#Full two pages. Was gonna be way bigger but it had to be small. the at-the-time equivalent o' citations. it had everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katcadecascade · 3 years

Text

Silco x Reader WIP: Pressed thin like your favorite page

A/N: I got sucked in, maybe it’s daddy issues, maybe it’s maybelline. I’m still writing a lot more stuff, this is more or less the prologue/meet cute. Idk yet if this is gonna be multiple chapter or one loooonnng thing. Anyway enjoy!

Title: Pressed thin like your favorite page

Summary: You teach the children of the undercity how to read and write. That is if they still want to. The number of students in your alleyway-turned-classroom has dwindled down since the end of Vander’s era. Now you’ve been recommended to teach the child under the care of the one and only Silco.

Ao3 Link

Chapter One: Oh Teacher My Teacher

Word Count: 4542

“My hand hurts.”

You kneel down next to the wooden crate, it’s brittle wood is a decent desk for the skinny child under your temporary care.

“You gotta loosen your grip, Tyson, here may I?” Your hand guides over the boy’s, straightening out his bent wrist and adjusting his fingers holding the pencil. “There we go, feeling better?”

“Uh huh,” Tyson continues with his scrawling, a far cry from the alphabet that he’s been studying for over the course of a week.

You ruffle up his hair, ignoring how greasy it is. There hasn’t been any running water in your neighborhood lately, something about trash clogging the pipes. It was an issue that was brought up to Vander but…

“Teacher, Teacher! Lookie here!” Another small child with a wide open smile latches to your arm, pressing parchment to your cheek.

“Ouch!” You dramaticized, holding your wounded face, “You nearly gave me a papercut Franny.”

“‘Orry,” the kid mumbled in a rush still waving the paper, “but look! I wrote it, I wrote it!”

Indeed, on their brownish stained parchment are the words ‘My name is Franny!’

It’s not in a straight line, dipping down and the name is written bigger than the rest of the sentence. The childish script and lopsidedness all warms your heart.

“Oh my word, you certainly did!” You stood up carefully, picking up the child under the armpits to twirl around in celebration. “It’s beautiful Franny!”

“Yay!”

“Hey, me too!” Tyson jumps on top of his desk demanding, “I want up too!”

Franny stuck their tongue out and blew. Fortunately you aimed the spit away from the grumpy boy.

“You’ll get your chance too,” You patted his back and gently nudged him back on the concrete floor. The crate was wobbling a little too much for your comfort. “After all, you two have my full attention today.”

The two kids cheered as you force a smile.

Last month you had nine kids bored yet curious in the alleyway right outside the dank and old apartment you call your own. You were patient with the younger kids and challenged the older ones. The stubborn ones stuck around the most.Vander was the one who sent kids your way, the ones who squinted at posters or traced shapes onto the dirt stained windows. The artistic kids swung by to pick up new words, treating the alphabet as another thing to graffiti.

You remember laughing as the kids rushed to paint ‘SUCK’ to fix ‘ENFORCERS SUKE’.

Those were the early days with so many students ready to pick up your broken pencils and paint brushes with tattered hairs and used notebooks. You all had such a nice time despite the daily struggles of the Lanes.

It lasted for as long as it could.

Last week you had six students show up to learn.

Today it’s only two because one lives in the apartment above you and the other doesn’t want to clean fish buckets in his parents shop. You haven’t seen the other four at all.

It’s been quiet since word got around about Vander’s death.

You’re scared of the power vacuum that is bound to come. People on the street are getting more bold, careless and drunk. No one is keep each other in check because there is no more figurehead of this hellscape.

Honestly you have no clue on what’s going to happen now. Who’s going to take up Vander’s place?

One part of the undercity is mourning, the other is ready for revolution, and the last division doesn’t care at all.

You sadly align with the third description.

Yes, Vander’s death brought great pain onto your heart, so did Benzo’s death. You took one day to mourn, to truly cry your heart out and feel absolutely weak for depending on those two for so long. It’s an exhausting feeling to the point of numbness.

You appreciated and respected Vander for a long time. Yet learning about his death felt inevitable.

Vander was a man too good to be true, and you said those words to his face once.

He laughed that deep and heavy laugh that mimicked the smoky pipe that’s always on his lips.

“I could say the same about you. Teaching these kids how to read. A humble origin story, ain’t it?”

Humble, that word means little to you. You know the real reason why you teach these kids. It’s an investment, a long game where one day these kids are able to make it out on their own in any world in any language.

Because the topside would never give them this opportunity to know the value between pages. You know these students of yours will always be underestimated. You desperately want them to succeed in at least something to give Piltover hell.

These kids find their genius in art, in their knuckles, in spotting out who is weak or strong. They all have their strengths and you know yours.

Reader. You love books and writing.

You share that knowledge with kids who aren’t good at drawing or fighting or cleaning up their parents' shops. It’s the best you can do and you keep doing it after Vander’s passing.

So with your two students, you teach them how to properly hold a pencil.

As sad as it is that there aren’t many students, there’s at least more paper.

Vander didn’t truly see your passion in teaching and now he never will. You prefer it this way.

So after a single day of tears and dread, you locked your grief back into its book. Shelved it into your full bookshelf that’s cramped with your other failed ideas and unfinished dreams.

Because you rather have your face in a book than look up at the fumes of the undercity.

“Alright you two, how much have you been reading those books I gave you?”

Eager as always, Franny tugs their book out of their knapsack. The paperback is immensely water damaged somehow and you dare not to question that.

Instead you give Tyson a questioning glance as the boy pulls at a loose string on his shirt sleeve.

“Um,” his lower lip pouts out, Tyson won’t meet your eyes as he mumbles, “Lost it.”

“Tyson,” You sighed, “you promised me, pinky promised, that you’ll bring it back.”

This is not your favorite part of being a teacher, telling your students what they did wrong and them getting hurt in the process.

Tyson refuses to look up, digging his chin to his chest and you crouch down right before you hear his little hiccups escaping his lungs.

“Hey, hey, look at me, I’m not mad.” You tilt your head way low, trying to meet his eyes, welling up with unshed tears. “We love that book, it’s your favorite, Tyson. Or do you hate it?”

“No,” he meeped out, sniffing loudly. His hands ball up the edge of his shirt, stretching the material with every twist.

You gently hold your hands over his, once again guiding his fingers to uncurl. His hands immediately squeeze yours and you cast a smile at how tiny his hands are. One day these hands will hold a real pen.

“You care too much to lose that book,” You tell him. Tyson looks up finally, nodding once before rubbing his wet eyes to his shoulder. “Here let me,” You reach over to press the end of your jacket sleeve to his cheeks. “See, these tears prove how much you love that book. What happened Tyson?”

He sniffled a bit, taking a few deep breaths to get his lungs under control again. “It was really cold last night. The fire was getting small.”

“Oh,” You ignored the ache in your chest, focusing on the new tears on the child. “Tyson, it’s alright. Last night was very chilly.”

“Yup, yup,” Franny helpfully added, “I got blue toes!”

Reactedly, You shot the little kid with an alarmed gasp.

“Do you wanna see?” They don’t even wait, docking their butt onto the dirty alleyway ground and tugging on a boot.

“Did you lose a toe?” Tyson quickly wiped his eyes clean to get a better look. He also lets go of your hands to get closer to Franny.

“No I didn’t,” Franny pouted.

Back with you, you take a deep breath in and out. You shouldn’t be surprised that kids can change the mood like a sucker punch.

“Kids,” you begin slowly, a certain chill in your voice like lingering frost of the night, “there better be letters on those toes otherwise this does not count as reading time.”

The two kids blink at you and then Franny grins and suddenly there’s a charcoal pencil in their hand.

“Franny no!”

“I’m practicing writing, Teacher!”

Even with just two students, it’s a tiring afternoon. The three of you read out of Franny’s book. A storybook about a girl with three necklaces jingling so loud that it alerts a hungry lion. You’re not sure any other teacher would give this to their students but hey, you and other Lane kids really enjoy this tale.

You had Franny and Tyson take turns reading. They recognise the pacing of the story so they’re getting better at connecting words to the picture in their heads. Stories are always the best way for a person to learn from.

Tyson’s book, a story about a lost duckling, is another story you’ve come to love. You’re not sure if you can find another copy of it. Maybe you’ll assign him to rewrite the story but that’ll take up a lot of paper you don’t have. You’ll have to remember to get more supplies, most of your pencils are chewed up by Franny. Ever since the number of students dwindled down, Franny has been treating all the pencils and papers as free real estate.

It’s been a while since anyone else has come to your classes. You’ve seen most of your former students out and about in Zaun seeking out food or fights. They ignore your presence and you’ve stopped encouraging them to return. There’s this look in their eyes, they had their fill on being educated. They’ve learned the minimal of the basics and now they need to learn the real skills to survive down here.

You don’t blame them on that. Even you can admit that reading a good book won’t help on cold, starving nights. These kids are now in a world without Vander, they won’t get the luxury of having their nose in a book.

As for yourself, you know you can never let go of a book. You tuck them deep into your chest, consuming it while it consumes you. Your dirty fingerprints stain over the worn papers that imprint ink and dreams under your eyelids.

Your greatest weakness is books. A world away from the one you sit in. Your crude classroom that’s littered with trash and crates that once held smelly animals. The broken pencil you savaged from bins, the paint brushes with its bristles snapped, and the notebooks half ripped out.

This is your best as a teacher and for your last two students. You wonder when they’ll leave you like the rest.

Then it will be you and your old books. Alone with inked fantasies that will feed on you and you will submit.

Like footsteps in a quiet alleyway, it’s an ending that will one day find you and-

Wait no, those are real footsteps in your alleyway you hear.

“You’re Reader.”

The newcomer marches like she expects no threats or dangers in this corner tucked in the Zuan. The woman is imposing with her tall stature, glaring down at you with your students still reading. You’ve reached the page about the lion prowling closer to the little girl.

“Who’s asking?” You eye her up, not recognizing her at all.

You figured you’d recall any new rumors about a buff lady losing an arm. There’s dark cloth wrapped around her arm stub.

“Come with me.”

The good news is that you don’t see a gun on her. The bad news is that fact scares you more than it ought to.

Because the real sense of danger always comes from the eyes, you’ve learned that lesson from way back when, a period of time before you learned to read.

Her eyes read of dissatisfaction, that you are merely a chore and she’d rather do anything but walk into your half assed classroom and escort you out.

“Alright,” you comply easily, swallowing down a lump of nerves. “Tyson, go finish the book in Franny’s house. We’ll meet again later.”

Tyson has his hands back into your own, “Is she gonna kill you?”

Your shoulders hunch up, your soul crumbles at the sound of his meek voice. “No, um, no. I’ll be fine.”

It’s a gut feeling, or a desperate hope, that whoever this woman is with, these people want you alive. No one has ever tracked you down and wanted you alive before. That’s a type of thing people like Vander get to experience because he’s important.

You are not important. You are easily discarded, you must be, and yet this buff woman is glaring at you demandingly.

“Can I have your room if you die?”

“...No Franny, you cannot.”

“Then can I burn it?”

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes you can do that Franny.”

“Yes!” They cheer and immediately grabs Tyson by his shirt collar and drags him up the stairwell.

Again you take a deep breath in and out. You nod to the woman and dust your pants as you stand up and follow her out of your classroom.

You know better than to strike up conversation, idle comic relief risks getting punched and you would rather avoid that. Yet as the woman heads off to a familiar direction, dread build up and up within your brain. The frosty claws of fear scratch the back of your skull and dives into your heart at the sight of The Last Drop.

“What are we doing here?”

You barely recognize your own voice, blunt and clumsy than the usual patient tone from the teaching mannerisms you’ve picked up.

“The new owner wants to see you,” the woman gifts you with a mean smile, opening the door wide open to you.

Ever since Vander’s death there has been one consistent rumor that has everyone awaiting for the inevitable power vacuum to suck the undercity dry.

Silco, a name from Vander’s youth, came back from hell and seeks a new throne.

Everyone has been avoiding the bar not out of respect for Vander but out of fear of whatever this man has planned.

“You must have the wrong person.” Your throat tightens up from breathing too fast. Damn it you should’ve been annoying and asked pesky questions just for her to beat you up and toss you to the junk heap. That would be way better than this! “I’m just a teacher, hell a bad one too! Have you seen my students’ grades? Terrible! It’s my fault and-”

A hand targets onto your throat, effectively silencing you even though she hasn’t squeezed down too hard. “Shut up. You’re exactly who he’s looking for.”

With that she pulls you inside.

The Last Drop is empty, a rare sight that you don’t feel blessed with. A shameful feeling makes you face the ground, as if you broke a pinky promise to return something but instead burned it out of necessity.

The woman moved her hand from your neck to your shoulder, pushing you all the way to a back room that you vaguely recall seeing only seen Benzo allowed in. You don’t feel worthy to be walking in his path of a trusted friend, in a home to someone so important in this tiny and murky world of yours.

Yet here you are, guided in by this unknown henchman to an even more mysterious rumor that terrifies all of Zaun.

Silco.

You’ve imagined something feral from the name, from the knowledge that he is Vander’s downfall.

In this large office with the fading sunlight bathing the room with warmness over a man doing paperwork. His posture is poor, slim body curved over the fancy darkwood table, yet the rest of him oozes off sleekness and confidence. No one dresses this nicely in the undercity, a waistcoat and with muted palettes that draw in shadows. If not for one thing you would mistaken this man as just another businessman from topside.

One detail ruins the image of pristine Piltover privilege. The left side of his face, gashes long since healed with divots from his jawline to over his left eye and up to his forehead.

There instead of an eyeball is this black sun, a miniature eclipse that captures your universe in chilling fear.

“Sevika, you may leave now.”

Your guide huffs boredly and hefts off, shutting the door behind her, and leaving you alone with the man that took down the Hound of the Underground.

Silco straightens up in his chair, no longer entertained by his papers. He stares at you, only his right eye actually moves. The rest of his face appears to not express his full range of emotions, which right now just appears to be absolutely reserved and unreadable.

You on the other hand can’t help but fully project your nervous thoughts. Your hands hide in the sleeves of your jacket, balling it in your sweaty grip. You know your eyes are wide and there’s a slight tremble in your spine that threatens to remove the strength in your legs.

There’s a sense of power from just standing in this man’s presence, trapped in a room no less. It’s dangerously close to consuming you in ways you know you won’t recover from.

“You teach Zaun children how to read and write.” Silco doesn’t ask which means one thing.

“You need a teacher.” Your eyes flicker to the desktop, “I’m pretty confident you can already read and write.”

His hum is short, maybe it counts as a laugh but his serious face dismisses any room for comedy.

“I am well educated,” Silco stands up and makes his way around the table, “and I’m confident that my handwriting is not at all a disaster.”

“Are you making a dig at my handwriting,” you spat, too insulted and so delayed logically asking, “What do you even know about my handwriting?”

Silco leans against the table and without breaking eye contact, slides a piece of paper off and presents it to you. “Since you’re asking for my opinion, I’d say it could use some improvement.”

Petty anger overcomes your fear for this and for only this type of thing. Books may be your greatest weakness but your personal craft of literature is a close second.

You march up to the devil and snatch the evidence of your supposedly disastrous handwriting.

After studying it for three seconds you grumble, “I wrote this in a rush.”

Silco merely rests his hands on the table for him to relax his weight, still very much unconvinced.

“And in the dark,” you belatedly add.

“Ah, have you always practiced in the dark?”

“No,” you frown and avoid the judging stare, “I do that sometimes but this one is only very bad because it was late and Mylo refused me from leaving unless I wrote him this!”

On the paper reads ‘Vi is a mean fuck face for stealing Mylo’s last bag of chips and much more!’

You reread the report of sibling conflict. It goes on for two more paragraphs. Ignoring the heaviness building into your heart, you toss it back on the table, unable to look at it anymore. You disgruntledly ask, “Why do you even care about any of this? Do you need a teacher or are you just bored?”

“Very bored, indeed,” Silco replies with a casual glance around the room, as if you’re more unentertaining by the minute. “But I do require a teacher. I still don’t know why it has to be you.”

He said that to himself, you know it, but it’s still annoying that he said it like you’re not right in front of him.

“Why am I here then?” You ask seriously, nervousness returning. This could’ve been easy if he brought you here just to entertain him. A singular use that could result in you either dying or at least discarded for him to move onto his next victim.

Silco pushes himself away from the desk with a smooth, graceful movement. He stands taller than you, a height that forces you to tilt your chin up.

“You were recommended.”

