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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

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The Dark Team (part 8)

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Warnings: violence, near death experience, suicidal consideration.

With all the information you needed in your head, you ran up to the hotel room. Loki and Bucky were wandering around the neighborhood, handling the “incognito” part of the mission very poorly. But you’d be soon back with them, you just needed to grab the suits, some more information and a scribbled map, and you’d be back on the streets, fighting criminals or… whatever the Hell those two were doing.

It was just a matter of time until you finally got the stick. What did it have that Tony Stark feared so much to be in the wrong hands, you would never know. Unless you grabbed the stick before giving it to him and found out yourself, of course (but no, that would be irresponsible, an invasion, all levels of illegal and probably would result in getting you in jail, or maybe even assassinated).

It sounded good, though.

After what felt like a thousand stairs later, you finally arrived at your room. Grabbing the doorknob while inserting the key, you realized it was already open. You stopped. Was anyone in there? You weren’t the last one to come out that morning, so you weren’t sure you closed it well. Bucky was; and he was generally distracted on those details. He would sleep on them because he can take anyone, he’s a supersoldier, after all.

You didn’t let go of the doorknob, and opened very carefully as to not make any noise. Damn, if I just had my gun with myself this would be much easier, you thought for the hundredth time on the mission. You made a mental note on not leaving the room without a gun ever again.

If it wasn’t bad enough, you didn’t bring any communicators with your teammates on. What for? The last part of the mission was done with all of you together. It made sense you’d sleep on it too.

You stopped the self-loathing on your last few decisions and thought about who or what could be on the other side of the door. It couldn’t be someone who wanted the information you’d already collected, because you informed absolutely no one about it. Not even Stark. And you had made sure nobody followed you or heard your steps. So, it had to be someone from the Hydra base. Someone who would think you had the stick with yourself, and wanted it back.

Basing your actions on that speculation, you calculated the time and risks to get to your gun and suit before you’d get attacked, if the agent was still in there. You could only assume it was an agent. What else would Hydra have, in the middle of 2021?

Alright, you thought. Maybe it’s empty already. I only get one chance.

You slammed open the door and ran to your suit and gun as fast as you could, suiting up with a button, and, in a matter of seconds, you were against a wall with your Beretta 92 pointing at whoever could come and attack you.

Silence and adrenaline filled the room. You looked around, and nothing moved. Not a single sound. Not even a fly.

“Whoever’s here, I don’t have it. I swear, I don’t have it”, you said, still with your gun up. “And I don’t know who has it, yet”.

No answer. You looked around a little, opening some doors and looking under the beds, but it really seemed like you were alone now. Someone had definitely been there; your papers were all disorganized and some chairs were on the floor. The window had a gunshot. But whoever went there, saw there was nothing they wanted and left, not long ago. Maybe you could even seek them with the street cameras.

You walked to the window and traced the gunshot with your fingertips. You recognized the bullet; Bucky had used them before, as the Winter Soldier. Looking outside you recognized in the distance, about three blocks away, the unmistakable figures of your teammates.

A cocking gun in your nape brought you back to the room. You didn’t turn around just yet, waiting for some talking (they usually talk, they don’t want you dead; they rather want your information. Quite difficult to take from if you won’t be able to answer). After some more silence, you turned around violently and tried to kick the (huge, even bigger than Thor) man’s gun off. Instead, he grabbed your leg and pushed you to the floor.

Maybe you weren’t exactly awesome when it came to hand-in-hand combat, alright?

Pointing your gun at him from the floor, you tried to get up, and as soon as you felt him get closer to grab your gun, you shot. You made sure to not actually shoot him; just close enough for him to think you were going to shoot him if he got close. He didn’t get fazed at the shot; didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. Instead, grabbed your gun and bent it as if it were melted plastic.

Holy fucking shit.

Good news were, now you knew what exactly was in that stick. Bad news, it was already in the wrong hands.

“Chemistry works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it, fella?”, you asked the supersoldier standing in front of you. “When did they serum-ed you? You might be experiencing some side effects”, you chatted, waiting for your teammates, hoping they’d walk a little bit faster. Hopefully, they’d heard the shooting and realized you were in trouble. They didn’t know exactly how much trouble you were in, though.

“You do realize the more you talk, the faster I’ll have to kill you, right?” said he, finally.

“What’s your name? Can’t see you with your weird mask on” you said, standing up slowly. “Let me guess… you must be familiar with James, right?”.

The supersoldier blinked in confusion, and charged his gun, pointing it directly at your forehead.

“You have exactly ten seconds to tell me how you know about James. Ten”.

“Must be a very difficult experience”.

“Nine”.

“To be so close, yet so far away”.

“Eight”.

“You know, it’d do you wonders some therapy maybe. To process the whole James thing”.

“Seven”.

“You sound like Monica Geller”.

“Six”.

“You’ll get bored of counting, eventually”.

“Five”.

“Alright, pack it up”.

“Four”.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Three”.

“I don’t know anything about that James, it was a wild guess. Everyone is called James these days”, you explained. He stopped counting but pressed the gun harder against your head.

“Quit the mocking. Give me the stick and I’ll let you live”.

“There’s no way you’re letting me live. I already know Hydra has some more supersoldiers, and I guess the thing in the stick is the formula, isn’t it? Give me the secret formula, spongebob, right?”. The man realized you were just making time, and tried to grab your wrists. “Took you long enough to notice. Soldiers are not the brightest, let me tell you”.

As he tried to lock your wrists, you used all your body weight to push him out of the window. Terrible idea. He was at least five times stronger, and instead of your original plan, the one getting thrown off a nine-floor window now were you.

Bucky and Loki were a block away, and all they saw was a tiny speck on the sky, getting rapidly closer to the street. It didn’t take them much thinking until they realized that speck was you, flying off the hotel room. Loki took impulse and teleported himself as fast as he could to the nearest floor you were currently passing, and grasped your arm and hand with his both hands, holding himself with only his legs from a balcony.

Hanging from just one arm, with seven tall floors behind your feet, you tried your best to not look down. Oh, heights weren’t your best friend, much less the possibility of a bad movement and instantly dying right there. You could only think in how lucky you were your teammate had quick reflexes, and how idiotic you were to think you could’ve possibly taken that man by your own. He bent your gun with his bare hands, for God’s sake. You looked down, and saw the supersoldier already fighting with Bucky on the streets. Your face turned even paler as you observed how tall you were. Everything was tiny below you.

“Look at me”, said Loki, with a calm voice. You redirected your gaze to him. His eyes. There was a glimpse in his eyes, showing something. Your own emotions weren’t allowing you to actually concentrate on his face expressions, anyways. He sensed it, and repeated. “Look at me, don’t look down. I’m here”.

You met his eyes once again and this time you didn’t leave them. There it was. His eyes irradiated pure and raw panic. Fear. No, not even fear; terror. What was he terrified of? Terror of losing you? Why would he care so much? Why would he care that deeply? It didn’t matter now, for you were definitely dying. His grip was strong, but your hand was starting to numb and you were losing strength. You were dizzy and sweating, frightened. He gripped harder and it pained you.

“Hold on to me. Do not let go, I'm here”, he said. His words were tranquil and reassuring, trying to keep it as undisturbed as he could, but a drop of desperation cracked his voice. “Hold strong, I’m lifting you up”.

“Don’t. You’ll fall down. You can’t take this height either” you said without hiding your dread. Your tight throat did the job and your eyes watered. That was it, you thought. And it was. There was no way Loki could lift you without him falling down too. And even if there was a possibility, why would he risk his long and meaningful life for the sake of yours? “Let me go, Loki”.

“I’m not letting you go”.

“You’ll die”.

“No, and you won’t either. Hold onto my grip”, he assured you without leaving any room for discussion, trying to lift your body and almost tripping in the process. He gasped and you left out a whine.

“Loki”.

“Stop it, I’m not letting you go”, he said, less calm than he’d have liked to. “I’m not letting you go”, he repeated, almost in a whisper.

In a struggle, he brought you into the balcony he was hanging from. Your legs were shaking, as you laid on the marble floor by his side. Both of you breathless, looked at each other without saying a word. After a brief moment, you took his hand and squeezed it gently, not ever breaking eye contact.

“You saved me. Thank you”.

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bandaigaeru · 4 years

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gravitational pull - seo changbin

→genre: brief fake dating, childhood friends to weird enemies to fake lovers to real lovers →synopsis: he was a glimmering star of hope until he exploded, suspending your relationship into a seesawing gravity. →pairing: changbin x gender neutral reader →word count: 8.1k →warnings: hyunjins kinda mean at one point, mentions of alcohol

Mulch crunches beneath the adolescent shoes of your classmates. One intention is shared, in this playground warfare, and it’s to get a swing.

You disregard the heap rushing towards the ones closest, for your gaze is set on the far end of the swingset. And it is just within your reach. Your eyes narrow as you outstretch a palm, prepared to feel the coolness of the rusty chain.

The chain sways away from you beneath the harsh touch of another boy.

You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth fallen agape.

He smiles, the plastic seat dipping beneath his weight. “This one’s mine.”

A small shake in your tone as you return, “I was here first.”

“So? Everyone knows this is my swing.”

You slowly nod, taking small footsteps backwards. Hwang Hyunjin is bigger than you. And more accustomed with goons of friends. There’s no point in fighting.

Though as you start for the abandoned monkey bars (their vibrant red paint chipped to a sad haze) with blurry vision faulting your path, a voice booms over the rush between your ears.

You glance in the direction. A short boy sits in a stationary swing, smiling as though it is all he’s ever known. He waves you over.

Taking all of the precautions, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s talking to you. When you confirm, you drag your feet along the mulch.

You flinch when he stands, bringing guarding forearms to protect your face. The blow never comes.

“You can take my swing,” he says. You peek at him through your shield. His puffy cheeks are still indented with the smile. And his hands, not balled into a fist, lay calmly at his side.

You blink, slowly lowering your defense. “W-Why?”

He laughs, “That’s what friends are for. Duh.”

The laugh that trembles over your lips is shaky and foreign. You reach for the chain.

“I’ll push you!” he declares, rushing behind you as you steady yourself in the small seat.

He pulls you from the ground, the tips of your shoes trailing back amber woodchips.

The tip of your nose kisses the blue sky. Though, inevitably, the time comes when you must fall back to the earth. Steady hands push against your back, returning you to freedom. You find yourself grinning each time.

The next day, Changbin saves you the swing beside him. He waits until you are ready before kicking off on the ground. You swing in sync, sharing a few glances under the sun’s hugging rays.

It only takes a week before he’s begging his mother to arrange a playdate. And to your luck, he follows through with the promises, meeting you at your doorstep that Saturday. He guides you a block over to his house. He must be a good kid if his mother entrusted him with such a task, bringing two first-graders over. One returning home and one in need of a home away from home.

His mother is extremely nice, smiling at you each time you catch her eyes. She sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table while you and Changbin battle over the next Spongebob episode. His sister comes out of her room, too, asking you whether you prefer Barbies or Matchbox.

Elementary school passes like this. Recess is spent with his presence, as is lunch and gym and any class freetime. On the off days that it rains, barring you inside the school, you play Mancala. It’s totally civil. Not once does Changbin storm off when he loses. He merely shrugs and offers to set up the next round.

So unusual, though each time you find yourself smiling.

After an emotional graduation party—emotional for the teachers and family, you mean—he hands you a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you curiously look at him. His tie has loosened since the ceremony and his hair is ruffled by his father’s hand.

“My phone number. I won’t be in town this summer, but I still wanna keep touch with you.”

You smile down at the small digits. Neatly, you fold the post-it before slipping it into your pocket. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” you announce, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s only one summer,” he reassures. “Plus, I’ll bring you back something nice. A keychain or something.”

You laugh through the sting that stabs your body, nodding. One summer cannot mark the end of the world, you tell yourself as you watch his car drift over the hill leading into town.

ii.

On the first, dreaded, day of middle school, you scan the halls carefully. The new faces do not scare you as much as the lack of his does. Each call was sent to voicemail. And each time the dial sounded, you frantically returned the phone to the receiver. Maybe he had accidentally miswrote the number. Or maybe he was too busy to return your calls. Summer has that effect on people, you think, where you have so much fun you forget the things you used to do daily. Like a memory disorder.

You finally see him in the lunch line. A breath of fresh air invades your lungs as you rush over to him.

“Changbin! How was your summer? I called, but you never answered,” you grin, nudging his shoulder.

He does not shoot you a glance, nor does he send a glare. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on his shoes. A sharp pain strikes your chest—that breath might have been poison.

You gently shove his shoulder again, forcing a shaky laugh as you continue, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

The boy in front of him spins on his heel. His eyes are cold, painful, as they meet yours. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t wanna talk to you?” Hyunjin scoffs. “Go somewhere else, dumbass.”

Hesitantly, you look to Changbin. Surely, he’ll defend you, right?

Right?

His eyes have traveled to the lunch menu, displayed on a TV in cheap font. Far away from this conversation.

You nod, looking back to Hyunjin. His abrasive eyes are still waiting for you, eagerly begging you to move on. “Sorry, then,” you murmur as you start for the bathroom that will become your haven.

Behind you, Hyunjin’s loud laugh taunts you. Hidden beneath it is a quieter one that stabs you in the chest. Something painful blurs your vision, twists your insides, and curls the corners of your lips as you try to fight it.

You were a fool to think he was different. Elementary promises should never be trusted.

Secondary school passes in dreary blinks. Watching Changbin run for class president. Bubbling in his name despite everything. Hearing Changbin got the lead role in Cinderella. Showing up despite the physics test you had to study for.

You wonder momentarily if Newton was behind this twisted feeling in your chest. Drawing you to him—like a moth to a flame. You even scan his sister’s Instagram from time to time, finding a picture of Changbin framed carefully beneath the stars, a twinkle in his eye.

You watch from afar as he accepts his diploma, a careful smile seated on your lips.

A bitter taste haunts your tongue as you pack for college.

“This is good for me,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll be far, far away from him. I can move on.”

Some things are better left unsaid.

iii.

Awkward introductions replay in your memory as you get ready for your first college class. Seven fifteen, physics with Professor Kim. Denoted as one of the best in the country. Physicist and professor, respectively. It would be a lie to say he didn’t take part in your decision to attend this college. And the ocean, which is only a fifteen minute walk (that’s what the RA told you when you moved in).

You arrive with a hot americano precisely on time.

As you climb the lecture hall’s steps, your eyes drift among the sea of unfamiliar faces. One in particular sticks out—a glimmer of hope among the trenches. You raise a hand to wave, a smile quirking your lips. But, at the face directly next to him, you drift back.

Evidently, you didn’t move far enough.

You stand at the edge of the aisle, glancing down at the empty seat. “Hey, is this spot empty?”

Hope looks back at you with shock glazing his features. “Oh my God, Y/N! Of course. I didn’t know you decided to come here,” Minho smiles, tugging his notebook closer to allow you more room.

You pull out the chair, glancing at the boy on the other side of him. “I didn’t really tell anyone where I was going.”

He fills the silence with his tales of life, occasionally glancing at Changbin to see if he wants to add something. Each time, he is met with the boy’s indifferent profile. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though not once stopping to read one of the passing captions or like a picture.

Professor Kim claps, fizzling any remaining conversation. The syllabus fades in your mind as you wonder how Changbin’s summer went. Maybe he spent it with his sister. Or perhaps he accompanied a love interest to a string of dates.

This thought shoots a concoction of contradicting emotions through your heart. You return distracted eyes to Professor Kim just as he’s dismissing class, burying a content fist into the customly tailored pocket of his navy suit. Minho turns to you immediately, filling your ears with proposals to coffee and lunch and maybe you could come to the dorm later and catch up. Changbin’s ears perk up as he begs for Minho’s eyes.

For a split second, his eyes fall on you before they dart away.

“I need to get back to my dorm,” you announce when you can finally slip into Minho’s breaths of pause. “My roommate’s waiting.”

“Who’s your roommate? Maybe we know him.”

You fight a laugh when he finally glances back at Changbin, who has long since given up. “His name’s Yang Jeongin.”

iv.

While Minho is overly focused on you, begging you to tell him what happened after he moved in tenth grade, Changbin pretends you do not exist. When the conversations trail outside of the lecture hall, he clings to Minho’s side but does not speak. His eyes stay glued to the sidewalk. Or his textbook, whose cover he seems very invested in.

So when Professor Kim announces a project, your heart thumps a little too fast.

Minho grabs your arm, “Be my partner?”

Changbin kicks his leg. “Dude.”

He glances back at him, as though nothing he has said goes against him. “What? Just join our group.”

Changbin’s eyes find yours reluctantly. They ignite a spark in your fingertips as you reach for a pen. “Can I?”

You smile as your head twitches in a nod. “Of course.”

The plan is this: meet at the library on October 15th (a Saturday, you realize) at 1 P.M. “Expect to be there long, I wanna get this done ASAP,” Minho adds as he downs the rest of your americano.

When the day finally comes, despite your daily prayers that time would somehow freeze or somehow skip over the day, you leave your dorm right when you need to. Early October aids a brusque breeze, and you wrap your jacket around you as you approach the small crosswalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dread the inevitable message.

Lee Minho [12:59 P.M.]: Sorry guys, I can’t make it. Mama Lee’s in town and wants to see her favorite son.

It’s too late to go home, you realize, when shoes scrape against the cement and a sigh penetrates the silence. “I cannot stand him,” the voice mutters behind you.

You turn to him, offering pitied condolences with a small smile. “Just the two of us, huh?”

He nods. “Guess so.”

A loud hum draws closer as his foot leans down for the asphalt. You look to the source, seeing a red car barreling down the street. You gasp, grabbing Changbin’s sleeve and tugging him back on the sidewalk. The horn echoes in the back of your head like an alarm.

His eyes are wide when they find yours. “T-Thank you,” he stutters, cocking his head a little. As though, for the first time, he is taking in your appearance.

You realize your grip is still tight on his wrist and you let go, tensing up. “You’re welcome.”

In the library, you work in silence. As though nothing happened outside. As though your entire history lies merely within the timespan of a few weeks. Minho serving as the mutual friend to your forced, awkward friendship.

