“Do you even know moral codes or what?”

“I’m not going to learn from you because you clearly have absolutely no knowledge about them.”

“Are you really worried for such a stupid little thing? I told you I was drunk!”

“Do you really think that I care that much for an animated figure which clearly doesn’t represent me but just another stupid jokes of yours?”

“Well my jokes are better than your dryly and sophisticated ones.” He scoffed unbelievably, not seeing that his words were actually hurting her. “I want to be taken off the PITA’s case because in my opinion there’s nothing left for me to do with a man who doesn’t respect me as a doctor and doesn’t acknowledge my work showing his belligerency and rudeness.”

So that’s why she was angry at him. But that didn’t even make him change his mind. He wasn’t surprised to see her in this state of rage and for a mere of seconds he thought how cute she looked when she was serious and flushed. Ethan gave her an unamused smile, not interested in what she just said. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her right pupil dilated slightly while she was frowning.

“You’ve had difficult patients before. Keep trying.”

His calmness was making her even more furious and before she could stop herself she came forward and slapped her hands in his desk, while facing him with a shaking breath. This of course caught him off guard and stood up from his chair doing the same as her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you punishing me?”

I’m not punishing you. I would never do that.

“Or is my saying right- that you enjoy to kill interns and make us suffer huh? Do you enjoy that?”

“You need to keep your personal feelings separate from your professional feelings Dr. Craig.” She tried to reply but was cut off. “I’d think very carefully before you say something to embarrass yourself.”

“Then why have you selected me this patient? For what reason?!”

“To challenge you, to push you to be the best doctor you can be! Don’t you get it already?”

Despite the closed door their voices could be heard loud and clear from outside. Their faces were in a close proximity without breaking their gazes to each other. Icy blue could see in dark fiery browns the embarrassment and the astonishment when she received his words. She understood now. It was never about Naveen’s secret that they were sharing. It was about her development that even after all of this he still thought of her.

For her best.

As a real attending should.

He sat on his chair with his crossed arms whereas she backed off a bit from his desk only to hear disappointment from him.

“When I make my evaluations every year... every intern that I’ve chosen were the best amongst the best and for that-” he flickered his eyes to her again with the coldest expression on his face that she had ever seen and shivered. “- I believed I saw a potential in you. It’s very rare that I’m wrong Rookie. But I’m willing to admit when I am... and I think I might have been wrong about you.”

The final words left her not only speechless but also breathtaking. She couldn’t feel her lungs as if everything stopped in that moment. Her heartbeats were giving her aches in her chest as she stared right back into his eyes- regret and pain. Ethan Ramsey regretted his intern right in front of her just like a slap in her face. That was the final cue from him that she wasn’t the best intern he had thought because this intern (she) had let him down.

Klaw shifted her left shoulder and broke eye contact with him while Ethan quirked sadly his mouth knowing her fully well anytime she got that nervousness. He got used to her and he hoped that these words would encourage to be better or otherwise- worse than now.

Deeply ashamed she couldn’t say another word and left his office without glancing back. She was determined to solve that case whatever that brat had and to prove once again that Dr. Craig or Rookie was the best intern he had chosen for the program.

Ethan sighed heavily when he opened his drawer to reveal her file that was the first of many others and stared down at her CV photograph that showed- bravery.

“You can do this Klaw.” He whispered to himself and for the first time he said her name which in Ethan’s horror wasn’t something good. He closed the file with a thud and put it back on his drawer while getting up from his chair to take a look in the window. He could feel his heartbeats quickening when he saw Klaw leaving with his patient Kyra who was trying to console her. At least she had friends to look after her.

Stop it Ethan. Stop thinking about her.

Reluctantly he pulled away from the window to busy himself with other important tasks so he would forget about piercing brown eyes.

#open heart #open heart fan fic #open heart fan fiction #my mc #klaw craig #ethan ramsey #klaw x ethan #ethan ramsey x mc #my writing

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567926

Jon pressed a lingering kiss on Martin’s hot forehead, checking his temperature and worrying when it didn’t seem any lower.

38.4. The Eye so helpfully provided. Which confirmed his suspicions, thank you very much.

“Good morning, darling.” There were so many things to worry about, especially when the fog took a moment to clear from his eyes, and Jon knit his brow, stroking back auburn curls and murmuring soft memories because his biggest fear was losing him again to the Lonely.

And not being enough to get him back.

“Jon.” His voice was raspy, cracked in the middle, and he turned away to cough weakly into the back of his hand.

“There you are.” Brushing away the remnants of clinging mist and wishing he was stronger.

“Where’d I go?” Martin blinked, languid and slow, face flushed delicately over his nose and hiding away the lightest freckles.

“Just been asleep, that’s all.” He groaned, turning his face into Jon’s thigh to rub his cheek against it and Jon wasn’t sure he could handle how utterly, heartbreakingly adorable this man was. “I know, not fun being ill.”

“S’stupid.” Laughing gently, he laid down beside him and wrapped him up.

“Is it?”

“Mmf.”

“I see, that is a powerful truth.” He tugged his head to his chest and kissed the top of it. “I’m going into the village to pick up supplies. Was there anything special you wanted, my darling?”

“Mmmf.”

“Two packages, then?” Martin smacked at his shoulder and missed. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing, shall I?”

“Mf.”

“I’ll be back soon.” And when Martin gripped him harder, Jon soothed him to sleep, replacing himself with a pillow as he slipped away.

The weather was on the chilly side, the sky a bright and brilliant blue that contrasted with the highland cows dotted along the fence lining the walk and Jon found himself smiling as he paused and snapped a few photos for Martin, going so far as to take a selfie with a particularly friendly lad and not deleting it.

Unfortunately, approaching the village meant approaching people. People who were marked by numerous fears and experiences the Beholding wished so, so much to feed on. It pushed the ravenous, empty ache to the forefront of everything and Jon kept his gaze down near his feet so as not to frighten people with his hungry, unblinking stare. It was as though he could taste their proximity and swallowed back the urging, the longing, the yammering of the Eye in his head, wanting Martin to be proud of him for keeping his promise. Quick in the market, Jon packaged everything away in his rucksack and shouldering it, grunted under the weight as it seemed he’d gone slightly overboard. Never having been in the best shape, by the time he made it back to the safe house his leg was protesting and he was panting hard. Martin would always be worth it, no matter the cost, big or small.

Standing up from his stool, Jon swiped the last ingredients into the stock pot and gave it a stir and a tentative sip to check the flavor. It felt good to care for someone even if he had so little experience in it, basing it on what he thought might feel nice. What he'd seen in movies. Read in books.

He couldn’t blame that lack of knowledge on his monstrous transformation.

“Mm...smells good…”

“Hullo, darling.” He couldn’t help but smile when Martin buried his face in the space between Jon’s shoulder and neck, ticklish and almost deliriously happy over soup and the idea that, while he hadn’t cooked in forever and a day, he could do this for Martin now. Jon let himself relax back into Martin’s overwarm embrace when his arms wrapped around his thin waist, settling there like they belonged.

Dishes in the sink for tomorrow’s washing up, Jon plied Martin with a mug of herbal tea doctored heavily with honey and lemon for the cough, stroking along his arm when he listed sleepily into his side and cuddled into the knitted throw they kept on the couch.

“Jon?”

“Are you alright?” The edge of panic made Martin laugh and then cough and if Jon weren’t so worried he would have been insulted.

“I’m on the mend.” The Eye cheerfully confirmed this with a read of 37.8. “But. You feel warm, Jon.” Martin leaned away to cup his face. “You need a rest yourself after everything that’s happened.” Moved to his brow and frowned. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine, darling.” He took them in his own and squeezed, kissing Martin’s forehead softly. “Your hands are cold, that’s all.”

Truthfully, Jon was knackered. But who wouldn’t be having gone through what they’d just fled from? That’s all. He was tired and hungry and stressed with worry over Martin and how quickly he’d fallen ill and how high his fever had risen and Jon didn’t know how to care for people, how to help because he was made to harm and to hurt and mygodhewasgoingtoruinthis.

It wouldn’t help Martin to focus on himself or the starving sensation buzzing in the periphery at all times.

“Jon, I’m really feeling better.”

“It’s quite cold outside and your cough--” Martin held his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of them.

“Okay, okay.” Jon was relieved and he could tell Martin was amused by all of his fussing, but he frowned just slightly, looking down at their tangled fingers. “You’re trembling, love.”

“Mm. I’m.” Looking away out of shame and embarrassment, Jon took his hands back as well, wringing them together nervously. “I’ve b’been. Hungry.” He couldn’t actually remember the last time his hands hadn’t been shaky and said so, catching the flash of guilt in Martin’s eyes because he hadn’t been there to know and oh, how could he have abandoned Jon to that all on his own.

And, horrified, Jon kept that thought to himself because he’d accidentally plucked it out of Martin’s without permission and rather than see the disappointment that would surely be there, he leaned up on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Jon hadn’t meant to hide that he wasn’t feeling well. Truly. And because he felt so brittle and stretched thin much of the time, it wasn’t always easy to parse out what were symptoms of an illness and what were just normal pangs. But Martin still wasn’t one hundred percent, a low grade, persistent fever clung to him like the fog Jon had to scare off on occasion.

This time, it was a bad coughing jag when he came in from the out carrying an armload of firewood, the temperature change sucking all the air out of his lungs and replacing it with cement. It almost sent him to his knees and he heard Martin get out of bed from where he’d been napping and of course, Jon, can’t even let him get the rest he needed.

“Jon-darling?” His palm was on his back, fingers tipping his chin so he could get a good look at his face but his complexion was dark enough that a flush would be harder to see. Once Martin was better, then he would relax. Just a bit longer. “That sounded painful.” It had been and the tightness in his chest made it difficult to speak.

It didn’t stop his lying.

“I, uh. Had a smoke.” Martin’s attention was disapproving now, instead of investigative. So that was. Good. That was good, right? “I. Didn’t. You know how powerful your disappointment is.” But he hadn’t smoked in a long while, and didn't need it when the real cravings were the statements walking around in the nearby village. People. People walking around who. Who had statements.

God, Jon.

He was tired.

He was cold.

“I’m sorry, Martin.”

Jon didn’t know what time it was but knew he should get out of bed and get the tea started. It was good to start with tea because it helped with the congestion and the coughing and he’d finally become somewhat capable at actually making it thanks to Martin’s wonderful tutelage. So he slid out of bed, limping to the kitchen on a stiff and sore leg to put the water on to boil.

He only closed his eyes for a moment.