“By who?”

“Hi Mx Reader.”

That tiny and shaky voice is the last thing you expected to hear.

“Powder?” Your heart lurches, a coil unwinding at an intense speed, and your turn so swiftly to the little girl hiding behind the desk.

Her head peers over and she slowly walks over to you and your frozen state.

You haven’t heard much about Vander’s kids either, that is you refuse to actually hear any of the news about them. All you knew was they were all gone but now there is only one kid left.

You shakingly kneel down as the little girl approaches you, wary that she’ll run off at any moment. Considering everything Powder has been through, you’re not completely sure how she hasn’t broken down. Or maybe she has? Right now you can’t tell because you simply raise your arms out and she comes running in.

Thin arms latch around your neck and blue hair tickles your chin. Her tiny frame shakes as you embrace her.

Soothing down her wild hair, you hum, “There, there, I got you Powder.”

“No!” Her shout is muffled as she buries her head into your shoulder, “Don’t call me that!”

Surprised, you take a moment to brush your fingers through Powder’s hair. It calms her a bit as her sniffling lessens.

“Alright, I won’t,” you assure her, “I promise.”

“Pinky swear?” She mumbles.

You carefully untangle your arms to carefully cup her cheek. “When have I ever broken one of those? Never, that’s when.”

Your thumb glides over to poke her nose, getting a laugh out of the little girl. With your other hand, you begin to wipe her eyes where tears were ready to shed. The sight of such a small and lonely girl always made you want to run away or bribe them to stop. That always leads to messy situations.

But here, listening to what she wants and showing her that you’re on her side, it’s the best path to get kids back to smiling.

You raise up your pinky and she has one last big sniff before locking her little pinky with yours.

“So what should I call you then? Blueberry? Tinkerbell?”

She takes her head and hides her face against your chest once more.

“Alright, when you’re ready, tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Movement at your side catches your attention and that’s when you remember the other man in the room. You prop your head on top of the girl, eyeing up how Silco has been watching this entire thing.

The man is simply standing there, his hands moved behind his back, making him appear like a waiting gentleman. By the way his head is tilted, how his one good eye squinted and pointedly only watched the little girl in your arms, you guess that he was studying this exchange.

You rearranged your arms, one arm holding the girl’s back and other under her knobby knees. With her safely cradled in your arms, you properly turn to Silco.

“What exactly do you want me here for?”

“She wants you to continue teaching her,” he answers, holding your gaze only for two second before looking at the girl.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

He frowns at you, a little huff in his silent sigh. Silco fixes his posture, standing a bit straighter, “I want her to reach her potential.”

There’s something missing about his answer, you conclude as your gaze shifts between him and the girl.

“And?”

A flash of irritation goes over his face, “Excuse me?”

You shrug with your one unoccupied shoulder, “I’m just thinking, you’re a prideful and smart man. Why not you teach her?”

“I’ll be busy with other matters,” he begins but gets interrupted by the girl hanging onto your neck.

“He’s grumpy that I wanted you and not him to teach me,” she shrugs too. “You’re already my teacher.”

“Ah,” your response is barely passing as a laugh, making Silco’s eye twitch. “I see, well I’m very honored.”

“You should be,” Silco states with a shaper voice but his frustration only makes you want to grin stupidly.

It’s just fun to be a child’s favorite. Makes you feel appreciated and flattered.

“I’ll always be your teacher,” you bounce the girl up a small bit and you both laugh as you spin her around.

She smiles that brilliant and jubilant smile of hers. You never imagine that at this happy moment she tells you this.

“Jinx,” she grins, “I wanna be called Jinx from now on.”

Bad luck.

You stop spinning her around, your confusion all over your frown and squinting eyebrows. The moment she sees that, Jinx’ lower lip wobbles.

“You promised,” she said in her innocent and wounded voice that immediately gets you to mask your current emotions.

“I did! I’m just taking it in.” You nod a lot with a happy smile, “Jinx, huh? Do you know how to spell that?”

Jinx shakes her head.

“Then that’ll be our first lesson. Mr. Silco here has pencils and papers here right? Let’s go write your name all over them.”

“Now wait a moment-”

“Yeah!” Jinx jumps out of your grasp and dashes over to the desk.

Her crash landing onto the big chair has its wheels rolling all the way back to the window. That gives you enough time to find some blank sheet paper and gather up the rather important ones.

You hand over that stack to Silco, ignoring some words about Enforcers and territories to target.

“We’re probably gonna be here a while.”

Silco’s jaw drops, “This is my office.”

You tilt your head from side to side in a thinking manner, “You’re telling me this when really you should be telling her.”

Pointing your head at Jinx, who now has scooted the chair to the desk, she’s already snatching up the closest pens with both hands. She’s not ambidextrous despite always catching her attempt to be so.

Jinx grins up at Silco, “I wanna write my name.”

The man that has all of the Lanes in fear has absolute frustration and dissatisfaction on his face as he stares down at this tiny, smiling child.

Silco accepts the papers out of your hand to smack them to his forehead, hiding his face but you see and hear the way he shortly groans and his shoulders lose their tension.

He brings his papers back down to glare at you, “I want this lesson done in an hour.”

You smile not kindly but you don’t push the man’s patience more than it already has been. Simply you nod and ask Jinx to refresh her alphabet.

Chapter Two: Song of Iliad

#reader insert #silco x reader #arcane #arcane fic #silco #jinx #arcane silco #arcane jinx #my fic #fic wip

666 notes · View notes

glilboy · 3 years

Text

Ateez reactions to finding you reading smut about them: Hyung line

ive had this idea for awhile and even requested it a few times from other writers but..i felt it was time to write it lol

tws under the cut

warning, this piece of fiction contains mentions of somnophilia, slight dom and sub dynamics, and general explicit topics.

Hongjoong:

You had attempted to stay up waiting for Hongjoong, deciding to reread one of your favorite stories in the mean time. Unfortunately that wasnt enough to keep you awake, you ultimately passing out and your phone tumbling onto the floor.

Hongjoong had a feeling you'd passed out since you didnt message him any "i miss you :(" texts after 11pm so seeing you knocked out on the couch was no surprise. He slowly padded over to you smiling softly, then noticing your phone on the floor and went to pick it up for you. He was never the kind to go through your phone but your smart self had no shut down timer which left the fan fiction on display for him.

He couldnt help but be curious seeing paragraphs of text and decided a little reading would do no harm. As he began to read though he felt his gut sweep, in a good way. He was honestly a little upset until he saw his name but when he read his name it was like all of exhaustion disappeared. Luckily he didn't have work the next day he thought to himself.

Sitting down on the couch with a plan he slowly nudged you awake. "Hi dear," he spoked softly with a smirk.

You rubbed at your bleary eyes and looked up at him, "Oh hi Joongie. Sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep." He smiled even bigger at you.

"Thats fine, it helped me find out something fun," he tucked your hair behind your ear. Still waking up you made a small "huh?" before seeing the phone in his hand.

"Oh..." you mumbled, starting to be awake enough to get it. You finally looked at him straight on and saw his signature devilish grin.

He moved his hand to slowly move up your thigh, giving it a small squeeze which elicted a sigh out of you. "Didn't think you'd read stuff like that Y/N, but I guess you're just full of surprises huh doll," the pet name made you shiver, Hongjoong never having used that one before.

"I'm sorry Joongie," you mumbled into your arm, face now red. His hand moving up to cup your core and grind his hand into it making you whimper softly.

"Oh dont be sorry dolly, just shows me that you really miss me."

Seonghwa:

Saying Seonghwa was caring was an understatement in a way. Despite his busy schedule he made it a point to showed he cared in different ways. One thing he always did was if you left your phone out at all he would put it on the charger for you. Small things!

Today though he had come home earlier than usual while you were taking a quick shower. Seeing your phone on the counter he waltzed over setting his stuff down to throw it on the charger even if it wasn't that low. He noticed you left it on, open to a book he assumed enough.Him being the lovely man he is he wanted to read a bit to see what you liked and possibly buy you a physical copy. Written porn with his name in it though was not what he was expecting.

Seonghwa gulped, setting down your phone with his hands shaking and his face now flushed pink. He took a deep breath and set down his bag, running his fingers through his hair now being surprisingly worked up. A part of him felt embarrassed for being turned on by the writing but at the same time he knew you didn't read it for no reason.

"Hwa! You're home early hello!" You ran up to him giggling, now clean and dressed in some sweats.

"Hey babe, yeah we got let out early cause we learned the new choreography fast enough. They asked us if we wanted to do more vocal practice but none of us did," He laughed, trying to shift his legs to hide his slight erection.

"None of you stay late ever," you giggled sarcastically up at him. "Well, I was gonna take a nap. Do you want to? I'm sure you're tired."

He nodded softly and took your hand walking to your guys bedroom talking about your day. He changed himself into more comfortable clothing then joined you in bed, you curling into him quickly. Once you settled Seonghwa felt he could actually breathe, feeling like a middle schooler just for getting more worked up from having you close. He heard your breath settle which is when he shifted away a bit from you.

"Fuck..." He mumbled, having the space now laying on his back to palm himself over his erection. Looking over at your sleeping face made it worse, the piece you had opened having involved somnophilia. One thing he never had the guts to suggest to you despite having such an open relationship.

He didn't notice your eyes flutter open at the movement. You only just fell asleep so you were in no means in too deep. You decided to play it though, closing your eyes and throwing a leg over his waist as if you were just adjusting in your sleep.

He inhaled a sharp breath and bit his lip now mildly frustrated at the whole situation. Mumbling a fake sleepy "Hwa" you moved to straddle the man hearing a childish sigh escape his lips.

"If you keep moving, I swear to god," He mumbled out loud thinking youre still asleep since you had always been a chaotic sleeper.

"And what will you do about it horny kid," you giggled against his neck. You could feel his body tense.

"Go back to sleep and I'll fuck you like your sick little fantasy, how about that hm?"

yunho:

Rain was beating against the window as you cuddled up on the couch with your phone in hand. Yunho was on the other side of his personal office playing video games. It was a chill day but something in the air was setting you slightly off the edge.

Besides the sweet glances and cheesy smiles thrown at each other, your screen was very much the opposite of innocent pure love. Getting indulged in the story you started to zone in, missing some of his looks making Yunho curious as to what your interest was delved into currently.

"Be right back guys," he said into the mic mischievously. Quickly making his way over he slipped the phone out of your hand, this behavior wouldve typically been fine but because of the contents on your screen you gasped and reached out for your phone. "You doing something naughty or do you just like acting suspicious?" he grinned before looking at your phone.

His face feel reading the paragraph of a particularly nsfw scene. You were now sitting up staring at him wide eyed, "yuyu please oh god its not what you think, i think." Silence filled the room, the only noises being the sound of his running pc and the dull chatter of the other boys.

"Do you read this often?" he said out of hesitation and pure curiosity, almost feeling that he violated your private space. He kind of got the gist of it all right away, thankfully for your sake.

"Not all the time but i mean, you are busy yunho," you tried to softly explain knowing this was odd territory.

"Do you...ever want to try it," he says, getting to the end of the page and looking at you.

"I can't say that..none of them aren't, nice," the air was filled with an awkward energy that could suffocate another person if they came in at such a weird time.

The two of you stood there for a second, until he moved towards you and took your hand. He placed it on his bulge and you sucked a breathe in.

"Take off my pants," he ordered, a strange harsh tone to his voice. For you guys there was never set roles, not any dom or sub dynamic but it wasnt vanilla per say so him speaking like this was new. Besides that, you did as he said and pushed your thumbs under the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down his legs.

Silently he took your hand then sat down on his gaming chair, pulling out his large cock. He slipped on his headphones before looking up at you with a shit eating grin.

"Sit down, i can tell youve been dying too babe."

yeosang:

You were waiting for yeosang to come home after a shorter than usual practice, deciding to pass the time by indulging in your secret world. In the midst of browsing your favorite blogs you didn't hear the door open, this event made you learn not to have headphones in when participating in such activities.

Walking in, Yeosang looked around for you and spotted your figure on the couch. He slowly moved near with a secret motive of scaring you when he glanced at your phone seeing a photo of him paired with a lot of writing. Tilting his head curiously he squinted to read the text, reading along with you until his face flushed.

Sucking in a breath slightly he moved back to the door, playing off him just entering. You noticed his figure walking towards you and sneakily turned off your phone and got up to greet him.

"Hey babe, it's nice to see you in the sunlight," you giggled and wrapped your hands around his waist. You noticed him hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, causing you to pull away.

"Hey, whats up? you seem a bit off?" you pouted and brushed the hair out of his eyes, not catching the little blush.

"Yeah yeah babe, I'm fine. promise," he cleared his throat and pulled away, making your heart sink a bit. He practically completely ignored what you actually said.

"No Yeo, I- did I do something wrong? Or just a long day?" you pried knowing something was up.

Shifting awkwardly on his feet he looked up at you, his hair back in his face. "I um, saw what you were reading."

The color drained from your face, mouth slightly hanging not knowing what to say. You thought he was pissed, was going to leave and break up with you but right when you were about to talk he spoke again.

"C-can we do that?"

A moment of silence passed and you looked up at him, your boyfriend who was typically very soft and gentle in bed. Knowing what you were reading was likely pretty heavy in his book, you became worried. "Yeo, I just read it. It means nothing I don't want to make you uncomforta-"

His lips cut yours off and one hand entangled in your hair, his other guiding you to the wall by your hip. Back flush against the way you pulled away after a moment to see his eyes wide and sweat already beading down his temple.

"I've wanted to do that, just didn't want to scare you dear."

#ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #kim honjoong smut #park seonghwa smut #jeong yunho smut #kang yeosang smut #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #kpop smut

849 notes · View notes

waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Trial Run

Part one and three

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader enemies to lovers!

Synopsis: last week you hated each other, this week you’re making out in his bed.

Masterlist

Since you and Peter weren’t exactly friends before, you didn’t have each other’s numbers. You had no way of communicating with him once you went home. Meaning, you had no idea what you’d be walking in to on Monday. All you knew was you made out with your former rival. You didn’t know what it meant to him; you barely knew what it meant to you. So when you saw him at the lockers upon entering school, you had to brace yourself.

You walked up to your locker and kept your head straight as you unlocked it. You could feel Peter’s eyes on you, just as you could feel him fumbling for words to say.

“Hey.” You said casually without looking over at him. You were doing your best to play it cool, when you were internally freaking out around him.

“Hey.” Peter said immediately, overly excited that you were the first to speak. “How are you? Um, how was your weekend?”

“Good.” You said simply. “How was yours?”

“Good.” Peter nodded. He stared at you for a minute as he worked up the courage to say something better.

“I thought about you a lot.” He said quietly, adverting his eyes so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. You sucked in a sharp breath, hating how easily he could fluster you.

“Did you now?” You asked without looking at him.

“Yeah.” He smiled shyly. “I really liked it when you kissed me.”

You couldn’t help smiling at his words, despite you trying to fight it. You looked at him, saw his signature shit eating grin, and rolled your eyes.

“I liked it too.” You said quietly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Okay, good.” He nodded happily. “We’re on the same page.”

“I guess we are.” You looked at him as you shut your locker.

“In that case, do you want to be my girlfriend?” He asked hopefully as he twisted his shirt around his fingers. For once, you found his nervous behavior to be cute. You wanted to say yes, but you had to make sure he was all in first.

“Not yet.” You decided. “I said I’d be willing to give this a try. I can’t commit to anything until I know what kind of boyfriend you’d make.”

“How can I prove to you that I’d be a good boyfriend?” Peter wondered. You pursed your lips as you thought about it, not having thought that far ahead. You looked down at the books in your arms and held them out to him.

“Carry my books.” You instructed.

“Okay.” Peter took your books from you and walked with you when you moved.

“I like old fashioned romantic gestures.” You explained as you walked together. “Carrying books, opening the door, asking the father for permission to date, things like that. I want a gentleman. I wouldn’t date anything less.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded as he made a metal note. “I can be a gentleman.”

“Walk faster.” You commanded, and he picked up his pace. “I don’t just want you to be a gentleman though. You have to be rough with me sometimes. Tell me when I’m being ridiculous and shut me up with a kiss every now and then.”

“Nice. I finally know a way to shut you up.” Peter joked.

“Cute.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m telling you all of this now because I think communication is the most important thing in a relationship. This is what I want in a relationship. If you can’t give it to me, then we’ll just be friends. No harm done.”

“Okay. Gentleman, kisses, books. I can do this.” Peter hyped himself up.