He shoots you a dizzying look as he turns his packet to you. “Can you look this over?”

The tip of your eraser taps a number. “This has to be meters per second, not centimeters per second.”

A small sigh tumbles over his bottom lip as he realizes, “That’s why the final answer looked so weird. Thank you.”

The corner of your lip must have an opposite gravity to it, because it curls upward without intent.

Returning to class the next Monday leaves the soft hint of a calm lavender in the air. You share a quick, almost childish, glance with Changbin before settling back into the tune of physics. Newtons and joules and all the fun things that make up energy.

The next few weeks pass with a quiet hum, one that hangs in the background and, if you lose sight of it, you’re scared you’ll lose it forever. It’s a time of your life where you will look back with a sigh and whisper, “How did I not realize how good I had it?”

At your peak, you fall onto your bed on a Friday night. Jeongin scribbles impatient homework answers while your eyes fall shut.

The storm of your phone blaring its tune awakes you.

Lee Minho calls to remind you that he expects you to arrive at his ‘rager of a birthday party.’ He tells you the address, enthusiastically repeating himself (like an auctioneer) as you try to find a pad of paper. Jeongin’s jumping up to fix his hair before you even hang up.

You’re really not sure what you expect as you drag your roommate in tow towards the destination. Though, when you feel the tremble of music and hear shouts from the lawn of the frat house, you somehow know you’re in the right place.

The foyer is packed with jumping bodies. Leaning on the stairs, a red solo cup in hand, is the man of the hour. His cheeks are dusted in a light coating of heat and, as you approach him, you notice that glitter brushes soft highlights along his cheekbones.

“Happy early birthday!” you shout over the music.

He dizzily turns to you and drags you towards his chest in a swift motion. “Y/N! Thank you for coming!”

You had no choice. It was either come to the party or admit yourself to Lee Minho’s terrifying grudge list.

Despite this, you return with a grin, “Of course!”

When he lets you go into the stale air, he shoves his cup into your hand. “Try some,” he nods.

You tip the plastic to your lips. As the liquid scrapes the back of your throat, you flinch back. “What is this?” Your face twists.

“Just vodka and Coke.”

You hastily return the cup to him and glance around. Jeongin has disappeared to a desolate corner, you presume. A spark of jealousy runs through your veins.

“Where’s the bathroom?” you find yourself asking Minho.

He points down a vacant hallway and tells you it’s the last door on your left. You thank him before scurrying in that direction.

Your knock echoes, though nothing returns. The pale wood feels cold against your cheek as you listen for any life inside. You find it safe to enter. Instantly, you press your palms against the cold marble. Identical eyes stare into each other in the mirror until your eyes slip to the pale, spotless basin. You stare into the milky dome absently, pondering why you feel so odd being here. And for a moment you forget where you are, lost in the dizzying world of your thoughts.

Until you hear the choked sob from behind the shower curtain.

It takes you by surprise. Hesitantly, you reach out for the navy shield.

“Ch-Changbin?” you stutter, staring down at the boy in a mess of shock.

His legs are drawn to his chest as trails of tears line his cheeks. He lets out a squeak as he looks up to you. Arms fall to his sides as he leans forward. Though, he appears to have no intention of stopping, surrendering himself to gravity.

Your hands find his shoulders merely moments before his nose slams into the porcelain. “Are you drunk?” you whisper.

Though, in return, he sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Something pierces your chest. Your lips part to say something, but the words are clogged in your throat.

“I was such an idiot,” he slurs, swaying gently.

“What’re you talking about?” you finally ask.

His balled fist slams against the tub. “You!” he shouts, face twisting as he releases another cry.

You flinch back.

“My mom always asks how you’re doing, no matter how many times I tell her. My sister still has a grudge. Hell, even Hwang Hyunjin thinks I’m an idiot and he’s the one who tricked me into leaving you!”

He leans his cheek against the wall, once again releasing a cry. Though, this one, he fights to hold back. It scalds the air in a whimper.

Quieter, he admits, “You were the only person I’ve ever felt safe with.”

You sigh, looking down at your shoes. Those days when you wondered what had gone wrong, staring up at your blank ceiling and trying to relive his smile as quiet tears fell to your pillow, wash down the drain.

He watches intently as you climb into the tub. You do not look at him as you slowly lean against the wall he rests his cheek on. Instead, you stare at the mahogany finish of the small cabinets. Regardless, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek. In this cold porcelain cage, all you can hear is the distant thumping of music and the occasional sniffle from the boy beside you. You smile at the familiarity of it, returning you to your former years cozied up on a playground. No worries back then, you jealously note with a muted snicker.

“I missed you,” you finally say. Tears blur your vision, warping the defined lines of wood into a mess of color.

When you bring yourself to look at him, his eyes are closed. You lean a little closer to see if he’s sleeping. Reluctant lips part as he whispers, his breath hot and reeking of tequila, “I missed you too.”

vi.

One of the things you come to realize is that Changbin’s smile has never changed. There’s still that little indent where his cheeks fold over and each time he offers a glimpse at it you are returned to the days of the swing.

Thanks to the drunken night (half drunken night, you should say, since he had enough for both of you), Changbin has allowed a sneak peek back to his life. Strictly over text, though. You’re not sure why he’s never asked to meet up—maybe it’s too much too fast, you think—but you cannot find it in you to complain. He’s back after all these years and that seems to be enough.

So you endure it, texting him until the early hours of the morning and fascinating yourself over all of these things you have missed.

Seo Changbin [2:39 A.M.]: My sister and I went to the elementary school a couple of weeks ago.

Looking at your phone burns your eyes, as does the weird feeling in your chest.

Y/N [2:40 A.M.]: Really? Has it changed much?

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: The kids after us got all the cool playground equipment :(

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: I should take you there one day haha. I think that’d be fun.

You fight the giggle that wishes to flee, glancing up at a sleeping Jeongin for reassurance.

Waking up in the morning is aided with fleeting regrets, though beneath it you realize there is a small skip in your step. One that flares a heat in your face when you walk into the physics classroom and reach to meet Changbin’s eyes. And there, waiting, is his gaze and a small smile.

Maybe you have it bad for Seo Changbin, you think, as Professor Kim begins talking about Newton’s Third Law.

vii.

Yang Jeongin is broadcasting his homework onto the cheap projector he bought on Amazon for $50. “Isn’t it so cool?” he marvels as his red pen underlines a key part of his notes.

You absently nod, glaring at your textbook. Between the lines is a screaming thought that cascades a waterfall of forget towards your upcoming exam. You fail to notice your phone buzzing against your bed. Daydreams are dangerous like that.

“Y/N,” Jeongin’s voice finally snaps you out of it. You look to him, standing at the door and lazily holding the knob. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you rush to take his spot. Before you can tug the door open, he presses a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful around him, please.”

You watch as he struts and flops down on his bed, opening a comic book above his head.

As you open the door, a little more hesitant than before the interaction with Jeongin, you smile.

Changbin is watching the end of your hall and playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. When he senses your presence, he finally breaks his trance and offers a smile. He keeps his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”

You nod, ignoring the annoying thump thump of your heart, “Sure. What’s up?”

“In private,” he adds, peeking over your head at Jeongin. Maintaining his hold on the comic book, though his eyes have drifted to you with a parental glare.

You shut the door behind you. His footsteps draw towards the common area, and you follow. There’s a silence draped over you until he abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to you. “I need you to pretend to date me.”

You blink. “W-What?”

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before continuing, “I made a stupid bet and I kind of really need the money.”

A shroud of toughness hides your instant willingness to help. “What do I get out of this?”

His eyes radiate the innocence of a child. They draw you to a distant memory, one that you might have seen in a movie and forced into a memory, but you’re not sure. You were at his house after he broke his arm and he cried, those same eyes staring at you as he whined about how much it hurt. And how itchy his arm was beneath the cast.

Your heart softens, and you have to fight the crumbling beneath your feet.

“Whatever you want,” he assertively nods. “Seriously.”

You sigh. “Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” he smiles, pulling you into a grateful hug. His hoodie smells vaguely of ramen with a hint of sealike cologne you might find in Lee Minho’s bathroom. You find yourself smiling as your hands rest on his back.

viii.

His hand, admittedly, feels a little odd in your hand. The last time you had held his hand was in second grade, when you went to the zoo on a field trip. Your class was already flooding into the bird exhibit with anticipation and exuberance. But you were crying your eyes out at the mere thought of seeing a parrot. (This unfounded fear is all thanks to Spongebob)

Changbin’s hand slipped into yours and slowly urged you in, mumbling that if you didn’t go you’d get stuck there forever. And then, he had whispered, the parrots might eat us alive. Even then, his hand was oddly clammy and a little sticky.

But now, as he guides you through the small neighborhood, you feel a calm mix of elation and awkwardness. Sure, this is groundbreaking material for you and your “small” crush on him. However, he’s not doing this because he likes you. He’s doing this because he needs some cash and you were a means of aiding him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, a cloud of your breath expanding from your lips. It’s only the beginning of November.

“You’ll see,” he glances over at you, a small smile painted on his pale cheeks.

There’s a small line of shrubs on your side of the sidewalk. Serving as a break in them is a metal archway, accompanied by a small wooden sign reading: Gyeonghwa Park. He turns into it, guiding you into the small fenced area. A two person swing set stands in the corner, absent seats trembling in the breeze. There’s a few wooden benches, though most are tainted in a layer of leaves.

“Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his free arm at the small park.

You look around to the little duck statue in the corner. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we here again?” you turn to him. His hand burns against your skin like a constant reminder.

“I can’t take you to our playground, so I thought we could settle for here as our first fake date,” he smiles. “Plus, we need couple pictures and I think this works well.”

You’re grateful for the breeze that dashes pink across your cheeks, disguising the heat that has rushed to them at his words. “R-Right,” you stutter.

He takes a seat on a leafless bench and slips his phone from his pocket. As you reluctantly sit beside him, you watch as he sends texts to his friends. Nothing regarding you, you presume, but when he feels your eyes he quickly closes the chat.

The pictures are poised carefully, his arm resting on the top of the bench behind you, your head tilted towards his as you smile. Without warning, he presses his lips to your cheek as the shutter clicks. You try not to make your flinch obvious.

He pulls back, smiling slightly as he inquires, “Should we kiss to seal the deal?”

Fire poisons your veins as you stare back at him. The invisible mark his lips had left sizzles in the air. “Do you think we should?” you whisper.

He shrugs. “It’ll make it a bit more believable. We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, though.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Kiss me.”

The corners of his lips upturn a little further, sending a shiver down your spine—though maybe it was just the wind. He readjusts his phone, glancing to assure you’re both in frame, before leaning in. At first, his lips merely wander in the air before yours, as though he is thinking about the best way to do this. But then, confident lips press against yours. His touch melts away the numbness in your fingers, the shiver of the cold. In this moment of freedom, you wonder if he had ever wondered what your lips tasted like. Because you sure have.

ix.

Each of your fake dates is constructed with careful attention to detail. A trip to the movies (seeing a film you had mentioned wanting to see very briefly over text). A study ‘date’ that didn’t really feel romantic, though he brought you an americano and a fancy pen he stole from his dad’s work.

But your date today is very special. The diner is filled to the brim with hungry college students and elderly couples. In the back, bunched up against the upholstery, are Changbin’s friends. They throw their heads back to laugh as one tells a stupid joke. Changbin leads you down the aisle slowly. He squeezes your hand, whispering over his shoulder, “Thank you, again, for doing this. It means a lot.”

You smile against your will,“That’s what friends are for.”

As you approach, the new and familiar faces turn to you. Some hold smiles, others hold gaping lips.

“I didn’t think you actually found someone willing to date you,” a boy marvels.

“Let alone Y/N! How come I didn’t know you were dating?” Minho shouts, garnering certain harsh looks from neighboring booths.

A glimmering smile finds your lips as you slide into the booth beside him, “You never asked.”

He scoffs. “Am I supposed to ask when anything life-changing happens?”

Changbin files in beside you, sighing, “Not necessarily, but you talk a lot.”

“How long have you been dating?” a boy across from you asks. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and a friendly smile paints across his lips.

“Nearly two months,” you glance at Changbin, who nods. The finer details, he stressed, must be known like the back of your hand. A single hair out of place could be the end.

“Are you serious?” Minho booms. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Even his eyebrows raise in awe, scratching dull wrinkles across his forehead.

“You do talk a lot,” you mumble.

Before Minho can have the chance to shout profanities aiding his awe, another boy sighs. “Shut up and congratulate them, okay? This is karma for laughing at him when he wanted in on the bet.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin smiles, wrapping an adept arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night unfolds, queued by digging questions and the occasional groan from Minho, you nearly forget that this is an act. That when Changbin presses a kiss to your forehead it’s not real.

Outside of the diner, as his friends disperse into their means of transportation, he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your lips. When he parts, there’s a small smile and a gloss hanging over his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.

He promises to pick you up at five. All that remains is the reward, you realize. A simple favor has brought you here, waiting impatiently for his knock on your door. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.

“Why are you even messing with him?” Jeongin mutters, stirring his ramen with the tips of his chopsticks.

You glance up at him, sighing, “I’m not messing with him. I’m doing him a favor.”

“Yeah, but, why? He’s an asshole, Y/N,” he shakes his head. As he shoves the steaming noodles into his mouth, he hisses at the heat and tilts his head to the side.

You watch him as he gulps down water.

At your prolonged silence, he adds, “When is he supposed to pick you up?”

You tap your phone screen, illuminating the time. “Five minutes ago.”

Jeongin drowns his harsh words with more noodles. Though, in between bites, he says, “Maybe he’s standing you up.”

The thought has crossed your mind, though a hollow in your chest wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. Friends, if that’s what you are, don’t do that.

Seconds drift into minutes. And minutes turn into an hour. Jeongin’s gone through three more ramen cups. Your lips ache as you nervously bite them, jumping for your phone at each notification.

At half past six, Jeongin rests into your bed beside you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps a cautious arm around your shoulder.

Though, you do not feel anything aside from the irritation blurring your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks. These simple words open the floodgate.

xi.

His eyes avert yours as though they had never known you in the first place. Minho doesn’t say anything when you lower yourself in the seat beside him. Instead, he cautiously slips you a small note. Large, scratchy words read: are you okay?

You crumble the note in your palm before tucking it into your bag. He does not bother you for the rest of class. Class travels by in grueling moments. Professor Kim’s voice seems slowed, stripped of any tone. When he finally dismisses class, warning that the semester is ending soon, you haphazardly shove your things into your bag and leave.

Over your shoulder, you hear a low smack and Minho mutter, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

It hurts to admit, given that you had known from the beginning, but Seo Changbin used you. Though, despite the anger you should be feeling, you can only find yourself wondering what he needed the money so badly for.

Back at the dorm, Jeongin silently pulls a piece of cake from the small fridge and hands it to you. “Here,” he mumbles. “My friend made it for you.”

You look up at him. “Why?” Your voice is raw from desuetude, crackles like an old radio.

Jeongin bites his lip, eyes slipping to your comforter. “I told him you were having a rough time. Plus, he knows Changbin, so he knows the story.”

You take the paper plate in your fingertips, dragging it toward you. You poke the delicacy with the tip of your fork. “What’s the story?”

A sigh slips past his lips. “That you guys dated and you broke up. That’s all Changbin told them.”

You nod. He must’ve gotten the money and thrown you away.

Your phone buzzes against the mattress. Jeongin leans over to check who it is. When his eyes meet yours again, he informs, “It’s just Minho.”

So you allow yourself to look at your phone.

Lee Minho [9:20 A.M.]: I’m outside your dorm. Let me in please.

You look up to the door, though your energy is below zero. Jeongin grabs your phone, reading the message, before going to answer the door.

“Hey, Jeongin,” Minho pushes past him. He sits at the foot of your bed. “What happened?”

You blink, eyes staring into his absently. “What?”

“With Changbin. Tell me what happened, please. He won’t tell us anything and I’m starting to get worried for both of you. He’s never this quiet and you’re never this sulky,” he reluctantly rests his hand on your knee.

You look at Jeongin, who stands there with arms against his chest. He shrugs, silently telling you it’s up to you.

You sigh. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning, preferably.”

“I think I fell in love with him, but I can’t tell you when. Maybe it was when we were kids. Maybe it was at the party when he apologized,” you slowly say. The words do not feel like yours. A small pit rumbles in your stomach, begging you to continue. “He wanted a favor, to pretend to date him for that bet you guys made. I didn’t ask why he needed the money or why I should do this for him, given all he did to me. I just went with it. And things were great, as far as fake relationships go.”

In your break of silence, you find yourself smiling at all the fake dates. You wonder if the pictures still live in his phone or if he discarded them the moment he got rid of you.

“So you guys faked the whole thing?” Minho’s eyebrows furrow.

You nod. “He was supposed to pick me up on Saturday, but he stood me up. And now we’re here.”

Minho blinks. “Either Changbin’s a good actor or he’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s the latter,” Jeongin announces as he crosses to his bed.

Minho shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t tell him what I said,” you rush. “About loving him or anything.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

After he leaves, Jeongin loudly sighs. “I knew you were in love with him.”

You look at him, slowly nodding, “I didn’t really make an effort to hide it.”

xii.

There are tears irritating your skin as you pull yourself out of bed. Surviving off of Felix’s cake and Jeongin’s ramen cups is less than attractive, but you cannot build enough will to leave your dorm. You ask Minho to take notes in physics for you and he quickly obliges, no questions asked.

Changbin, still, plagues your mind like venom. Each time you think maybe a nap is in order, you shut your eyes and see his smile. Or you’ll think of his lips on yours as he smiles into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open, chest rising heavily. Even when you stare at your ceiling too long, your brain deems it a screen for a memory to play. Casted like Jeongin’s cheap projector.

There was this once, in fourth grade when you grew bored of the swings so you relocated to the plastic blue tunnel. He blocked off one end while you took the other. On hotter days, you’d lay on top of the tunnel. One day, he looked at you across the plastic and asked, “Do you ever think we’ll be grown ups far away from each other?”

You shook your head so confidently. “No. We’re gonna live together. Like roommates.”