Martin woke with the sun falling across his face, lighting up the room in a soft apricot glow, and a cold, empty bed. Where had he run off to? Martin knew he wasn’t feeling well and for some reason thought he had to hide it from him, but that was a conversation for another time. With his luck, Jon had wandered off into a field somewhere in only his pajamas.

Instead, he found him curled up on the kitchen floor swallowed up in one of Martin’s jumpers, a tea kettle full of water on a cold hob, and he knelt beside him, unfolding him enough to get a hand on his brow. Not surprisingly, he was burning up, the flush he couldn’t see before now present, highlighted with pallor and a sheen of sweat.

“Oh, Jon.” Most definitely down with Martin’s flu if the chills were any indication. “Good morning, love.” Lashes parting like a moth’s fluttering wing, Jon looked dazed and disoriented, blinking up at him as Martin maneuvered him into his lap. “Why’re you on the floor?”

“Jus’ lai’down for a minute.” He breathed out and in as he spoke his slurred words. Exhausted. “Dunno...dunno what happen’d.” Martin was sure he didn’t.

“I have a few guesses, love.”

“M’yeah?”

“Yeah.” He was quickly losing him to the pull of feverish weariness and decided to put off his teasing until he could at least defend himself properly. “Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

“Bed.” The right fool. Martin lifted him, holding him close, and kissed him softly when he threw skinny arms sloppily around his neck with a contented hum. “Warm.”

“Better than the floor?”

“Hm.” Jon was clingy, whinging when Martin pulled away to retrieve medication and finish the tea he’d almost started, but stilled when he buried fingers into his wild salt and pepper hair for a quick second. He took pills and drank fluids when pressed, but mostly wanted to sleep and cuddle up wrapped around Martin’s leg. And he let him, content to work on some spare verses and rub Jon’s back as he alternated between sleeping like a stone and coughing up a lung.

Martin was overjoyed when Jon cooked for him, even if the man himself hadn’t been able to eat much, and he reheated it on the stove, returning to their room with a mug of broth and a bowl for himself.

“Martin?” Bleary and congested, he needed his help to sit up against the headboard, Martin providing himself as a support when he threatened to fall over again. He passed him the mug, making sure Jon’s shaking hands could hold it. His decision to fill it only halfway proved wise.

“Jon?” Fever glazed and half lidded, Jon’s eyes looked for answers in the bottom of his mug.

“Feel better?” Martin tapped the side, encouraging him to sip instead of speak.

“Much better, thank you.” He pressed a kiss to his temple and Jon leaned into his touch even more. “You took very good care of me, love.” Martin could almost hear his self deprecating thoughts, spiraling round and round. “Will you let me care for you?”

“Shouldn’t h’have to, to, to care for me.” Martin lifted the broth away, setting it on the side table. “You n’need.” He curled closer, his arms drawn tightly around himself, shivering.

“Need what, Jon-darling?”

“Bet’ter.” It hitched in the middle.

“Than you?” He was like a brand where they touched and Martin knew from previous experience that Jon was prone to weepiness when sick. “Impossible. Come here, love, shh, hush now, hush.” It was nice to dote and fuss over Jon now that he would let him. “You can’t help falling ill.” And Martin held him through his nonsensical rambling until he finally dropped off to sleep.

Jon’s fidgeting woke him up close to dawn just as the sun was beginning to burn away the fog on the horizon. It was satisfying, watching it disappear, torn apart by light and warmth, and he smiled softly before laying a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Everything alright?”

“Sorry.” He breathed, turning to face him. “Din’t mean to wake you.” Martin pushed a few flyaways back behind his ear, pleased that his temperature was markedly lower and his eyes clear if still full of sleep. His face twisted up into a wince and Martin cupped his cheek, stroked his thumb over the bone there.

“What’s wrong?”

“N’nothing.” He was a horrible liar and he knew it, the way he was glancing away and purposefully holding still.

“Jon.” Martin was firm, wanted to help if he could.

“Just. Having a difficult time getting. Uh. Comfortable.” Shame colored his face and his admission was mumbled into his pillow.

“Oh, love.” With shadows still thick beneath his eyes and far too warm, it seemed he’d passed the point where Martin’s presence was enough. “Can I help?” He watched Jon stare at the headboard, likely following the patterns in the wood grain, and while Martin had his suspicions he wanted him to to feel like he could share this with him. He gave him patience. Watched him war with himself.

“Do. Do you get. Aches?” Martin ran a hand down his back and watched him settle. “When. With fevers?”

“I do, I was really sore with this flu.” Jon leaned into his touch like a cat. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Mm. But I can. I’m sorry, I can be still.” And he could, save for the delicate tremors. “M’leg.” When Martin wouldn’t look away. “That’s all.”

“Can I try?” Jon didn’t say no, just shifted with a rough, cut off groan. The muscles were tight and rigid when Martin swept his fingers down just to see what was hurting, and Jon whimpered involuntarily. He focused on the old wounds from Prentiss in his hip, worked his way gently to his knee, soft and careful, letting his hands warm everything up and Jon was almost a puddle by the time he’d finished because, despite all that happened and all he tried to pretend otherwise, he loved to be touched, especially by Martin. And he may have used it to his advantage a time or two. He watched Jon unspool under his hands, relax deeper into the mattress, breath even and slow, seconds away from finding sleep again and Martin had done that, brought him some peace and relief. This time, he curled up around Jon, not wanting to move him in case it made him hurt again, and kept watch.

#TMA #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jmart #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #sickfic #fever #caretaking #cane user jon sims #massage #mutual caretaking #soup!

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰

Chapter 3: Fall from Grace

full masterlist // series masterlist

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x female!reader

Word count: 3,639

Warnings: smut, kidnapping, stalking, slight bondage. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: after the death of your mother, you decided that you were going to do something new to honor her. You chose a perfect camping spot somewhere down South. You thought it was going to be the life-changing vacation that you never had in your life, until Steve Rogers, a man existed in roughness and control all his life, found you.

a/n: chapter three is here!! they are finally going to start their festive, but steve is gentle enough to at least take things slow. things will grow more extreme in future chapters and i hope you’re ready for that. for now, let’s just enjoy, (lowkey) altruistic steve, yeah? enjoy! please leave a like and comment.

The next morning, you were woken up by a gentle caress on your hair, with a pair of striking blue eyes greeting you. Not that you had any clue whether it was actually morning. It could've been 3 PM in the afternoon for all you know, but the man before you; Steve Rogers, as he declared his name last night, confirmed it by rolling the words on his lips; "good morning."

You tried to sit up, but you remember that you were still bound in place since last night. He sat by the side of the bed, and he asked; "did you sleep well last night?" You didn't know how to answer that, so you nodded aversely. He smiled, not the menacing smirk that he displayed several times last night, but a suave one, like he was gratified by your sated rejoinder.

"I brought breakfast. You must be starving." You turned your head to your right side and a saw a small table standing next to you, containing a plate filled with scrambled eggs and bacon, the smell was so mouthwatering that your stomach grumbled at the absence.

You whined and pulled your hands scantily, hoping that it was enough to send him the message. "Oh shit, sorry." He made light of the situation and he moved slightly forward to uncuff you. You sat up and tried to take off the gag but he abruptly blocked your hands from proceeding any further.

"Let me do it." It was supposed to sound thoughtful as if he was lending a helping hand, but the glare in his eyes expunged the sentiment away for what he acutely implied was; "you don't get to make that decision of your own, little girl."

So you let loose your hands and yield into him to perform the task instead. You never cherished your freedom more than at that moment. You instantly contorted your body and grabbed the plate. You ate like you were a famished vagrant. You moaned at how succulent the meal is.

You ate in silence and he just sat there as he watched you gobbled up your food. The sound of the room was only generated from the clinking sounds of the metal fork hitting the silver platter.

When you were repleted, you put down down the dish and you drank the glass of warm vanilla milk on the tray. You gulped half of the glass and put it back on the tray. You didn't realize the remaining splotch of the milk had stained your upper lip milky white.

Steve cleaned it with the stroke of his thumb tenderly and he wiped it on his jeans. He didn't waste any second longer as he spoke up; "today, we are going to start our training. We'll go over the rules and learn the basics. We will see how much we can wrap today, and then we'll carry on tomorrow."

He got on his feet and picked up the tray from the small table, and he continued, "while I prep, you can take a shower."

Take a shower? Does this mean he was going to take you upstairs and let you use his bathroom? That's a good start, maybe, you might find a way to escape through the window or scream for help.

But your vision was cut short by his next instructions. He pointed at the direction of the staircase, but not specifically at it, but rather towards something underneath it; "you see that door over there? It's the bathroom. You can shower there."

You hadn't noticed that door before until it was pointed out. You had only been here for, you assumed, less than 24 hours, there were a lot of things you had yet to discover. After all, your first night here was restricted; you were bound on all fours and the dimmed bulb on the ceiling could only provide so much.

"I'll give you an hour to be ready for me. I expect you to be all cleaned and fragrant when I come back." He leaned down to your level and spoke composedly. "When I'm back, I want you on your knees, with your hands placed neatly on your thighs and your chin down to the ground, understood?"

You nodded. Ever since you got here, it seems like you had lost your ability to form a sentence, you could mumble a few primary words, but you still felt so caged inside despite not being restrained any longer.

"Words, sweet girl. I want you to use your words."

"Yes."

He raised his eyebrows and made a questioning look, you didn't seem to get to hint, so he proceeded; "yes what?"

Your brain quickly recalls last night's events, where he told you that you may call him sir at "certain times" and you immediately knew that this was the moment he implied.

"Yes... Sir." With that, you earned a murderous smirk on his face as if he was amused by the way the sound of the epithet rolled off your lips.

"Good girl. I'll see you later." He left a kiss on your forehead and fled; passing the staircase, off he go.

You folded your knees and tucked them under your chin. What kind of rules was he planning to go over with you? Is he ever going to let you go? And most importantly, are you truly safe with him?

Steve took off from the basement and locked the door behind him. He was amused by how obedient y/n had been so far, he quickly learnt how naive and innocent you were. He was going to have it easy when it comes to molding you into his favorite possession. The girl he had fantasized about for months; you were nearly there. You just needed a little more disciplinaries.

He calculated in head that in a few weeks, you were going to be innately capable of performing his orders. If he wanted you on all fours, with your head pressed down on the mattress and your hands tied tidily on your back, as he pounds vigorously into you, then you were going to do so, with only a single cue.

Yeah, he'll get you there. He just needed patience and perseverance.