“Good.” You smiled and stopped walking. “So what are your conditions for a relationship?”

“I don’t know if I have any.” Peter realized. “I’ve never been in a a relationship before.”

“Well what do you want from me?” You asked him. Peter thought about it for a minute before making a decision.

“Can I hold your hand?” He asked, and you fought back a smile at his innocence. You looked down at his free hand and frowned suddenly as something dawned on you.

“Are you still gonna like me if I start being nice to you?” You asked without looking at him.

“What?” He asked. “Of course I will.”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. “What if you had some underlying degradation kink that I was fueling? And if I stop being mean to you, you’ll stop liking me.”

“I liked you before you were mean to me.” Peter assured. “And I don’t have that kink. At least, I don’t think I do.”

You looked at him for a minute, unsure of what you wanted.

“I don’t want to start this if you’re gonna break my heart.” You said quietly.

“Hey.” He said comfortingly. “I won’t do that. I’ve never broken a girls heart before.”

“Didn’t you say you’ve never been in a relationship before?”

“Yes.” He realized. “But even if I had, I wouldn’t have broken anyones heart. Not on purpose, at least. You have just as much of a chance of breaking mine.”

“I’ll try not to.” You smiled a little.

“I would appreciate that.” He told you. Your smile widened as you fell just a little bit more for Peter. You let out a dramatic sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

“You can hold my hand.” You said like it was inconvenient for you.

“I appreciate that even more.” Peter grinned as he took your hand. You continued walking to class, hand in hand.

You reached your classroom and stood outside of it, hesitant to go inside. You’d only ever sat in that class as Peter’s rival, and now you guys were almost dating. You looked at him holding your books and squeezed his hand gently.

“Just so you know, I want this to work.” You told him honestly. Peter’s cheeks turned pink as he gave you a small nod.

“I do too.”

“Good.” You smiled. “Now get inside. I don’t like being late.”

You and Peter walked into the classroom hand and hand with his books still in his arms. Before you could take a seat, your teacher stopped you.

“Wow.” She folded her arms and smirked. “It looks like my plan worked.”

“I’m sorry?” You asked.

“Making you guys partners seems to have paid off.” She pointed to your books in Peter’s arms.

“Peter was just taking a break from his usually monkey brained self to do something polite.” You stammered.

“And Y/n couldn’t carry her books because she’s too busy carrying the weight of being the most obnoxious person in this part of New York.” Peter followed up.

“Mhm.” She nodded. “And the hand holding?”

“It was his idea.” You said at the same time as Peter said, “She let me.”

“Right.” She clicked her tongue. “Take a seat you two.”

You and Peter took your usual seats and kept quiet the entire class. The rest of the class was quick to notice the absence of the typical taunting banter that usually occurred between you and Peter. In its place, much to everyone’s surprise, was your dangling hands holding each other’s under the desks. His left hand was reaching forward while yours was reaching back, meeting in the middle and staying that way throughout the period. You didn’t know why you let him hold you hand the entire time. He didn’t know either. All you knew was you liked the feeling of his hand in yours.

At lunch time, you found yourself walking towards Peter’s table instead of sitting with your other friends. You had no idea why you wanted to sit with him, but you felt yourself missing him throughout your classes. You silently put your lunch down next to him and began to eat. Peter and Ned exchanged a look and Peter nearly choked on his food.

“You’re sitting here?” Peter asked with a mouth full of food.

“Is there a problem?” You asked as you looked between him and Ned.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m happy to see you.”

“Shut up, loser.” You snickered as you leaned into him. He leaned back before wrapping an arms around your shoulders. Ned stared at the two of you in shock, usually accustomed to you going at each other’s throats. When Peter told him you’d kissed, he thought he was kidding.

“So are you guys like a couple now?” Ned asked, interrupting the moment. Peter didn’t know how to answer, so he looked to you.

“We’re giving it a test run.” You shrugged. “For now, we’re just casually dating.”

“When will you know if you want to be a couple?” Ned continued.

“I kinda had the same question.” Peter said sheepishly. You thought about it for minute, not exactly sure of your answer.

“Tell you what.” You decided. “If I ever look at you and feel an overwhelming need to kiss you, thats when I’ll know.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded. “I can work with that.”

“So how’s your project going Ned?” You asked as you changed the subject.

“Well, Gwen and I haven’t started dating, so not as good as yours.” He joked.

“Yeah, well. She’s missing out.” You winked at him.

“Not really.” Ned shrugged. “I’m exactly like Peter, just without the abs.”

“And I’m like Ned without the beautiful Hawaiian complexion.” Peter complimented back.

“Woah. Didn’t realize sitting here meant I’d be third wheeling on your date.” You joked.

“You’re not.” Peter didn’t get the joke. “You can sit here whenever you want.”

“Not that I care”, you prefaced ‘“but did you say Peter had abs? As in defined abdominal muscles?”

“Yeah.” Ned nodded as Peter’s face went red. You looked at him with a knowing smile and he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Don’t.” He warned you.

“I knew you were on steroids!” You said excitedly. “I called it and I was right.”

“I am not on steroids.” Peter whined.

“I knew it.” You insisted. “Your arms got bigger practically overnight and now you have abs?”

“I work out.” Peter lied.

“No you don’t.” You snorted.

“I’m Spider-Man.” He tried again.

“I’d believe you work out before I’d believe that.” You told him, much to his relief.

“Then I guess we’ll never know.” He shrugged, sneaking a knowing glance at Ned. “Do you want to come over later? We can continue working on the project.”

“Sure.” You shrugged, feeling nervous butterflies in your tummy. “I’ll meet you by the lockers after the last bell.”

“Don’t be late.” He smiled.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You deadpanned, making his smile fall.

“I’m just kidding.” You smiled. “God, you’re so gullible.”

“You don’t like to make things easy, do you?” Peter joked as he leaned on his hand to stare at you. The way he was looking at you sent a wave of butterflies into your tummy, causing you to look away.

“Hm.” You grinned. “No I do not.”

“Hey May.” Peter called as he set his keys down by the door. Your heart rate quickened when you heard footsteps coming into the room.

“Hey, Peter. How was your -oh! Hello.” May stopped short when she noticed you standing behind him.

“Hi, Miss Parker. I’m Y/n.” You introduced yourself since you didn’t meet her last time you were over.

“You’re Y/n?” May asked. “The one from your physics class?”

“Yeah. Peter and I have a few classes together actually.”

“Is this the one you called a b-“

“Beautiful, sweet Angel.” Peter cut her off and smiled at you. “Yes, this is her.”

“Oh.” She was surprised. “Hi. You can call me May.”

“It’s nice to meet you, May.” You smiled as you shook her hand.

“You too. Wow.” She laughed. “You’re nothing like I pictured.”

“May.” Peter said warningly.

“What?” She asked. “The way you described her, I figured she had horns and a little tail.”

“Oh, I do.” You nodded. “I just hide them well.”

“Peter.” May said pointedly. “She’s not nearly as bad as you told me. What are you guys doing here anyway?”

“We have a group project.” He said.

“We’re also dating.” You followed up. Peter looked at you in pleasant surprised, feeling very happy that you said that.

“Finally.” May scoffed. “I knew you liked her. No one whines that much about a girl he doesn’t like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it.” May said. “Do you guys need anything before I go? Snacks? Drinks? Condoms?”

“We’ll take some condoms.” You said casually. May raised her eyebrows as Peter choked on his saliva.

“Kidding.” You said through an awkward smile. “That was a joke. Thank you, though.”

“We’re gonna go to my room now.” Peter quickly ushered you out of the room. “Bye May!”

“It was nice meeting you!” You called as he pushed you into his room. As soon as his door was closed, you put your hands on your hips.

“You told you aunt I was a bitch.” You pointed at him accusingly.

“No.” Peter pointed back at you. “I told her you were a brat.”

“Oh.” You relaxed. “Well that’s not that bad.”

“Is that a deal breaker?” Peter worried. “I kinda told her we hate each other.”

“Peter, you have to stop being so worried about messing this up.” You said as you rubbed his arms. “I told you, I want this to work. You have to relax a little.”

“Okay.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time believing you like me back.”

“I like you some of the time.” You shrugged before cracking a smile.

“Hey.” He whined.

“I’m teasing.” You told him. “I’m just getting used to being nice to you. If it makes you feel better, I’m starting to like you a lot more.”

“I guess that does make me feel better.” He mumbled.

“Good.” You smiled and patted his cheek. “Now stop whining about it, brat.”

“You’re the brat.” He scoffed playfully as he put his hand over yours. You sucked in a breath at how close you were, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. Peter’s eyes fell to your lips before going back to your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly.

“Shut the fuck up.” You matched his soft tone with a harsh one.

“Okay.” He backed up. “Sorry.”

“I’m kidding.” You assured him as you pulled him back to you. “You can kiss me.”

He rolled his eyes at you before cracking a smile.

“You’re mean.” He mumbled as he put his hands on your face.

“Yeah, but you like that.” You whispered as you leaned up to kiss him. He pulled your closer by your face as you slid your hands under his shirt. He was a surprisingly good kisser for someone who had never been in a relationship before, and you wanted to test his limits. You dragged your fingernails down his stomach and just as Ned told you, he had abs. He groaned at the unfamiliar feeling and began to move backwards. You followed him until you both fell on the bed. Peter rolled on top of you and continued kissing you, slipping his fingers through yours to hold your hands. You licked his bottom lip and he took the hint to open his mouth. His kisses were clumsy and awkward, but you absolutely loved them. You made out on his bed just like last time, your project long forgotten. Neither of you had any idea how much time had passed before you both collapsed on his bed to catch your breath. You rolled over and rested your head on Peter’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath you. You rested your hand on his stomach, mindlessly playing with the soft material of his sweater.

“Hm.” You pouted as Peter wrapped an arm around you and rubbed your shoulder with his thumb.

“What’s wrong?” He wondered.

“I really like you.” You realized as you made a disgusted face.

“Is that a bad thing?” He chuckled.

“Yes!” You exclaimed. “I don’t want to have feelings. Especially not for you. We’re supposed to be enemies but…”

“But what?” Peter asked when you trailed off.

“But I never want to leave this bed.” You mumbled as you you held him closer. Peter laughed again and kissed the top of your head.

“It’s okay.” He insisted. “I really like you too.”

“Gross.”

“If I have to stop worrying about messing this up, you have to stop worrying about letting this happen.” He reasoned. “It’s okay that we like each other. I didn’t see it coming either.”

You let out a sigh and gazed up at him.

“I hate when you’re right.” You mumbled.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that.” He told you as he stroked your face.

“Why would I get used to something that only happens once a month?” You asked. He gave you a look so you smiled.

“Kidding.” You told him. “We can still bully each other, right? Or does that have to stop if we’re dating.”

“It depends. You said you need communication, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I don’t like it when you make jokes about me being on steroids. I’m scared people are going to believe you and then I’m gonna have to pee in a cup in front of the principle. I’m very pee shy.”

“Thank you for letting me know.” You laughed. “I won’t make those jokes anymore.”

“What about me?” He asked. “What’s off limits?”

“Well unlike you, I can take a joke, so nothing is off limits for me.” You shrugged, always taking the opportunity to tease him.

“Hardy har.” He said sarcastically.

“Actually, wait.” You thought of something. “Don’t call me a bitch. Brat is fine but bitch crosses the line.”

“That’s easy.” He said. “I only ever called you that in my head anyway.”

You gave him a look and he laughed.

“Kidding.” He mimicked your voice. “You have my word. I won’t ever call you that.”

“All right.” You sighed in content. “I feel better now.”

“Does this mean I can start calling you my girlfriend?” Peter asked.

“Not yet.” You decided. “I haven’t decided if I want to do this for real yet. I’m still weighing my options.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Take your time. No pressure.”

“Well that makes it sound like you don’t care either way.” You whined as you sat up.

“I do. I do care.” He assured you as he sat up. “But I don’t want to rush you. I really want to give this a try, but only if you do too.”

You looked at him for a while as you processed what he said.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He wondered.

“You’re making it really hard to justify not liking you all these years.” You told him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Good.” He shrugged. “I want you to like me.”

“I got my heart broken pretty badly in the past.” You whispered. “Because I liked someone a little too much.”

“I already told you, I’m not gonna break your heart. I’m not like that.”

Your lips tweaked into a smile before you leaned in to kiss him.

“You better not be.”

You continued casually dating Peter throughout the week, getting closer to telling him you wanted to be his girlfriend every day. He carried your books for you, opened your door, and shut you up with kisses, just like you asked. By Friday, you were ready to make it official. You found him in the hallway between classes but before you could tell him what you decided on, he started to speak.

“What are you doing after school today?” He asked as he bounced on his heels.

“Volunteer Club was cancelled so nothing.” You answered. “Why?”

“I want to take you somewhere.” He explained. “But it’s a surprise.”

“I knew it.” You shook your head. “I knew you and your cult were gonna kill me.”

“There is no cult.” He huffed. “Just meet me here after school, okay?”

“Okay.” You looked at him skeptically as he broke out into a grin. “But what-“

Peter cut you off with a kiss before telling you, “It’s a surprise! No more questions.”

He quickly scurried away before you could ask him anything else, leaving you a blushing mess in the hallway.

After school, you walked with Peter’s hands over your eyes to an unknown location. The walk was pretty far and his hands we’re starting to get sweaty on your face. If you didn’t like him so much, you would have complained.

“Okay.” Peter announced. “We’re here. You can look.”

Peter uncovered your eyes and let you look around. When you realized he had brought you to a cemetery, you looked at him for answers.

“I was doing a little research, I hope you don’t mind.” He prefaced. “This lot is closest to the Grey Sloan Memorial hospital, so it’s where they put most of their car crash victims.”

“Yeah.” You nodded as you kept your eyes ahead. “I know.”

“This is where they buried your parents, right?” He asked quietly. You looked at him, impressed that he was able to find out where they were, and nodded.

“Yeah.” You said softly. “It is.”

“Can you take me to them?” He asked politely. You opened your mouth to speak, but found no words. Instead, you took Peter’s hand and lead him to your parents graves.

There was a pile of roses laid in front of the headstones, all in different stages of decomposition. Peter took his backpack off his shoulders and pulled out two roses. He handed one to you and kept the other in his hand. Before you could say anything, Peter got down on one knee in front of the headstone.

“Mr. and Mrs. L/n, it’s an honor to meet you.” He began. “My name is Peter Parker. I’m sure Y/n has complained about me a few times to you guys. I’ve definitely given her a lot to complain about.”

You chuckled at his words as tears came to your eyes. You thought what he was doing was sweet, if a little morbid. You knew his intentions were pure and that’s what mattered.

“I came here today for two reasons. The first was to meet the parents of the most unpredictable, intelligent, and beautiful person I have ever met. She’s also super annoying. Like, you would not believe how annoying this girl is.” He joked. “Or I guess, maybe you would. In my opinion, she gets a little easier to endure everyday.”

Peter looked back at you to see if you were still listening, and you gave him a thumbs up.

“My other reason for coming here was to formally ask you for permission to date your daughter.” He continued. “I know it’s ultimately her decision, but she likes old fashioned romantic gestures. So here I am, asking for your blessing.”

You covered your mouth with your hand as happy tears fell from your eyes. Not only had Peter remembered what you listed off to him, he followed through with the most thoughtful romantic gesture you’d been given. He turned around again to look at you, shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

“They’re kinda quiet.” Peter joked. “Do you think they said yes?”

“Peter?” You said weakly.

“Yes?”

“I’m feeling that overwhelming need to kiss you right about now.” You told him with a tearful smile.

“I bet you are, loser. Can you give me a minute? I’m in the middle of a conversation.” He rolled his eyes before turning back to the headstone. “So, you guys enjoying the weather?”

You let out a laugh and wiped your face free of tears.

“Peter. Stand up right now.”

Peter obliged and stood up to face you.

“You said you liked romantic gestures.” He began to apologize. “It was either this or I pull out a ouija board and-“

You cut Peter off by throwing your arms around him and kissing him. He kissed you back immediately, stabilizing you as you stumbled into him. Something inexplicable made this kiss feel different from the last ones. This time, you were letting yourself feel everything you wanted to feel for Peter.

“Wait.” You pulled away suddenly and held him back from you.

“What’s wrong?” He worried.

“I don’t want to get caught making out with my boyfriend in a graveyard.” You told him. “That’s too weird. Even for you.”

“You called me your boyfriend.” Peter smiled happily, ignoring everything you said except that.