Jeongin comes home from his classes with a cup of coffee. He sets it on your nightstand as he whispers, “I’m spending the night at Chan’s tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

You take a sip of the americano. “Thanks, have fun.”

In his wake is a dreaded silence that reminds you of Changbin’s laugh. Time has only plagued it with a dash of depth.

Your phone buzzes. Hesitantly, you roll over and grab it. The metal is cold against your fingers.

Lee Minho [4:29 P.M.]: Hey, I need you to come to the beach. There’s something I want to show you.

The thing that tipped you over the edge when looking for a college was the beach. As you carefully scouted, the grains of sand kept drawing you back. It’s ironic as you realize that you haven’t been once, despite its proximity. You can already feel the bitter cold against your cheeks as you rise from your bed. Dots of dizziness scatter across your eyes.

The mid November air is cooler than you expected as you step out of the complex. You shove balled fists deeper into your hoodie pocket.

The walk to the beach is shorter than you had expected, only passing ten minutes. You see Minho waiting on the wooden slats leading to the sand. He jumps to preserve his heat.

“Hey,” you call out to him.

He looks to you, daring to unveil a pale hand as he waves. When you’re closer he says, “It’s fucking cold out here.”

You nod, looking out onto the vacant sand. Huddled like a speck of trash is a small figure.

“Why’d you want to meet out here?” you return to look at him, a piercing cold slashing your heart at the realization.

His face softens as he glances out towards the black speck in the sand. “Well, he wanted to meet you here but he wasn’t sure if you’d come if he texted. So he dragged me out here.”

You find yourself laughing. “And you agreed?”

“I didn’t know it was negative twenty out here,” he mutters. “So go and talk to him so I can get back in my car.”

You smile. Your heart thunders against your chest and, even though you know you shouldn’t, your feet move towards the small figure. He tugs you in, time and time again.

You glance over your shoulder when you reach him. Minho’s already gone, as though his presence was merely a ghost. You squat next to Changbin, wrapping your arms around your knees.

He looks at you, though you keep focused on the pale water. Brushing up on the sand, pulling back into the ocean.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You nod. “You always say that.”

“I really am,” he admits. “I know you probably think I’m an asshole, reasonably so, but I really am sorry for everything.”

You finally look at him. “What’d you need the money for?”

He’s taken aback. He had expected more of a heartbreaking confession, a perspective he had not once explored. “Music equipment,” he says. “It’s really for me, Chan, and Jisung.”

You nod, looking back at the water. “I was just a ragdoll so you could get that.”

“Not really,” he whispers. “It was kinda a double positive for me.”

Furrowed eyebrows turn back to him.

“I got the money,” he starts, “and I also got the luxury of pretending to be yours.”

You blink. Your voice is small, barely audible over a gust of wind, “What?”

“Every time I did something stupid that got in between us, I always knew I’d find my way back to you. I was the tide and you were the moon, reaching out and tugging me back into reality. Time and time again, as we’ve come to understand,” he nods, glancing at his red fingers, bitten by the air.

You stare at him. “So why do you keep pushing me away?”

He shrugs. “There was always the fear that you didn’t want to bring me back.”

You scoff, remembering your childhood and the way he kept drawing you closer. You shake your head, words failing you.

“So truly, I am so sorry. You still have your end of the deal, you know. You get whatever you want. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll go home. Sure, I’d be a little heartbroken, but-”

You cut him off, “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because I treat you like shit to fuel this stupid ideology that you don’t hate me,” he admits. “Even when I don’t try to be, I’m a selfish asshole. I only kissed you because I wanted to, not because of the stupid pictures for the bet. I only asked you for the favor because I wanted to paint this stupid little picture in my head. I only stood you up because I couldn’t bring myself to face you and admit that my stupid fantasy was over.”

“That’s not selfish,” you say. “That’s just very Seo Changbin of you.”

“I really cannot tell if you hate my guts or not,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and watching as it trickles down again.

You shake your head. “Minho didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

You look back at the empty space where the ghost once stood. A sigh of a distant nostalgia slips from your lips—the times you’ve pictured this moment over and over in your daydreams. However, you did not imagine the bitter bite of the wind nipping at your cheeks. “That I’m in love with you.”

“You what?” he gawks, leaning a bit closer. As though his ears deceive him.

Your eyes return to his as you nod. “I love you. I probably have since we were kids. That’s the only reason I agreed to your favor. Because I, too, wanted to be a little selfish.”

His lips slowly curl up into a smile as he releases an abrasive laugh. “How much did Minho pay you to say that?”

“He didn’t. I’m being completely honest. Why else would I be here if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yes, now can we speed this up? It’s fucking cold out here.”

He presses his lips against yours. You expect them to mold against yours like they had in previous weeks, but now they are fiery. It sends tingles down your spine as he cups your cheek. With those internal feelings finally suspended from your body, you can sigh a breath of relief.

You wonder if younger you would be proud.

xiii.

“Are you guys actually dating now or are you just fucking with us again?” one of Changbin’s friends, Jisung, asks as you slide into the same booth as a few weeks ago.

“They are,” Minho intervenes. “I watched them confess and everything. Like a minister.”

“Bullshit,” you mutter. “You went back to your car as soon as I got there.”

Changbin’s laugh tickles against your ear as he scoots in next to you.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t revoke the award,” the freckled boy, who you’ve now concluded is Felix, observes.

“Why?” Jisung asks, bringing the straw of his soda to his lips.

“Because we would have had to give it right back.”

His friends are very welcoming of you, despite the deception that marked your first greeting. Chan catches you in the parking lot as Changbin and Jisung fight over the extra mint the server placed on the table.

“I just want you to know,” he starts with a smile, “that he really loves you. It’s not a front, I promise.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you ask, “Those are suspicious words. How should I trust you?”

“Because he talks about you all the time. I know more about your childhood than I know about mine. Plus, he’s written three songs about you and we don’t even have the equipment to record anything yet.”

You laugh, “You’re in luck, then.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’ll find out.”

Changbin returns to your side, a sullen scowl pressed against his lips as he watches Jisung pop the mint into his mouth. Chan dismisses himself to attend to Felix attempting to teach Minho a taekwondo move.

You look over at Changbin, “You’ve written songs about me?”

His eyes widen, “No? Why would I ever do that?”

A giggle bubbles up from your stomach as you shake your head, starting off to his car. Behind you, he repeats the same question urgently.

xiv.

Seo Changbin is like a pest that flies around your head, begging your attention at all moments of the day. He invited you over to his dorm so you could study together, though when you arrived with your textbook and notes, he appeared offended.

“What?” you asked as you settled on his bed, fluffing pillows before leaning against them.

“Studying doesn’t mean studying, it means cuddling,” he pouted.

It’s lucky for him that Minho isn’t home because if he ever heard those words falling from his lips, he’d never hear the end of it.

So that’s why you’re laying your head on his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you read over your notes.

“What’s the formula for Newton’s law of universal gravitation?” you quiz him when you feel his arms start to loosen with the temptation of sleep.

He hums, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the strong magnetic force. Shouldn’t they call it Y/N’s law of universal gravitation?”

You sigh, setting the spiral notebook on his nightstand before you turn in his arms to face him. The hint of a smile already greets you. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “What’s your grade in physics?”

He looks up at the ceiling as he pretends to think. “38.”

“What?” you hiss, pulling back away from him as though he has an illness you didn’t know about.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he whines, pulling you back. “I only signed up for the class because it reminded me of you.”

You smile. “Why?”

He shyly pouts, “I may have gone out of my way to hear about you when we were in high school.”

“And you never thought to apologize?” you counter, your smile still reigning.

“You looked like you were doing fine without me,” he shyly admits.

“Changbin,” you shake your head. “I had no friends after Minho moved. I chased after you, thinking maybe something would happen.”

He closes his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t see me in Cinderella.”

“I saw you in Cinderella,” you laugh.

He throws his head back and whines. “The pants they put me in were two sizes too big.”

The memory of him standing on stage and having to hold up his pants, disguising it by having his hands on his hips, brings another laugh to the air. “Did they really not have any clothespins or anything?”

“No!” he exclaims, looking back into your eyes. “Fucking Hyunjin was hoarding them all!”

You feel the vibrations of your laugh against the pillow. It’s good being like this, having him tethered close.

He’s in the middle of saying something, probably further pursuing his complaints about high school or Hyunjin, but you do not care. You press your lips against his. A moment of stillness, thanks to his shock, before he kisses you back.

The only word to describe this feeling brewing in your stomach: bliss. Pure, hot bliss.

You hope gravity will keep you grounded here.

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maladaptiv3 · 4 years

Text

Bookworm :)

Content: request from anon - “could u write something abt k encouraging the reader with school or something bc online learning is just Not It and i am unmotivated asf😭”

Warnings: None!! Just fluff!!

Word Count: 959

*original content by colsonbakes*

You sighed loudly from the kitchen table, burying your head in your hands, rubbing your temples. The soft drone of the TV from the other room stopped and was replaced by the sound of Colson’s bare feet against the tile. Your eyes met his as he came into your view, you flashed him a tired and half-smile. He stood over you, hovering, slowly moving his hand in circles on the space between your shoulder blades. He kissed the top of your head, “What are you working on?” You slammed your book in a huff, “This ridiculous research project. It is taking me so long. I think I need a break. Let’s go upstairs.” Colson shook his head and mused, “You’re almost finished, come on you can do it.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he was right, “I’m just tired.” He grabbed a water from the fridge, “You know, once you’re finished we can spend all the time together you want.”

He was leaning against the counter, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his tattooed torso on full display. You settled your chin in your hand, chewing on your bottom lip. He set his water down on the counter next to him. He cleared his throat and caught your attention, “You seem distracted.” You shook your head at him, “Well, you’re kind of distracting.” He opened your book back up where your bookmark had been placed, “Let's get to work. I know you can do this. You can do anything.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes, “Will you sit with me? I don’t want to be alone.” He pulled out the chair next to yours and opened one of your books, faking interest in it. You laughed to yourself, “Colson, what are you doing?” He pointed at the page he was reading, “I’m learning. What does it look like I'm doing?” You leaned over and slipped your finger under his chin, bringing his face to yours. You pressed a small kiss to his lips and smiled against them, “Thanks for keeping me company.” Colson drummed his fingers against the table keeping a rhythm to whatever song was running through his mind. You mused to yourself, settling back to typing on your laptop.

After a couple of hours of Colson’s fake interest in your book and absentminded scrolling on his phone, he nudged the top of your hand. You had been deep in concentration and his action startled you. You gasped a little, “What’s up, baby?” His eyes were tired and dull, “How’s your project coming along?” You couldn’t help but smile at how sweet he was being, you could tell he wanted to wrap himself in his duvet and drift off to Spongebob. You turned your attention from the eye-straining screen to your boyfriend's face, “I just have a couple of hours of work left, maybe less.” He stretched his arms above his head and let out a yawn that made you jealous, “I think it’s almost my bedtime. I can wait though.” You took his hand in yours and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “I love you, but you can go to sleep. I’ll be up soon.” He laid his head down against the book that was in front of him, “I can just sleep right here. I don’t wanna leave you alone.” You ran your fingers through his hair, “Colson, go to bed.” You saw the relief on his face and it did not match his words, “Are you sure? I can stay down here while you finish.” “That’s sweet, but I’ll be okay. Plus, you snore, I need peace and quiet.” Colson’s jaw dropped, “I do not snore.” “You do, just a little.” He got up from his place at the table and cupped your face in his hands, kissing your forehead, “Just come get me if you need anything.” You began to turn your attention back to the books scattered in front of you, “I will, promise.”

It was a little after two in the morning by the time you had finished editing and formatting your project. You stared at the screen, doubting if you had effectively read and reread over your work. This was your last project of the semester. One click and you would be finished with your first and completely hectic year of graduate school. Between the hustle and bustle of the house and going to school online, you were relieved that you made it through. You clicked “submit” and a weight was immediately lifted off your shoulders. You didn’t even bother cleaning up your books before heading upstairs to join Colson in bed. You dragged yourself up the flight of stairs and saw the light from the TV peaking through yours and Colson’s bedroom door. You knew he had fallen asleep watching TV.

You slowly opened the door as not to wake the sleeping boy on the other side. You stood in the doorway for a minute, admiring his bare chest, blond locks matted against his forehead and pillow. It was impressive how calm he looked while he was sleeping, you were jealous and you couldn’t wait to take your place next to him. You closed the door behind you so that you wouldn’t be woken up in the morning by the stirring house. You carefully lifted the blankets on your side of the bed, not wanting to disturb Colson. He shifted and blinked his eyes open, “Did you finish your project?” You settled into his arms, “Yes, finally.” You looked up at Colson through your lashes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He mused, “I knew you could, my little bookworm.” You smiled against his lips, “I love you.” “I love you too, baby.”

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Sparks Must Fly to Start a Fire (1/2)

(spongebob theme voice) Are ya ready kids? OoooOooh, who keeps updating in the middle of the night? That-lit-tle-bitch!

Hey guys! I was supposed to do one chunky fic but uhhhh I decided to split it in two so (1) you can have it sooner and (2) not have to pay attention for 10k+ words because I’m there guys and it’s not over (doing this for my ADHD people lmao where y’all at). So yeah. I’m having mad fun with that one, I can’t seem to stop typing. All the tropes, people. All of them. For y’all. Can’t say I’m never doing anything for you (ok I might be trying to make up for the recent heartbreaks I caused). Stay tuned for more juicy stuff in part 2, and as always, enjoy 💕💕

Masterlist in bio // pinned

Requested: Yes (anon)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 5477

Warnings: Language, violence.

Summary: When you make a move against your family, a known associate of big crime syndicates in Gotham, you find yourself in a precarious position of danger. Luckily, your new collaborator Bruce Wayne got an idea to keep you safe, which might not please the people involved.

Note: In this house we stan flawed characters with room to grow (also Jason is bratty af in this but I swear it makes sense in these circumstances)

Day 1

“... For now, no assumptions can be made on the nature of the disappearance. No ransom note was sent to the family, according to the phone interview with the mother conducted by Gotham News, but the possibility of a money related kidnapping is not out of the question...”

Jason turned down the radio as he pulled into the driveway of the manor. He hadn’t been there in a while, but Bruce’s call sounded somewhat urgent. Usually, he would laugh in his face and hang up before he could even begin explaining himself. But a recent conversation he had kind of kicked him in the butt to at least try and rebuild some sort of family links with his adoptive father and brothers. He had been the last he reached out to, but he got there. And he knew he would have to be the bigger person at some point, so he agreed to hear Bruce out this time.

He pulled his sunglasses and let them hang on his t-shirt, adjusting his leather jacket, before getting out of his car. He walked around it and jogged up the stairs, looking at the empty space where Alfred used to greet him. He probably didn’t count on him showing up, so he didn’t waste his time waiting by the door. Either that, or the stain he left on the family was one of the permanent kind and he was more or less welcome home now. He told himself he didn’t care, but deep down, he prayed it wasn’t the latter.

Coming in, he immediately heard the low chatter from the foyer. He walked there, announcing his presence by the groaning of the heavy wooden doors. The conversation quieted down, and Bruce stood up. However, he paid him little attention as his eyes instantly found the second party, looking immaculate in black and white designer clothes, and the more he looked, the more his eyes narrowed.

However, you didn’t back down. You held the stare of the man who stuck out in the decor like a sore thumb, but seemed comfortable enough in his environment to show he did, in fact, belong here in his own way.

“Why the fuck is Vitto Maroni’s wife doing in your living room?”

While Bruce looked both embarrassed and pissed at the lack of manners, you simply raised an eyebrow. “Fiancée”

“Yeah whatever” He brushed you off, now giving his entire attention to Bruce. “What the fuck?”

“We need to talk”

“Ya think?” He was unsettled, shifting his glance back and forth between Bruce and you. You crossed your arms against your chest, unimpressed by his display of whatever he was doing.

“Come and sit” Bruce invited, but it sounded more like a disguised order. The younger man just stood there in defiance. “Jason”

He didn’t move, so Bruce sat back down with a tired sigh. This exchange seemed like it was a common occurrence rather than a sudden act of rebellion.

“Fine, stay there” He mumbled. “Jason, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), meet my son Jason”

“Adopted” He corrected almost instantly. “And I know who she is. By the way, the whole city’s looking for her, just so you know-- Wait did you kidnap her?”

“I’m right there” You waved sarcastically, annoyed at the fact he was talking like you weren’t even in the room. “And do I look like I’m here against my will?”

He gave you a sneer.

“Jason, stand down” Bruce warned, but it didn’t seem to have much effect on Jason. “She’s here because she just dropped an important number of explicitly incriminating documents on the whereabouts of crime families in Gotham to Gordon, putting herself in a dangerous position by doing so”

“Congratulations on doing something morally right” He gave you a cold smile. “The precinct is that way, we aren’t a security company”

“You aren’t really bright are you?” You tilted your head, ignoring Bruce’s slow, tired closing of his eyes. Jason looked insulted. “All the GCPD cops beside Gordon and maybe one or two idiots fall under the paycheck of a big family. When they trace back the leak to me, and they will, I become fair game. It would be better not to be surrounded by cops when it blows out”

“Poor little girl” He mocked. “I bet--”

“Enough!” Bruce’s voice was loud enough to bring both of your attention to him. “Jason, I’ve seen the documents, and it will be strong enough to deal a blow to the crime family they won’t easily recover from. We’re talking here bank statements, fund transfer receipts, contracts, everything to build a solid case”

Jason took a deep breath, but still sent you a quick glare. “Go on”

“My side of the family isn’t strong enough to come out of a trial with the information I provided” You explained calmly, mirroring his behaviour. “It means prison for my father, brothers, uncles, cousins, all of them, and since I leaked, nobody will want to bail them out and associate with the family of a traitor”

“What about the Maroni side?”

You held his expectant stare, knowing it was the information he wanted to hear. You weren’t sure he would like it, though, seeing how he reacted for everything else. “Well, that really depends on me”

The suspicion in his eyes returned before you could blink. “How so?”