He stripped himself off his navy blue plaid shirt and his worn-out jeans. He also pulled down his boxer and put them into the dirty laundry basket as his lengthy cock sprung free. It wobbled as he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the lights; the rustic interior came into view. There was a single, broad rectangular mirror on his right side, over the Pecan brown ceramic sink. The tile that topped the cabinet sink resembled the colour of its owner's hair; deep brunette brown.

On the left side, there was a single wooden framed window that was shut due to the windy weather that caused the fallen leaves of the trees to enter his cabin uninvited.

He diverted the shower curtains and climbed into the giant bathtub. He swiveled the shower faucet and let the warm water wash over him. His thoughts migrated to his discoveries last night. He had stolen her phone and her other personal things and stash them in the top racks of his closet.

While she was unconscious, she pressed her button onto the fingerprint passlock, and the screen lit up, displaying all of the menu icons. He looked through all of her social media one by one; her text messages, her Instagram, Facebook, emails, Youtube history, Google history, Google Play Books, and even her Amazon search list. He thoroughly scrolled through every app on her phone he could find, to dig deeper into her personal background.

From what he discovered, he hadn't learned much except; she was a nerd, the number of books she had yet to finish explained that much. Her history search revealed nothing much more than juvenile information, and the most recent ones were camping related info. She was on social media, but she didn't seem to have that many interactions cramming up her notifications. Her emails and text messages mostly consisted of professional matters with her, what he assumed, were her co-workers.

He also read several unanswered texts, saying sentimental things, such as; "I'm truly sorry for your loss." "I'll be here if you need me, call me soon!" "Do you need a friend? I can come over anytime! :)" "She was such a wonderful human being, she's in a better place now." "Stay strong, okay? Thinking about you here."

That made him curious. Why didn't she answer these well-intend messages? Who was this "wonderful human being" her acquaintance talked about? He didn't dwell on those futile questions for too long, he could ask her about it later, but now, he just wanted to learn more about his girl.

He clicked on the gallery icon and there was only a single file. He unfolded it, and the file revealed pictures that she took from the woods; the river, the trees, the scenery, etc. Then as he scrolled down further, pictures of an older woman surfaced. The older woman slightly resembled her. They both have the same eyes and that warm demeanor. Some pictures showed she was in a hospital bed, clad in a hospital gown. She looked pale and frail. He put the math together and concluded that this might be her mother, and that she was ill.

But her peer or whoever the hell that was, texted that she was in a better place now? Does that mean she was deceased? Is that why she came here all alone? To get away from her thoughts?

He'll learn the answers tomorrow, when she's awake, and when she's willing to talk.

After about an hour browsing through her phone, he decided that he had found enough. He decided to delete all her social media accounts and discarded her SIM card and the battery. Then he turned off the device and stash it back to where all her personal belongings were stored.

After he showered under the warm water and cleaned himself enough, he turned off the faucet and stepped out of the bathtub. He dried off his damp hair as he stared into the mirror, acknowledging his God-like, well-defined figure. His chiseled abs and bulky chest that could bring anyone in his way to their knees. He trimmed his unkempt beard just enough to keep it presentable. He brushed his hair until he was satisfied with how dashing he looks.

He stepped out into his room and searched through his wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and put it on. He didn't even bother putting on a boxer or briefs, for he knew it would go futile anyway. Nor did he bother putting on a shirt. So he walked into his basement, where his girl was kept; shirtless, and eager.

Let the games begin...

The warm water washing over you felt pleasant on your skin. You took your time in cleaning yourself up, as your minds keep drifting to the last 24 hours. Still, the remaining questions in your head were; where the hell were you? who the hell was this man? what the hell did he want from you?

You squeezed the bottle of the shampoo onto your hand and you messaged your scalp smoothly despite your restless thoughts. You had walked into the bathroom fifteen minutes earlier, and saw how complete the bathroom was.

It wasn't much, there was a single toilet and a roll of tissue glued around a wall-mounted tissue holder beside it. You also found many feminine toiletries such as; coconut shampoo, lavender body wash, vanilla-scented lotion, deodorant, toothbrush & toothpaste, razor, blades, shaving lubricant, soap bar, and nail clippers.

In the tiny cabinet sink, there were a few white towels and washcloths. Inside the drawer, there were a few tampons and pads. You truly felt like you were a special guest at a fancy hotel. The cramped bathroom was even a lot neater compared to your own in your apartment.

It makes you wonder... Did he plan all of this? If he did, how long had he been planning for this? Your own questions rose the shivers down your spine. You decided to shake it all away and stepped into the tight space behind the curtains.

You turned on the faucet and let the warm water stream over your skin.

After you were finished, you wrapped one of the towels in the cabinet, around your body. You used it to dry off your face and your hair, then you walked out to the room. You were glad that he hadn't come back yet, so it gave you enough time to get ready.

How... exactly were you going to get ready? You just realized he didn't provide you any clothes or undergarments. So you sat in your bed, still clothed in the towel until you were ready to follow his instructions.

You weren't ready to find out what he meant by "there will be punishments" as he casually stated last night, so you dropped the towel off your body and hung it on the hook behind the bathroom door.

You heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps and you sprinted to the center of the room and knelt. You placed your hands neatly on your thighs as he instructed with your head down, not wanting to stare at his face. Despite it was part of his orders, you were also fearful of gazing into this man's eyes.

The sound of the door opening reverberated through the room, and your hands shook despite being perfectly still on your thighs. Your lips trembled at the mighty presence making a grand entrance. The sound of the approaching footsteps grew harsher and in seconds, a pair of black mudded boots covered feet came into view.

"You listened to my orders well... Good. We are off to a good start. Alright, let's begin our lesson today. You can look up now."

You lifted your head to look at his face, and you trembled. Seeing this man from down here hit you differently. He was majestic in every possible way. You didn't know whether that made you feel safer or even more terrified. He was leaning on a small table pressed to the wall behind him, his hands holding his bodybuilder figure.

"First, I want you to address me as sir when we are engaged in sexual intercourse. You have learned my name but it doesn't mean you can call me by my first name whenever you like."

"Second, I don't wanna hear you talk unless I address you first. If you absolutely need to, you may raise your hand to let me know. The only thing that I wanna hear from that mouth is your compliance, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Third," his eyes darkened. There wasn't a hint of emotions on his face, nothing but stone-cold, hard-rock sobriety. Like a supreme commander, commanding his subordinates. "I expect you to submit to me, fully. Your body and your mind belong to me now. I am in control of the way it works and I am free to choose whatever I want to do to you. No refusal, no recalcitrance, no inquiry. Trust me, the less you resist, the easier this will be."

You were stiffened in place, cemented on spot. He demanded complete submission; a person you had never come across before, the pieces of equipment that were foreign to you, a territory you never had the slightest bit of idea existed... You were forced to yield and accommodate yourself into it. You bit the insides of your cheek to forestall the tears. He already had you impotent, like a wounded animal succumbing to its injuries. Resistance would be vain now. So you let him take the wheel. Even if it means, your temple would be driven by him.

Maybe... Just maybe, after you've pleased him enough by letting him get a grip of you, he might let his guard down and you might even find a way to escape.

But not now, you must work to earn his trust first. You just needed to brace yourself and have self-control. This man promised you that he wasn't going to hurt you, after all, maybe in exchange for a few sexual favors, you might obtain your freedom.

So you entertained him, by saying his two favorite words. "Yes, sir."

"Alright. Now, get on the bed and lay on all fours, like you did last night."

You got on your feet and walked slowly to the mattress. It wasn't a comfortable one. It only had one pillow and not a duvet. It made you miss your own bed dearly.

You laid on the bed, seeking the most comfortable position, despite nothing that would actually make that much difference. You were still placed in the center of the bed, with your head on the pillow.

Steve followed you behind, and he restrained you again to the corners of the bed. He got on top of you, caging your hips with his knees.

"Today, I'm going to teach you how it feels to cum. Fall apart as you give into pleasure... You're never going to be the same once I'm done with you."

He started with nipping the sensitive spot of your neck, followed by the soft caress of his fingers, slowly moving down to your lip, circling around the bud, as he began to collect the wetness there. He moved his head down to your breasts, as he sucked your left nipple with his lips. The feeling overwhelmed you, you had never done this with any man before.

To say you were inexperienced would be an understatement. You had never dated anyone, let alone sleep with one. Your thoughts were jumbled with the sensation, you wanted to push him away, but you were bound in spot, your brain is telling you to tell him to stop, but you couldn't.

His mouth is taking its sweet time, moistening your nipple, as the finger on your bud didn't stop, but rather going faster, rubbing you up and down, that elicited a faint moan from you. What is he doing? What is this feeling? You didn't know. But you let yourself get lost in the moment. Thrilled to let him enlighten you.

He released your nipple with a loud pop and he continued his wrongdoing, by moving down to your most sensitive area. He stared at your sweet cunt and unhesitantly dipped his tongue into it. The lewd noises he was making with his mouth was making your head spin; you tried to block him out by sealing your thighs but he hindered you by wrapping his large hands around your thighs so tightly, you thought it might leave a red mark of fingers afterward.

His right-hand retreated to your breasts, to pinch the right nipple that was left ignored earlier. He groped you so fiercely that you shrieked from the pain. You shifted your head to the side to hide your pleasure, not noticing that his fingers had released your nipple to shove them inside you.

You threw your head back from the sudden intrusion. Your body felt electrified. The sensation was extraordinary. Him pleasuring you with his tongue was one thing, but his fingers stroking the sensitive spot inside you made you forget the dreary situation you were currently trapped in.

You lifted your head to look down at him, trying to figure out what was happening; you could see him engorging you with his eyes shut, as two of his fingers were scissoring inside of you. Your head was misty, and before you know it, your climax had washed over you. The sudden eruption of euphoria shocked you, as you give in to the bliss. You trembled from the unprecedented explosion your body made, as you panted harshly, ceasing you from moving.

Steve was exultant by his work, how he knew he had successfully taken the first step of breaking down your wall. How he managed to inoculate your brain with pleasure. His mouth and fingers had triumphantly turned you into an incoherent, cum-drunk mess, that you didn't even try to fight or resist him. It would be so much easier to mold you to a more advanced doll now.

He reached to your eye level and caged your head once more with his hands, as he alerted you from your post-cum bliss; "when was the last time you ever came that hard?"

You opened your mouth, with still uneven breathing, and answered; "I- I never..."

He squinted his eyes at you with a puzzled look. "You never what?"

You shuddered, cautious to not provoke him; “I never... Never done that before.”