“Did I?” You played dumb. “I didn’t even notice.”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @weirdr-artiest @serendipitous-amor @dummiesshort

@foreverxholland @lavender-writer @michaela072796 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101 @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human @mara-twins @iamaunicorn4704 @maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @thisisthebiplace @spideydobrik @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave @itscaminow @fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow @thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe @kelieah @kickingn-ames @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger @love-sick-blues @electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @spideyanakin @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl @anapocalypseinmymind @marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @tomshufflepuff @cookiemonstermusic258

@maybemona @alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom @xo-spidey @im-still-tryin-to-find-it @big-galaxy-chaos @pandaxnienke @theincredibledeadlyviper @thestylestour @officialsimppage @mrvelscaptains @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours @satanswitchings @okkulta @parkerlovebot @jungkxxkk @friendlyneighborhood-mendes @whatthefuckimbisexual @olixerwxxd @starkbrain @creatorofthegalaxy @sunshine-spencie @f-hollands @ilovefrogs1000 @itstaskeen @itmatteredatthetime @wrendermeuseless @amazinggracy @slutforsebstan @iprobablyshipit91 @magicalxdaydream @whereismytelephone @theonly1outof-a-billion @leilanixx @namoreno @bi-lmg @dracoswhore007 @tomhollandloml @avengers-hamiltrash @sunshinepeterparkr @gh0stgurl @so-very-asleep @veryholland @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @white-wolf1940 @spideycheles @w0nderzwndaya @fanficaddict13125 @pinklxmonade @thebestqueenoftheworld @nowayhomeparker @willowestelle @imobsessedzs @spideyspeaches @bookfrog242 @fandomfriend33

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker enemies to lovers #peter parker x you #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #marvel #spiderman

1K notes · View notes

prettyiwa · 3 years

Text

AO3 | Fic Page | NSFT 18+ | Playlist (🎵)

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ (timestamp 16) Content Warnings: POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Slice of Life, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Long-Distance Relationship, Miscommunication, Friends to Lovers, Oikawa is a good friend, Reader is at least 2 inches shorter than Iwa, Iwa goes to California for Grad work Summary: It takes you 24 hours to fall in love and he's certain he can wait until you do. Word Count: 10,000 Tagging: @izzabeean

A/N: I'm re-posting the first Haikyuu!! fic I completed prior to my release of two additional pieces for upcoming collabs 🙃 I had planned on releasing this chapter by chapter, but I want this to pre-date my first collab piece (tomorrow) and Tumblr has a vendetta against me in the tags.

This takes place between 2011-2019. This contains manga spoilers for Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and [briefly] Kuroo.

March 2011 | 10:24

➸ The gymnasium is loud with cheers for Seijoh after their match against Ogi Nishi. Oikawa waves to his adoring fangirls, vying for his attention from the spectator’s seats. Just as Iwaizumi is about to hit Oikawa, prevent his head from getting any bigger, he catches sight of you.

You’re staring with mild intrigue, not at Oikawa, but at Iwaizumi. He feels his face heat up at the attention, unused to receiving any when Oikawa’s around. You smile before Seijoh clears the court for the following team. He shakes it off, figuring he’s never going to see you again, not when the following team is Shiratorizawa, not when there are other people to look at.

But he’s wrong. As they make their way to watch their next opponent, waiting for the next match, you approach. Matsukawa and Hanamaki both point you out, suggesting that you’re one of Oikawa’s fangirls, trying to catch the setter when he’s free from female attention, but Iwaizumi knows better.

You ignore Oikawa’s charm, ignore both Matsukawa and Hanamaki, ignore everyone who isn’t Iwaizumi. Pulling out a notebook, you scribble your number and your name before tearing out that page, folding it in half, and passing it to Iwaizumi.

“Good luck,” you wish him as you leave them, walking towards your team, who are waiting for you just around the corner.

He looks over that folded piece of paper so much that he has your number memorized before the next match starts.

June 2011 | 17:43

➸ “Iwaizumi! You’re supposed to let me pay this time!” you whine as he holds your wallet out of reach before paying for the ramen.

He laughs, grateful that the other second-years weren’t able to make it to the restaurant, even if you two will be joining them afterward. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

The two of you sit at your table and he’s struck by the way that the sun perfectly illuminates you, accentuating the contours of your face. There’s laughter in your eyes and your smile is absolutely carefree, pleased to be in his presence.

He’s tried pushing it down, the light fluttering in his chest when you look at him like that, when you text him after school, when you tease, joke, and brighten the world around you.

Despite the fact that both of you have full schedules, you always manage to find an hour here or there to spend with friends. It’s exceptional, the way you fit into his life as though you had always been there.

“Are you ready for the prelims?” you ask, licking your lips at the sight of the food before you.

“As ready as we’re going to be,” he admits. “And you?”

“We’re gonna win! One game at a time, ya know?” The smile you offer is infectious, so much that he can’t help but wonder whether that’s the reason the ramen is better than it usually is.

He isn’t expecting it when you say, “I have faith that you guys will win and move forward! I just hope I get to watch.” It’s small, inconsequential, but that doesn’t stop the blush from forming, the shared hope that you’ll be there to watch, and that he can watch you in return.

December 2011 | 06:51

➸ A soft yawn escapes you before you lean on him, resting your head on his shoulder. Oikawa, wrapped in a thick blanket in addition to his winter coat, walks up behind you two, taking his place on Iwaizumi’s left side.

“You don’t get to yawn,” Oikawa chastizes you, voice thick with sleep and a hint of playfulness. “This was your idea in the first place.”

“Maybe so, but you agreed to come along,” you lilt, leaning forward to get a better look at Oikawa. He sticks his tongue out in response, narrowly dodging Iwaizumi’s fist.

“No fair, Iwa-chan! You’re nicer to her than you are to me!”

“I thought we came here to watch the last sunrise of the year, not to waste time bickering,” Iwaizumi complains, though he doesn’t mind the light squabble.

“We did, Iwa-chan,” you say through your yawn. “Can’t you feel it? The change?”

He turns to look at you, noticing the hope that bubbles beneath the warmth of your eyes. You meet his gaze briefly, though the second that you do seems to last a lifetime. There’s something about you that makes him feel achingly alive. Something he wants to explore, something he wants to cherish.

Your fingers graze his hand, sending a jolt of electricity through him, one that’s exacerbated by the shy manner in which you look away, almost embarrassed by such familiarity. Cute. Almost as though you haven’t made time for him at least three times a month since you slipped your number into his hand, as though you haven’t brightened his days with a simple text.

“This year is gonna be great,” you whisper. “Even for you, Crappykawa. We’re all gonna work hard and we’re gonna make it to Tokyo.”

Oikawa whines at your use of Iwaizumi’s nickname, whines at the chuckle that ripples through his friend. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Mean to you? I just told you that you’re gonna make it to nationals this year!”

“Did you have to call me crappy, though?”

You don’t answer, attention pulled to the sky before you. That cold winter grey is overpowered by the sun, bringing light hues of blues, pinks, and purples into view. He feels it—the change that you asked about. He wonders whether that’s the only change that 2012 promises.

May 2012 | 12:16

➸ It's a miracle, really, with the compact schedules of both the Aoba Johsai girl’s volleyball club and your volleyball club that you were able to schedule a practice match.

While he hasn’t been able to properly watch one of your matches like you have his, he’s managed to grab recordings, praising you for your technique, your cunning on the court. This? This is something else.

“Is she even real?” Hanamaki asks after you made a ridiculous set to the MB after your setter got first touch.

“That is rather impressive,” Oikawa comments, leaning over the banister in an attempt to get a better look. “I wouldn’t have expected it from her.”

You’re moving better than you usually do, making the most of your position as opposite hitter—easily filling the space left by your libero in their absence while making yourself available to your setter when needed.

Seijoh’s coach calls for time and your eyes immediately find his, telling him that you’ve been completely aware of his presence. Your grin is wide and mischievous, dropping only when you turn your attention back to your team.

“We aren’t looking good here, guys,” Hanamaki remarks, pointing at the scoreboard. It’s true—you’re currently wiping the floor with Seijoh—but he’s aware, more than any of the others, of how much time you’ve put in with your team.

His phone chimes and he’s lightweight surprised to see your name next to the text claiming he’s your good luck charm, requesting that he stays till the end of practice if possible.

It’s easy to comply, easy to give you what you want. Not even an hour later, he meets you at the entrance to the gym.

You have that post-win glow and excess energy that makes him think you could keep going for another three hours. He sees it in you—that promise you had made at the start of the year, that drive to make it to nationals. He hopes you see it in him, too. They’re going to Tokyo in January. You will, too.

When he asks why you wanted him to stop by—not yet acknowledging that he’s late to his own practice—you respond with a soft smile.

“I just like seeing you. You’re my good luck charm, after all. I’ll bring by some fruit after I’ve had a chance to clean off, okay?”

He plays better during practice and he thinks that, maybe, you’re his good luck charm, too.

July 2012 | 20:35

➸ They should be going home but they can’t. Not yet. Ever since their most recent defeat at the hands of Shiratorizawa, they’ve been training harder, pushing themselves further, determined to do better in October.

He knows that he should temper this side of the team, that he should do more to get them to rest, to avoid overexerting themselves, but the sting of defeat—even a month later—hasn’t left them.

For whatever reason, he’s felt ashamed to admit defeat to you, though you were there and you know. Your game was held at the same time as his, except you won. It’s the first game of his that you were unable to watch, the first time that you weren’t there in the audience. Since then, he’s struggled with talking to you.

“Oi! What the hell, guys?” you call from the entrance, startling the third and second years still there. “Makki! You said practice ended an hour ago!”

He doesn’t like the feeling that rises in his chest at the knowledge that you’ve still been texting his friends, doesn’t like the idea that they’re keeping in contact with you when he’s failed to do so. He especially doesn’t like the cheery way that Crappykawa calls out to you with a sickly sweet nickname that doesn’t elicit a negative reaction from you.

“Come on, guys. I was going to take you out for Tōru-chan’s birthday!” Your pout is fake and you don’t hesitate to start helping put everything away, even if this isn’t your gym and isn’t your practice. Just for tonight, it’s like they have a manager.

It only makes his guilt worse and you do nothing to ease it as you approach him in the storage closet.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s not an accusation, not an angry confrontation for such a slight like he’s sometimes seen with Oikawa’s fangirls. It’s a statement. The truth. At least he doesn’t deny it. When you ask why he tells you. “Iwa-chan. I think no less of you for the results of that match.”

When he doesn’t look at you, you grab his hand, demanding his attention. “Please come back. I miss you.”

After the gym is cleaned and the second-years are booted, you leave with the third-years to the restaurant you had in mind. If anyone notices the way your fingers intertwine with his on the walk, no one says a thing. And each time he risks a glance your way, he sees the shy smile that graces your lips, sees the slight discoloration of your cheeks.

It’s then he realizes just how deep he is.

September 2012 | 01:02

➸ You’ve been texting him nonstop, miserable during your friend’s birthday celebration. Some event in Tokyo that’s fine with 18-year olds, something that has your friends dancing, disappearing into the crowd if you take your eyes off them for too long.

He’s stayed up the entire time, worry eating at him despite your constant updates. You send pictures to accompany the texts, showing off your outfit, the venue, the city. In the ones that feature you, there’s often an edge to your smile, the sparkle in your eye absent. The reaction shots you send him are genuine, featuring a smile that he wants to think is just for him.

The last time you had texted him, however, was almost twenty minutes ago. His anxiety is through the roof, interrupted by a phone call.

“Iwa-chan?” your voice is broken, small. He immediately goes to worse-case-scenario, thinking that you’ve been attacked, that you’re hurt and six hours away.

“Iwa-chan? Are you there?”

“I’m here. Are you okay?”

The event is loud, still raging in the background, even at this time. It’s hard to tell if you’re sniffling or if he’s imagining things, projecting his fears on you.

“Ah… I’m fine, physically. Just… a little emotionally exhausted. I’m heading back to the hotel by myself right now and I just really want to hear your voice.”

“What’s going on? Where are your friends?”

“They’re still out. I have the keys, but I’m not trying to stay out with vomit on my pants.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Yeah. I went to the bathroom and some girl was sobbing and obviously drunk. When I tried to slip past her, she blew chunks. All over my leg.”

“That… sounds awful,” he says, a relieved chuckle leaving him.

“It is.” He can almost hear your pout, almost see the way it’s set on your lips. “Agh. Remind me why I agreed to come out with them?”

“Because you’re a pushover?”

“Hey! I am not! I’m just nicer to my friends than you are yours!”

“I’m nice to you, aren’t I?” Though that may be unrelated.

“Tch. I guess.”

“You guess?” he teases. “I could hang up and let you walk back to the hotel by yourself.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he agrees with a chuckle. “How’s the city otherwise?”

“It’s… nice. Busy. Maybe if the circumstances were different, I’d enjoy it more.”

“Don’t you visit each summer for that training camp?”

“Ah, not really. It’s the suburbs, not the city. The weather’s a little nicer, but I might as well still be in Miyagi if not for the better teams.”

The sound of the city disappears, indicating that you must be inside the hotel. He hears the soft chime of the elevator and assumes that you’re keeping silent to avoid your voice carrying.

“I’m here,” you confirm. “Do you… never mind.”

“No. What is it?”

You sigh, sounding unsure, but relent. “I was going to ask if you would mind allowing me to shower before I called you back. But it’s late. You should be asleep.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Whatever you need.”

You’re silent, appreciating his words, before giving him a heartfelt, “Thank you, Hajime.” Your small token of gratitude has managed to steal the breath from his lungs, managed to fill his heart, managed to wake him up. Ten minutes later, you call again, talking about everything and nothing until you fall asleep on him.

He starts to toy with the idea of properly asking you out when you mumble his name in your sleep.

November 2012 | 23:53

➸ It’s a text just before midnight, the small plea for him to come outside, knowing that he’s still awake.

He had only recently returned home, staying out with the third-years in an attempt to finish on a high note, though the bitter truth came crashing down nonetheless. Just as before, he’s hesitant to show this side to you, worried about what you would think of him.

Your team won today. You’re moving to the next round, facing off against an incredibly tough opponent. All the same, his feet carry him to the front door, hand turning the knob without conscious thought.

In your hands is a thick, insulated bag, protecting its contents from the cold. Your expression is hopeful, albeit solemn. Instead of resting, preparing for the finals, you’re here, wanting to console him. It makes him ache with yearning, ache with annoyance.

Are you here because you pity him? Because he lost, unable to make that last spike count? Are you here because you want to celebrate your win? And what the hell are you doing here anyway? You have a responsibility to your team and you’re here instead.

“I brought you agedashi tofu. I, uh, I made it myself. I’m not the greatest cook, but I think it should be good. If you don’t like it, I could take you out to a proper restaurant or you could disown me. Whatever works best for you,” you ramble, anxiety coloring your words.

That’s all it takes for all of his frustrations and grievances of the day to wash away, for him to push aside all negativity and appreciate what you’ve done. That’s all it takes for the reality of the day, of their loss, of your presence here, of his feelings for you to hit him with the force of a train.

A small gasp escapes you as he wraps his arms around you, surprised at the blatant expression of affection initiated by him, surprised that he had closed the distance so quickly.

“Thank you.” It comes out in a whisper, almost like a reverent prayer of gratitude mumbled into your hair.

“Always, Hajime.”

January 2013 | 13:00

➸ The last text you were able to send was three hours ago. He’s watching the semi-finals on his phone, noting every receive, every serve, every spike, every set. Pride fills his chest as he watches you and your team move as one, almost as though he's watching the push and pull of the waves.

The other team is tough, one that makes it to nationals regularly, but you guys are putting up a good fight. The captain of the opposing team tries to get an off-the-partial block, taking advantage of the fact that your libero isn’t on the court. You leap, ensuring that her play doesn’t go unanswered.

Your receive connects, sending the ball back to your setter who’s able to pull off a quick attack. It's clear when your ankle rolls, when you stumble, that you've most likely sprained the joint.

His heart stutters as you try to push yourself up, try to ignore the injury, try to continue playing. Of course, you would. You’re so fucking obstinate, so fucking devoted to your team that there isn’t a part of you that you wouldn’t sacrifice for them, for the chance to play again.

Your coach subs you out, making certain to have your manager escort you to receive medical attention. As soon as the cameras are off of you, as soon as you’re out of sight, he minimizes the video and shoots you a text.

It’s not the comfort he wishes he could provide, but it’s the best he can do from well over 300 kilometers away.