“The evidence will definitely not be sufficient to even convict them, they will worm out of this without much of a hassle...” You paused, sending a quick glance at Bruce. “... But if I testify, it might just be enough to bridge the evidence I got to the Maroni, or a part of the family anyway”

“Okay…” He trailed off. “Then just do that? What’s stopping you?”

“Well first off, the trial will take time to set” You began, and he still looked at you like he didn’t see the problem. You sighed. “I need to stay alive to testify. Fair game, remember? If they get me first it’s over”

“What do you even want us to do about this?”

You slid your glance again to Bruce, expectantly this time. Jason looked in between you two, and his face slowly fell at the realization of what was happening, and of why he was really there.

“No”

“Hear me out” Bruce entered negotiating mode like it was a second nature to him. You observed the exchange closely and with interest. “We can’t afford to let this opportunity go. This is big, Jason”

“Yeah, I know” His tone was anything but understanding. “But it doesn’t change the fact we’re not a fucking security company”

“You think the idea of the back-from-the-dead Wayne son keeping me alive brings me joy?” You argued. Bruce had told you a priori that his son had experience in security type of jobs, but you were beginning to doubt the extent of his professionalism.

“I wouldn’t expect it to” Here came the sarcastic comment once again. “Why can’t you ask another one of your soldiers?”

Bruce flinched ever so slightly, in an almost impossible way to notice. But you did. “For personal reasons you already know”

“And you thought my reasons were different rules?” He challenged.

“You’re the one who is the most familiar with patterns and comportment of criminal families” Bruce explained. “You don’t have to familiarize yourself with systems, m.o., anything, which leaves way less space for mistakes others would make”

Jason remained silent.

“Please”

The both of them kept staring at each other in a silent conversation. The silence was uncomfortable, so you rolled your eyes and grabbed your hand bag, pulling out a wad of cash. You slammed it on the coffee table and pushed it towards Jason, effectively grabbing his attention.

“That’s five thousand dollars upfront, which you get to have now” You said with a sigh. “There’s two more like these once I make it through the trial”

“So now you’re trying to buy me?” He asked, glaring at the money like it was the plague. “Dirty money is dirty money, so what is stopping me from just taking it out of your stupid Gucci handbag and call it a day?”

You had to smile, although it was far from sincere and friendly. “You think I’d keep it all here on me? I’m not an amateur”

“Oh boy” Bruce intervened again. “Let’s not get carried away, please. There is an important matter at hands”

“Fine” He finally conceded. “But you owe me a big one, Bruce. I’ll make it count”

“I didn’t expect any less” He replied in a neutral tone, but there was relief in his posture.

“What’s the game plan here?” Jason crossed his arms against his chest. “So the princess here doesn’t die on me and puts it on my fault”

“I am very sorry for his behaviour” Bruce apologized to you.

“No worries, I’m used to dealing with that kind of attitude” You smiled at him, before returning your hardened glance to Jason. He made a face at you, subtly enough not to warrant another intervention.

“I think the best plan would be to move constantly, never staying in one place more than two or three days at the time” Bruce resumed. “Ideally, put as much distance from Gotham as you can, without either straying too far so you can come back quick if the trial is rushed”

“Which will be most likely the case” You pitched in. “They’ll know I’ll be hiding, and they’ll try to make it as hard as possible for me to come back on time. That is still if a bullet doesn’t find me first”

“So we move you frequently enough they won’t have the time to locate you” He hummed. “Alright. Then let’s go, before I change my mind”

“Reassuring” You breathed out, standing up with your handbag. However he was still standing in the way, unmoving. “Aren’t we going?”

“Not dressed like that, no”

“What’s wrong with this?” You frowned.

He gave you a smirk. “Your little Versace outfit is an attention magnet” He pointed at your clothes. “Add this to your missing person profile, they’ll get you in less than 24 hours whether or not I’m involved. You’ll have to dress like a commoner, princess”

This is ridiculous, you thought. You glanced at Bruce for support, but he refused to meet your eyes, tilting his head from side to side. If anyone should back you up, it was Mister Armani Suit currently sitting to your right.

“He has a point” He admitted, and your jaw slightly dropped. “You’ll have to lay low”

“This-- This is tailored!” It was truly your last argument, and it made Jason snort.

“I don’t care” He shrugged. “I’m sure Grayson still has some things around and won’t mind if you help yourself”

You grimaced, but still followed Jason around the hallways of the manor. His steps were suspiciously light, letting you know he enjoyed this way too much. You should have seen it coming by reacting the way you did to the idea of a considerable downgrade of clothes. You opened the door way too wide and he barged in like he owned the place.

This would be a long, long not-so-vacation.

He finally reached a room, which had been left mostly empty except for furniture. You could see nobody had been there in a while by the lack of personal items beside a few pictures and little items. He rummaged through drawers, pulling out t-shirts and pants.

“You’re lucky Grayson liked tight clothing” He shouted above his shoulder, knowing you were in the threshold waiting for your self inflicted doom. “This might just fit”

He threw you the pile of clothing, half of which fell onto the ground. Yet, you could clearly see that it was only t-shirts, jeans and sweatpants. You gulped as he gestured to the bathroom door, showing you the way. You reluctantly went in and carefully took off your clothes, still planning on taking them with you just in case.

“Oh my god” You muttered as you slipped the rough cotton over your head. The poor quality of the material was screaming against your skin. It was large enough to swallow your frame, but you managed to tweak it in a knot like you had seen so many fashion bloggers do before. You never thought you’d be the one who’d have to do it, though Then came the pants, whose rather skinny cut you were thankful for. It was still somewhat large, but it could have been worse. The waist was still a problem, however. But you grabbed a belt from your bag and called it an outfit--a sorry excuse of an outfit but an outfit nevertheless.

You came back in the bedroom, only to be met with a raised eyebrow. You halted your step, unsure of what to do under his close scrutinization. You felt way less powerful and invulnerable now that your twelve thousand dollars shell was gone, and to make it worse, his expression revealed nothing. He took a good minute before he spoke.

“The belt” He said, but you knew what it meant. He wanted you to get rid of your last lifeline.

“No”

“Yes”

“I’ll lie and say it’s a fake” You compromised, but he still didn’t look convinced. “Look at how I’m dressed, they won’t even consider it’s a real”

“Hmm, alright” He nodded slowly. “I’ll let it slide this time”

You didn’t add anything else as you went to the pile of clothes you had left on the floor, and began packing them in your handbag. You thought it was a crime to put a five dollars shirt in a 5k bag, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

“How much stuff do you have in there?” He called from behind you. “That thing is huge”

“I have enough” You replied cryptically, to which he muttered something no doubt sarcastic under his breath. You had a rotation of underwear, two full outfits and your essentials, and now you added three t-shirts, a pair of jeans and a pair of sweatpants. It was getting pretty full. “It’s very practical”

“Sure” He drawled out. “Will this be a fake too?”

“Gotta commit to the counterfeit gimmick, right?” You said as you turned around. He shrugged. “Are we good to go now?”

“Sure thing, princess”

You bit your lips not to yell at him anymore and followed him to his car. You put your bag on the backseat, which was surprisingly clean, and got it on the passenger seat. Jason got behind the wheel and started to drive down the driveway, until he pulled over on the side of the road. Before you could ask what was going on, he pulled a gun from nowhere and pressed the barrel under your jaw.

“I don’t know what’s your game here, but for your sake I better hope that's exactly what you sold back there” He spoke in a slow, menacing tone. You weren’t moving, but you held the stare down contest anyway. “If this is a scheme to hurt my family, or screw Gotham over even more, I swear the Maronis won’t be the ones you’ll need to hide from”

“You’re not the first man to put a gun to my head and threaten me, so don’t think you can intimidate me that way” You spat back, teeth clenched and venom in your voice. Whatever he expected from your answer, it wasn’t that. “If I tried to play you, there would be a hundred better ways to do so, so lower the fucking gun”

Slowly, the cold metal left your skin, followed by the distinct click of the safety. You controlled the sigh of relief that silently left you, so he wouldn’t know how much your breath was truly trembling on the inside. It’s not because you had been in that situation before that it was any less scary.

Without so much as another glance in your direction, he pressed down the gas pedal and sped away from the manor.

Day 2

You had been on the road for more than thirty hours when Jason finally pulled into the driveway of a remote cabin, far from any passing road.

You were tired and sore despite the little sleep you had gotten, making you wonder how he hadn’t crashed the car yet. Beside rare gas and bathroom breaks--usually done at the same time--he hadn’t stopped at all. However, it showed in the quiet sigh that he was relieved to finally not need to channel his attention on the road. He got out of the car, not bothering to talk at all to you. It had been like that for the entire way, silent except for the one or two “are you hungry” grunts at gas breaks. The only sound in the car had otherwise been the steady rotation of the CDs laying around.

You got out of the car at your turn and stretched. It felt good on your muscles after all that time sitting, and you didn’t want to think about how this would be your routine for an undetermined time. However, you were kind of glad you did not have on your usual clothes for this one, and rather something large and breathing. You would never admit it out loud, however.

You grabbed your bag from the backseat and followed Jason inside. The cabin was small, consisting of a kitchen area, a cluttered desk, a bookshelf, a bed and a half bathroom.

“Where are we?” You asked as he dropped the keys on the desk. You just hoped he hadn’t changed his mind and took you here to murder you, or something.

“Safe house” He replied. “I have maps here. I’ll draw a more tactical trajectory before we start moving for real”

“Okay…”

“I’d say you can take the couch, but…” He trailed off, looking smug as he threw himself on the bed, gesturing at the empty, couchless space and shrugging in mock apology. “Sleep on the floor for all I care”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor” You rebutted, eyebrows furrowed. Who did he think he was?

“Outside then?” His eyes widened slightly in appreciation. “Even better, good idea”

You stood there glaring at him, sprawled out with his hands behind his head. I’ll make that smirk drop from your stupid face, you thought as an idea to piss him off ever more crossed your mind. You dropped your bag on the floor, and with a confident pace, went straight for the bed. Before he could protest or sit up, you crawled in the empty spot at his right.

“Hey what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He threw his hands up in indignation, like you had just tried to stab him.

“Nobody treats me like a dog” You hissed. “Get used to it”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed” He argued, but he was still visibly stunned by your bold action.

“Why not?” You said as you turned to face him.

“I-- It’s MY bed!” He stumbled on his childish reply. “MY rules!”

“What are you gonna do, threaten to shoot me again?”

His flinch was so subtle you almost missed it. But just like Bruce before, you still caught it.

“Fine” He finally gave in, jaw clenched. “But if you take too much space, I’m pushing you off”

“It’s a queen size, you big baby. You’ll be fine” You snapped as you turned again, this time to show him your back.

You closed your eyes in the hope of catching up on your well needed sleep. It had been a wild 48 hours for you, and you had been left exhausted like you had never been. Your eyelids were heavy and the bed seemed more comfortable now than it probably was, lulling you into the arms of morpheus. But Jason had other ideas, as you could both hear and feel him moving around and changing his position every five seconds or so. You were pretty sure he was doing it on purpose, especially when you felt his arm hit the back of your head. Grinding your teeth together, you forced yourself to take deep breaths.

After fifteen minutes of him not being able to stand still, you finally had enough. You had to do something that would stun him again long enough for you to fall asleep and tune out his antics. So you sat up without a word and took off your belt, then pushed your jeans off. He had stopped moving, but it wasn’t enough. You straight up pulled off your shirt and tossed it on the floor, leaving you in your bra and underwear. You caught a glimpse of his agape expression when you laid back again on the bed and brought the covers to your shoulders, and took the opportunity to fall asleep without a hassle.

---

The next time you opened your eyes, daylight was engulfing the cabin. You stirred awake with a groan, not knowing how many hours you had slept. But you felt well rested, so it was all that mattered really.

“Look who’s finally awake”

You lifted your head from the bed, still only half aware of what was going on. Jason wasn’t in the bed anymore, instead he was sitting at the desk and working on it. His back was to you, and by the looks of it, he had no intention to turn around either.

“Whutaymist?”

His head slowly lifted. “What?”

“I said” You repeated, clearer this time. You admitted your mumbling might have been hard to understand. “What time is it?”

“Twenty past two” He answered. “Congratulations, you slept a whole fourteen hours. You win nothing”

“Well good morning to you too” You muttered, rolling your eyes. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I’m not your fucking maid” His tone was flat and stern. Still, he gestured to the kitchen counter. Your eyes followed his hand to see a single, unopened can of soup.

“Canned soup? Seriously?”

“Hey, be my guest not to eat it” He said with his usual sarcasm. “If you die of starvation, that’s one less problem for me”

“You would like that too much, wouldn’t you” You bit back, sitting up and throwing your legs to the side. You didn’t miss how his shoulder tensed the second you pushed the covers off, reminding you of your lack of clothing. You didn’t care however, as you just walked across the cabin to get to your bag. You grabbed a fresh pair of underwears, a t-shirt and the pair of sweatpants, which you decided you’d wear strictly on days you weren’t moving around.

You weren’t emotionally ready to be seen in public with sweatpants.

You decided to take a quick shower, with cold water as you brutally discovered seconds later. You could just see the satisfied grin on Jason’s lips as you squealed in surprise at the sudden extreme temperature. Still, you went through with it just to prove you could. You hurried to dry yourself and your hair with a towel in a cupboard, then dressed up again with the same tricks you had used on your last makeshift outfit. Except this time, the belt was the drawn strings of the pants.

“How was the shower?” He asked smugly when you came out, still working over his desk with his back to you. “Hope it wasn’t too cold”

“It was just perfect, actually” You answered just as smugly, and that was enough to make him turn his head toward you. “Cold water is amazing for the hair and skin”

It looked like he was waiting for you to crack and admit it was in fact too cold, but you only gave him a serene smile. He huffed and went back to whatever he was doing. You walked to the kitchen and began searching for a pot for the soup, certainly that would come handy, then grabbed a spoon and a bowl to put beside the stove. You however paused at the can itself, not sure where to go from now. You tried prying the top of the can open, to undo the label and see if there was something under to open it, then looked around for anything that could help you.

“You don’t know how to open a can, do you?”

You jumped at the sound of Jason’s, but also from it being way closer than the desk. You spun around to see him leaning on a cupboard, a mocking expression on his face.

“Well, I’ve never done this before” You defended, folding your arms against yourself. He pushed himself from the cupboard and went straight to the second drawer on your left, pulling out a strange device and handing it to you. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Open the can”

“It looks like it’s meant for torture”

“It really isn’t”

You rolled your eyes and began to figure this all out. You tried it one way, then the other, accidentally pinched your finger on the handles and dropped the can about four times on the counter. You stopped for a moment, sighing in defeat. Still, you observed the mechanism closer, then back at the can, then back to the can opener. Surely, the little dented wheels had to go on the edge of the can…

Next time you tried it, it worked.

You were so taken by the fact that you had figured out how to open a can almost by yourself that you hadn’t noticed Jason coming into your space. When you did notice it though, you took a step back. You still couldn’t read his expression, but if there was one thing you were sure of, it wasn’t a positive kind of invasion of your bubble. You picked warning signals from him and it made you recoil on yourself. He looked a whole other kind of dangerous like that, and it kind of reminded you of the people you were used to having around you. Not quite, but close.

“Did you use my shampoo?”

You squared up your shoulder, not about to let him try and intimidate you once again. “Yes”

He remained there for a moment, like he was trying to either stare into your soul, scare you off or hold back a fart. It could be either, you weren’t actually sure.

“I don’t like when people take my stuff,” He said. “Especially without asking me first”

“Fine” You huffed. “Do I have the permission from His Majesty the King not to smell like a dumpster?”

He narrowed his eyes, but backed off. “Eat your goddamn soup” He turned around and walked back to his desk. “And don’t burn the cabin doing so!”

Day 5

“I don’t understand this store”

After leaving the cabin, Jason agreed to make a quick stop at Target to grab snack supplies and more fitting clothes for you. First of all because he wanted to avoid a redo of the underwear in bed incident, and also because he realized moving around with unfitting men’s clothes might bring another type of unwanted attention. His goal was for you to look normal, and while it did the trick better than designer clothes by a landslide, it still looked slightly off.

“What don’t you understand?” He asked back on a condescending tone. “It’s a store”

“You buy clothes, groceries and hygiene supplies at the same place?” You frowned, looking down at the two pairs of jeans and few monochrome shirts you had picked from the racks. There was also a pajama set there with shampoo and shower gel, plus a pair of new running shoes with ankle socks, and a travel bag to put everything you had. Your Gucci bag was getting too full for all of that. “Why?”

“Welcome to the normal world, princess” He replied, disinterested. “People don’t have the time or money to go to specialized store for everything”

“Hmm” You hummed, watching him throw packs of cashews and beef jerky in the cart. He picked some more things, including water bottles and energy drinks, anything that seemed appealing to him and never asking you for your opinion. Honestly, you didn’t expect him to at this point, and besides, none of these snacks seemed appealing to you.

After a while of Jason lazily pushing the cart around, you noticed it was the third time you went past the potato chips row. He didn’t seem bothered, but you could see a small tension in his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” You asked, thinking it was his way to waste your time.

“We’re being followed” He whispered back, grabbing your shoulder before you could turn around and take a peek. “Don’t look!”

“Sorry jeez” You breathed, shaking off your shoulder from his grip.

“About fifteen feet behind us” He explained. “If that guy wanted honey mustard pretzel bites, he would have taken them the first two times he checked them”

From the corner of your eyes, you spotted the man in question. He was wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses inside, and was very obviously pretending to read the back of the bag. Jason nodded at you to keep walking, and the man followed from his careful distance.

“Would you relax for two minute?” He hissed at you. “If you look like you have a broomstick shoved up your ass, he’ll know we spotted him”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” You replied in the same tone. “I might die in the next minutes in a fucking Target, even irony is mocking me now”

“You won’t die” His eyes were casted forward, like he’d strangle you if he looked at you. “Just--Just walk to the registers like a human being, I’ll deal with him once we’re outside”

You didn’t answer that, only followed him to the self checkout registers. At least you could hide behind his huge frame as he scanned the items one by one, calm and collected like nothing was happening. The sketchy man was on the farthest register from you, checking out his bag of pretzels. Jason finally paid and took the bag, shoving it in your hands. For once, you didn’t complain about his lack of manners and walked a brisk pace out of the store. You were parked in a deserted end of the lot, yet, the man did not change his course. He was set on you.