You were comfortable with being inexperienced, until now. Until this dangerous man, who had just violated you began to interrogate your personal life; what if your celibacy incensed him because you weren't exactly what he was looking for? What he instead of releasing you, he decided to murder you and bury your body in his backyard?

He sat back, between your spread, cum-drenched thighs, and incredulously asked; "you are a virgin?"

You nodded dubiously. You broke off the gaze on his eyes, to look at the rustic wall shielding you from the world. Then his hand grabbed your chin to your move head back so that you were looking at him again; "hey, it's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. You are here so I could train you. We've got all the time in the world."

You didn't know how you should react to that; should you smile because of the fact that he wasn't going to murder you? Or should that frighten you instead because that means, one way or another, he was going to corrupt your innocence, and there's nothing you can do about it...

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of Black Lives Matter, @hairmonie donated $15, and requested Samifer/Dean Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Sam says yes, in Detroit. Dean knows because Sam left him a voicemail.

He got a handful of voicemails this year. He never responded because he--he just never responded. He drove alone and killed some things and nearly got killed by others, and the world got worse. Lucifer out there, somewhere Dean couldn’t find him, and Sam gone, and he’d watch his phone light up with an unfamiliar number and wait through the rings, and then when he got the notification he’d hold the phone to his ear, hunched over with his eyes scrunched shut, and listen. Sam usually didn’t say his name, and he didn’t tell Dean where he was, but he’d say things like he wants to use me and I’m hiding but Castiel says they’re getting better at tracking and be safe. Be safe. The last voicemail is left about five minutes to midnight when it’s still technically May 1, and Dean’s in Louisville with ten stitches in his thigh and nearly a full bottle of tequila in his gut, and he doesn’t actually listen to it until morning, when the skies are suddenly dark all over the country and there’s thunder like it might never stop. He’s curled up on the backseat of the car, and he puts the phone to his ear and listens to Sam’s voice and Sam says, for the first time in a year, Dean, I think I can--I think I can do it. I’m sorry.

He’s sorry. Dean doesn’t delete the voicemail like he hasn’t deleted any of the others, and he lets the phone fall to the floorboards. The thunder’s getting louder. It rattles in his chest like there’s something that used to be there, and now it’s just an empty box.

He’s outside of Evansville when it happens--this massive world-ending crack of lightning that splits the sky’s darkness, so bright he slams on the brakes, swerves over to the side of the country highway. Afterimages blur purple across his vision and he has to clap his hands over his ears for the thunder that comes after. Fuck--loud enough that it hurts, that the windshield fractures. He stumbles out of the car and Castiel’s there, for the first time in months and months since he abandoned Dean to his miseries. Castiel’s wounded, scorched. His ears and eyes and nose all bleeding, and he grabs Dean’s jacket sleeve and Dean has to read his lips to know he’s saying it’s too late, and Michael lost, and Dean doesn’t know what that means. He jerks out of Cas’s grip and Cas stares at him and then looks up, straight up with his back arched unnaturally, and in the blink of a second he’s gone. Gone.

The thunder quiets, finally. In its place Dean’s aware of his ears ringing and the ticking of the car’s engine as it cools, and--nothing else. No other cars on the road near him. No breeze. He listens to his own air and looks west, toward where the lightning was, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder and he turns around fast and it’s--Sam.

He backs up a step, more out of shock than anything. “What,” he says, breathless, and Sam tilts his head, looking at Dean. Looking at him, in this--weird dispassionate way, this studying way, and Dean looks back, sees Sam in his dumb boxy jacket and his walked-on jeans and his hair Dean used to tease him for, when it was still okay enough between them that they could have teasing, and it’s all the right shape but the horror’s rising up in his gut. That voicemail. That look, wearing Sam’s face.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Sam says. Quiet voice, calm. He smiles at Dean, a little. “I thought I was going to kill you, today, but I guess you managed to dodge my brother long enough that you got out of it. You’re more clever than they gave you credit for, Dean.”

He backs up another step. Like there’s anywhere he can go. He has Ruby’s knife and he has his gun and he has a foot-long blade he stole from an angel under the front bench in the car, but none of them will work. “Lucifer,” he says, and even as he says it he hopes it’s not true.

Sam’s face smiles a little wider. “In the flesh,” he says, spreading his hands. “So to speak.”

Dean’s ass hits the car, his boot thudding against the front tire. He didn’t realize he was still backing away. Lucifer. He carries Sam’s body--differently. Taller, slower. His eyes drag all over Dean and Dean feels them physically--literally, physically, like a heavy hand is pressing on his skin, pressing through his skin. When Lucifer meets his eyes again he looks--interested, thoughtful.

“Sam loves you,” he says. Dean’s jaw flexes and he looks down at the asphalt. “No--” Lucifer says, and Dean’s head drags up by some unseen force, gripped tight so that he has to face the thing wearing his brother head-on. He swallows and the pressure slides to his throat, not hurting but an unmistakable threat. Lucifer dips Sam’s chin a little. “He loves you. I loved my brother, too. It’s why Sam said yes. Did you know that?”

“The connection’s a little beyond me,” Dean says. He’s surprised he’s allowed to speak.

Lucifer stares at him for a too-long alien second before he smiles, a strange upside-down version of Sam’s smile. Like he’s pitying the dumb human. “He wanted to keep the world from burning,” Lucifer says. “Not so much for the world’s sake, but because you were in it. He thought he could control me and stop all this. It was noble. Even if it didn’t work.”

“If you loved your brother, why did you kill him?” Dean says. He remembers Sam’s hands around his throat, his cheekbone cracked and the blood spilling over his lips. Lucifer watches him, calm. Maybe he did it with his hands, too. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Lucifer huffs. It’s so like Sam for a second that Dean feels his heart crumbling inside his chest. “It’s okay that you don’t understand,” Lucifer says, softly. He steps closer and grips Dean’s shoulders, gentle enough but it doesn’t stop Dean’s skin from crawling. “You will, I think. One day. You’ll know what’s necessary and you’ll try, instead of this pointless running in place you’ve been trying to justify to yourself. Today isn’t for you. Today is for Sam.”

Dean can hardly breathe with Lucifer this close. “What does that mean?”

Another little smile. Rueful. Almost sweet. “Sam’s screaming,” Lucifer says. He takes one hand off Dean and taps Sam’s temple with two fingers. “In here. He wants control back, wants to stop me from doing what I need to do. I need to show him what will happen, if he keeps defying me.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Dean blurts out. Stupid--like he can stop anything--but it’s instinct, ripping past that ill-healed scar where he thought he’d buried away worrying about Sam.

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t want to.” It almost sounds honest. “But I can’t have the distraction if I want to execute my vision for this world. But we both know, Dean, that Sam can take any kind of pain and still hold strong. What hurts him is what hurts you.”

He’s watching Dean’s face, waiting for him to get it. Dean drags in air and the understanding of what’s about to happen settles over him like suffocation. “Don’t,” he says, but he can barely get out the voice for it. Lucifer gives him another rueful little smile, like it’s something that can’t be helped. “Sam knows better. He’ll stop you.”

Lucifer cups Dean’s jaw in Sam’s big hand, strokes over his cheek with the thumb. “He won’t,” Lucifer says, quiet promise, and there’s a weird stomach-turning moment where the world quivers, and then Dean’s--oh, god, oh fuck oh fuck he’s on his back on the Impala’s hood, and he’s naked, and he had forty years with Alastair’s knives and even so he still has a moment, a fierce bloody moment, where he thinks he can fight back. He strains and is shocked to find that he can move, and he swings a clenched fist and Sam’s hand catches it, easy. Lucifer’s stripped, too, and Sam’s body is--thinner than Dean remembers him being--like he wasn’t eating right, this last year--but he’s still tan, still built, and Dean’s eyes drop because he can’t help it and Sam’s dick is--god help him, hard, and big, hanging heavy and straight out from Sam’s hips.

“This is stupid,” Dean says, trying to push back on the hood but his skin’s catching, the metal holding him. Lucifer grabs his knee, drags him painfully back into place. “And cliche. I mean, rape? Really? Come on, you think this’ll break me?”

“It did,” Lucifer says, easy. “In hell. Eventually.” Dean’s jaw clenches and he tries a punch again, but Lucifer’s strong--stronger than Sam, unnatural and inevitable, and he grabs Dean’s wrists in one hand, pins them against Dean’s chest bruisingly tight, and his hips are between Dean’s thighs and he catches one leg, pushes it up and back, spreads Dean open for it. He looks down at Dean, knowing, and it’s not--lustful, not crazed and dripping like the demons were. Not cruel. One corner of Sam’s mouth lifts up. “Breaking you isn’t the point. Remember, this is for Sam. He wanted this, so badly,” Lucifer says, and Dean stills his squirming, looks up into Sam’s familiar face. It’s still dark, with the sky crowded with thunderclouds, but Sam seems lit from within, Lucifer’s grace filling him. For a second, he looks genuinely sympathetic, and Dean’s still frozen, mind stuck on that thought, when Lucifer dips in and kisses him, close-mouthed and nearly sweet, Sam’s lips soft and catching against his where they’re chapped. When Lucifer lifts up he sighs, still close enough that Sam’s breath touches Dean’s mouth, and he looks right into Dean’s eyes. “What matters is that it hurts you. It’ll hurt, Dean.”

It does already. Sam’s prick nudges in against Dean’s ass, wet only with whatever precome’s making it slip against his skin, and Dean stares up into his brother’s face. When the shove happens--it is a shove, Sam’s dick too big and Dean too tight--Dean can’t help the sound he makes, or how he arches, trying to get away--and for a split second Lucifer’s face changes and through the haze of split-open racking hurt Dean knows that it’s Sam, it’s his brother, holding him and wrenching him wide and looking at him terrified--and Sam lets Dean’s wrists go and grabs his face--says, “Dean,” in the way he always used to, the way Dean loved, the way that meant something deeper than any other words could ever hope to say--and even with Sam shoved inside him and with how much it hurts Dean touches his face and says, shaky, “It’s okay, Sammy,” and before he can finish Sam’s name Sam’s eyes change and he knows it’s Lucifer, looking back at him, a weird canny triumph in his eyes.

The thunderclouds part, over Sam’s head, and roll back. The sun’s rising in the east and the sky’s a clear, pale blue. Lucifer plants a hand on the car and holds Dean’s hips in his other hand and fucks in and it hurts, hurts, fuck it hurts, and he smiles down and says, “It’ll be over soon, Dean,” and that’s a lie. Dean drags in breath, hooks his legs around Sam’s hips, and when Lucifer screws inside the next time it still hurts like knives but at least the angle’s better, and he drops his head back against the car, pants up at the clear sky. It won’t be over soon, but one day it will be. Lucifer kisses his jaw, gentle, and Dean closes his eyes and says, clear inside himself, it’ll be okay, Sammy, and resolves then that he will kill them both to make sure that one day it’s true.