It’s another twenty minutes until you respond with a phone call. There’s pain in your voice and he isn’t entirely certain whether it’s your ankle or the narrow loss of the match. Either way, he listens, only interrupting when your comments turn critical of your performance, reminding you that you did everything you could.

He tells you everything he needed to hear when he lost months ago, commending you for making it to Tokyo, promising to take you out for ramen when you return.

Before you end the call and return to your team, he overhears one of your teammates ask who you’re on the phone with.

“Go away, Nomi! ... I'll be right there! ... It’s my Iwa-chan, not that it’s any of your business! ... Yeah, yeah, tell coach that I'm coming.”

The hint of possessiveness in your tone as you declare him your Iwa brings an involuntary smile to your face that's impossible to remove.

“Your Iwa-chan?” he teases lightly, wanting to hear it again.

“Shut up, Hajime,” you bite back, clearly flustered. “I’ll text you when I’m back in Sendai, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

March 2013 | 18:12

Maybe he’s being selfish, telling you now, or perhaps it’s cowardice.

Waiting until graduation to make a move? It’s not much time until you’re both away at university—something the two of you have surprisingly not talked about—and he isn’t certain whether he’s on the cusp of telling you because it gives him an out if you reject him or if it’s a guarantee that you’re his despite the distance. Not to mention his plans for potentially studying abroad like Oikawa, potentially leaving you here. Even if that’s a couple of years away and he doesn’t know your answer yet, that’s still simultaneously not enough and too much time. It honestly depends on your answer.

There’s something between you two, that much is undeniable, but he’s concerned that he’s waited too long. It’s been two years since you passed him your number, two years since you made the first move. But things are… different, right?

He’s important to you—one of the first people you call when you are in a bind, when you have good news to share, when you just want to talk. You’re attentive enough to offer comfort if he needs it, picking up on the most minute details that indicate something’s amiss. He never really thought that he needed something like that until you came along.

“Hajime?”

Turning, he finds you approaching from behind. Your hair is carefully done and you’re dressed to the nines, clearly meant to be somewhere else right now. It’s immediate—he feels as though you belong to a completely different world, one out of his reach. But your smile is warm, inviting, something that you give to him and him alone.

“You look nice,” he blurts out, flustering you both. “Are—do you have someplace to be right now?”

“Ah, technically,” you say, waving away the concern of your evening itinerary. “You’re more important.” The way that statement rolls off your tongue is astounding, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, as though those three words haven’t stopped his heart.

“I, uh—” Shit. Of all the times when his brain could have short-circuited, why now? “I had something I wanted to tell you.”

His heart is pounding in his chest and concern flashes across your face, picking up on his nervousness.

“Hajime—” The ringing of your phone cuts you off and he encourages you to answer it, encourages you to give him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Mom? … I’ll be there soon, I promise. … Wait. What? … Are you serious? I did?! … I, ah, yeah! I’ll be there soon. I’m visiting with — yeah. Thank you!”

The exuberance that rolls off of you is infectious as you turn to him, eyes bright and full of pure, unadulterated joy. Until they aren’t.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I received my acceptance letter.”

“That’s great! Where are you going?”

“California. I got accepted to an accelerated academic program offered by UCLA. I’ll be leaving in three weeks.”

Just like that, everything changes.

October 2013 | 16:20 (JST) 00:20 (PST)

➸ He’s running late—really late. He should have called you two hours ago but he got caught in a meeting with his academic advisor regarding his plans for UC Irvine. It’s well past midnight in California, but your hours have been all over the place with your academic schedule.

Shooting you a text, he hopes you’re asleep, hopes that you’re taking care of yourself. That doesn’t stop the wave of relief from flooding his being when you text back, telling him to call you.

“Hajiiii~” you whine as soon as the call goes through. “If I have to write one more essay on Machiavelli, I might die.”

“Machiavelli? Why do you have to study political theory if you’re pre-med?”

“Stupid UCLA and their degree requirements.” Your pout is apparent, even from over 8,800 kilometers away. He hears the exhaustion and exasperation in your tone, but he hears the happiness, too.

“Well, you’re smart enough that I’m sure you’ll be done soon.”

“Thanks, Haji,” you chirp.

“You wanna tell me what you’re still doing up? It’s midnight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I miss hearing your voice.” It’s a small admission, one that doesn’t fail to make him smile. “Oh! And I was able to get in contact with Utsui’s assistant. I know you look up to him.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Wait—why were you reaching out?”

“There’s a physical therapy course that he’s offering in the winter and I need instructor permission before my advisor will agree to me taking a course from another UC. I really hope I get the chance to work with him while I'm here.”

He still hasn’t told you that he plans on going to Irvine to study under Utsui, that he’ll be joining you in Southern California. Honestly? He wants it to be a surprise. He listens to you tell him about your day, talking about everything and nothing, stays on the phone with you until he hears nothing but soft snores.

Before he discontinues the call, he hears you mumble, "My Hajime."

February 2014 | 07:41

➸ Steady knocking interrupts him as he prepares for the day, making him wonder whether he had plans that had gone forgotten. Pulling open the door, he’s surprised to see you.

His first thought is that he hasn’t woken up—he must still be asleep. But when he dreams of you, it’s of how you looked before you left. Your hair is different and you’re a little taller than you were when you left, but your smile is the same, one that you wear just for him.

“Hiya,” you trill, lifting your arms, revealing a box with his name etched on its top. “I’ve been working on perfecting this recipe for the last couple of months, so I hope you like them. If not, well, I’m in Japan until Saturday night.”

Without thinking, he pulls you into a tight embrace, all too eager to surround himself with nothing but you. Your arms wrap around him before you nuzzle into his neck, bringing him impossibly closer.

“I missed you,” you whisper. “I missed you so much.”

He wants to tell you that he’s missed you, that there’s not a fucking day that you don’t invade his thoughts. He wants to ask you to stay with him, to let him shower you with pent-up affection, to let him whisk you away to some secluded corner of the world for just the two of you, but he sticks with, “Stay with me this weekend?”

“As long as you want,” you promise.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs. “Shit. How am I ever going to match this for White Day?”

“I don’t care. So long as I get to spend time with you now, I’m happy.” As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, he presses his lips to yours. For a moment, he’s certain that he’s crossed a boundary, certain that you’re going to turn around and go back to California. Then you pull him closer, returning his kiss with a satisfactory little hum.

If he wasn’t in deep before—and he was—then he has gotta be at the bottom of the fucking Mariana Trench at this point.

April 2014 | 19:10

➸ “Hajime?” you ask as soon as he enters your apartment. The aroma of your favorite taqueria fills the small space while you rummage through the kitchenette. “You wanna tell me why Oikawa texted me to, and I quote, ‘Get our man in check?’”

Iwaizumi laughs, knowing exactly what sparked this reaction in Oikawa.

“I didn’t realize that when I agreed to date you that you were already in a relationship,” you tease as you finish setting the table.

“Shut up,” he replies with a chuckle, making his way through the apartment as though it’s his.

“Make me.”

Your smile turns mischievous as he approaches you like a predator hunting its prey. Standing before you, the difference in height is exaggerated as you tilt your head up, maintaining eye contact.

His hand comes to cup your jaw before he leans in, kiss leaving you breathless, grasping at his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

You pull back slightly, adoration visible in your eyes. “So? Are you going to tell me what you did to warrant an angry text from Oikawa?”

“OH! Yeah, you’ll never guess who I ran into today!”

“You… ran into someone? From Miyagi?!” you ask incredulously.

“Not just someone. Ushiwaka.” He laughs at your startled expression, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Yeah! His dad is Utsui Takashi. We actually talked after I got the chance to meet him. Before we parted, I took a picture with him and sent it to Oikawa to rub it in.”

“Well… shit.” You glance around the apartment as his words sink in, only for your eyes to settle on the food that’s still waiting. “Oh. Why don’t you go get comfortable and tell me about your day after we eat? I can’t wait to hear all about your day!”

Warmth spreads throughout him at your words, at the domesticity of it all, at the thought that he could do this with you for the rest of his life, at the knowledge that it’s something he wants.

June 2014 | 04:29

➸ After ten hours, he’s here. His muscles are stiff from having been seated for so long but seeing you waiting for him beyond security makes his heart leap, gives him a small boost of energy. You’re rubbing the sleep from your eyes, waiting patiently with a pleased smile.

As soon as he’s past the threshold, you reach for his duffle and he swats your hands away.

“Hajime,” you pout, “let me carry something!”

“Not a chance, doll.” He’s tired enough that he doesn’t think about it when you pull on his free arm, draping it around your shoulders while pulling him close, being far more affectionate than the two of you would be at the Sendai airport.

“What do you have planned for us?” he asks as you direct him out of the air-conditioned building, the cool, humid air stagnant in the parking structure.

A hum builds in your chest as you consider his schedule for this trip. “Let’s get some sleep first, then I’ll take you out to eat, yeah?”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” You curl into him, bringing yourself as close as you can before you two approach your car.

“I wouldn’t say that just yet, not until you see what else I have in store for you, birthday boy.” Stretching, you press your lips to his cheek and pull away to open the trunk of the car.

Honestly, he could give two shits about receiving anything else, about doing anything more for his birthday. Being here with you is enough. He’s so close to achieving his goals and you’re right here with him for it all. There isn’t anything more he could ask for.

January 2015 | 00:00

➸ New Years’ in California is much warmer than he’s used to, but it’s better than not seeing you at all for end-of-year celebrations. While the two of you participated in typical Japanese traditions, there’s one western tradition that you wanted to do with him.

The entire city seems to be alight with energy and the countdown to midnight seems to echo throughout. You’re standing on the balcony with Iwaizumi, looking out to the city while the television inside calls it out.

Just before the countdown reaches zero, you turn to face him, only to find that his eyes are already on you. How could they not be when you’re the most beautiful being around?

You kiss him, pulling him close and allowing for him to get drunk on you—the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips, the taste of you on his lips, your scent that overwhelms him, clouds his mind, clearing any coherent thought that is not you.

His hold on you tightens, not ready to let go—not that he’s ever going to be ready to let you go—and you melt in his touch. He rests his forehead against yours, the giddy smile on his face refusing to go away. Then again, you’re in the same boat.

“Apparently, it’s said that if you don’t get a kiss at midnight, you’ll be alone and without love for the remainder of the year,” you whisper conspiratorily.

“Even if we had the entire ocean between us tonight, that wouldn’t be your fate,” he admits softly. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to saying it, though you have to know by now, right? You look almost shocked, pleasantly so, before you nuzzle your face in his neck.

He knows how he feels, knows that you’re worth waiting for, worth fighting for. Even if you don’t know how you feel just yet, he can wait. All that matters is that he gets to share any part of his life with you, he gets to be a source of happiness for you.

April 2015 | 08:38 (JST) 16:38 (PST)

➸ Three months of hits and misses with you are really starting to wear thin.

It shouldn’t. He knows that it shouldn’t. He knows that you’re finishing up your accelerated undergrad program. He’s stepped up his own academic schedule to return to California sooner.

He knows better than anyone how insanely busy that makes a person, and you’re doing more than he is.

But he misses you more than he’s expressed—and he’s expressed a lot. He didn’t realize how much of a constant in his life you had become, not until he couldn’t talk to you like he used to, not until the sixteen-hour time difference really started to get to you both.

Even with all of that, it’s frustrating considering that he can still touch base with Oikawa more often. It’s frustrating that he’s an ocean away.

All that being said, his promise from New Year’s still rings true. His love for you hasn’t wavered, hasn’t changed in the least. It’s just… frustrating not being able to touch you, hardly being able to talk to you.

So the second his phone starts to ring, he decides he can skip this class.

“Hajime,” you say as soon as the call goes through, hushed almost like a prayer. If it is a prayer, it’s one he’ll gladly answer again and again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, doll. More than you can imagine.”

“I dunno—I can imagine a lot,” you laugh lightly, but he can still tell your smile doesn’t quite hit the same.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“You mean outside of me missing you terribly? No. I’m just exhausted. I met with my academic advisor a half hour ago.”

“How'd it go?”

“Next quarter will be the last of my undergrad. I have to take the MCAT in June, but I’m on track to start my medical degree this autumn. Then four more years till I can come back home.” There’s something in your voice, some small insecurity, some small fracture that pains him.

“Is everything okay?”

“I—yeah. No. I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ask for anything, please, and he’ll give it.

“Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

August 2015 | 03:46

➸ He can’t get enough of you—not like this. It’s been eight fucking months since he’s been able to hold you, since he's been able to touch you. You’re here now and he can’t keep his hands to himself.

Your nails dig into the taut muscle of his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, eagerly attaching your lips to the column of his throat when he gives you what you want, teeth grazing over his pulse point. The soft expletives that leave his mouth seem to spurn you on, seem to increase your hunger for him.

He loves you like this—open and exposed, something just for him. No one else gets to see you like this, gets to experience you like this. This is for him and him alone and he’ll revel in every second you grant him.

Capturing your lips with his, the kiss is messy, frenzied as he works his hand between you both. He swallows your moan, fingers circling your swollen clit, causing you to clench around him. You break away from the kiss with a high-pitched intake and a glossed-over expression.

“Oh, fuck, Hajime,” you breathe, voice breathy and barely there, “fuckfuckfuck—just like that.”

“Yeah? My pretty girl likes that?” You bite your tongue to withhold the whine that’s building up and he’s quick to put an end to that. “I wanna hear my girl when she comes.”

That’s all it takes to push you over the edge, for your gummy walls to close around him so tight that he has to stop, for you to scream his name as tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

Beautiful.

“Fuck, I love you,” he mutters in between thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. It isn’t until the soft gasp that escapes you that he realizes what he said. Your eyes are wide, questioning, almost hopeful before you pull him back to your lips, kissing him as though your life depends on it. He comes, orgasm washing over him, pulling away from your eager lips so he can breathe.

Taking a moment to catch his breath after pulling out, he presses his weight against you, head resting on your chest, ear just above your heart. You run your fingers through his hair as the last couple of minutes play in his mind.

“I meant it. It’s not just a sex thing,” he murmurs into your skin. Your fingers cease their movements and he hears the slight increase in your heartbeat, but you say nothing. Instead, you pull him up by his face and give him a kiss so sweet he wonders whether he’ll have a cavity when this is over.

You don’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to hear it. Just you knowing how he feels will be enough.

February 2016 | 14:28

➸ “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks, frustration and hurt dripping from his tone.

“I don’t understand why it matters! They have no bearing on our relationship!”

“They’re your parents! I’m your boyfriend. I should know if they don’t like me,” he argues, unable to look away from your defiant expression.

It shouldn’t be like this, you two shouldn’t be arguing. Not now, not when he had come out to spend Valentine’s day with you. If he hadn’t been getting ready in your bedroom, he doubts that he would have heard your parent’s unannounced visit, doubts he would have heard the conversation not meant for him.

And fuck if it doesn’t sting—the truth of your parent’s opinion of him as your romantic partner, the fact that you kept it from him, the dismissal of that little dream that had been forming in his mind. And you don’t get it. You don’t understand how fucking much this hurts.

“They don’t get to decide who I’m with! For fuck’s sake, Iwa! The only two people who matter in this relationship are you and me! Everyone else can go fuck off,” you spit and he hears your hurt with the explicit reduction in his name. He can't even pretend that it doesn't pain him—the fact that you called him 'Iwa' instead of 'Haji' or 'Hajime,' or the fact that you're suffering, too.

“They threatened to cut you off financially. It’s not as though you can afford to stay here without them.”

“My entire life they’ve dictated what I do, where I go, who I see. Befriending you was the first choice I made on my own and I’m not giving that up for them. If they wanna cut me off, then so be it.”

His breath catches in his throat as your declaration rings in the air, giving you an opportunity to say something he wishes you didn’t.

“If this is a deal-breaker for you—my parents not liking you—then so be it. I’m not forcing you to be in a relationship with me, nor am I going to try to get you guys to get along. I’m tired of doing everything I can for a modicum of their approval.”

The fire that burned through you is gone now as though a bucket of water was dumped over you both, leaving nothing but an icy chill blowing through the room.

He closes the distance between you two, eyes never leaving yours, seeing the depth of your fear and your insecurity.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises quietly.

As much as he would like for you to have a positive relationship with your parents, you’re right. What matters most is that you two are happy together. Later, when emotions have simmered, you two can talk about it. Maybe then he can voice his insecurities and you can voice yours.

October 2016 | 05:50

➸ He isn’t sure where his body ends and yours begins, not that he minds. Your soft snores offer a soothing lullaby that keeps him in a state of tranquility, keeps him from getting up too early on his day off.