You had reached the car when you noticed Jason was, in fact, gone. He was not beside you anymore, leaving you completely open. Fear gripped your heart as the footsteps behind you grew louder and stopped too close to comfort. You shut your eyes tight for a moment, knowing this would be the end for you. You heard the safety of a gun click, and you gulped.

“Vitto Maroni sends his regards”

Then the gun fired, the distinct sound of a muffled shot by a silencer going off. However, you didn’t feel pain, or fall on the ground. Instead, you heard a thud behind you and your eyes popped open. You turned around to see Jason leaning over the unmoving form of the man sent to kill you.

“viTto mArOni sEnDs hiS rEgArDs” He mocked, kicking the guy. “Dumbass. Can’t even watch his five”

“Where did you go?!” You yelled, as it was the only thing you could say in the fall of your anxious state.

He raised his gun and gave you an incredulous stare. “Uh, you’re welcome?”

“You left me alone!”

“Come on, get in the car, we need to get out of there” He sighed, gesturing to the door. You didn’t argue, but you knew you weren’t done. You climbed in the passenger seat and waited until he was far enough from the store.

“So I am the bait now?” Your shouting fest resumed. “What if he had fired before you did?”

“First of all, you became the bait yourself when you decided to air your family’s dirty laundry” He pointed out, not fazed at all by your outburst. “Second, he was a dumbass. He didn’t even take precaution when I disappeared on him, and he didn’t see me round the car and come up behind. And third, nobody shoots before me”

“That’s a bold risk to take” You raised your eyebrows in challenge. He eyed you up and down and shrugged.

“Meh, I’m fine with it”

“I could have died!”

“But did you?”

“No”

“Then case closed” He smiled smugly. “You let me worry about your security detail, and you shut your mouth and appreciate it, ‘kay?”

You huffed and crossed your arms against your chest in a defensive position, sinking into your seat further. Your eyes were dead set on the passing trees outside, mad you almost died, but mostly, mad you thought Jason had abandoned you to die.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #red hood x you #outlaws

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zwritestuff · 4 years

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Placebo Effect (One-shot) - Monét/Monique

A/N: Hi! This is a paid commission I did for @derpy-avocado. I did my best to live up to her wishes for this fic, and I hope you all like it too! :D If you’d like a commission, all the information is on my pinned post.

Summary: Monique is sick and asks Monét to take care of him.

1,692 words | on ao3.

Moonique: are u free today?

Monét barely has time to read the text when Bob is pushing him to keep on walking, albeit rather harshly, otherwise they’ll miss the greenlight. He just huffs, haphazardly putting it in his back pocket and adjusting his gym bag, pinching Bob’s arms once they’re on the other side of the street.

“If you wanted to push me in front of the cars, you should’ve just done that,” he jokingly says, and Bob just rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need you as a ghost tugging on my cold feet for the rest of my life, thank you very much,” Bob deadpans, but a chuckle escapes him. Monét just snorts, turning around the corner of the street, heading for their nearest Starbucks.

Summer is on its last stage, leaving space for autumn’s chilly winds and brown leaves. But the temperatures have yet to drop, and Monét isn’t sure why he allows Bob to drag him to the gym on hot days like these—best friend privileges, he supposes.

Between small talk he forgets about Monique’s text, until they get to Starbucks and the line is larger than they anticipated. He turns to Bob to go on with their conversation when he feels his phone buzz, before they hear a moo. Bob cocks a brow in his direction, but Monét is more than used to the ridiculous ringtone Monique set up for himself.

“Mo?”

“‘Nét.” His voice sounds solemn—and nasal. “You ignored my texts, bitch. I’m dying and you ignored me,” he says, as dramatic as Monét knows him to be, and he can’t help to laugh.

“Okay, first, I saw your first text while I was walking, I was going to answer. Second, I’m pretty sure you’re not actually dying.” He hears a whine on the other side of the line and gives a tiny smile, accompanied by a chuckle. Bob purses his lips as if he were to say something, but his mouth stays shut.

“Excuses, excuses.” He can almost see Monique dismissing what he said with a wave of his hand. “I’m sick, think I got a cold or somethin’. ‘M burnin’ up, my nose’s runny, my throat’s sore—and I’m bored outta my mind,” he sighs deeply, to really sell his acting.

Monét cocks a brow, “Pretty sure boredom isn’t part of the symptoms,” he says, amused. Monique groans on the other side of the line.

“Of course it isn’t, you dumbass.” There’s a small pause before he continues, “I just—I want someone to hang out with to not feel so miserable, y’know,” he admits in a whisper, and really, it shouldn’t make Monét’s heart speed up, but it does.

He purses his lips, glancing towards Bob, who seems much more preoccupied with his own phone. He knows they’re supposed to film a video and their podcast, amongst other things—but a day off can’t hurt, can it?

“Alright, I’ll come by. I’m at Starbucks, you want anything?” He asks, though he knows Monique’s usual order by heart. And sure enough, Monique recites it back to him. “I’ll be there in ten, maybe. The door’s locked?”

“I’ll unlock it now,” Monique says simply, and Monét hears some fumbling in the background. “Thanks, Nét,” he mumbles with earnest, making Monét smile lopsidedly.

“Anytime,” he whispers back before hanging up, and when he puts away his phone and goes to meet Bob’s gaze, there’s a questioning glare piercing right through him. “What?”

Bob just stares at him for a solid second before speaking, “It was Monique, wasn’t it? You got that look on your face, you know the one. No wonder you’re abandoning me that easy.” He goes straight to the point, with a shit eating grin. Monét just cocks a brow, trying to not look flustered.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says, but he knows—it’s just he’d rather not think about it now, not when he’s on his way to see him.

Bob gives him sneaky glances and teases him a fair share until he leaves, and all Monét can do is pretend he doesn’t hear him.

Monét arrives to Monique’s apartment in the blink of an eye, with his stupidly complicated order, and unceremoniously lets himself in.

Immediately, he’s greeted by the sound of SZA’s latest song blasting from Monique’s room, and he smiles a little before he makes a beeline for it. The door is wide open, and right away he can see Monique bundled in a bunch of blankets, his eyes are closed, peeking out from under the covers, and he looks so peaceful he’d hate to ruin the moment.

But then again, his coffee is getting cold, and he knows Monique hates cold coffee.

“Wow, you really look like shit,” he jokingly says, making Monique’s eyes snap open. He kicks off the blanket covering him and makes the motion to stand up from bed, but Monét takes a long stride and makes him settle back down.

“Thanks for coming,” he beams, turning the music just a notch down. He makes space in the bed for Monét, and he gladly settles by his side, and there’s something comforting by the familiarity of the motion. “D’you get my order right?”

“A venti Americano blonde espresso with caramel syrup and almond milk, right?” He asks, knowing the answer, and pride swells in his chest when Monique squeals in excitement, making grabby hands at the drink.

Monét’s own drink is already half empty, so he nibbles on it silently while Monique is cuddled up by his side, telling him about this one gig where he did shots with the host, how he felt sick over the course of the next days, pinning the blame on the host. Monét just listens, amused, unable to wipe the grin off his face whenever he glances to Monique out of the corner of his eye and sees him talking with his hand and making gestures, to really tell a compelling story.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, talking aimlessly about everything and anything, listening to SZA’s second album, and letting a comfortable silence fall when there’s nothing to say, just sipping on their drinks until the last drop. Monét leaves for a moment to use the bathroom, and Monique lets out a long breath.

He’s not sure why his first instinct upon realizing he’s sick was to call Monét instead of seeing a doctor, but he can’t deny his company brings him a sort of peace he only feels when he’s with him. And Monique isn’t stupid, he knows what it is and why he feels like that, but he’d rather protect their friendship a little longer.

He gets up to get a glass of water while Monét is still busy in the bathroom, and he aimlessly stands in the middle of the kitchen, still wrapped up in his comfy blankets, when he hears it—the ice cream truck tune.

Monique smiles widely, peeking over at the door of the bathroom. He knows he’s not supposed to go out like that and Monét will chastise him, but Monét can forgive him once he comes back with ice cream for the two. Right?

“Do you have any idea of the heart attack you almost gave me?” Monét exclaims, once he finds Monique sitting on the sidewalk, melting ice creams on each hand and a smug smile, still wrapped up in blankets.

“In my defense, you left me unsupervised, and I bought you an ice cream too!” Monique holds his hand out, offering him the sweet, and Monét glares at him, begrudgingly accepting it and kneeling down next to him.

“Girl, you’re a grown ass adult, I left you for one minute to use the bathroom and you disappear!”

“One minute? Seemed like an eternity to me,” Monique says nonchalantly, carelessly licking the ice cream. His tone is jokey, but there’s some truth to his words.

If he sees Monét blush before he looks away and scoops him up in his arms, Monique doesn’t say anything. Monét chastises him on their way back, the ice cream melting before he can finish it, and Monique would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their proximity.

Monét vows to not let him out of his sight while he’s there, and proposes they watch something on Netflix, and it totally isn’t Monique’s idea to cover Monét with his own blankets to have him closer. They have a mixed marathon of SpongeBob and Avatar when they can’t settle on just one, and if Monique feels his heart skip when Monét insists he rests his head on his chest, he’ll never admit it.

“Y’know, I think it was always obvious Katara would end up with Aang,” Monét comments out of nowhere, and Monique cocks a brow, silently prompting him to go on. “I mean, just look at the way he looks at her. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t pick up on it if someone looked you that way,” he muses mysteriously, and Monique has to agree.

“Well, yeah, but why are you—” He glances up to meet Monét’s gaze, and the words die in his throat.

It seems planned, the way Monét is looking at him while the show plays on the background, mimicking Aang’s lovey-dovey gaze to Katara. It sends chills right down his spine.

He’s looking at his lips, and it makes him wonder who’ll be the one to make the move. In the end, Monique isn’t thinking straight, blame it on the way her brain shut downs when he’s with Monét or the fever, but the next thing he knows is that he stops holding back and clashes his lips with Monét’s.

It feels childish to say a canyon of butterflies exploded on his stomach, but that’s what happens.

“I think that made me feel better,” Monique confesses sheepishly, once they pull apart, and Monét just chuckles, pulling him closer.

“Oh, yeah? I’m more than glad to be your placebo effect,” he says, “You still need to see a doctor, though.”

Monique rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “Don’t ruin the moment, bitch.”

#my fanfiction #rpdr fanfiction #justice for momo #monique heart #monet x change #paid commission

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Starker Highschool AU - Natasha is Tony’s sister

“Keep it down tomorrow tonight, short stack. My boyfriend’s coming over after school and I’m not sure he wants to hear you mangling the violin.”

Natasha looks up from her homework and stares at her brother in the doorway; lips parted in surprise. Tony’s going for nonchalant, which of course, she can see through in an instant. He may be two years older than her, but Natasha is a particularly observant fifteen year old. “Your boyfriend?” She says, a grin spreading across her face when Tony shifts a little uncomfortably.

“Yes.” He bristles, not quite making eye-contact. “My boyfriend.”

“Since when do you-“

“Since none of your business. Gonna be chill about this or not?”

She lifts her eyebrows and mimes zipping her lips. Tony half-smiles at her: soft and gentle, the sort of smile that says she’s the only one he’s told about his boyfriend, the sort of smile that lets her know that even though he’s a complete dick, he’s a good guy at heart, and a good brother too. She loves him, really. So she says: “My silence will only cost you thirty dollars.”

He smirks at her, and tosses some cash onto her bed. “Jokes on you, short stuff, I was prepared to go to fifty.” And then he wraps his knuckles against her doorframe, and disappears down the hall.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, and turning back to her notebook.

But she doesn’t stop thinking about it. Tony, her brother, Tony has a boyfriend.

Tony doesn’t do boyfriends. He does hook-ups at parties that become the talk of the school and Nat tries not to listen to the gossip or the rumour mill as it goes around and around. A few times, older kids have come up to her, tried to ascertain the truth over a certain one-night stand and she’ll glare at them until they turn away.

But a boyfriend. He must be special. She taps her pencil against her desk and thinks. Is it someone from school? Maybe. She wonders who.

She wonders what they might be like and shudders a little.

Tony dresses like a complete douchebag. He rides his stupid motorbike to school (and okay, yes he does give her a ride from time to time which is pretty cool, but also, no, he’s her big brother, so he’s not cool at all), and he wears black leather jackets and sunglasses inside. He thinks he’s better than everyone else and brags about all his science fair trophies with no degree of humility.

He’s cocky, arrogant and constantly sarcastic.

She can only imagine what horror his boyfriend will be.

Still, she rolls her neck and turns back to her work, it’s only a high school romance, and she knows from experience that those don’t last.

*** “Your hair looks-“ Bruce trips over his shoelaces and hastily rightens himself “-really nice. R-really good.”

She smiles, flicking the vibrant red for effect. “Scarlet suits me, right?”

Bruce nods eagerly, and nearly careens right into an open locker. She catches him by his backpack last minute, and he smiles gratefully.

“So, your brother’s in my brother’s grade, right?” She asks.

Bruce nods as he starts slotting in his textbooks. “Sure, why?”

“Apparently,” she drops her voice into a whisper, not trusting the roaming ears of the hallway, “Tony has a boyfriend?”

Bruce blinks in surprise, before shaking his head and grinning. “Your brother is so cool, honestly, I want to be just like him when I-“

Natasha resists the urge to throttle him, and decides that since Bruce is in science-infatuation mode over her brother’s lame AI tech, that maybe the best person to ask is Clint. She shoots him a text and he replies by saying he’s got a free period later.

The bell rings and Bruce locks up. “Good luck on your recital this Friday! I wish I could make it!”

Nat shrugs, slinging her backpack on. “It’s just another violin thing. You’ll catch the next one.” And then she reaches forward and ruffles his hair.

Bruce bats at her, and scurries away.

* Clint, as it turns out, has information.

It’s not a boy from this school, but-

“Murberry Academy across town,” he says, mouth full of chips. The teacher on duty keeps glaring at him, but he hasn’t noticed. “That’s what I heard.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, thinking. She doesn’t know anyone from Murberry Academy. But she does know about it. “Super preppy school- the one with the blue blazers?”

Clint nods, licking cheesy dust off his fingers. She tries not to make a face. Boys are gross. “Yeah. So, your brother probably met his bae at a party or something.”

She does make a face at that. “Not bae. Never say that again. You’re banned.”

“Hey, Nat?” Comes a whispered voice, and Natasha turns only to feel her whole face bloom bright red as Pepper leans over with her stupid gorgeous face- “Do you have a pen I can borrow? Mine ran out?”

Natasha hands one over with sweaty fingers and what she hopes is a smile, but might be a grimace-

“Well that,” Clint mutters, laughing and choking on his snack, “was smooth.”

Natasha hits him, and it’s worth the apology the teacher makes her give.

There’s a big part of her that wants to play really loud music that night. Howard and Maria are out, like normal, and she knows Tony is getting ready. She wants to blast Taylor Swift or one of her podcasts, or maybe practise for her recital- but there’s thirty dollars in her purse, and she doesn’t want Tony to chicken out.

She’s curious.

So, when she hears Tony leave his room, she bolts out of hers, and follows him to the kitchen.

He’s wearing a tight black tee and dark jeans, and his hair is messy in that bedhead kind of way that meant he spent ages on it-

“Oh god,” he groans when he sees her, shooing her away. “Go. You’re banished.”

She laughs, sitting up at the breakfast bar in her pyjamas and shakes her head. “No way. I wanna meet him. What’s his name?”

Tony rolls his eyes, and he starts pulling stuff out of the cupboards. Flour, sugar, eggs- Nat frowns and wonders just how nervous he is. “Oh, right, his name, how could I forget? It’s- none of your business.” And then he pats her head with the newspaper.

She reaches forward and grabs the pot of frosting he’s taken out, popping the lid and digging out some with her finger. She’s watching her brother through her lashes, trying to be discreet, because he’s agitated, pacing, he’s a little sweaty, which is- weird. He must- the thought seems odd, he must really care about this guy.

So, she swallows her frosting, and goes for casual: “You know, Spongebob-Uglypants, I’ll probably like him, right? I like Clint, and Clint is a piece of garbage sometimes.”

Tony relaxes, just a little. “He’s uh- special.” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

Natasha wants to say: high school relationships don’t last and how long have you even known him?

But she doesn’t. She just offers the chocolate icing to Tony who takes some gratefully.

And then the doorbell rings.

Nat beams and Tony groans, and goes to answer it.

There’s silence for a moment and then-

“Oh my god, you taste like chocolate!” Comes a bubbly voice, and Natasha frowns, because that doesn’t sound like a motorbike riding, black leather wearing piece of boyfriend material-

And then they walk in.

She can’t help but sputter.

The guy next to Tony is- he’s- what the fuck.

He’s all small and dainty, with pastel highlights in his curly, light brown hair. He’s wearing a pink sweater and beige corduroys and he looks like- he’s- sweet- and friendly looking and- he smiles brightly once he sees her, and Natasha cannot compute because her brother is all in black, stone-faced and sarcastic, but this boy is-

“You must be Natasha!” He squeals delightedly, bounding forward with an outstretched hand. She shakes it in disbelief, eyes flitting to Tony for confirmation that this is a joke. It must be. “Tony’s told me so much about you! Oh my gosh, you guys look so alike!”

At that, both Tony and Natasha recoil.

Tony grabs Peter’s wrist, tugs him into his side and settles a hand instinctively onto his waist and Peter cuddles him automatically.

Oh god. This isn’t a joke.

This is- this is Tony’s boyfriend, this is-

“Peter,” Tony introduces, “this is my sister. She’s promised not to be annoying today.”

“Don’t think I promised that,” Natasha quips, finally dragged out of her stunned silence. She looks over Peter again, at the bright colours and big honey eyes. “Peter, how did you and my brother meet?”