#fffb #hairmonie #wincest #samifer #endverse!dean #non-con #my writing

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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Tom Holland-Fluff Alphabet

Requested by two anons. Hope you like it! I actually lost your asks, deleted it before time, so I’m sorry. But I got your requests right!

Affection (PDA, how they are in private…)

In public, Tom has certain doubts about kissing you. He knows how the media can get when a famous is in a relationship, and knows that his fans can be aggressive. He doesn’t want any type of hate reaching you, so he decides to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the first month. It’s not a matter of being ashamed of you, and you’re sure of it when a very nervous Tom asks you if you want to meet his family. It’s just a matter of protection and care.

Once the press finds out about you, he’s still a shy guy. Sure, a few pictures on Instagram of you two doing silly things and stories of your daily life, but he doesn’t like to share his private life with the whole world. When you two take a walk, he will take your hand or kiss your cheek, but never make out with you in a public place.

In private, affection is Tom middle’s name. He won’t hesitate to show you how much he loves you every second of the day. Kissing your cheek when he’s passing by, helping you with anything without a second thought, touching you absentmindedly when you’re with friends… The ‘I love you’ are like your good morning; he says them when you wake up, before you go to bed, with a random note or a text, and every time he sees you. For him, the world spins around you, and he likes to let you know that.

Baby (do they want a family?)

Since the moment he met you, he knew he wanted to have something more with you. In the set of Avengers, or in any other set, he had seen a lot of people playing with their children, and admire from afar how they love each other. He can’t help imagine both of you with a small family of your own. Children with spiderman pyjamas, a house with a garden where Tessa and some other dogs could play, Sunday’s lunch with your families and the kids, holidays trips to exotic places.

Tom knows you’re too young for that, but he does bring it up sometimes. When you’re having lunch in a small restaurant and he sees a family. When you’re in the park and a little kid approach him. Even when you go to the cinema and he sees those special seats for the children.

However, if he could choose, he would probably have a family of dogs.

Cuddles (how and when)

That’s not a question. Tom Holland is always up for cuddles. In the bed, couch, cinema, after lunch, before bed, whenever you want. If you’re standing, he will gradually grab your hips and pull you closer. He puts his head your shoulder and nuzzle his nose on your neck, like a small cat. If you’re reading a book laying on the bed, he’ll put his head on your stomach while playing with his phone. Then, he crawls up little by little until you can’t see the book because his head is in between and the letters. His cute brown eyes looks up at you and he smiles, showing you the dimples of his cheeks. It doesn’t matter if what you’re reading is something important or not, he’ll be there, hugging you, until he falls sleep.

His favourite way to cuddle is on the couch. Tom will lay on the couch with you on his side, while a movie (probably spiderman, let’s be honest) stars playing and Tessa steps between you two. He likes to watch your eyes focusing on the movie or closing slowly. Actually, he likes to watch you when you’re not looking. You run your hand over Tessa’s fur and he plays with your hair. That’s probably what he calls heaven.

Dates (what are dates with him like?)

Time is something that, as an actor who travels a lot and has his family in another country, he values a lot. Tom can spend months in a different country, filming a movie or doing press tours with his cast mates.

He tries to travel home as often as he can. When he comes back, he likes quiet dates. Having you over and playing board games with his family is probably his favourite. He’s a huge family guy, so as soon as your relationship is solid enough, he presents you to his family and friends. If you’re not with them, then going out with his friends is also cool. However, he needs time alone with you too. Tom likes taking you out for a walk or for an ice cream, going to the cinema and then talk about the film in a bench of your favourite park. He wants you to feel as if you were a normal couple. Sometimes, that’s impossible because he has to stop to take a photo with a fan or to sign something. So expect that, every few weeks, Tom manages to sneak you around and plan a trip just for the two of you.

Dates also happen when you visit him. If he’s in New York or in another country, you will find an airplane ticket on your mailbox to where he’s staying. He loves that kind of dates. Tom will show you around the city while bouncing up and down in excitement; his favourite place to eat, where did he record the first scene, what place reminds him of you. All of that while talking about his cast mates. Then, he introduces you to them and it’s safe to say that you both freak out on the same level.

Entertainment (how do you spend your free time)

Tom can, and it’s a fact, look at you for an hour without getting bored. You can be doing anything; homework, house chores, reading or with your computer. If Tom is in the same room than you, he will lose focus on anything else and only see you. He puts on his in-love eyes, placing his head on his hand and forget about the scripts in front of him. You can talk to him, the phone can ring or the building could be on fire; he won’t stop staring at you.

His favourite thing to do with you in your free time it enjoy your company. He doesn’t need fancy restaurant or expensive dates, you can have the best time of your life playing ‘UNO’ on your bedroom and trying to avoid Tessa eating the cards.

Feelings (when did they know they loved you?)

Tom knew he was madly in love with you when he left to film Spiderman: Far From Home. It had been a stressful day; he had gotten coffee all over himself, it was cold, he didn’t know anyone and a terrible wave of homesickness had hit him since he had woken up. He had missed your face time, saying that he was too busy and would call you at night.

Even if he didn’t want to say it, the main problem was that one the crew had taken her dog to set, and Tom had thought about Tessa. The dog had bought happiness to his life, being away from her so much time was too hard. So he spent the whole day with a pout.

When he arrived to his hotel room late at night, he just wanted to curl up in bed and cry in peace, away from the paparazzi and his friends. Tom didn’t expect seeing you with Tessa in the lobby, trying to convince an angry woman that you were Tom’s girlfriend. Tessa was moving around anxiously, wanting to break free from the leash and run around that enormous place. You had only brought with you one backpack, that seemed really heavy from where Tom was staring at you.

Turned out, Jacob had called you and told you about Tom’s mood, so you had decided to pay him a quick visit to where they were filming. It didn’t matter that it took you more than what you earned in two months and a tiredness that weighted on your shoulder.

Tom didn’t have time to greet you, because as soon as Tessa saw him, she broke free and tackled him to the ground. As you hugged with a jumping dog around you, Tom mumbled for the first time the three words sentence, and realised that there was not a day on his life that he didn’t want to spend with you.

Gentle (kind or rough)

You can’t change my mind, Tom is the kindest dork on earth. Like, he’ll ask before doing anything, and I mean anything, with you. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek, wrapping his arms around your shoulder or wiping a hair out of your face.

In bed, he’s also kind. You have tried rough or had stuff sometimes, but it always ends up the same way; Tom fussing over you and panicking because he thinks he has hurt you. There is not an inch of roughness in that boy, seriously.

Holidays (favourite place)

Tom’s favourite place to spend the holidays is somewhere lost where he can enjoy time with his family and you. If both of you are free, he loves to take you to a small trip for a week, nothing too expensive but where you can have time alone away from everyone.

However, he prefers family vacations. Since the first summer that you had spent together as a couple, he had invited you to come with his family on holidays. His brothers love you, his parent do too, and you’re probably closer to Harry than Tom himself, because that boy is the definition of friendship. So, you don’t have any problem going with them.

Usually that kind of holidays mean stress for Tom. The good kind, though.

You team up with his brothers to prank him, and he can’t take a step without fearing that a spider might be somewhere. Throwing each other to the pool, drawing strange patterns with sunscreen on the others back. But if there is a thing that bothers Tom, is the privacy.

You two literally don’t have any of it. If he, by a chance, wants to get intimate with you, one of his brothers or his mother will open the door asking for something. Or they just wanted to see the TV. It’s just, your room is fresher that ours. Anyone, expect no sex while you’re on holidays.

Tom might complain about it and about his family stealing you away, but he doesn’t want it any other way.

Impression (first impression)

This is kind of a little imagine where Tom meets you for the first time.

Hospitals were, at the same time, the best and the worst part of his day. There was where Tom found his happiness, between the excited children who shouted when they saw him on his suit; but also, he found a deep sadness, when one of them had to leave the room because of his or her illness.

“Hey” Benedict appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder. “Maybe you can take a break. You know, go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat.”

Tom was sitting on an empty table, too small for an adult. Still, he had been there for two hours. In front of him stood three different puzzles undone and a cute doll with a red dress. Her previous owner was then in surgery, her little heart giving her awful problems. He sighed and looked up to the man, who had a worried glint on his eyes. Maybe it would feel good, he thought. He had been there for hours, and a coffee actually sounded good.

“I guess” he mumbled, getting up. “I-I’m going to get something. Text or something if you know anything. About the girl.”

“Sure” he offered him a half smile. “Don’t worry, Tom. She’s gonna be fine.”

He answered with a small grunt and left the kids’ room. There weren’t much of them, because it was probably dinner time and because their energy had ran low after spending a whole day with the avengers.

They had appeared in the hospital as a surprise; Robert, both Chris, Benedict, Scarlett and him. The day had been going great until the girl who was playing with Tom and had been attached to his leg couldn’t breathe. Tom had panicked and called the doctor as soon as he noticed, yet when she arrived she was unconscious and he was holding her small body in his arms.

The ghost feeling of it made Tom take a turn and enter into one of the rooms for ‘only staff’. Inside, it was dark and humid, but it was perfect for him to hide for a few minutes. He was sure the press would be in the corridors waiting for him. The rest of the cast had already left, except Benedict and him, who wanted to wait until the little girl was fine again. And from the window, he had seen some reporters waiting for him to come out.

When the door closed behind him, he let out a shaking breath and the first tear rolled down his cheek. It was all so stressing. The social pressure, the influence he had over those children, the responsibilities, the fame. There were moment when everything seemed to big for him. It was one of those moments.

Tom sat on a small bed and hid his face between his hand, letting the tears roll down freely. It was silent for a while until he started sobbing.

“I can leave if you want.”

Probably, if someone had been recording that moment and had shown it to him later he would have died off embarrassment, because the high-pitched scream he produced sounded un natural. He jumped to the right a few inches, almost falling off the bed, and looked to his left. There, in a bed similar to the one he was sitting on, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

And it wasn’t as if he saw much, because it was dark as hell.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” you let out a little laugh. “I just thought I should make myself known before you saw me.”

“H-How long have you been there?” Tom asked, his eyes not leaving your face.

You weren’t wearing the ugly hospital uniform; beside that, to him you looked too young to be working there. You were sitting cross-legged with some leggings and a huge t-shirt with a weird drawing. If he wasn’t so scared about the pictures you could have taken of him crying or that you could be an stalker, he would have drooled because of your smile.