How—indescribable all of this is. It’s been nearly three months now, living with you in California, but he’s still in a state of disbelief.

He keeps waiting for the moment he wakes up, the shift in reality to remind him that he’s simply imagining, dreaming, hoping for this outcome. It’s too good to be true, to finally be here with you, to be one step closer to that dream of his that’s starting to solidify.

No longer is it only for him to become a physical trainer, for him to work alongside professional athletes, to push them to be their best, but now you’re in the picture beside him. Before, he hadn’t given it much thought, not truly. But now? There’s hardly a day that goes by where he doesn’t find himself thinking of the future he wants, wondering what role you’ll play in it.

True to your sentiments earlier in the year, you removed yourself from your parent’s influence, finding outside funding for your education, finding a new place to live with Iwaizumi once his graduation went through. You’ve already taken such great steps to show him that you’re serious about him, that you’re serious about the relationship, regardless of what obstacles may arise.

You shift on his chest, drawing his focus down to you. There’s the subtle change in your breathing that suggests your imminent change in consciousness and he can’t help himself when his fingers start to trail through your hair.

“Mmm,” you hum lightly. “G’mornin’, my handsome man.”

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Wriggling your way up, you press a sleepy kiss to the side of his mouth before a small yawn escapes you. He turns to press a kiss to your forehead, loving the tired look full of near reverence in your eyes.

“What’re we doing today?”

“What do you mean, ‘what are we doing today?’ You have class,” he asks, knowing you wouldn’t willingly miss a class now that you’re on an academic scholarship.

“Class is canceled. Teacher got sick. Go figure,” you mumble, reaching under your pillow for your phone. Unlocking your phone, the email is still the open tab on your phone, sent four hours ago. “We never get to do anything anymore. Why don’t we go out and experience nature?”

He chuckles at your pout, mulling over the possibility of a day hike. “I’ve been meaning to go to Joshua Tree.”

“C’mon, then! Let’s do it!” Your excitement is interrupted by a large yawn, accentuating how exhausted med school is leaving you. “Coffee first.”

“Whatever you want, doll. All you gotta do is ask and it's yours.”

Anything, anything at all.

May 2017 | 11:06

➸ He’s tired. He’s tired of the commute—nearly an hour for a distance of fewer than fifty kilometers by car, longer with public transit, longer for you. He’s tired of the cost of everything here.

He’s tired of not seeing you, tired of missed connections, of maybe—if he’s lucky—feeling you come to bed in the late hours, of waking up to leave before you. He’s tired of the bickering, of the fighting, of taking out frustrations on one another instead of talking about it with one another.

He’s exhausted, thoroughly. Completely. He misses you more than when he was 8,800 kilometers away from you.

So, when UCI offered him a position as a T.A., he took it. At least it will keep him busy while he’s missing you. At least he can help other students interested in sport sciences—well, interested enough to take courses in the subject. It gives him a prime opportunity to work more closely with Utsui outside of his own classes with him, something he’s endlessly grateful for.

The undergrads are eager to get going early—not that he can blame them—and, as the quarter started last week, he has no objections to letting them leave ten minutes early. He uses that time to check emails, making certain that no other students have any urgent inquiries, that Utsui doesn’t need him for anything else for the day.

Your text tone chimes, asking when he’ll be done with his lesson for the day. When he asks why, you respond with a simple, “Come to the parking lot.”

He isn’t expecting to see you leaning against your car with a familiar insulated bag in your hand and your book bag on your back. You look tired, just as exhausted as he feels, and a weary smile appears when he comes into view.

“Hey, there, handsome.” Your voice is heavy with the reality of the last couple of weeks, no cheer or lilt to be detected. “‘M sorry for all of the arguing. I’ve been taking things out on you and it’s not okay. I want to do better.”

“It’s not just you. I’ve done the same. We’ve both been kinda shitty.”

“Mm. That we have. I have some food from your favorite restaurant and I thought we could have a little picnic?”

“That sounds… amazing. We can do that if we talk about what’s been going on.”

Tension visibly leaves you and the smile you give him is a little lighter. “Absolutely, Hajime.”

September 2017 | 15:39

➸ You’re sick. Something small, most likely the flu, but you’re caught in a state of panic over it.

At the beginning of the month, you both had to miss school due to evacuations for the La Tuna fire, apparently the largest fire in the area for half a century. While your school had understood, you had set up meetings months ago that will determine the trajectory of your studies and your life after graduation. Meetings that were impossible to get and are appearing to be impossible to reschedule.

And now, you’re on your way to missing your third day of school this week. He understands the panic, understands the pressure you’re putting on yourself. Even if he didn’t, he doubts that he’d be doing anything else right now.

Your tears are staining his shirt while he holds you to him, keeping you close while he hums the melody of one of your favorite songs. It’s hot in this bed—between you and your fever and the blankets, he’s sure he’s melting. But it’s working and he’ll turn into a puddle before leaving you alone to deal with this.

Soon enough, your sobs turn into little sniffles and your grip in his shirt loosens. He continues to rub soothing circles on your back, continues to hum various songs until it dies down completely. It’s when you don’t complain about him humming Ifukube’s Godzilla theme that he realizes you’re asleep.

He’s gentle in laying you down, intentionally grabbing your phone and placing it on silent before noticing three missed calls from your parents. Just as he attempts to turn Do-Not-Disturb on his phone, too, he receives an email from your mother.

As much as he wants to read it and address whatever concern they may have, as much as he wants to prove that he’s worthy of being your long-term partner, he knows that you need rest above all else right now. Whatever this is, whatever they need, it can wait, at least until after you wake up and your fever breaks.

June 2018 | 21:27 (PST) 01:27 (ART)

➸ When he comes home, the apartment's dark, nearly devoid of all life, save for the dim light coming from the closed bedroom door and your muffled voice. You’ve been frustrated with him for a myriad of reasons and him being late after a tutoring session with her doesn’t help.

This underclassman who’s taken a shine to Iwaizumi, disregarding his insistence that he’s unavailable, that he has a partner—though, the term he used was fiancée. It doesn’t help that you had later popped into his section—the same that she attends—and introduced yourself as his girlfriend a week later. Not that he could blame you since he’s still working on building up the courage to propose.

He tried to shrug her off, tried to get her to switch sections with the other T.A., tried to remove her from his tutoring schedule, but his department—and the union—firmly shut him down, citing the “fulfillment of his contractual obligations.”

It only got worse when she started messaging you, when she appeared during date nights, when she had blatantly made a move with you not four meters away.

And then there’s the situation with your dad. A triple bypass surgery demanded your return to Japan last October and you haven’t spoken to your parents since. Iwaizumi, however, has increased his communications with them since your mother reached out. He wants a better relationship with them, wants your father’s blessing when he asks again, but you’re insistent you want nothing to do with them. You had found out about their correspondence when your mom had emailed you to check in, including a question about Iwaizumi’s studies.

He should be glad that you’re still here, that you aren’t sleeping at school, but he sees the papers from UCLA’s Education Abroad Program, the pamphlets for an Argentinian medical program, and an award letter from the program director. He can't help but read it, but take in the offer extended—a full-ride for a term abroad, offering you a place due to your class ranking, ignoring the fact you hadn't applied. At least, that's the impression he gets from the letter, along with the fact that he doesn't remember you bringing up EAP before.

Approaching the bedroom door, he hears your side of the conversation with Shittykawa and he has to pretend that hearing you talk to him, call him ‘Ru’ doesn’t bother him. That it doesn’t bother him to hear you cry into the phone, asking what you did wrong, asking why things are the way they are.

He leans against the wall next to the bedroom door, sliding down until he’s seated on the ground. He listens to your insecurities, to your fears, to everything you spill to his best friend because you’re afraid to tell Iwaizumi. He listens as you broach the topic of doing a semester abroad in Argentina, something that wasn't even on your radar, not with your last year about to start. He listens to you admit that it's a great opportunity, that, perhaps, it's better for the relationship if you two spend some time apart.

Not like we see much of each other anyway.

It isn’t until it hits ten in California that he realizes it’s two in the morning in Argentina, that you’re still on the phone with Oikawa, that you still don’t know Iwaizumi’s home.

November 2018 | 09:45

➸ Oikawa’s ringtone can be heard in the kitchen where Iwaizumi had left his phone. It’s been two months since you left and a week since you called. The apartment is empty without you, even if all of your belongings are here, promising your return.

For what it’s worth, Oikawa’s been really helpful, carefully listening to both sides, understanding that it’s a case of frayed nerves, miscommunication, and shitty circumstances. So Iwaizumi wastes no time answering the phone.

“Iwa-chan! How’s California?”

“The same as it was two days ago. Kinda shitty and on fire.”

“Tsk. Always such a downer. Are you sure that it isn’t the absence of—”

“Her absence is exactly why it’s shitty and you know that.”

“Hm. I suppose I do,” Oikawa muses lightly. “Are you still on track to graduate just before summer?”

“Yeah. Spoke to my advisors this past week. I could graduate in two months, if I wanted, but…” if he does, then he’ll be leaving California. Leaving you. You’re nearly done with med school, almost ready to return to Japan.

He has no intention of returning alone. He’ll fight tooth and nail for you, for this relationship. Even if you two are… in a tough place, right now, he’s not going anywhere.

“Ah. Well. She misses you. She’s wrapped her pillow with one of your old Godzilla shirts.”

He snorts at the image, at the knowledge that it was you who had taken his shirt, that he hadn’t lost it at the laundromat. “That… sounds about right, I guess. How—how is she?”

“What? She hasn’t called you?” Oikawa asks, sounding surprised. Overwhelmingly surprised.

“No? She called me last Tuesday and I haven’t really heard from her since.”

“That’s—maybe she picked up extra shifts at the clinic? I could ask when I see her tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna see her tomorrow?”

“We were gonna watch a recording of the Adlers-Black Jackal’s game. I wanna watch Ushiwaka and Kageyama lose to Shōyō! Do you want me to tell her to give you a call?”

Iwaizumi hesitates, wanting to talk to you more than anything—actually, no, he wants to hold you more than anything—but he wants it only if you’re doing it because you want to.

“Nah. It’s okay. I’ll, ah, I’ll shoot her a text. Hopefully, we’ll be able to talk today or tomorrow. Hey, listen—”

“Iwa-chan. She’ll come around,” Oikawa states, catching onto Iwaizumi’s discomfort. “It was nice chatting with you, but practice is about to start.”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.”

Iwaizumi sinks into the couch, letting his mind wander over what the future holds. With his program coming to an end, will he be able to find work with the V. League? When you return, will you two be able to reconcile properly? Will you want to be a part of his future?

Before he can spend too much time dwelling on the infinite possibilities that lay ahead, he receives a text from you.

Hey. I miss you. A lot. There’s so much I want to tell you but I know you’re probably busy. Please give me a call if your schedule permits? I have two days off, starting tomorrow. I’ll be watching a recording of the Schweiden-MSBY game with Crappykawa tomorrow, but that can be paused... I miss you. I hope you’re well.

December 2018 | 02:13

➸ He had come to Japan after being contacted by the JVA thanks to Ushijima’s recommendation, not expecting to be contacted by your parents when your dad suffered a massive heart attack.

Your cousin left a bit ago to pick you up from the airport and he’s anxious, both for the outcome of the emergency surgery and to see you for the first time in months. For the first time since officially courting you, they had finally said “yes.”

It came in the form of the hospital staff asking him to leave if he wasn’t immediate family—a request made by your mother—only for your father to brokenly tell them that Iwaizumi’s their future son-in-law. To make certain, he asked one final time, adopting dogeza in deference:

“Please allow me to marry your daughter.”

All he had wanted was to do right by you, by your parents, by his. While the two of you may not be sticklers for tradition, they are. And he wants for you to have a relationship with his family as much as he would like a… cordial relationship with yours.

“Hajime.”

It’s a breath of fresh air, the first thaw of the snow as it makes way for spring, the warmth of a cackling fire after a day in the cold. A whispered devotion full of words long unsaid, full of emotions long since bottled. It’s you.

He doesn’t care for Japanese customs or propriety—if anything, he can blame it on living in California for the last couple of years. Standing abruptly, he starts in your direction, allowing for relief to wash through him, for love to fill him. Opening his arms, you readily fall into him, readily accept him, openly ignoring your cousin’s blatant disapproval of such public affection.

“I—fuck, Haji. I didn’t expect to see you here, for you to still be at the hospital! Oh, shit. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much,” you cry into his chest as tears begin to fall in earnest. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left things the way I did. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” he murmurs into your hair, glad to have you so close. “I, uh, I was already planning on staying until visiting hours officially open in the morning. I don’t know what you had planned on doing, but they probably won’t let me or Michiko enter.”

You still in his arms, reading the air, understanding what Iwaizumi isn’t saying. “Is okaasan still here?”

“I believe she’s trying to sleep in your father’s room. Kicked up a nasty fuss when they tried to get her to leave,” he tells you with a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah. That sounds like her. Will… will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

After spending so long without you, he doesn’t want to let go so soon, prepared to agree to anything that allows him to be close. When you get to your father’s room, he waits outside. He tries not to listen to the soft words spoken between you and your mother, but there’s one piece of dialogue that he can’t ignore.

“We approve of him. Whatever happens today, know that we approve.”

“I—I don’t know what to make of that.”

“I would hope that you would take that as our blessing, but, knowing you, you wouldn’t have cared either way,” your mother bites, releasing some of the pent-up frustration on you. After a beat, she says, “He loves you.”

“I know,” you reply, voice a little softer than before.

“Do you love him? I imagine you must, with everything you were prepared to sacrifice for him.”

You’ve never said it aloud, not to him, anyway. He never needed to hear it, never needed it to know that you care, to know that he wants to be with you for however long you’ll have him by your side.

All the same, his heart stills with your answer.

“Yeah. I do.”

August 2019 | 22:27

➸ It rained earlier and the smell of damp concrete and asphalt still lingers in the air. This part of the city is relatively quiet and the atmosphere here is tranquil. It’s quiet enough that he immediately catches the small sound of the sliding door opening.

You wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing against his back, humming when he takes your hands and presses light kisses to them before returning them to their original position.

“You’re up late,” you comment lightly, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. “Any special reason?”

“I wanted to see you, pretty girl. I have some news for you.”

“Oya?”

He snickers, remembering that guy with the rooster hair from the JVA that he had spoken with earlier in the day. “I got the job.”

“You got the job?!”

“I got the job,” he confirms with a wide smile, turning in your grip to face you. Your smile is just as wide as his, eyes shining with pride and love.

“That’s fantastic! We should celebrate!”

“Celebrate?” he asks, watching as you remove yourself from his arms to dance in the apartment, making your way to the fridge.

“Yeah! It’s not every day that a piece of your future falls into place, y’know?”

He follows you inside, watching with mirth as you continue to babble excitedly, opening a single beer for you both to share.

This. This is what he wanted. An opportunity to work with people passionate about their sport, to help keep them at their best while ensuring their safety. An opportunity to live with you in Tokyo as you continue pursuing a career in sports medicine.

“Hajime?” you ask, making him realize he missed the last minute or so of your rambling. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It is. I, uh, there’s something that’s been on my mind,” he admits, taking the beer from you, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. You watch him with a soft expression, ready to listen to whatever comes out of his mouth.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me.”

« Like A Moonbeam. | Three Choices »

#iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq x reader #🏐.haikyuu!!#✒.ix writes #✒.otc24

138 notes · View notes

americasmarauders · 3 years

Note

What about ....

“i’m not worthy of anybody’s love.” “that’s not true, you’re worthy of mine.” followed by the lover breaking eye-contact… + a love confession

Followed with tentative kisses in the dark

With Jason Todd x reader ❤❤❤❤❤

Lots of love xoxo

did this get completly out of hand? yes, yes it did. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but suddenly I had 12 pages of angst ready to make their way into the world.

I’m so sorry it took so long, elle, life got in my way, but now you have like, 6k+ words to make up for it. I really hope you like it.

warnings: completly unedited, sorry for the typos :))

words: 6,856

masterlist #

Aged 14, sometime in September.

Mason Anderson was the biggest dick she had ever met. He was petty and jealous and he picked on her just because. She just wanted peace, quietly resolving the homework she had spent an entire week working on. The library was empty, safe for a couple of other students when he barged in and robbed her of her papers.

He claimed he needed it more than her, he was the one almost flunking out of the class. She demanded her homework back, but he ran towards the boy’s bathroom with her work. It wasn’t the first time that sullen feeling of despair had been planted on her by Mason Anderson, it still didn’t make it any easier.