Tony looks pained. “We don’t have to-“

“Oh, it’s so sweet!” Peter gushes, “I go to Murberry and we were having a decathlon contest against your school and I got lost on my way back from the bathroom and I ran into Tony! He was so sweet and funny! And we just hit it off, right, my gorgeous scientist?” Peter nuzzles Tony’s neck and presses a sweet kiss to his cheek and Natasha bites back her laugh because this is brilliant.

She needs to start recording this.

Tony looks like he’d kill her if she tried.

“That’s right, babe,” Tony sighs, sounding resigned to his fate.

Peter pouts up at him. “No, call me by the nickname you call me all the time-“

Natasha can’t help the giggle that slips out, and Tony glares at her without any heat before whispering: ‘bambi’ right into Peter’s ear.

Oh god. This is everything. Her brother is a softie. Oh god. His weakness is pretty boys who are on decathlon teams-

“We’re about to make cookies for the charity fun run winners, Nat!” Peter exclaims, as he and Tony walk around the counter. “Do you want to join us? Oh Tony! You got the white flour just like my Uncle- you didn’t have to! You are so sweet!” And he’s tiptoeing and kissing Tony again and-

This is brilliant. Her brother is a sweet, thoughtful softie. He’s not a cool guy at all. And all the ingredients on the counter now make sense.

Tony gives her a look that says: stay and die.

So, she decides to do him a favour. “I would, Peter,” she smiles warmly, because Peter is sweet and she likes him enormously. “But I have a lot of homework to do. Say bye before you go though, okay?”

“Okay! Good luck on your homework!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mutters, practically shoving her out.

For the rest of the evening, she hears Peter’s giggles and her brothers own, softer laughs. Laughter she’s never heard from him. She hears the low murmur of their conversation, and then silences where she tries not to think too hard about what’s happening.

When it hits midnight, and she needs to go to bed, she leaves her bedroom to tell Peter goodnight, and she finds her brother and his boyfriend on the couch, snuggled into each other, watching an old Friends episode.

“Natasha,” Peter blinks drowsily, sitting up. He’s so cute, he’s like a deer- oh. Bambi. “Hey,” he smiles, “wha’ time is it?”

She smiles back, “it’s almost midnight.”

“I need to be heading home,” Peter sighs, and Tony grumbles, half-asleep.

“Stay the night, bambi, please.”

Peter blushes a little, and kisses Tony’s nose. “I wish I could, handsome.”

Tony yawns, forcing himself up. “I’ll pick you up after practise tomorrow,” he promises, kissing Peter on the mouth, and Nat looks away politely.

“Only if you bring a spare helmet,” Peter chirps, and Tony swats at him but misses. His fingers are curled into Peter’s sweater, like he doesn’t want him to go, and Natasha can’t-

It was funny, before, with the flour in their hair and the pet names, but now- it’s just sweet and soft and warm and-

She thinks of Pepper and feels a little lonely.

After bidding Peter goodnight, Tony stares at her, as if waiting for the jokes to come, but she doesn’t have any. Okay, she does, but not for tonight.

“He’s nice,” she says, as lightly as she can, “I like him a lot. Plus, the house smells like cookies. It’s a yes from me.”

Tony scratches his chin where his awful, patchy, teenage stubble is starting to make an appearance. “It’s a yes from me too, squirt,” he says fondly, and they both go to bed.

* Natasha’s a protective little sister, just like Tony can be a protective older brother, so she stalks Peter’s facebook a little.

It’s all just gut-wrenchingly charming.

He posts an inordinate amount of cat memes but also lots of photos of him and Tony, and in all of them, Tony is a stoic-faced figure, effortless suave and leaning back with perfect hair in dark clothes, with Peter as his rainbow-splashed companion, with his huge smile and sun-dappled freckles.

Peter tags Tony in pretty much every post she sees and Tony replies to them all without fail.

Her brother is a sap, and honestly, Natasha’s kind of here for it.

Peter adds her on facebook and she hits accept- and then suddenly she’s getting tagged in stuff.

Stuff like tag the prettiest girl you know and who rocks red hair the best and- damn it, she’s getting more and more fond.

She hopes they don’t break up. She hopes high school relationships last.

Peter even comes to her recital. Rushes up to her back stage afterwards, flushed with glee, and gushes over how “amazing you are- oh god, you’re just- you’re amazing! Please tell me you want to be a violinist when you grow up.”

She laughs, glowing with pride and the rush of the performance, and shakes her head. “I don’t think so, it’s just a hobby. I’m glad you liked it though, Peter.”

“I just- Tony said how good you were, but you blew me away and-“

“Wait.” She cuts him off; surprised, “Tony said I was good?” Her arrogant, know it all brother said-

Peter rolls his eyes like she’s being silly. “He’s always talking about you! I feel like I already know you! He brags about you all the time. How you’re a black belt already, and how you stood up for that girl by punching that waiter in the face! And that he loves listening to you play- he’s come to all your recitals!”

She shakes her head, heart pounding with emotion. “That’s not- he hasn’t-“

Peter laughs, eyes crinkling, “he has! He takes a photo of you each time, he has an album on his phone- oh wait.” Peter suddenly looks worried, “that might be a present for you- oh no! Act surprised? Please?”

She can’t find the words.

She pulls Peter into a hug and shakes her head. “Tell my idiot brother I love him okay? And tell him to never let you go.” She says into his ear.

Peter beams, and kisses her cheek. “Okay! And there’s someone waiting to talk to you outside! They asked me to tell you!” And then he’s gone, no doubt to his very-in-love boyfriend aka her brother. Will wonders never cease?

Natasha puts on her coat, and goes out into the cool, crisp air of the parking lot.

Pepper’s standing there, holding a rose.

#starker #tony x peter #high school au #young tony #young peter #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #happy ending #dating #tony and natasha are siblings #natasha x pepper #tony is a softie #tony stark has a heart #slightly fem peter #precious peter parker #petnames #cute shit honestly #well i think so #popular tony

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snarkythewoecrow · 4 years

Text

Sick Day

by: Snarkymuch

Word count: 3.5k

Rating: T

Summary: Peter gets a call from Tony that makes him believe something's seriously wrong. He rushes to the lake house to make sure Tony is okay, only to find an exhausted Pepper, and Morgan proclaiming that her daddy has the plague. Peter volunteers to watch over Tony so Pepper can have a break. Tony is needy and whiny, Peter is trying his best, but things work out okay in the end.

AN: This is meant to be fun. It’s not to be taken seriously. Honestly, it’s borderline crack.

Read on AO3

Peter lounged on the couch, watching TV. It was the tail end of spring break, and he was spending it home visiting May and his friends. Tony had offered to send him to some place in Mexico, but Peter declined, wanting to relax close to home instead. The chip bag crinkled as he grabbed another Dorito and popped it into his mouth, huffing a laugh at SpongeBob as he took his driving test on the screen.

Just as Peter was grabbing another chip, his phone, which was on the coffee table, began blaring AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. Tony’s ringtone. Wiping the orange residue from the chips off on his shirt, he stretched out an arm, snagging the phone. He swiped to answer and then brought it to his ear.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter greeted, still half-watching SpongeBob. “What’s up?”

There was a rustling sound and then a cough. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been better for you.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, and he tensed, pushing the chips to the side and sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Take care of Morgan for me. She looks up to you.”

“Mr. Stark—Tony—What’s wrong? Are you okay?” There was another round of coughing, and Peter was already on his feet. “Tell me where you are.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Pete. This is it.”

“Are you home? Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

“Home,” Tony said with a raspy voice, “but you don’t need to come.”

Peter grabbed his keys from the dish on the table and bolted out of the door.

xXx

The ride to the lake house felt never-ending. He was pushing the speed limit, but it still felt like he was in slow motion. His mind replayed the conversation he’d had with Tony over and over. He had no idea what could have happened, but it sounded bad. Tony seemed like he was barely hanging on. The man had retired from Iron Man after Thanos, after months of physical therapy and a prosthetic arm. Peter worried that maybe this was some kind of after effect. The universe was refusing to let Tony rest, refusing to give him his happily ever after.

It was just after one o’clock when Peter pulled into the driveway to the lake house. The gravel crunched under the tires as he came to a stop. His palms were sweaty as he got out of the car and looked around. The usual vehicles were in their regular spots. Nothing seemed out of place. It was quiet except for the buzzing sounds of nature and the water lapping the shore.

Avoiding the spring mud, he crossed the yard and went to the door. He brought a hesitant hand up to knock, but before his knuckles hit the wood, the door swung open, startling Peter. He looked down at the little girl who was wearing a surgical mask and oversized dish gloves.

“Petey, daddy has the plague!”

Peter’s mouth opened and then closed, his brows pinching together. He frowned. “He has the what?”

Just then, a very disheveled Pepper stepped behind Morgan. Her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, stray hairs falling into her face. The only makeup she had on was mascara, and that looked a little smudged. She blew her bangs out of the way and dropped a hand on Morgan’s head, who looked up at her. A tired smile spread on Pepper’s face.

“Lunch is on the table. Why don’t you go eat while I talk to your brother?”

The mask didn’t hide her pout. “But I wanna see Petey.”

Pepper sighed. “Please? There will be time for Peter later.”

Morgan slumped. “Is he gonna fix daddy?”

That made Peter tense. He looked to Pepper, who smiled at him. She looked exhausted. “I don’t think there’s much he can do, but we’ll see.”

Morgan must have decided that was good enough because she spun, pushing past the door and heading into the house. Pepper sagged, tucking her hair behind her ear. Stepping to the side, she gestured for Peter to come inside.

He hesitated but complied.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked as he followed her to the kitchen where Morgan sat, eating her sandwich with rubber gloves still on and mask pushed up on her forehead. “Is Tony okay?”

Pepper grabbed her coffee cup and filled it. Turning back to him, she leaned against the counter. “Tony is—Tony is fine. He’s caught a flu bug from Morgan. She was sick last week.”

That didn’t make any sense, though. Tony had sounded awful. Peter was sure he had been dying from the way he spoke.

“I thought—he called me. He made it out like he was dying.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, huffing a little. “Of course he did, because he’s an overgrown child. Actually, no, a child handles being sick better than him. I’m sorry he made you come all the way out here, especially on your break.”

Peter frowned, looking to Morgan and then back to Pepper. “He’s really okay?”

“Yes, he’s just fine—well, as fine as you can be with the flu, but he’s definitely not dying.”

“Daddy said he has the plague,” Morgan said as she chewed. “That it mu—mut—”

“Mutated,” Pepper finished for her.

“Yeah, that. He said it was worse than the regular plague.”

“Oh, did he?” Peter asked, his nerves setting and feeling a little better. He had never seen Tony sick. Peter had seen him hurt, but in all the time he’d known him, he’d never been around him when he had the flu. Apparently, he wasn’t a very good patient.

“Yup,” Morgan said, going back to her lunch.

“So, you see, Peter, there isn’t an emergency. Just a big, sick baby and two very tired nurses.” Pepper looked at Morgan and smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, though. She looked run down.

Peter cleared his throat. “If you want—I mean, I could look after him for the day, give you two a break. You could catch a movie or something. I can watch him.”

Pepper visibly sagged with relief. “You’d really be willing to do that?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s no big deal. He can’t be that bad.”

Morgan finished her sandwich, pulling her mask back down on her face. Pepper took her plate and placed it in the dishwasher. She looked over her shoulder at Peter as she spoke. “I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Thank you, Peter. We really do need a break.” She turned to Morgan. “Go get your shoes on, and maybe leave your mask and gloves here.”

Frown lines appeared on Morgan’s brow. “But I need them for protection. I don’t want to catch the plague.”

Pepper shook her head. “Go put on your shoes, little miss. We can talk about your need for protection in a minute.”

Morgan scampered off, leaving Peter alone with Pepper.

“You sure you’re okay with this? He really is quite a handful when he’s sick.”

Peter nodded a few times. “Yeah, yeah, I got this. Enjoy your movie, do some shopping. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay, well, juice boxes are in the fridge. He only likes the grape ones. Cold medicine is the bathroom cabinet. He had some about an hour ago, so don’t let him fool you, and try to keep him off WebMD. Trust me. He convinced himself he had malaria last year because of that site.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, okay, I think I can do that.”

“Thank you,” she said, crossing over to him and drawing him into a hug. He melted into it, her hair tickling his ear. She pulled back, hands still on his arms. “Don’t let him run you ragged, okay?”

Peter lifted his brows. “Like he did you?”

She smiled. “Exactly. Take care of yourself.”

Pepper excused herself to go help get Morgan ready, and Peter began the journey up the stairs to Tony’s room.

He knocked on the door lightly, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. A moment later, a strained voice called him into the room.

Peter opened the door and stepped into the room, nearly stumbling at the sight in front of him. Tony was lying down, propped up on a pile of pillows. There were books and magazines strewn on the bed, two boxes of Kleenex sat beside him. A trashcan overflowing with used tissues was on the floor. There was a leaning tower of juice boxes on the nightstand, surrounded by bottles of vitamins and herbs. Peter blinked at it all. Unsure where to start.

“You didn’t need to come to say goodbye, but I’m happy I got a chance to see you before I go,” Tony rasped. A round of coughing followed his dramatic declaration.

Peter sighed, closing the door and going to his side. He grabbed one of the juice boxes and stabbed in the straw, passing it to Tony. “Here, take a drink.”

Tony’s coughing fit tapered off, and he gratefully accepted the juice, the small straw pressed between his lips looking ridiculous. Peter held back a smile.

The juice box buckled, and the straw slurped air. Tony released it, leaning back into the pillows, and Peter tossed the empty box into the trash. Tony patted the bed beside him, and Peter took a seat.

“We need to talk,” Tony said, expression serious. “There are things we need to get in order. I’ve already called my lawyers, but you should know, I’m leaving you shares in Stark Industries.”

Peter sighed, already feeling exhausted. “Mr. Stark, that’s really not necessary.”

“Peter, we need plans in place. It’s no big deal, just a few signatures. I think—”

“Stop! You’re not dying, Mr. Stark, and honestly, this conversation is pretty damned upsetting after almost losing you once.”

The memory of Tony’s face as he lay slumped on the battlefield flashed through his mind. He sucked in a breath, trying to clear his mind.

Tony shifted, reaching over with his prosthetic arm, taking Peter’s hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just no more death talk,” Peter said. “When was the last you’ve eaten?”

“Haven’t been able to, but I could use some more cold medicine.”

Peter remembered what Pepper had said. “You aren’t due any for a few hours.”

Tony’s dramatic sigh made Peter startle. He blinked at the man as he visibly pouted.

“Those doses are for weaklings, regular people, not people like me. I’m a hero, Pete.”

Peter raised his brows. “Well, you’re actually a retired hero, so you are, in fact, one of those regular people.”

Tony scowled at him. “I knew retirement was going to bite me in the ass.” Then his expression softened, and he batted his eyes. “Please, Peter, you don’t know what this is like—how it feels.”

“I’ve had the flu,” Peter deadpanned. “I know exactly how it feels.”

“I have a fever. I’m chilled.” Tony grabbed Peter’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. His eyes shut, and he looked like he fainted. Peter sighed. He didn’t feel any warmer than usual. Tony’s eyes popped open and gave Peter a beseeching look. “See? I’m burning up.”

“I’ll find a thermometer,” Peter sighed, getting up and crossing over to the bathroom. He dug around in the cabinet for a moment until he found it.

Back at Tony’s side, he took the man’s temperature. After it beeped, he read the display. It was one degree above normal. Rolling his eyes, he set the thermometer on the nightstand and turned to Tony.

“You can break it to me. I can handle it,” Tony said. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s barely over nighty-nine. I think you can handle it.”

Tony frowned. “When did you become so cruel—so coldhearted and jaded? I thought we had something special—a bond. I thought you understood me.”

Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time, Peter relented. Tony had done a lot for him over the years, and he did owe him. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little kinder. “Tell you what,” Peter said. “How about I go make you something to eat?”

“Pizza?”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Soup. I can make you some chicken noodle soup. It might help you feel better. That’s what May does for me.”

After making sure Tony was comfortable, Peter went to the kitchen to make soup. There was a rotisserie chicken in the fridge he could use, along with some vegetables. He was chopping the carrots when he heard a choking cough come from the bedroom. He paused, knife held over the cutting board as he listened. There was a strangled noise followed by more coughing. Tossing the knife down, he bolted for the stairs, flying up them two at a time. He threw Tony’s door open and took in the scene.

Tony was hunched forward on the bed, face red as he strained to breathe. Peter ran to his side, patting him on the back. Tony couched again hard, grabbing a tissue and bringing it to his mouth. A second later, Tony looked at the napkin and panicked.

“I’m hemorrhaging!” Tony exclaimed, holding up the tissue for Peter’s inspection.

Peter was so worried that he wasn’t even grossed out. He looked at the tissue, seeing a splotch of phlegmy grape juice and a large pill. Tony had chocked on what looked like a vitamin.

“How did you manage to choke? You weren’t tossing them in the air and trying to catch them, were you?” Tony frowned, averting his gaze, making Peter sigh. “Why are you even taking vitamins?”

“So, it’s not a piece of lung?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, not lung.”

He grabbed the nearest bottle of vitamins and opened it, peering inside. It was a match. Putting the lid back on, he checked the label. It was Biotin for Hair and Nails. Peter closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to center himself. When he agreed to watch Tony, he had no idea how ridiculous the man would be.

“Are these Pepper’s?” Peter asked.

Tony pursed his lips but reluctantly shrugged. “You wouldn’t give me more medicine.”

“Throw the tissue away and no more vitamins. I mean it.”

“But—”

“Nuh-uh, you’re lucky you haven’t overdosed, popping these things like candy.”

The corners of Tony’s mouth twitched downward. “You think I overdosed?”

“I doubt it, but I’m taking these bottles with me. You don’t need them anymore.” Peter collected the bottles in his arms and turned to Tony. “Just drink a juice box or something. I’ll be back with soup soon.”

The soup was bubbling away on the stove. He cheated and used some chicken stock he’d found in the cupboard, but he wanted it done sooner rather than later. The noodles were just cooking when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Pepper’s cell. Swiping to the side, he answered.

“Hey, Pepper, how’s it going?”

“We just finished shopping, and now we’re thinking about a movie. There’s a double feature, but I wanted to check with you first. Do you think you can handle Tony that long?”