“Was here before you came” you shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone knew about this room, so I come here sometimes. When, you know, it gets hard outside.”

“Oh” he coughed awkwardly, looking at the floor. “I thought-I thought there wasn’t anyone in here.”

“Yeah, it’s not where you expect to find someone” you said. “I’m Y/N, and you?”

Tom looked up and found you in front of him. He could then see clearly the front of your t-shirt; the logo of a campaign who helped families and children in hospitals. At your question, he raised a brow. You seemed genuinely innocent; but he had met people like that before, fans that didn’t know where the privacy started. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge of touching you, even if it was just your stretched hand.

“Tom” he mumbled. “And, uh, what are you doing here?”

You sat beside him and told him how you were helping the families of those children; keeping them company, being positive for them, and how you needed a break from all of that and decided to step away for some hours. After listening to you, he felt kind of silly when he thought how he had cried over a little girl. Your ‘job’ (volunteering, you had said) was much harder than making two appearances each year in a local hospital, yet you comforted and smiled at him when he cried about his little friend.

“Rachel is a brilliant girl” you explained. “I met her four months ago. Did you know that she can spell ten words in a minute? And she’s only eight!”

He thought that, usually, people spoke about those children as if their illnesses defined them

Rachel is a good girl, she has blood cancer.

Bryan, cool kid, but he has a brain tumour.

It put a smile on his face that you spoke about Rachel with joy, and little by little he forgot about his previous sorrow. When he could finally break away from your beautiful eyes, he noticed that it was already dark on the sky.

“I should get going” he mumbled. “I have things to do-Not like I’m having a bad time, no, I’m-I’m glad you’re here. I mean, not glad, like glad. Just like I enjoy your company. But I have, you know stuff.”

Tom had reached the conclusion that you didn’t know who he was. You had been talking with him for hours and, still, hadn’t asked for a picture or a follow on Instagram. And probably you had understood him like no one else. Cutting short your ‘meeting’ wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he needed to go back or the car would leave without him.

“Oh, I’m sorry” you blushed. “I didn’t notice the time.”

“Yeah, me neither” suddenly, a light popped up in Tom’s mind. It was a crazy idea, one that, heard by any of his cast members, would be disapproved. If he hadn’t had enough troubles with the spoilers things, he was going to get in some more; he didn’t care. “Are you going to be around? Tonight, or tomorrow.”

“Yeah, my brother has to pick me up tomorrow morning. I’m spending the night here, Rachel’s parents might need help.”

“That’s nice” Tom smiled. “Do you think you can give me your number? To know about Rachel, I mean. I really want to know if she gets better. Just for that! And if you want, it’s totally okay if you don’t. Actually, it’s a little weird that-“

He started rambling and the blood rushed to his head until you could almost distinguish the soft red from the dark in the room. You placed a hand on his shaking one, making him stop talking and look at you.

“It’s fine by me” you said. “But I didn’t think famous actors should be doing that? Giving their personal number to the first stranger they met.”

“But you’re not the first-“ Tom shut himself in the middle of his sentence and looked at you with wide eyes. “You know who I am?”

“You’re wearing the spiderman suit!” you laughed “And I’ve seen the rest of the cast this morning.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“Well, I thought you needed someone to talk to” it was your turn to blush.

Tom thought you were the most adorable person, as you started talking about how you were a big fan but you understood that everyone needed to talk about their things too. As he gave you his number and received a kiss on the cheek, he left the room with a new happy smile.

Jealous (protective or overprotective)

Protectiveness is not his thing. He knows when someone is flirting with you, but trusts you enough to push them away and come back to him. If whoever is flirting with you doesn’t get the hint, it’s his time to step up; he’ll probably talk to him calmly and make him understand that you don’t want anything with them, because you’re happy with him. Words usually works and that’s the end of the discussion.

If he has to be jealous, he’s the puppy jealous. Yeah, that’s a thing, and probably he started it. It’s kind of similar to when you don’t acknowledge Tessa because she’s misbehaving; she’ll start whining, pouting and following you with her ears down. When Tom is jealous, he’ll look at you with sad eyes, follow you with his head down and answer with nods or shakes to your questions. Until you ask him what’s wrong; he tells you in a quiet voice and you hug him for a few minutes until he feels alright again.

Kisses

His favourite type of kisses are the lazy ones or the pecks.

Lazy kisses mean that you have enough time to enjoy each other company. Making out in the couch, cuddling in bed sharing kisses or slow love making in the morning. That’s the kind of thing he’s addicted to. When he arrives home late from filming, sure, he likes to kiss the hell out of you and trap you in bed for two days in a row. But he prefers calmer things.

Besides Tessa and too much cuteness, pecks are the other part of your relationship. Tom will steal them every chance he has. If you’re watching a film and you want to go to the bathroom, peck. When you’re waiting for him as he films and he gets two free minutes, peck. As he plays with his brothers and you pass by, peck. You have counted them before, and in a day he can easily give you over one hundred pecks. Not that there is anything to complain about.

Love (who says it first, how many times)

If he could say it every hour of the day, he would. He’s always thinking about those things you do for him, or just the small routines you have picked up from being together. So, not only Tom is the first one saying it, but also who says it the most.

There are more ways of saying I love you, not just with words. For example, if you have had a rough day, when you meet Tom he will have the cutest dinner prepared with your favourite movie. The first time he tried to do so went really bad, because he left Tessa in the apartment with him. He thought that she would help you to cheer up, but she ended up throwing the table where the food was and chewing the TV’s wires. You came home to Tom running behind Tessa in his boxers and with foam on his hair, as she carried the his towel. It doesn’t matter if things don’t go as planned, you know he tries and that’s more than enough.

Other way of saying I love you without words is spending 24 hours without sleep and taking a flight of five hours just to see you for five minutes. You don’t even have to tell him that you need him with you. If he notices something off in your voice, he’ll be there. If it’s your birthday or a special occasion, he’ll be there. And if he just miss you a lot, he’ll be there. You don’t spend more than a month without seeing each other.

When he stays for the night and has to leave early in the morning, he leaves thousands of notes with cute words in your toothbrush, the milk or in the door. Along the day, your conversation with him is the cheesiest thing in the world; lots of I love you, I miss you and adorable pictures of each other.

Memory (favourite memory together)

It’s simple but, without any doubt, his favourite. It happens a lot of times, and is his favourite moment of the day.

Tom’s head was about to explode. He felt a constant pain on the middle of his forehead, between his eyebrows, and on the back of his neck. He had tried pressing on the spots, putting something cold or hot, and even taking some tea. Still, it hadn’t gotten any better, and the reason behind it was in front of him; the damned script. For the past three hours, he had been trying to learn it, but it was already late at night and nothing had entered in his head.

Groaning in frustration, he looked up to the wall of your apartment. He had promised you a perfect night, but he wanted to end the scrip first. Not that it was happening any time soon. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and saw you standing on the doorway. You were wearing pyjama bottoms, too long for your legs, and one of the spiderman t-shirt he had gotten you in his last convention. Your hair was standing on every direction and it made his heart thrum inside his chest. You rubbed your eyes before walking towards him, yawning.

“Hey baby, what are you doing up?” he asked, voice gentle as he placed the script down. His body ached and he probably should had stood up and stretched, but you were coming his way and he would be damned if he moved an inch.

You sat on his lap gently, and Tom sneaked his arms around your waist to lock themselves around your body, like an automatic reaction. Your hand carded his hair, pushing the longer strands of his curly locks back from his forehead. Tom closed his eyes and hummed happily.

“Isn’t that what I should be asking you?” you gave him a sleepy smile, as one of his hands reached your arm and stroked its way down and up.

“Still got a few pages left” he grunted, and grabbed your small hand in his.

He bought it up to his lips and kissed it, letting you rest it against his cheek. A small and tired smile made its way to his face.

“You said that three hours ago” you pouted slightly through the sleep. “And promised to spend a night with me.”

“I know” he sighed. “But someone has been distracting me all night.”

He had been gone for two months, and just that week he had come back to you; so you had squeezed even the last second of his time, because you knew he would leave soon. Probably, in that week, you had ended with the Kamasutra; and still, you wanted him by your side that night.

“Please”

A puff of air hit your ear as he laughed, winding his arms around your waist to pull you closer, in a more reclining position before his hands went up your back, drawing lazy circles over your shirt. Tom pressed his face against your neck, leaving a small kiss in your pulse point that made a shiver run through your back. He held you safely as you pushed at him, trying to get away from his ticklish lips. Tom’s eyes found you as you tilted your head up from his shoulder so you could look him in the eye, narrowing your own at him as your mouth pursed.

“Come to bed with me” you said. “I don’t know how to sleep without you.”

“You’ve been sleeping without me two whole months, Y/N” he chuckled. “That excuse is not valid.”

“Yeah, and they have been shit, Tom” you sighed. “Please. I just got you with me this week.”

“Just a few more minutes, alright?”

“Alright.”

You bit back a smile, briefly considering dragging him by his ear to the bed yourself. But you were getting quite sleepy and comfortable on his lap, so you stuck a hand between the two of you and fisted his t-shirt softly. Tom pressed a silent kiss to your temple and went back to his script, the headache gone. It was silent after that as he went back to his previous task. Your eyes focused for a while on his hands and veins, the soft light of the lamp making his skin look more tanned. His soft breathing and the rhythm of his heart in your ear slowly lulled you, your eyes going droopy.

When you finally fell asleep against him, Tom felt the luckiest man in the world.

NO (something they won’t do in your relationship)

Pressuring you into anything. Tom knows that each person is different, and that everyone needs their time when doing things they are not familiar with. As an actor, as I said before, he has a difficult life. Is always away filming or doing press tours; and when he’s home, life is different. Because there are fans, photos and social media.

So Tom would never, never demand something to you. The effort you make when you face time him in the middle of the night (different times), long flights to see him or keeping up with his fame are enough for him.

If you need time to say the L word, he’ll wait whatever is necessary. If you need time to get intimate for the first time, he’ll comfort you with a small on his adorable face. If you need a little break from the media, he’ll gladly offer you to go somewhere private on holidays.

For him, you’re always the top one priority. Not job, not friends or hobbies. Tom feels like he’ll forever be grateful for you, and won’t, under any circumstances, force you to do anything you don’t want to. There are times where he might use his puppy face; to get your attention, ask you for help in something or just being cute around you. But he won’t use them to get something he knows you might not want.

Orange (favourite colour and why)

All the colours.