She sat in front of the boys bathroom, hugging her knees in an attempt to find comfort. She kept thinking that she could do it again, she had done it once, theoretically it would be faster to do it a second time. Light footsteps echoed through the hall, her eyes found their way to the source of the noise.

Jason Todd was a tiny kid with a big brain and an even bigger heart. He had helped her with English more times than she cared to admit. Sometimes she would see him walking towards the alley near the Academy, holding an extra package of chips to the little kid that stayed there sometimes. She liked Jason Todd, considering him the only alley she had inside the cold walls of the Gotham Academy.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, delicately, sitting beside her. “I thought you were gonna finish Statam’s paper today.”

“Mason Anderson stole it,” her eyes were cast downwards, looking at the seams of the floor with an almost inhuman interest. “He wanted to copy it, and I wouldn’t let him so he decided to flush down the toilet instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her, sitting next to her on the floor.

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, stretching her legs in front of her. “I just,” she sighed, trying to find the words, “I spent one week working on that, and I really needed the grade, you know? But he just didn’t care, he just thought of himself.”

Jason looked at her, softly. His eyes held a certain fire behind them, something she could never really describe what it was. It was entrancing, it calmed the pace of her heart. He didn’t say anything before getting up and marching towards the boys bathroom.

She didn’t hear anything going on inside, her mind imagining all sorts of scenarios where Jason would emerge from the bathroom beaten and defeated, Mason walking out completely victorious, with a shiny top grade Literature paper in hand. Her blood boiled at the image, more so than it did before. She got up from the ground, determined to help Jason win the fight, even if her papers were already down the plumbing.

But the door flung open, her friend walking out calmly, clutching her homework delicately. He offered her a smile, and as the door closed behind Jason she could see Mason on the ground gripping his nose in pain.

“Here,” the papers were completely dry to the touch, her confusion deepening. “He was copyin’ it.”

“I can’t believe you got this back,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought… I thought I'd have to redo it.”

“Nah,” he smiled shyly, “I would’ve helped ya.”

“I can’t really depend on you for everything, Jason,” she replied politely. “It’s not fair.”

“I got your back,” he affirmed, “ya don’t need to worry.”

And it meant the world to her that he did.

Aged 16, October 12th.

Jason Todd and her became friends after the Mason Anderson incident. She didn’t know what Jason had said to him, what had he done, all she knew was that Mason never bothered her again after that.

It was the night of her 16th birthday. It was late, probably past 3 in the morning when Jason carefully landed on the fire escape that led to her bedroom. He carefully carried a small box, wrapped neatly with a blue bow. He had chosen the gift lovingly, his heart warm with her. Jason hadn’t expected her to be such an integral part of his life, but just as quietly as she arrived, she placed herself in his heart permanently. She was his friend, true friend, she didn’t expect anything other than his company and support, something he was glad to provide.

His knuckles lightly grazed her window, making the softest noise. Her shades were partially open, he could see her body lying comfortably on her bed. She moved slightly, her body turning towards the window. Her hands rubbed her eyes delicately, seeing Jason smile awkwardly at her. She got up and dragged her feet towards him, opening her window to him.

“What’re you doing here?” her voice was slurred, intoxicated with sleep.

“You know, you should really lock your windows,” he commented, “Gotham’s a dangerous city.”

“Jay,” she warned, “what’re you doing here? It’s…”she searched for her clock, “fuck, 3 in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” he responded clearly, as if it was the most obvious reason why he was on her fire escape, on a cold October night only wearing a light jacket.

She blinked at his blunt response, confused on what to say to him. “You’ll see me tomorrow, Jay, I don’t understand why’d you come all this way just to see me.”

“Because it’s you,” he shrugged, stepping into her bedroom silently. “You really thought I wouldn’t see you on your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. A soft breeze came in through the window sending shivers down her spine. Jason closed the window for her and she sent a silent thank you towards his way. “I thought you wouldn’t bother.”

“Well,” he extended the little box to her. Her fingers brushed on his softly, a shock sent on his skin at the touch, “I couldn’t not see you.”

Her hands hugged the box carefully, hesitant on what to do with what was given to her. “Open it,” he urged her.

She eyed him suspiciously, undoing carefully the blue bow that decorated the gift. Opening the box, a tiny robin pendant next to two tiny stones pendants, an opal and an onyx: her birthstone and his. “Wow,” she breathed out, her heart racing inside her chest. Suddenly, she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Jason, this is… You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had,” he stated, his eyes soft and loving, lingering on her more than they should. “You mean a lot to me, darling.”

Her eyes glinted underneath the pale moonlight streaming through the half closed curtains of her room. Jason’s breath hitched quietly at the sight of her, disheveled and sleepy and yet the most perfect person to grace his life. She was at a loss for words for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth, not knowing how to react. Her eyes trailed frenetically over the pendants, trying to find meaning in those.

“Why a robin?” the inquiry startled Jason. He wasn’t expecting to explain himself, much less explain why he had given her a robin pendant. She had no clue what he did when the night fell, who Bruce actually was and he intended to keep her in the dark about that aspect of his life. She didn’t need to know anyway, and telling her would only put her in danger. That was what Bruce made her believe.

“It reminded me of you,” he answered, simply, his eyes fixated on her angelic face.

It wasn’t untrue. Robins were friendly and protected over, birds that should never be harmed. Jason made sure of that, he had her back, always, and he knew she had his. But mostly, he wanted her to have a piece of him everywhere she went. If something were to happen, he wanted to guarantee he wouldn’t be a footnote in her life. What a magnificent life that would be, he knew.

Her eyes ran on his face, looking for a hint that he wasn’t sincere, that he was just messing with her. The thought was more heartbreaking than she anticipated. She found nothing malicious in his face, in his eyes, and smiled back at him. “Thank you, Jay,” she kissed his cheek delicately, her lips barely brushing his skin. It was enough to send both of them into a frenzy of feelings, a thousand thoughts running through their heads.

“Here,” he extended his hands, his eyes clear and full of emotion for her, “I’ll put it on for you.”

She handed him the box, turning around so he could clasp the hook of the necklace. Jason was considerably smaller than her - she guessed it was because of the years of malnutrition he endured when he lived on the streets - so she sat on her bed to meet his height. His fingers brushed slightly at the back of her neck, sending goosebumps on her body.

It was when she turned to look at him again that she realized that maybe Jason wasn’t just a friend to her. Maybe the interest she had in Jason, or how her heart raced when she saw him for the first time in the day weren’t because he was her friend. Maybe it was because she had decided to love him with all her soul.

Aged 16, April 28th.

It was ironic how sunny it was in Gotham that day. It was like nothing had happened, the world hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to be gloomy and sad outside, to match the pain she felt inside.

On the deep green grass of Gotham cemetery, stood her and Jason’s family, listening to a priest preach something meaningless to her. Nothing mattered to her anymore, her friend, best friend, was buried deep into the earth, 6 feet under. She would never get to see him again, hear his laugh, take in his smile. She would never have another birthday with him, give him his favorite books, tell him she loved him. Her eyes were fixed on the fresh dirt lain over his shiny coffin, her hand fidgeting on the robin pendant Jason had gifted mer months before. It wasn’t an open casket, she couldn’t even see him for the last time.

The call was the most confusing moment she had ever gone through. He didn't even tell her he was going after his mom. He didn’t even get to explain that to her. Jason just burst through her window late at night, saying he was leaving Gotham for a few weeks, anger seeping through his pores and contaminating the room. His knuckles were badly bruised, as her fingertips lightly brushed he hissed. She didn’t question him, it didn’t even go through her head. He had said he wanted to find a part of him, and she nodded, wishing him luck.

Looking back, she wished she had begged him to stay, to find that part of him in Gotham, with her away from the perils of foreign bombs. Tears sprouted in her eyes as the thought passed through her head. It wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t predict a tragedy would have happened. It had become a mantra to her, and sometimes repeating it to herself didn’t help at all.

Bruce Wayne stood next to her, stoic, his face stony. It almost didn’t look like he had lost a son. But she saw how his jaw tensed, how it was similar to when Jason was upset and didn’t want to tell her about it. She could see how broken he was inside, how angry and desperate. She felt that too.

The priest stopped talking and the four people standing on that lawn let out a stuck breath of relief. Jason’s brother approached his Father, walking away from her. She stared at the stone, cold like Jason’s body, with the engrave ‘Jason Todd, beloved son and friend’. It didn’t make justice to what Jason actually was, he was much more than just a son and a friend, but it was what they used to describe him. If Jason had decided what his epitaph would be, surely would be a dramatic quote from Shakespeare.

Her name was called out in a posh british accent and she turned toward the person. What she saw was an older gentleman, holding a black umbrella to protect his baldness from the sun. A thin mustache hung over his upper lip, molded into a sad frown. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. Master Jason talked a lot about you,” he commented with his left hand behind his back.

“All good things, I hope?” she joked quietly, her eyes trailed to her black shoes, wet grass glued to the sides of it.

“The best things, I assure,” his voice was firm and calm, his accent oozed her security, something she was eager to cling on. He reached for the inner pocket of his blazer, pulling a crisp white card. She furrowed her eyebrows, accepting the card. On it, it had Alfred’s name, his profession underneath and a phone number. “If you ever find yourself needing anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

She nodded, her thumb lightly brushing the expensive paper on her hand. “Thank you Mister Pennyworth,” her eyes found the old man, the wrinkles around it making his stern stance seem gentler. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come over for some tea?” he offered. “I’m sure Master Bruce wouldn’t mind having his son’s friend over.”

She wanted to, a force inside her compelled her to accept his offer. But her heart was broken, and she didn’t know if she was ready to enter what used to be Jason’s home so fast after he was buried. At the same time, maybe she didn’t have the nerve to say no to such a kind person. “I--,” she hesitated, “okay, I’ll have some tea.”

Aged 18, mid-August.

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” her hands fiddling with the necklace Jason had given her long ago. “It feels like I’m at a crossroads and every sign points to the direction my heart doesn’t want to go.”

The old butler poured her mint tea - her favorite, as he had learned over the weekly visits she paid him - calmly and firmly as she ranted. “What is holding you back?”

She looked at Alfred, her eyes confused at the question. She hadn’t lingered on the fact of why she didn’t want to accept the scholarship on Metropolis. Her brain told her it was only logical, she would miss her parents, her weekly meeting with Alfred, her hometown. But Alfred was always one step ahead, he had a sixth sense as she had come to learn. “You know,” she replied softly, her eyes lingering on the beautiful teacup in front of her.

He said her name, getting her attention. “Master Jason isn’t here anymore,” he stated simply, laying cookies on her plate, “you don’t have to stay behind for him.”

“I know,” she picked up the spoon and twirled it between her fingers. “But,” she hesitated, not knowing how to phrase her feelings, “Alfred, I can’t even think of it. I can’t wrap my brain around leaving him.”

“You are not leaving him,” his voice was calm and gentle, softening her panic. “You are moving on.”

She shook her head, her eyes shut close tightly. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered, “I feel like I’m meant to be here, Alfred. I can’t really explain it.”

“Well, if you do decide to stay in Gotham, I hope we can continue our weekly teas,” Alfred said, a tone of hope in his voice.

She smiled at him, her eyes filled with kindness. “If I do decide to stay, I’d love to keep our weekly teas,” her smile stayed as she uttered the words. “I appreciate our time together, Alfred.”

“I’m honored,” he said to her, bringing the teacup to his lips.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and she turned around to see who it was. Turning around, her hand bringing the teacup to her lips, she saw a disheveled Bruce Wayne walking towards her. His eyes were barely opened, prominent bags under his eyes cast a shadow on his features. His tie hung untied on his neck, his shirt over his pants, the sleeves folded up to his elbows. It was a stark contrast from the Bruce Wayne she had seen at Jason's funeral, two years back, the one she saw frequently splattered on the news front pages.

“Oh,” he stopped on his tracks, his hands falling limply to his sides. His jaw tensed and, suddenly, a mask fell on his face, the vulnerability he displayed a few seconds before gone. He wasn’t anymore Bruce, a guy who had just woken up and wanted something from the kitchen of his oversized home, he was the Bruce Wayne, now. The velocity of the transformation haunted her. “I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

She rested the teacup pack on the counter, and got up from the stool. “I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne,” she muttered, extending her hand, introducing herself. “I am, was, Jason’s friend.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “I remember you.”

Alfred looked pointenly at Bruce as pulled a mug from a cabinet. He poured coffee for himself, and leaned against the counter next to Alfred. She stood there next to her stool, paralyzed in his presence. Everytime she was present in Wayne Manor, Bruce was either too busy to ever grace them with his presence, or away on some business trip she never bothered to ask what for. “We have weekly teas, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his tone laced with something deeper than announcing their weekly traditions.

Bruce’s jaw tightened somehow and his blue eyes rested on her. Her eyes drifted to her teacup, her tea getting cold. She was itching to grab it and drink it, but she felt uncomfortable even moving a inch from her place, much less feeling the liberty to resume her previous behavior. “Really?” his eyebrows shot up, his head tilting slightly. “Please, seat, pretend I’m not here.”

She hesitated before sitting back down. Her hands hugged her teacup, the warmth of it seeping through her skin. It was hard to pretend he was not there next to her, looking at her with judging eyes. She wondered if he remembered her from the funeral, if he had thought of her when he was thinking of Jason’s legacy, what his son had left behind. Her eyes looked up at Bruce before quickly darting back down to her tea, “Yeah, I don’t really wanna go to Metropolis,” she whispered, resuming her previous conversation with Alfred. The air in the kitchen was tense and awkward, she couldn’t look any of them men in the room in the eyes.

“I’m certain Gotham U will admit you,” Alfred reassured her, “You’re a brilliant person, they’d be fools to let you go.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her eyes were focused on the tea, like it was the most important thing in that kitchen. “They usually don’t take this long to send the letters, it’s making me nervous.”

“Gotham U, huh?” Bruce chipped in. “What’s your major?”

She looked expantly at Alfred, trying to see if he knew any of Bruce’s intentions. But she often forgot how impassive Alfred was, how in control of his emotions he was, something she lacked. He didn’t show her anything, she assumed he knew of something, like usually. “Applied physics,” she responded, quietly.

“Wow,” Bruce breathed out, “impressive.”

She offered him an awkward smile in return. It was hard to find a response to the reaction of others when they became aware of her major. It was highly uncommon, and usually those who followed that path were men. When people discovered what she wanted to do with her life, they almost always reacted like they had found an unicorn.

“Well, when you do graduate, look for me, I can help you get a job,” Bruce politely offered, his tone kind. She looked up at him for the first time, his expression almost fatherly.

“Thank you Mr. Wayne, that’s very kind of you,” she bored her head, looking down at her tea once again.

His phone rang, and he picked it up from his pocket. Her eyes trailed over to his expression, his jaw once again tense. “You’re welcome,” he replied, feigning happiness and comfort. “If you’ll excuse me,” he left the kitchen in broad steps, his shoulders tense and determined.

That was the first time she came to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was a strange man.

Aged 22, end of May.

College was an excruciating experience, but finally she had left it all behind. With her diploma in hands, she finally felt a small semblance of freedom, something she had longed when isinde the four walls of her old dorm in Gotham U.

She stepped into the ground floor of Wayne towers, her shoes clicking nervously on the floor. She had made sure to dress properly to meet Bruce Wayne, unsure of what he’d think if she showed up dressed like a broke college student, something that she very much was. It was the mentality of fake it till you make it, aim a bit higher and maybe you’ll get there. She desperately wished she’d get there.

One of the receptionists let her in, indicating the floor in which she should go to. Her hands sweat gripping the folder with her recommendations and her resume, she gulped looking at the elevator intently. Her free hand found its way to the tiny robin gently resting on her neck. She wished Jason was there to help her, give her tips on what to say to his Father to make him glad, and what to avoid doing so that he’d hire her. She could imagine him if she closed her eyes, next to her, barely taller than her, smiling at her wishing her good luck. The elevator dinged, bringing her back to reality. Jason wasn’t next to her, and she didn’t have anyone to give her tips on what to say to her potential boss. She was alone, just like she had been for six long years.

In spite of the hundred floors of the building - quite literally - the elevator ride was fast. When the doors opened, it revealed a small greeting room, with a couple of couches and a tall window illuminating it. She eyed directly in front of her, the double doors with a tiny plaque with the name Bruce Wayne engraved on it. Her eyes lingered on it for a couple of moments, as she walked towards the lonesome couch next to the big window. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating heart. She wondered if Bruce was already inside the room, if he remembered what he had offered to her all those years ago, or if he had just been polite and did not plan on following with it at all.