Peter stirred the soup. “Yeah, yeah, no problem, absolutely. Take your time. We’ll be fine.”

“Thank you for this, Peter. It’s really been good to get out.”

After brief goodbyes, they disconnected, and Peter stuffed the phone back in his pocket. The timer went off, and he checked the soup, ladling out a noodle and plucking from the spoon with his fingers. He blew on it a few times and then popped it in his mouth to check it. They were perfect. Shutting off the heat, he grabbed a bowl and spoon and got Tony some.

When he got to Tony’s room, he nudged the door open with his foot and carried the steaming soup to Tony, who was waiting impatiently. The remote was in pieces on the bed. It looked like he’d taken it apart to upgrade it. Peter didn’t comment on it. Instead, he crossed the room and passed Tony the bowl.

Peter waited, quietly biting his tongue while Tony poked at the contents. He spooned up a carrot, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“I don’t like carrots.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ve literally watched you eat carrots and ranch while working in the lab.”

“These carrots are cooked—all squishy and soft.”

Peter sighed. “Then don’t eat them.”

Tony dropped the offending carrot in the trash and then began stirring his soup. A moment later, another followed the first and then another. Peter could feel his patience thinning.

Finally, with all the carrots fished out, Tony took a tentative sip from his spoon. He held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing and then looking at Peter. “It’s bland.”

“You’re sick. It’s supposed to be.”

Tony pouted. “Can I have some salt?”

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, I’ll go find you some salt.”

A quick trip to the kitchen found him the salt, and he was back in Tony’s room, passing it to him. Tony shook into the bowl.

“You’re putting too much,” Peter warned.

Tony scowled and shook it again a few more times.

“What do I know?” Peter mumbled.

Setting the saltshaker down on the nightstand, Tony stirred his soup and then took a sip of broth. His eye twitched, and he grimaced.

“You put too much. Just admit it.”

“Nope, it’s perfect,” Tony said, taking another grimace inducing bite. Peter rolled his eyes and plopped down in the chair near the bed. He watched a Tony choked down his salty soup. The man was stubborn. Peter would give him that.

Once most of the soup was gone, Tony set the bowl on the nightstand, avoiding his pile of juice boxes.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Peter suggested.

Tony frowned. “I’m not tired.”

“You know, I’m really seeing where Morgan gets her personality from.”

Tony ignored his comment, turning to the remote that is in pieces. With nimble fingers, Tony had it reassembled in minutes and flipping on the TV. “Let’s watch a movie. Maybe we can watch Back to the Future again, or Terminator. No, maybe something softer instead like Tangled or Frozen.”

“Aren’t those Morgan’s favorites?”

Tony shrugged as he selected Tangled and settled back against his pillows. Peter’s stomach took that moment to rumble, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the Doritos that morning. Getting up, he told Tony he would be right back and went to the kitchen. He was just looking through the cabinets for a snack when he heard Tony whining his name from upstairs. Sighing, Peter snagged the box of Wheat Thins and trudged back to his room.

When he got back to the room, he found Tony sitting in bed, with the thermometer in his hand. He held it out for Peter. “My fever has gone up, and my pillow is lumpy, and is it time for more medicine yet?”

Peter sighed and got to work. It was going to be a long night.

xXx

Pepper unlocked the door, bags full of clothes and ice cream in her arms. It was late. They had stayed out longer than she had planned, going to dinner after the movie, but they’d stopped on the way home for ice cream. She’d even bought caramel sauce for the top because it was Tony’s favorite.

Despite the busy day, Morgan was still full of energy, helping her put away the ice cream. There was no sign of Peter, so she assumed he was upstairs with Tony. Together, she and Morgan headed to the room she shared with Tony.

When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her made her heart melt. Peter in curled up in the chair, hair sticking up at odd angles and a juice box clutched in his hands.

She stepped into the room, stopping beside the bed. “What did you do to him?”

Tony gave her an innocent expression. “I didn’t do anything. The kid just makes a great nurse. Did you know he can cook? He made me soup, Pep, soup! I’m feeling pretty good now.”

Pepper smiled softly, as Morgan climbed into the bed with her father, laying on his chest and hugging him.

“No more gloves and mask?” Tony asked.

Morgan shook her head. “They made my hands sweaty, and my nose itch.”

Tony laughed. “I think you’re safe anyway.”

“Mommy got us ice cream, with caramel.”

“Oh, did she? And why don’t I have a bowl then?”

Pepper gave him an assessing look. “Are you sure you’re well enough for a treat?”

“Everyone feels well enough for ice cream,” Tony said. “Seriously, I feel like a million bucks. Okay, maybe not a million but a solid thousand.”

Pepper laughed. “Okay, I’ll get you a bowl, but since you’re feeling better, I expect to see your ass out of bed tomorrow. I think we’re all feeling worn out.”

“Mommy said a bad word!”

Tony laughed, kissing Morgan’s head. “That she did. I promise, Pep. I’ll behave.”

Morgan squirmed in his arms. “Should I wake Petey up for ice cream?”

Tony shook his head, brushing the hair out of Morgan’s face. “Nah, let him sleep. He’s earned it.”

#Fanfictions #peter parker #tony stark #sickfic #hurt/comfort #humor #snark writes

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squiddytentacles · 5 years

Photo

Tree Trouble

“Sandy and Karen combine minds to help get Sandy out of serious trouble from an experiment.”

Karen/Sandy, Gen, 3,500 words

“Well, shoot,” Said Sandy as she wiped some dust off of her gloves and boots. “That was closer than a bull at a glue convention!” To really get a look at the damage she was talking about, the squirrel had to take a few large steps back.

Her beloved Tree no longer standing. A pile of splintered wood, broken belongings, and branches. She had been standing in the bathroom just moments before she heard an unfamiliar creaking. Upon investigating she found a Nematode, she put two and two together and high-tailed it out of her house. The foundations had been weakened, and chose that moment to completely give out.

Unharmed by the wreckage, her scientific equipment stands still running the tests she’d programmed it to run on some new fauna she’d come across recently. The specimen must have been housing a family of Nematodes. Too blinded by the prospect of a meal to realize they’d dry out without Ocean water, hopping out of the experiment tank, and doing their business before quietly passing away.

Sandy can’t feel too sympathetic, they destroyed her house!

KEEP READING (ao3)

A lifetime of scouting taught Sandy to always be prepared. And growing a new Tree ain’t no thing. The pests hadn’t survived long enough to entirely eat through her valuables. What wasn’t completely wrecked could be fixed. It would be time consuming, and frustrating, but she’s wrangled far worse.

She clears what she can salvage out of the wreckage, buries the Nematodes. She needs advanced hardwear to dig the roots of the deceased Tree out of the ground, but she succeeded - pushed some dirt around, planted an acorn and patted herself on the back. “Nothing can stop this country girl!” She shouts.

One of her experiments is even focused around sped up growth in plant life! With a small flair of dramatics, she pulls out her latest concoction. It glows purple, and bubbles - unleashing a putrid smell. “The Essence of Manure,” Sandy says to herself, grinning. The scent was so awful, it even drove her to put on her Sea Suit. Glass is a blessing.

“Alright, little acorn, bottoms up!” She pours the entire test tube, and takes a few rather large steps back.

Her tail twitches in anticipation.

She wants a place to sleep tonight…

The ground begins to shake and Sandy grins, steadying herself is easy. She plants her feet firmly in the grass. “Grow!!” She shouts. “GROOOOOW!!”

And so it does.

It’s a sapling, and suddenly, the base of the newly sprouted tree widens, and more branches sprout. Their first leaves fall, and just as suddenly, new blossoms appear. The taller it gets the more acorns appear - small, and misshapen. Sandy marvels at the effect, and soon the Tree is looking strong, and mighty.

Sandy sighs in accomplishment. She’d have to clear out the insides while maintaining the structure, but the part that took the longest was already done!

As it grows taller than ever before, though, Sandy questions if ‘done’ was the right word to use.

“What in Tarnation.. That’s enough!!” She shouts, hoping to reason the mutation? “Stop it, you incredible advancement in botany, you!” The leaves brush the top of the treedome, and just as Sandy was fearing. Branches start bending in line with the dome - and Sandy realizes that instead of growing up and breaking through the glass, the Tree was conforming to the space.

Which meant…. The Up that the tree was growing in was going to become Down, and Down is where she is. She sees the branches are starting to cover the door and she doesn’t waste a moment abandoning everything and sprinting to the airlock.

A glance behind her reveals how thick the bark is becoming, how sturdy it is forming as it crawls across the glass dome. A mess of brown and green leaves lay on the ground, but the soil beneath them gives out as the roots grow larger, and soon all Sandy can see is wood..

She thanks Neptune her diving suit is already on. With all her might, she pulls the branches out of the way of the doorknob before everything got entangled. They started growing back without a pause though, and she grinds her teeth. With a Texas sized roar, she heaves a large portion of the mutant tree off the door, giving herself a brief moment to escape the deathtrap her home was becoming.

Metal rings out as she slams the door shut behind her, and she runs through the other front door faster than you can say “is it wrong to play god?”.

From a safe distance, Sandy Cheeks witnesses her Tree completely encompass all the space in the treedome. It even spits out a bit through the door, slowed down, but not stopping. Sandy imagines for a moment that it grows to the size of the entire ocean and her brain scampers away from panic as she tries to think of ways to stop it.

She has tons of ideas, ways to counteract the mutation. The materials she needs however, are crushed in an impenetrable fortress of Pure Texan Bred Treebark.

“Dang nabbit.” She mutters to herself, and thinks about where she can get the items to scrap everything together when the most intelligent thought Sandy’s had all day comes to mind.

Karen has a lab.

Winded from how fast she ran, the squirrel has to take a moment to gather herself before approaching the entrance to the Chum Bucket. She knocks urgently. “You gotta let me in, it’s an emergency!!”

The door opens by itself- No, Plankton opens the door, looking irate. “Excuse me, some people are trying to SCHEME HERE.” He bellows as loud as he can, but Sandy rolls her eyes. She doesn’t have time to deal with Plankton’s showboating.

“Not now, Plankton, I gotta borrow your lab!” Sandy says, stepping over the copepod and into the restaurant.

Hopping up on Sandy’s shoulder, rather than running to keep up, Plankton knocks on the glass dome protecting Sandy’s head, “and you think I’m going to allow this... why?”

“Oh, I’m not really askin’ you.” The squirrel informs him, amused, and leads herself to the back of the Chum Bucket where the action really happens.

In fact, the very moment that Sandy steps foot into the Lab a screen that was showing a rather intense game of solitaire blinked into a pixel smile. “Oh, hey there, Sandy!” Came Karen’s electronic voice, seemingly from the entire room.

As much as Karen would proclaim that machines don’t feel anything, Sandy can’t help but always fixate on how happy Karen sounds to see her. She smiles back, just as Plankton starts grousing in her ear about how it’s HIS lab and so it’s HIS decision whether the squirrel gets to mess with HIS stuff-- and after a while where he won’t let Sandy get a word in edgewise, Karen extends an arm and plucks him off of her shoulder, and then lets that arm keep extending all the way out of the Chum Bucket.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Plankton!” She shouts out the door, and then her arm zips back to her side. There’s a shriek, and then a begrudging mumble of acceptance, and Sandy looks to where Karen has rolled near her, with her arms crossed and a question mark on her screen.

“What, your lab at home not good enough for ya all of the sudden?” She asks,

“There ain’t no you back home.” Sandy says with a weak laugh, partially to counter Karen’s dry tone, and partially in truth. Karen’s screen fizzles slightly, but Sandy misses it. “But I got a real problem growin’ back home.” She says, already running to gather the materials from Plankton and Karen’s impressive stock. “And I mean really growin’.” She fixes Karen with a wide eyed look to prove her point.

Then, she dives into a thorough explanation of what she needs to counteract the growth mutation the Acorn absorbed. Karen processed everything quickly, and even gave a few tips on things she could cut out of the formula to make the process go faster. Plankton may claim the lab is his, but it’s always been maintained by Karen, and she knows the place much better than he ever could.

With Sandy and Karen working together, they finish in two shakes of a cow’s tail. Sandy says as much, which gets a small laugh out of Karen. Sandy’s house might be destroyed, but it’s hard to feel bad after hearing a beautiful chime like that.

Together, they rush out of the Chum Bucket, over the sand hills over to the tangle of wood that was once the Treedome.

The glass had since shattered, and the Tree was growing every which way. She hopped on Karen and they rolled around the radius of the thing - to find that it was mighty close to Spongebob’s house a similar fate to hers at the beginning of this mess. Still rolling, she points to a branch extending tall enough she can climb on.

Karen, seeing the direction, speeds up, rolls in close, and then tosses Sandy up on the branch. The squirrel wasn’t expecting that much help, but she catches herself with two feet on the branch, and flashes Karen a thumbs up.

She starts climbing upward - the Tree from a distance looks more like an Urchin than anything else. Sandy wants to get as close to inside the center as she can - to find the heart of the Tree. Theoretically, pouring the new solution there would be a key to ending her mistake.

Her diving suit is holding her down, as much as having pockets is a major boon. She needs to go faster, so she shakes the suit off - it sinks into a tangle of branches and gets enveloped in the wood. The bottle is held tightly in the curl of her tail, and she uses her natural born talent as a climber to get to the very top of the mass.

The ocean is more turbulent the higher you go, and Sandy has to really hold on to not have the current carry her away. She tries pouring a bit of the serum on an outermost branch, and it withers away, but only that branch, until it reached a connecting mass and nothing happened. She’d have to make the amount she had count at the best possible place.

She has to go inside.

She hears static coming through her helmet, her rarely used communicator coming to life. “If you’re thinking about going in there, Cheeks, I would think again.” It’s Karen, voice comforting if tone abrasive. Or maybe it’s worry? “I’ve been scanning the way your Mutation grows, and 70% of it’s energy is spent compressing, and moving the older branches within.”

It’s not exactly reassuring. But Sandy is nothing if not confident. She huffs a laugh, knowing Karen will hear her.

“There is probably another way to stop it.” Karen states.

Sandy looks to where a branch spears through the innocent pineapple home. Gary could be in there. The squirrel doesn’t want to imagine what she’d do if something actually got hurt from her experiment.

“Thank you, Karen.” Sandy says genuinely, even though the computer has said nothing optimistic. The fact that she reached out was enough for Sandy in that moment.

There’s a pause before Sandy hears. “You got this, girl.” rattle around in her helmet, and she smirks. With a shout, she slinks downward into the tangle.

She chops the foliage trying to constrict her away. It’s like being attacked from all sides, being closed in on by walls on every plane of existence. Sandy’s no wet blanket, though, and she spins through the branches like a hacksaw. A similar sound even ringing throughout the ocean to drive home the effect.

The dome of her helmet is getting thoroughly scratched. She will admit to herself, damage to her personal helmet wasn’t something she accounted for. There’s no time to worry, though, and summons all her personal stamina and adrenaline to force her way through the very mistake she wrought to it’s heart.

The largest circumference she’s seen out of all the branches and possible roots so far. It creaked with every move it made, thrumming with energy and only one way to spend it. As Sandy had bellowed mere hours ago, it must Grow.. it must…….--

Sandy dumps the entire content in her container on what she hopes and prays is truly the root of the mutation. It sizzles against the wood, any splash back makes her fur tingle, but she is otherwise unharmed by the substance.

The churning and twisting of branches grinds to a halt - very literally grinding and shaving itself into pieces. The sound of creaking branches stops echoing around the scientist from every direction.

“By Neptune’s Laptop.. You did it Sandy! It’s completely stopped! Fantastic!” Karen sings through her speakers.

Pride and something mushy wells up in Sandy’s chest, and she sighs through a very wide smile. She’s always been pretty good at fixing her own messes, not just other peoples’. She allows herself to breathe without a metaphorical ball of stress blocking her lungs. What she just did was outlandishly dangerous, but she’s survived.

Now she just has to get out…

Sandy tries to move her limbs, and finds they crumble right through some of the weaker branches.

In that moment, the entire structure loses its shape - and much like her original Tree weakened by Nematodes - the mutated bundle crushes down into a disheveled pile. One which Sandy very suddenly finds herself on the bottom of.

She hears Karen’s panicked shouts echo in her helmet, and Sandy finds herself answering with a scream of her own as a particularly heavy piece of deadwood falls on her left leg and tail. The more the wood decays, the more water it absorbs. It’s agonizing, but Sandy uses her arms and free leg and is able to slowly push it off. The damage is done, and she whimpers as she curls around her limbs.

“Medic.” She whimpers, and as much as she fights it the pain overwhelms her senses and she passes out.

…

Karen immediately faxes emergency services, after Sandy’s cry for help. Her processors feel like they’re spinning a mile a minute, but Karen is able to compartmentalize it into a megabyte of data. “Sandy are you with me?” She asks, to no response, but she can hear the soft wheeze of her mammalian lungs. “I’m gonna get you out of there,” She reassures unaware ears - and rolls toward the Chum Bucket.

Then, takes a sharp turn towards the Krusty Krab. The doors slam open as she rolls exceedingly fast through them. Right to where Eugene Krabs is clutching a defeated looking Sheldon J. Plankton. She snatches her roommate, then continues on into the Kitchen.

Spongebob stops whistling, a little startled at the entrance. A small part of Karen’s programming urges her to take a Patty right off the grill. She reaches her free hand out and instead grabs the frycook himself. “Sorry, buster, I’m gonna borrow you for a minute.” She says, unapologetically.

"Okidokie!" The sponge answers happy-go-luckily.

Wasting no more time, she zooms back out the front entrance. She passes Mr. Krabs, who angrily yells, “Get back here with me Employee-r!!” He doesn’t give chase, though, and instead turns to his other employee who’s yet to do anything even during Plankton’s attack. “Mr. Squidward, after that CPU!! That’s an order!!”

“No,” Squidward responds - and that’s all Karen hears from them, because she’s out the door. She explains in curt words what’s happening to Plankton and Spongebob and rolls over more hills to the pile of soaked rotting wood that was keeping her clearly injured friend trapped.

“We have to save her!!” Spongebob cries, eyes actually tearing up from Karen’s description of the events and worry for his friend.