Green, because he thinks of that time where the two of you went away on a vacation and had the time of your life in a small cabin in the woods. You smiling up at him from the grass, the small picnic he prepared for you, making love in the room with the fantastic views.

Red, as it reminds him to the suit he bought to the premier. It wasn’t that special; what was special was seeing you that night in his jacket as you woke up from bed to drink water. Let’s just say, you stayed up for a little longer.

Blue; honestly, that’s his favourite colour since he was a kid. He loves seeing you in blue dresses, shirts or pants.

Pink, and that’s his little obsession. Every time he goes out, and he sees something pink, he thinks of a little girl. A little girl with his eyes and your nose, with your hair and his smile. He can’t help but associate the colour with the future with you.

Yellow. It’s not really yellow, more like the colour of the light, if that’s a thing. He liked to print into his memory your face in the morning, the light touching your cheeks and making your eyelashes longer.

Parents (how is their relationship with your parents)

One word: amazing.

The first time he met them, Tom was a stuttering mess. He offered your father a shaky hand and almost cried when he gripped it too hard. Your mother hugged him and the only idea that popped in his mind was to pat her back; which came out as really, really awkward. First meeting was, in general, chaotic. Tom had been so nervous that he couldn’t eat a thing without feeling as if he was going to puke, and his knee had been moving so much up and down that even your father had told him to stop.

Then, came the good part. Your dad asked him about his job, or studies, and he started talking about spiderman and Marvel. The ‘fan’ side of your family appeared, and they started talking about the comics and the films. Soon, the attention of the room was drawn to Tom and the awkwardness disappeared.

Since that moment, Tom is always inviting your family to the meetings. He presents his family to yours, prepares lunches for the both of them and tries to have the best relationship.

Quirks (worst habit they have)

Spoilers, we all know that. You can’t see a movie he’s in without knowing the end or something important before.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in the movie or not; as long as he has seen it, he will spoil it for you. He tries not to, because he knows that it annoys you. But he can’t help it, because the guy is too clueless to understand when he has to shup up.

Romantic (little details or non-verbal ways of saying I love you)

Take my jacket, it’s cold outside

He said it on your way to the supermarket. You had been on your period and, even if it was the middle of December and the coldest day of the year, you just needed a quick visit to the supermarket. Having Tom to go without you wasn’t an option, because last time he called you crying because he had gotten lost looking for your pads. And he didn’t want to let you go alone, so you were both walking while the cold bit your skins. Being the stubborn girl you were, you hadn’t brought your coat with you, just a stupid sweater. So he offered you his.

“Unless you don’t want it! That’s-That’s fine, I’m not forcing you into-“

You were about to protest, but were quickly shut when a particular hard gust of wind hit you, making you clatter your teeth. Tom gave you a soft smile and put the jacket over your shoulders. Making you stop in front of him, he buttoned it up and pulled it closer to your body. He left a kiss on the top of your head and continued walking.

I think you’re beautiful

Tom blurted it out when you were trying the dress for the premier of his film at his house, in his room. It felt all so familiar to him, that you standing there in all your glory with your purple dress made him want to drop on his knees to you.

It didn’t hit him until a few seconds later, because he was staring at like a child to his sweets. Your hair tied up, your legs showing and the beautiful necklace you had decided to wear, his gift from the past Christmas. Immediately, he blushed and opened his mouth, ready to do what he always did; stutter until you forgot about what he had said.

That time, he just smiled to you through the blush and told you that you really were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Have you eaten?

He had asked without thinking, just a natural reaction. People around you were running around, trying to get everything ready for the shot. It was Tom’s most important scene, and he was nervous as hell.

You had managed to get into the set and spend a few minutes with him; still, as you sit in his trailer, the first thing he does is checking you’re comfortable enough.

Sad (how does he cheer you up)

A text with a different emoji has him in your house within hours. Tom knows you like the back of his hands, and know when things are too hard for him. Maybe fans being rude, missing him too much, family problems or just wanting to be down for a while; the reason doesn’t matter, Tom knows how to cheer you up.

First, he’ll show in your house with Tessa, two bags full of food and some films that you might like. If he has time, he will bring you a stuffed animal; and let me tell you, he tries to always have time for that. Half of them are missing a part, because Tessa will eat it in the way to your apartment. Seeing Tom with a guilty face and half of a teddy in his arm is already good enough for you.

Then, he will let Tessa cuddle you while he prepares the living room. When he’s sad, he loves how Tessa fits between his arms and lick his face, so he gets her to do the same. The dog probably love you more than him, yet he denies it. While she makes you smile, he builds a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor to lay down; turn off the main lights and use only soft ones. Then, puts the move.

Finally, he’ll sit with you and hug you in his arms, whispering sweet things and everything he loves about you. The film is for back noise, because if there is something that cheers you anyone up is having Tom making slow love to you kissing and adoring each inch of your body.

Trickster (jokes, pranks…)

Jokes, pranks… are his thing, sure. As I’ve said before, he doesn’t have any problem in having prank wars with you. He never takes them too far, of course, because he would never harm you in any way. Tom will team up with his brothers against you; then, betray them and work with you to prank them, while you’re crossing him with Paddy and Sam.

Throwing popcorn at each other during movies and getting kicked out of the cinema, pushing each other to the water in the holidays, tickling him until he’s crying and, in return, having your feet ticked too. Tom and you area always messing with each other.

Underestimated (what surprised him the most about you?)

Probably that you’re not as obsessed as his fans. You know how to appreciate his work and the things he does, and know when the fame is too much for him and needs to feel like a normal person.

(I’m sorry this is short!)

Vaunt (how much do they show you off?)

Too.

Fucking.

Much.

That boy, that boy can’t stop talking about you. Sometimes, he’ll start talking and, when the person he’s talking to leave, he won’t even notice. He starts the conversation from nearly nothing. If someone says blue, he will start talking about how good you looked on the shirt you brought a month ago. If he smells cookies, he talks about how bad/good are you at cooking.

The worst thing are when you’re not with him. There are times where he has to be away from you for months. His castmates, usually the one who suffer him, have to endure his whining and puppy face whenever you finish the call you had with him or when he sees a picture of you.

Officially, you can say you have Tom Holland wrapped around your finger.

Wedding (do they want one and how they want it)

Tom wants to marry you and isn’t afraid of say it out loud. See that girl? Yeah, she’s gonna be my wife someday, man. After a year of dating, he had actually changed your name contact on his phone to ‘future wife’.

Also, he knows it has to be great. Sometimes he talks about that with you, late at night when you’re both in bed already. He wants something big; for example, a beach place. Yeah, he would like to marry in a beach, both of you in white with the sound of the waves behind you. In his mind, the most important part would be to represent your favourite movie; he doesn’t care how much it costs, how much he has to work.

For you, only the best.

XX (something you’re the only one to know)

That he has a spot, behind his right ear, that makes him crumbled into a fit of giggles and cute smiles. You discovered when you woke up one day and wanted him to pay attention to you. You ran your hands up and down his hair, as Tom hummed in happiness; when, without you noticing, your hand moved and you scratched his spot.

As soon as you did that, his legs kicked out of the bed and he curled into a ball, while giggling and scratching it himself hardly. You almost fell from your position, and looked at him with weird eyes.

Since that moment, you annoy him that way.

You (they talk about you)

“Dude, I’ve met this girl. I know I should have told you about her before but-damn, I didn’t even realise that the time flew by. She’s…I would actually call her perfection. Sweet, caring, nice and gorgeous. Most important, I don’t think I’ve ever feel this connected to anyone! She makes me laugh, happy and Tessa already loves her. I want her to meet the family, and to meet you, of course. But I don’t want to scare her away. I-I kind of see myself by her side for a long, long time Haz.”

Zzz (how do you sleep; probably include a visual)

Tom lays on his back, with your head resting on his chest. He had one hand making circles on your stomach or back, something to keep him distracted while you fall asleep. Because he likes to feel how your breathing becomes slow and how your face relax. His other hand is stretched, but as soon as you fall asleep, he always, always, run a finger through your cheek and just then he can fall asleep too.

Underneath the sheets, your feet are entangled, which leads to quiet curses when either of you want to go the bathroom. It might seem like a conventional way of sleeping, but both of you like it and Tom won’t change it.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

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fics-of-my-mind · 4 years

Text

Trust - Chapter III.

Where are you now?

home

Isn't it like 4 AM there?

yeah...

Are you OK?

just stressed a bit I guess

You said you needed to vent?

I did

can I call you?

Warnings: mature content, BDSM content Pairing: Nick Jonas / Other Female Character This fanfiction can also be found on Wattpad by fnntth

I don’t own Nick Jonas or any other recognizable characters. This fanfiction is completely fictional, its only purpose is entertainment.

Chapter III. - It’s four AM and I think I might lose it

Nick’s texts are bold

Milla’s texts are italic

The whole 'let's be venting buddies' idea seemed nice, up until the point when ten minutes later I realized, he didn't give me his number. I felt disappointed and a little bit mad at myself. Now I had no real proof that my mind wasn't playing wicked games with me and I, in fact spent the night running around in Barcelona with Nick Jonas himself.

I didn't tell the girls where I've been when Vanda opened the door with her tired eyes at 6:23 in the morning, not wanting to seem crazy. They've both known about my fangirling habits, but there was no point of telling them something that even I wasn't sure really happened. I just fell into my bed and slept until noon.

After returning home, I couldn't find my place. I went back to work, met up with friends, went shopping and even went for lunch with my family, but something was missing. It felt stupid – missing something that I've only had for like seven hours tops.

I tried doing something useful, that could actually have a good effect on my non-existent love life, so I downloaded Tinder. Then, after a day I deleted it. Honestly, I was more than fed up with our generation's dating culture. I couldn't embarrass myself to meet up with complete strangers and have sex – I kind of envied the people who could do it. I guess, it wasn't coded into me.

I was almost 25 years old, and I've never had a proper boyfriend. I blamed the series I watched growing up for my high expectations in men. But really, was it too much to ask to be taken out for a drink or dinner before having a one night stand? I would've had no problem with that, or at least I don't think so. But when a guy messages you on Tinder and his second sentence to you is 'wanna have sex', it kind of just kills the mood for me.

I've watched some of the videos I made during the concert, and every time I could feel my stomach clench. Even if we take my night with Nick out of the equation, it was still one of the best nights of my live, and definitely one of my best concerts. It was my teenage dream come true to watch them perform.