Plankton however, is still stinging from the embarrassment Krabs just dished him, and says mockingly, “Whatever plan you THINK is going to work, probably ain’t likely, sister.”

Karen feels her fans kick in as more heat builds up in her processors. She’s been monitoring Sandy - broadcasting everything she says as well - only to thankfully steady breathing. “Unlike you, I am asking for help, peabrain.” Karen answers flatly.

They’re close to the wreckage which hasn’t seemed to diminish in size, even as some wood floats away - taken with the current. Karen immediately scans it’s infrastructure, and it’s not looking good. She knows the heavier things will eventually gravitate down and fall through the weaker branches that hadn’t disintegrated. Karen doesn’t want to consider the chances of more things falling on Sandy, but she’s a computer and the calculations come naturally.

“How can we help..?” Spongebob clenches his fists, ignores that he’s sniffling, instead feeling fired up to help save one of his close friends who risked her life for his house.

Karen rolls to a stop and drops the men on the ground. She rolls back and forth like a drill sergeant and explains in great detail how she wants Plankton to use size to his advantage and climb through the gaps in the wood. Karen, using her scanners, will direct Plankton to Sandy.

He is to have a cord wrapped around him to pull him out if he gets stuck, but more importantly, to tug Spongebob into where he is. Karen rationalizes that Spongebob wouldn’t be able to actually maneuver himself through the wood, but with enough strength could be dragged through.

“... If you can’t manage it, big guy, you’ll have to wake up Sandy.”

There’s not even a moment given to think over the plan before the shortest of their party rolled his eye. “Ugh! No!”

Karen crosses her arms, not wanting to prolong anymore time, but unable to stop the buzz of annoyance toward her ex-husband. “You’re not going to wake her up?”

“I’m not doing any of it!” Plankton stomps his foot, then points dramatically at Karen. “You want me to risk being crushed into a Plankton Pancake for your little girlfriend, and I am not having it!!”

Spongebob picks Plankton up gently, causing the restaurant owner to yell profanities at the frycook, which get muffled as Spongebob cups Plankton inside his hands. “What are we gonna do once I’m inside??”

While she’s yet to make any expressions appear on her face throughout her description of her plan, she sounds extremely self assured, likely from her plan being statistically sound, but it’s a good feeling. Like when she hangs out with Mrs. Puff and Sandy and feels proud to be herself. “The Fire Department will arrive, and I will direct them to hose the pile - I’m 97% certain that you will absorb the water, expanding enough to jostle the cluster free.”

Plankton squeezes his head through a small gap in Spongebob’s makeshift cage. “Why not just wait for them to axe it all down?”

It’s something she has considered, and is certain that the foundation wouldn’t be able to handle such physical forces without possibly unleashing something on Sandy, buried so far in the center. Karen feels her vocalization banks far away, and as she leans her screen closer to the man who essentially gave her sentience her voice cracks. “Sheldon… Please.”

Plankton’s eyebrow furrows, struck silent by what could only be described as the emotion in Karen’s voice. He glances behind him, to the pile, considers the plan, and sheepishly looks back to his ex-wife… they somehow parted on goodterms…… He can’t keep letting his other failures get in the way of that.

“Fine.” His attempt at sounding grouchy comes off a bit emotionally shaken, but neither Karen or Spongebob say anything. The three of them get to work, quickly, but extremely functionally.

“Hang in there, Bushy-Tushy…” Karen directs to the still unconscious squirrel through her microphone. “We’ve got’cha.”

Sandy shudders into consciousness in the back of the ambulance. She doesn’t speak, or groan, just hangs in the moment. The ride isn’t particularly wild, but she’s jostled none the less. One particular sharp turns makes her very aware of the pain in her leg - and the fact that she couldn’t at all feel her tail.

She whimpers, and clenches her hands - then realizes one of her fists aren’t empty. She’s clutching onto something metal, yet warm - like a phone running too many apps. The hand is holding her back gently, but the presence feels so solid to her… She squints open an eye - stunned for a moment at the stark bright lights. She blinks, and through her scratched up diving helmet she can see Karen. She almost mistakes her for a life-support monitor, but Sandy knows better.

She smiles, and before her eye slips shut, she sees a beautiful smile appear where a horizontal line once sat across the AI’s face.

“I’ve got you, Sandy,” Karen’s voice crackles through the white noise of the ambulance.

Sandy Cheeks has lost a lot today, however - she can’t help but consider that maybe she’s gained something. “I know,” she whispers fondly - giving the metallic hand a squeeze not influenced by pain before letting the painkillers lull her back to sleep.

#Sandy Cheeks #Karen Plankton #Spongebob Squarepants #Sheldon J. Plankton #karendy #i make the rules and i say karen and plankton aren't together anymore but still live together

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imagine-a-killingharmony · 5 years

Text

Drunk V3 Boys!

How about a s/o that has to deal with the v3 boys getting super drunk and then the after math of how is the hangover. ( bonus points if drunk kokichi says the " Finland" spongebob meme) please and ty

Quickly, just imagine them as adults like I am- underage drinking is a big fat “no”, look at me being an... dork. But anyway In the less dork-part let’s say this... I’m literally a giant mess who hasn’t ever been drunk or anything, I don’t really know the effects so we’re going to use those anime-type-of-drunk which is very likely VERY inaccurate or... somewhat-realistic I don’t know. But woah.

Kiibo (Error! Error! Overheating!)

After coming back from his last check-up from Miu you were expecting to be cuddled up close with Kiibo on the couch, watching nextflix- some cheesy Disney movie which you’ve already seen thousands of time before... that’s what you thought....

Till Kiibo walked in adjusted by an trembling Miu who had her arm slung around him, she looked down on the verge of tears muttering about being “so disrespected”, Kiibo sluggishly rolls his head up bursts of steam expanded from every inch of his body.

“... U... Uuuh... there was a function I added inside of em’ to test some booze I was plannin’ on drinking... it was... uh... successful but... J-Just take him- I don’t want to be fuckin’ called out anymore!”

Miu threw Kiibo in your direction running back from once she came, wiping at her eyes as she whined about “how mean” he was... you could only watch Kiibo stir awake, nervousness pricked at your stomach as you realized she made Kiibo try an alcoholic... BEVERAGE!

“... (S/O)?” Kiibo glances up at you, blinking once or twice as he took in his surroundings, you asked if he was okay- he groggily nodded his head. “Never better (S/O)... but... Miu... I-I was just telling her about how stupid it is that she puts herself down almost all the time when she has a brilliant mind, then her very inappropriate attitude- which she presents herself to cover up that wall of self-esteem issues she has... Ah... then there was me getting onto the fact that most people are uncomfortable with the sexual intuendos she has- and for some odd reason before I could say anymore she dragged me here...”

“... I rebooted on the way... once or twice...”

“... what.” Oh. Oh my god... He... What? Kiibo said that?

“... Yes... Hey (S/O) actually I-I have some things to say about you too, look me in the eyes, look at me right now please...” Kiibo cups your face, he looks you right in the eyes, those aren’t the soft loving eyes you know- those are eyes that... are going to fucking destroy you.

Kiibo holds your face tight, escape is impossible, he sluggishly rolls his head as a soft frown falls on his face.

“... You have your errors yourself actually... like... how you...”

...

You failed... you are absolutely burnt, just turned into soot by the end of his rant, he’s just sleeping peacefully under the blankets that you had gotten for “cuddle night”, you don’t feel soft at all- you just feel absolutely WRECKED.

Shuichi Saihara (Sad Drunk)

You had both gone out on a party together, specifically a reunion with your classmates which Kokichi was hosting... which already sported red flags but you all didn’t question it, that is until people started to drop like flies... people who drank the punch specifically dropped like flies.

Kaede asked who made the punch... when the relevation that it was Miu and Kokichi themselves it all fell into place like a puzzle, they spiked the goddamn punch.

One of the victims... happened to be Shuichi, a light-weight he hugged your arm tightly slurring and whirling, tears fell down his face as he cried and sobbed about the world.

“... (S-S-S/O!) It’s no fair... I-Iiiii never did anything wrong so why does everything hafta’ be against meeeee...? *hic* it’s unfair.... unfairunfairunfair!”

It’s the fifth time you pat his back, he leans in for a better hold of you so you can give him more affection, he loves that so please do go on, he lets out a slurred hiccup.

“... (S-S/O) a... aaare you seeing anyone...? You always were soooo pretty... and... aaand niiiiice... *hic* and... aaand it make me really happy... I-Iiii wanted to date you since forever ago...”

... How drunk is he to forget the two of you are already dating? “I am.”

Shuichi’s eyes widen, he presses himself up against you with an wail as he starts to cry harder. “Of course yu are- H-Hic- I’m NOT CRYINGF.”

You can’t help but to wonder how he’ll feel in the morning, for now you try to give your poor drunk boyfriend solace as you explain how the two of you are already well- dating.

Luckily, Shuichi falls asleep on your lap while you comfort him, the tears having tired him out... he put his hands around your waist, he bids the world “night night”.

Ryoma Hoshi (Excitable Drunk)

Ryoma wasn’t a heavy drinker, actually he had never drank an drop of the stuff ever, prison doesn’t allow those sort of luxuries, besides he just didn’t want to ruin his reputation by drinking at about fifteen or some shit.

So... he was old enough, the two of you were going on a date here... he’d was just chugging the stuff considering he wanted to see how it tasted, which was rather gross under further consideration... but what he happened to pick up is that he wasn’t feeling all that woozy... guess he ain’t no light-weight.

But he sure ain’t no god, it takes about three whole damn bottles for the effects to start to shine.

...It takes five whole damn bottles for him to actually feel anything, you kept a close eye on your boyfriend as he put the second bottle down with a huff, wiping at his mouth with a “wew”!

“... That was uh, gross taste, heh.” Ryoma pulled his hat up, his cheeks flush slightly pink as he looked around. “Hey. Hey (S/O) you gorgeous son of a bitch look at me.” As soon as you even give him your attention he fingerguns.

... Ryoma wobbly pulls himself up, he doesn’t look like he’ll trip, honestly somehow he still has his balance as he takes your hand.

“... Oh my god I just had an amazing idea. We should adopt,,, a lot of cats,,, not like,,, any cats,,, but... buuuut like an shop full of them,,, and name each of them something silly...” Ryoma’s eyes sparkle deviously. “... Or... like... like... steal everybody’s cats... so we remain the supreme leaders of feline...”

“... Ryoma... do... do you feel tired? Want to take a nap, as amazing ideas as these sound I don’t think your in the right state of mind for... this.” If you let any of this happen, Ryoma’s going to hate himself in the morning.

“I know what I’m doing... I have a license... gimme a sec...” Ryoma pulls out a piece of paper, writes on it, flips it to reveal in sloppy handwriting: “I knwo wat Im do”

You try to survey his features after writing that, all he does is shoot his fingerguns at you.

...Okat you honestly need to take a few pictures of this to show Ryoma later oh my god he’s wobbling towards the door to bring one of those plans he’s mentioned to full-glory, you locked the door for Ryoma, his drunken brain can’t comprehend how to use a step-ladder. You just go to get him some water...

Kaito Momota (... Tired Drunk)

Kaito wouldn’t drink... much, sure, he would totally forge an certificate to like- well, go to space but that was for a good cause! Stuff like drinking was meant to be done for special events and shit otherwise you might get hooked!

And he didn’t actually mean to get drunk on you! He promised he just... kind of mistook the wine in the fridge as the grape panta, he was thirsty- and really fucking tired! Okay? He didn’t expect when he chugged the whole bottle down for the world to... to... hnnnnnn... what’s the word...?

It took a while for you to notice anything was amiss, Kaito had taken himself out of the room to “go get a drink” then he still never came back, so you went to check on your boyfriend to see if he still hadn’t gotten anything, needed some help.

What you didn’t expect to see was Kaito Momota Luminary of the Stars on the floor looking back up at the ceiling mindlessly, with that bottle of wine held tightly in his hands.

“... D... Doo... yu... think it’d be a bd idea if I trie... tried to take a np here? Jst... slep untl a hangover fcks me the hell up, everything hur ts.”

... Oh god! That’s even more errors than usual, so it’s likely on purpose! Kaito’s DRUNK!

You go to get some water for him in the fridge, Kaito’s still looking at the ceiling talking to himself slightly hushed, you don’t know what he’s thinking but he looks like he’s having an ephiphany about the world.

“Holy... Hly sht (S/O) I jst realized how fuckin... weird that Shuichi’s hair stands up like that... he doesn’t use anything to make it like that so how.”

“... Kaito I don’t think your in the right state of mind to make choices like that...” You offer some water to him, his eyes widen.

“Why... Why is everyone’s hair dyed- Like is it actually dyed? Or is it just natural- how can it be natural tho... unless... oh my god (S/O)... we’re in an anime I can’t believe it.”

“Kaito I think you need an second...”

“No. No I know what I’m sayin- oh my god we’re the main characters in some weird anime (S/O)... that’s the only explanation,,, I have to tell... Tsumugi but my legs won’t work nn nn n n..”

... You just pat his head, Kaito grimaces... he was absolutely wasted so everything he said held no inch of truth in it, you just hoped that soon enough your efforts to help him better bare fruit... So he doesn’t make anymore odd claims like him and his friends are in some “weird anime”!

Winks at the fourth wall.

Rantaro Amami (Immune System Of God)

Rantaro... wasn’t a drinker... well besides those really fancy drinks that he usually saw when you both got out, those always looked like a magical experience to try out so he usually did buy those but... he’s never actually gotten legitimately “drunk”, it may be because he never drinks too much.

Then there was the time that had asked Rantaro if he had ever gotten in all words actually “drunk” he responded with a shrug: “I guess I do...? Uh, I’m usually in the right state of mind afterwards still... enough to walk...”

... This was a topic which needed much more exploration... so you went out to a bar together, you swore that anything he got was on you... he squinted but still he bought some colorful drinks in funny-looking cups, peering towards you while he did...

...

He wasn’t actually drunk even after drinking quite a bit, what is this man, how is his immune system keeping him awake? Rantaro chuckles... “Yeah, I think that’s enough for tonight.. come on let’s go home.”

You either failed or this task is just impossible, you take the hand he offers you and walk outside with him... the only noticeable effect are the times he almost bumps into the wall but other than that... nothing...

He knows how to hold his liquor...

Gonta Gokuhara (Clumsy Drunk)

This was Kokichi’s fault, that’s all you know... he offered something for Gonta, that’s what he told you when he gave you back a stumbling crying boyfriend.

“... How did you even get him to drink this- oh my god! Gonta- baby please go lay down on the couch...” You led Gonta to the couch to sit down, he sobbed loudly into the pillow almost falling off, you gave a harsh glare to the Supreme Leader who chuckled at your displeasure.

“I told him it was “Respect Women Juice! TM! Yeah he really just drank it without an inch of hesitance...! Then he fell over drunk, it was hilarious till I had to actually bring him here.”

Gonta let out another loud sob as he fell over off the couch onto the floor, crying about how “Gonta caaaan’t see...!!!”

“You... are one screwed up... mess of a person Kokichi Ouma...” Pushing Gonta back onto the couch you tried to reassure him everything was alright, Kokichi grinned at you putting both of his hands behind the of his head.

“Oh I know... I know really quite well! Good luck dealing with him!”

Kokichi left the two of you alone together, you just let Gonta cry against you about how everything felt so weird... offering some water and some hugs, you’ll get revenge at Kokichi for this... you swear to it.

Kokichi Ouma (Angry Drunk)

... How... Who the hell had enough of your boyfriend to go and make him chug down so much alchohol he got drunk, god knows, but he was now... here... and slurring about some criticisms you didn’t know he had...

“Like... (S/O) it’s so stupid... instead of like... liiiike... getting mad at me when I insult her she usually gets off on it... it’s so gross,,, like how horny can somebody be (S/O)? How HORNY can you be?”

“... Kokichi... do you need a...” Despite how you tried to chime in he always cut you off, with a half-awake grumble...

“No... No let me say this... Hiiiii... iii... so... so what the hell is with Kaito’s sense of logic....? I know, know for a fact he CAN be stupid enough to literally TRUST everybody he meets, like even if there’s hard proof that their an asshole he’s STILL by their side... what the FUCK.”

“Are you talking about Maki?”

“SHE LITERALLY CHOKED ME ONCE YES, Y ES I MEAN MAKI...!” Kokichi touches his neck, rubbing at it. “Honestly... Maki is such a damn... damn jerk... seriously... she’s made “do you want to die” her punchline to almost any jokes she makes, we get it, your edgy as hell!”

While Kokichi grumbled the both of you didn’t notice the door quietly open up... nor did you notice it until their footsteps were in the right range for you to notice them...

Maki trails into the room with an sweating Kaito Momota by her side, she held a card in her hand with the words: “sorry for making you chug beer” in a rather sloppy handwriting...

“... Makiroll, don’t do this...-“ The astronaut tried to stop the caregiver but it was too late, she was already sprinting towards Kokichi to land a finishing blow...!

“FINLAND!”

[To be continued (But not really)]

Korekiyo Shinguuji (Beutifial,,, ohbnn)

How did he actually... get like this, well you honestly swear to god you don’t know, he just appeared at your doorstep muttering about how beautiful humanity was... in so much typos it was almost impossible to decipher a word of what he said...

“... Korekiyo do... you want some water?”

“... hdhdbnnkklllllln.” Korekiyo press his head against the pillow lethargically, he groaned afterwords grasping at his stomach.

“... Is... Is that a yes? A maybe? A... no?”

“... nnnnnnnnnnz.”

“No it is! No it is...”

“Okay! So do you want to um... take a nap?”

“... nbcbxzzz.”

Well. Well you can’t decipher any of this mess, picking yourself up you go to the kitchen to try and take in all that’s happened today...

“... I’ll just get that water anyway...” You pray to whatever god that exists... to please... pleasepleaseplease never have Korekiyo get drunk again.

#mod shuichi #mod shumai #ndrv3 imagines #ndrv3 x reader #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #kiibo #rantaro amami #ryoma hoshi #kaito momota #korekiyo shinguuji #gonta gokuhara #tw: alcohol

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