It took me two weeks to get back to normal. By then, my mind was mostly focused on my friends, my job, my colleagues, whom I adored and not on the lack of reaching out from Nick. I kind of let it go – I only thought about him on sleepless nights. I had much more on my mind, with the coronavirus setting its foot in Hungary, and Amalia being in quarantine for it.

In early March, they closed our office and we were forced to work from home, which I handled pretty badly. I loved being home and I loved being alone, appreciating the time with myself. But normally, I had people around me during the day, I was going somewhere, not just sitting from the couch to the dining table, then back to the couch.

At least I had my dog, Milo with me to help me get through the quarantine period. My daily routine consisted of walking him three times and going to the grocery store every few days. That's all, otherwise I was completely alone. I hated it, and I was feeling so bad, that I've had at least one mental breakdown a day.

That's when it happened. In the middle of a Wednesday, just as I was scrolling through my emails on the company laptop, my phone went off.

so, I kind of need to vent...

It was all the message said, yet I knew who it was from. My stomach clenched instantly, and I could feel my heart beating against my chest really hard. Here it was, my proof that I wasn't just hallucinating that night. I took my phone into my hands and typed my reply.

Well, hello to you too, Mr

hi. :)

Hi :) :)

sorry I've been MIA

just needed to get back to the states

do a few interviews

I smiled softly. I had no idea why he felt the need to apologize. He was busy, he was important, he was famous. I knew well that he had responsibilities. He was also married, so he also had a wife to take care of.

It's OK.

Where are you now?

home

Isn't it like 4 AM there?

yeah...

Are you OK?

just stressed a bit I guess

You said you needed to vent?

I did

can I call you?

I quickly checked my Outlook calendar. Nothing else was in it for the rest of the day, so as long as my coworkers didn't want to chit chat on a Teams call, I was okay to talk to Nick. More than okay, in fact, I wanted to hear his voice.

Yes.

It didn't take more than a few seconds for my phone to ring, startling me, even though I've expected the call. My hand was shaking as I reached to my iPhone, and even though it was a reaction of a twelve-year-old fangirl, I couldn't calm myself.

'Hey.'

'Hey you,' I heard his deep voice, and suddenly all my nerves were gone. He once again had the same effect on me, as back in Barcelona, instantly calming me. I couldn't quite place this.

'So, what's up?' I asked, clearing my troath.

'Are you at work?' he asked, probably checking to see if anyone could hear me.

'Yes and no,' I said. 'Since Monday, we are forced to work from home. Sooo... I'm home.'

'Do you live alone?' It was kind of ridiculous. We've barely known each other (except for the fact that I did knew a lot about him), and the fact that he had no idea about my living situation just confirmed this. We still weren't any more than strangers, yet he was calling me from the other side of the world.

'I do. Well, I live with my dog,' I shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. 'Where are you? And what are you doing up at 4 in the morning?'

'I'm home. In the music studio.' So the walls were soundproof. Smart, if you don't want anyone to hear you talking on the phone. For example, your wife. 'Couldn't sleep.'

'Why?' I asked.

'There's just a lot on my mind, I guess,' he answered, his voice sounding really tired. I was concerned for him.

'Things like...?' I tried asking him again. There was a reason he's called me. There were things he needed to talk about and I quite enjoyed hearing him talk. His voice calmed me, and I felt much closer to him than just some fan.

'We probably have to cancel our Vegas residency due to COVID.'

'That's understandable. You shouldn't feel bad about it. You can't really control it.'

'I know,' he said, staying quiet for a few seconds. I waited for him to talk again. 'Just don't like to disappoint anyone, I guess.'

'You aren't doing this, Nick,' I said softly. 'The virus is. Fans will understand. You will make it up to them."

'Yeah, I guess you're right.'

'What else is on your mind?' There was a long pause before he spoke again.

'Have you heard Demi's new song?'

'I have,' I nodded to myself. It was quite fresh, just a few days old. 'You and her used to be friends, right?'

'She was my best friend,' he corrected. I searched my memories, I did know that they went on tour together and did Carpool Karaoke and other things together. I had no idea when that ended and why. I knew about Demi's OD, but nothing else.

The fangirl in me, who wanted to know everything desperately wanted to ask him about what happened. The person in me that was supposed to be his 'vent buddy', knew that this probably wasn't the right time to ask the questions. Luckily, this side was saner.

'But she isn't anymore,' I declared the obvious. 'And you are hurt by her video clip, where she just walks by you, right?' I asked, trying to decipher how he was feeling at the moment.

'It's not like I don't deserve it,' he said quietly. I didn't really know what to say.

'It is okay for something to hurt, even if you deserve it, you know.'

'Thank you,' he said even quieter. 'I think I needed to hear that.'

'Is there anything else that's bothering you?'

I could almost see him bite his bottom lip before answering.

'No, nothing really.' I knew he lied, but didn't press it. 'I just can't really talk with anyone else about Demi. Well, probably except Joe, but he's home with Sophie, so I didn't want to nag him.'

'Okay,' I nodded. This was weird, talking so naturally about things with him. Talking about his life, about people in his life... It was just crazy.

'How are you doing?' he asked, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

'Fine, I guess.' I was doing just fine – minus the mental breakdowns, and the fear of this whole situation.

'Now tell me the truth,' he commanded, and my breath caught up in my throat. I wasn't surprised that he noticed my lie, I noticed his too. I was shocked that he did in fact call me out on it, in a very commanding tone. Like he expected me to tell him how I was really feeling.

'Why do you think I'm lying?' I asked, raising my eyebrows.

'You are, aren't you?' he asked. 'This venting thing can only work if we both trust each other with our problems. This has to be a two-sided thing.'

I did get where he was coming from. He had a lot to lose with trusting in me, but he did it anyway. Me telling him about my own problems meant that I also trusted him, that I also put my secrets and my fears into his hands. He wanted to be assured that he wasn't making a fatal mistake by opening up to me. Not that I had any intention of selling him out, but I understood that we were practically strangers to each other.

'I'm worried,' I said finally.

'About what?'

'This virus. About my family falling ill. About losing my job.'

'Why would you lose your job?' he asked, and it wasn't just a rhetorical question, he really did want to know about my concerns.

'I was just hired, you know. Just in the beginning of last month. Before that, I was an intern for a year, and I've worked my ass off to get a permanent position. But if thanks to the virus, the financial crisis hits and they start to fire people... I'm just worried that last one in means first one out,' I explained.

'Did your boss give you a reason to worry?' he asked.

'Not really. My boss is amazing. Really, she's more of a friend than a boss.'

'So if you two have a great relationship, and she managed to make you permanent part of her team, don't you think that she'll do everything in order to keep you?'

I stayed quiet for a minute.

'I don't like it when you are being reasonable,' I said jokingly.

'Sorry,' he chuckled. 'But really, why worry before you actually have the problem?'

'I guess, I just worry a lot about non-existent things,' I shrugged. 'It's always better to be prepared for everything.'

'Hmm, is it?' he asked, clearly amused about the things in my head. 'What else is bugging you?'

'I'm lonely,' I said quietly. I hated to admit this, because I was the person that always told everyone that I was doing more than okay on my own, and I didn't need a man to make me feel whole. Now, as I was alone in the apartment all the time, I started to realize that having some company would've been nice.

'What about your friends? Where are they?' he asked.

'Most of them went home to their families when the state of emergency hit.'

'Why don't you go home to your family then?'

'I'm kind of afraid to infect them. I mean, I'm the one living in the big city. If anyone caught the virus without noticing, it would be me. And I wouldn't feel comfortable knowing that I may give it to them,' I explained.

Nick stayed quiet for a while. My inhibitions of talking to him about my life were long gone. It kind of felt nice to say the words out loud, to share with someone that I was in fact, feeling lonely. Even if that someone was on the other side of the world.

'You don't have a significant other?' he asked eventually, as if it wasn't clear already.

'No, I don't have a boyfriend.'

'Why?' Came the next question. I bit my lip and contemplated telling him the great answer on my mind, that I was thinking for years now.

'I'm just not the type of girl that guys fall in love with.'

'You do know that's bullshit, right?' he replied, sounding irritated.

'No, Nick, really. I never had a real boyfriend, only guys that I've hooked up with, or that led me on to believe that here was something more going on, when there wasn't,' I said, and even though I didn't feel perfectly comfortable talking about my love life, or the lack of it, somehow I couldn't stop myself from speaking. 'And I got tired of that a while ago. It's still better to be alone than not being appreciated and having to make compromises.'

'What do you want from a guy? When is he worth the compromises?' he asked, and I could hear the curiosity in his voice.

'Quite honestly, if he makes an effort, he's probably worth it.'

'An effort like a big romantic gesture?'

'No,' I chuckled. 'I don't really like cheesy things. If he brings me flowers or takes me out for dinner, it's more than enough. But it's not like any of those things happened.'

'C'mon, you must've gotten flowers from guys. They must've taken you out to eat.'

'I did get flowers from guys. Just not flowers that were of any romantic origin. I got flowers for my birthday or international women's day, but that's about it. And as for dates... Nobody really ever took me out for dinner or lunch or whatever.'

'How?' he asked, sounding doubtful.

'Well, I must repulse all the men,' I laughed bitterly. Sometimes I did believe in that.

'Don't be stupid,' he said quietly.

'I'm not. I mean... Here I am, almost at 25, never been in love, never even been on a proper date. And honestly, I have no idea why it never happened, but nobody has ever asked me out,' I shrugged to myself. 'There must be something seriously wrong with me.'

Even though I tried to play it cool, these concerns were real for me. I thought about it a lot, how it has never happened. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wasn't pretty enough. Maybe it was written on my forehead that nobody should ever date me.

'There is nothing wrong with you, trust me,' Nick said, and there was something in his voice.

'I don't want you to feel sorry for me.'

'I don't, Milla, I just can't quite comprehend how you've never had a boyfriend,' he explained. 'You're beautiful, smart, hard-working. You care about people. You're witty and funny, and I've only talked to you twice in my life and I already know this.'

'C'mon, Nick,' I could feel myself blush. 'You're just saying those things to make me feel better.'

'I'm really not. I just don't like that you think so low about yourself, like you think something is wrong with you.'

'But what if there is?' I asked, opening up about one of my biggest concerns. 'What if I expect more than I deserve?'

'Trust me, wanting to get flowers and being taken out on a date, aren't that huge, earth-shattering things.'

'Well, I'm still alone, aren't I? Maybe I scare people.'

'Or maybe,' he started about a deep sigh. 'People around you don't deserve you and they know it.'

I stayed quiet for a bit, biting my lip again. After some time I sighed, not finding the energy to fight with him about this anymore.

'Damn you for always knowing what to say.'

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