After that strange meeting with him four years back, she had barely seen him again. A couple of times she had seen a shadow passing through the corridors while she was heading out of the Manor, someone she assumed for the sake of her mental health it was Bruce Wayne and not a ghost. The notion that he was a strange man only intensified, adding the perception that he was hiding something. She knew he was a good actor, but she could see tiny cracks and slips, an ability gained from years of loneliness. It was hard to say what it was that he was keeping a secret from everyone, but there was something there.

Her name was called and she saw Bruce Wayne standing underneath the frame of the double doors that lead to his office. She got up promptly and walked towards him, her grip on her folder tight. His hand was extended and she shook it professionally, pretending like she wasn’t panicking inside.

“I have someone I’d like for you to meet,” he stated, guiding her inside his office. The office was probably four times bigger than the small room she had stayed previously, the large windows providing a beautiful view from Gotham. You could almost pretend it was a normal city looking out from that window. “This,” he motioned to the man sitting on a cozy nook in the back of the room, “is Lucius Fox.”

The man was big and well built, his round glasses standing on the tip of his nose. He smiled at her, crinkles forming beside his eyes. His hand found his glasses, taking them off and putting them in his pocket. “Nice to meet you, Miss. mr. Wayne has talked a lot about you,” he stated, his hand extended for her to take it.

She looked back at Bruce, confused. After all, he remembered her and he remembered his offer. She turned back to Lucius and shook his hand, a determined expression on her face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

“Lucius Fox is the head of our R&D department, and has agreed to take you as his personal apprentice,” Bruce explained.

Shock overcame her, her eyes wide. She looked between Lucius’ kind smile and Bruce’s stoic stance, unable to believe the opportunity was real. “Really?” she uttered incredulously.

“I have some personal projects and I’d very much need the help,” Lucius explained, calmly. “Mr. Wayne has talked highly of you, I’m eager to see what you’re capable of doing.”

“I--,” she shook her head, trying to get rid of the hesitation, “thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce responded, a small smile gracing his lips. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Aged 24, April 26th.

The humid air of the cave made sweat drip down her face as she tinkered away with a broken gadget she had designed for Bruce’s night time activities, as she had so dearly called it.

It was a new development, the cave and the capes and the vigilantism. The two years she invested working with Lucius all served a greater purpose to Bruce. She was to be the next Lucius Fox, help provide Batman, or rather Bruce - in her head it was still confusing to assume that the guy who had given her a job was the ‘Dark Knight’ - with gadgets capable of doing everything that his physical capabilities couldn’t. Lucius was old and reaching retirement, and even if he loved his job, he was reaching his limit. She was beyond grateful for his guidance, she had learned so much. But he had left her a fucking weird job. There was no other way to describe it.

The cave was quiet, Bruce had left sometime before, she could only hear Alfred quietly talking to Bruce through the comms and the drip-drip of water falling from the ceiling and hitting the small lake underneath her. She had settled in a little abandoned nook, her tools all scattered on top of her table. She rested the screw driver she was working with on the table, lifting the magnifying lens. She rubbed her face, tired of looking towards the tiny malfunctioning screen.

Her hands remained on her face, concealing her emotions. The robin pendant always felt especially heavy on the 26th of April. It had been 8 years since she had seen Jason, and as pathetic as it sounded, she never really got over the loss of him. They always felt particularly lost, she couldn’t focus on anything other than him, running circles around any problem presented to her. Looking at the gadget, it felt nearly impossible to find a solution to it, her mind foggy with sadness and grief that she could never really shake off, even with years between her and the day he had died.

The knowledge that Bruce kept everything as Jason had left, and even made a little homage to his Robin days in a secret corner of the cave, hidden from view, was heavy in her heart. She struggled to keep her eyes trailed to her task and not at the memory of Jason. She took a sharp breath, trying desperately to sew herself together. It was truly pathetic how much it still affected her, how open the wound still was.

A sharp motor sound echoed through the walls of the cave, disturbing the few bats that hung from the ceiling. A guy built like a fucking brick wall parked his bike on the platform, taking long strides towards where Alfred stood. He adorned a cracked red helmet that glistened in the white lights that illuminated the pathway. His heavy footsteps echoed through, her eyes unable to escape from him. She approached silently, praying that that loose panel near the little stairs that lead to the main computer wouldn’t scratch underneath her weight.

“Where the fuck is Bruce?” he growled, his hands balled into fists next to him. His leather jacket was worn and old, its sleeves bunched up near his elbow, exposing his veiny forearms. The cracked part of the helmet revealed his blue eyes, sparkling in a familiar way. It tugged her heartstrings, her hand instinctively went to her robin. It couldn’t be, Jason was dead.

“He’s on patrol, Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly, his eyes trailed to the screens in front of him. Alfred acted like this man’s fits of anger were completely normal.

Her brain repeated that it wasn’t Jason, it was a mere coincidence that this man’s name was the same as her dead best friend’s. Jason was a tiny and scrawny kid, he wasn’t tall and thick like this man. Jason wasn’t bitter and prone to anger fits, even if he was angry most of the time. He was silent and kind and sweet, this man looked to be the opposite of it.

“He promised, Alfred, where is he?” he growled, his fist slamming on the table. “He fucking promised.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon, if you’d like to wait,” Alfred motioned to the medical bay, the gurney sitting there on its lonesome. The man huffed, marching to the gurney, otherwise ignoring her presence a few feet away.

She approached Alfred quietly. “Who was that?” her voice laced with curiosity and fear.

Alfred looked at her serenely, knowing something she didn’t. He smiled at her, teh crinkles around his eyes appearing generously. “Why don’t you find out?,” he responded to her camly.

She took it as an order, and made her way towards the small infirmary area. Her footsteps were light and determined, her hand clutching the robbing resting on her chest tightly. Her brain ran over scenarios on how likely it was that this person had almost every physical attribute to her best friend Jason, if he had taken steroids for the past 8 years. It wasn’t likely, but in light of her new knowledge, of how close the supernatural was to her, it was very much possible.

“Do you want me to take a look?” she asked quietly, shifting the weight from her heels to the tips of her toes. She felt so small in his presence, something she didn’t feel with Bruce, oddly. Maybe it was because Bruce didn’t give off such menacing vibes when he was near her, or maybe it was because her brain was unconsciously comparing this man to her Jason, who had always been smaller than her. “At the helmet, I mean.”

He eyed her surgically, analyzing everything about her. His eyes rested on her pendants, widening slightly in recognition. It took almost everything in her to control her beating heart, to control her brain trying to say that in fact that man before her was her Jason, and it wasn’t her brain playing tricks on her.

He gently took his helmet off, revealing his crisp black hair cooly laying on his forehead. His eyes focused on the helmet, his arms extended to give it to her gently. Her eyes would leave his face, a face she had longed to see for eight excruciatingly long years. His eyes had remained the same, after all: kind and sweet. His face, however, told a story of hardships and pain, hardened by whatever he had been through all these years. She didn’t know how to feel, if she should feel betrayed he hadn't trusted her enough to say that he was alive, that he was six feet under anymore, or if she should feel elated that Jason was alive and she could finally tell him all the things she wanted to.

Her fingers brushed him slightly, as she picked up the broken helmet from his hands. His hands still felt the same, her heart noticed, picking up a beat. She looked at the crack that exposed half of his face, the electrical parts fizzling dangerously. Her eyes focused on Jason once again, her lips shut painfully. The tears that came to her eyes were inevitable, trembling fingers reaching at her robin pendant, clutching it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” he shook his head gently, “it’s not your fault.”

She could see he wanted to touch her, but something held him back. She wouldn’t find out what until much later.

Aged 24, August 16th.

Jason had promised her he would show up, and he never broke his promises. That was what she repeated to herself, late at night. She had prepared everything for his birthday, bought a present for him and baked a cake. She had said that he was supposed to appear at seven. It was well past midnight, the cake had found its way back to the fridge, the present was back in her closet, and he hadn’t showed up yet.

A part of her kept telling her to give up, her best friend had stood her up: Jason changed fundamentally, he wasn’t the same boy he was when she met him and it was foolish to hang on to that notion; it was perfectly plausible that he had the habit of breaking promises now. But she was well aware of that, she saw it in the tiny things how much Jason was transformed, it still didn’t change the fact that she knew he valued loyalty above all else, and that included loyalty to his words. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

She changed out of the cute dress she was wearing, feeling foolish and sad that she was about to give up most of the hope that he would show up. Her pyjamas welcomed her comfortably, a safe space to let the heartbreak settle on her. He won’t break his promise, she repeated mentally, he won’t. The mantra did little to soothe the growing dread inside her, the notion that maybe she didn’t know him as well as she did. That he didn’t tell her everything that day, that he didn’t trust her anymore. It hurt more than she anticipated.

Sleep was almost consuming her when she heard a loud clang outside her bedroom. She shook awake, throwing the covers off her instinctively. Her hand grabbed the baseball bat that rested beside her bed, bringing it up and close to her. With slow steps, she approached the window. Her fear settled when she saw the familiar red helmet staring back at her, begging to let him in. She dropped the bat on the floor, opening the window.

He got in her room awkwardly, struggling to pass his huge frame through a tiny space. She reached to help him, offering her hands. He took them, butterflies running amok on her tummy. “You’re late,” she commented, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.

“I know,” he said, taking off his helmet and dropping it on top of her bed. “I’m sorry.”

She hummed looking at him underneath the moonlight seeping through her window. She hadn’t gotten used to how big he became, and how smaller she felt in his presence. She was by no means a small woman, but his entire being could encapsulate her with a simple hug, and not the other way around like it used to be. “Why are you late?” she moved to sit on the bed, the helmet rolling off the bed delicately.

He looked at her, sitting down next to her gently. “I don’t know,” he answered, rubbing his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“Why do I feel like you’re not being honest with me?” her head tilted, looking at his beautiful profile. There was a scar connecting his right temple to the corner of his upper lip, and it made him even more beautiful than he already was. He fascinated her to no end, his brain, his looks, his entire being was what made her keep going, the light on the end of her tunnel.

His eyes trailed over her face, looking for something she guessed he wouldn’t find. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

“What do you mean, Jason,” she breathed out, confused at the inquiry. “I’m your friend, I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

“No, you’re not,” he shook his head, his hands balled into fists and his eyes closed. “You’re not supposed to be kind to me,” he got up, his back towards her.

“Stop it, Jason, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, her voice shaking a bit.

“You’re supposed to be angry at me. I abandoned you, left you alone, and when I came back I didn’t tell you, I didn’t look for you,” he continued, trying to manipulate her emotions.

“Why are you saying these things, Jason, they’re not true,” she got up, her voice no longer shaking, determined and focused.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he turned to her, his eyes tortured and sad. “I don’t deserve your kindness and friendship. I’m not worthy of it.”

“Jay, I--” she started, but Jason interrupted her.

“Don’t, please. I’m not worthy of anyone’s love,” his voice was heavy with emotion. She discovered that Jason was often ruled by two main emotions: sadness and anger. In that moment, she could only see those in him and a part of her broke.

“That’s not true, you’re worthy of mine,” her voice was so honest and raw, it caught Jason by surprise. She didn’t know what he expected out of her at that moment, maybe to give in to his spiral of bad thoughts and self flagellation, but she refused to let him believe those awful things. “Jason, you really don't know?”

He remained in silence, his eyes wide and shocked, focused on the ground. His jaw was tense and his hands balled into fists tightly. She took a hesitant step towards him, reaching for his hands. They relaxed under her touch and she threaded her fingers through his. It wasn’t hard to notice how perfectly they fit with each other, like to halves of a whole. “I’ve loved you ever since I was 14 and you marched into the boys bathroom to get my lit homework back from Mason Anderson,” she whispered, her eyes focused on his face, while his were focused on their hands together. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it, Jay. But I can’t let you believe all those horrible things you said. Not when I love you more than anything in this world.”

He stayed silent for a couple of moments, her heart beating erratically inside her chest, fearing she had screwed up their friendship for good. In a way, it was worst to know he was out there and didn't want to speak to her because she dared to tell him about her love for him. “Please say something,” she begged him quietly.

His eyes finally found hers, his hands breaking the link they formed. He rested his hands on her cheeks gently, and she dared say, lovingly. Her heart started beating excitedly, the fear slowly dissipating as his gaze got more intense.

His lips brushed against hers, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. He kissed her gently, a love delicate and fragile, just acknowledged between them both. His grip on her was firm, his thumb grazing delicately on her cheekbones. Her hands thread through his soft hair, still slightly humid from the sweat caused by the helmet. The air was charged with want, tentative kiss toeing the line between what it was and something more.

She wished to stay like that forever. She prayed to whatever was out there in the Universe, to allow her that happiness. To stay kissing her love tentatively in the dark for as long as she could, as long as he’d let her.

Jason broke the kiss, his forehead resting on hers. His fingers found their way to the back of her head, cupping it softly. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing with hers. She reached for his lips once again, like a magnet finding its match. “I love you so much,” he reassured.

They kissed once again, not intending to break apart any time soon.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine

240 notes · View notes

silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 20: Nattduksbord

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

This means something; Mulder can feel it.

This signifies a shift in their relationship; a step forward, from platonic partners to a romantic couple. It’s a shared experience that has the potential to change their dynamic forever. Years of trust, fighting together against a common enemy, seeking the truth… it could all come crashing down today, in a shopping mall in Woodbridge, Virginia.

They’re going to IKEA.

Summer is on the rise, and the humidity is close to stifling as they buckle into his car. Scully’s wearing a little striped t-shirt, capri pants, and sandals, revealing sky blue painted toes. For a disorienting moment Mulder wonders if he’s going to develop a foot fetish. Probably not, but Dana Scully could make even the most vanilla of men want to do crazy things.

“Do you have your shopping list?” Scully asks as he starts the car.

He pulls the folded scrap of paper out of the chest pocket of his white t-shirt. “Right here,” he replies, eyes darting over to her for one more look as he holds out the list.

She takes it, catching his eyes momentarily. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asks.

I want to suck your toes. “You look nice today, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

Scully can probably tell he’s desperate for her; she can read him like a dog-eared, yellowed paperback. He’s simultaneously grateful for her sharp instincts and embarrassed by his carnal desires. He hasn’t gotten laid in four years, and he fears he’ll be too eager when the time comes. As it is, he can barely believe she’s let him have even the smallest glimpses of her as a sexual being. She’s intoxicating, and he’s dizzy with the knowledge that this beautiful, brilliant, downright edible woman actually wants him. Him, a mortal man of aliens and bad ties and a porn collection that’s gradually becoming least seventy-five percent redheads. A man without a bed.

Hence their Saturday morning pilgrimage to the shrine where all new couples journey to find furnishings, low prices, and themselves.

“So, we’re looking for one tall bookshelf, a locking filing cabinet, a bed, and two night tables,” Scully reads. She refolds the paper and reaches across him to tuck it back into his shirt pocket. “That’s clearly not all going to fit in this car,” she notes.

“I’ll get the bigger stuff delivered,” he says.

It’s only a twenty minute drive from Mulder’s place, and they have the air-conditioning on. Mulder is starting to relax; it’s been a long time since he’s had a partner, in the domestic sense, and he’d forgotten that it makes the mundane more bearable.

Scully clears her throat almost imperceptibly. “I’m proud of you, by the way.”

“Really? Why?” Mulder asks.

“You managed to get rid of a lot of stuff,” she says, turning up the dial on the car’s air conditioner. “And organization is very clearly not your strong suit, so progress should be acknowledged and celebrated.”

“Yippee,” Mulder deadpans.

“You know, it’s odd; we’ve known each other for all these years and I never asked… why don’t you have a bed, Mulder?”

There it is, the question he knew would come up at some point. He clears his throat, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I, uh… I lived with someone, around ‘91. Another agent, actually. We were together for a while, and then one day she took some assignment in Europe and that was that. I got rid of everything that was hers, and that, uh, included the bed.” Technically our bed, he thinks. He winces. He’s never talked to Scully about Diana before, and he wonders if she’ll be upset that he was withholding such a large piece of personal information.

Scully is quiet. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “That’s… I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry I never mentioned it,” Mulder says. “It’s not like it’s some big painful secret. I just… don’t really think about her anymore.”

“It’s alright,” Scully says. “I think it’s best for these kinds of things to come up naturally. And… I was dating someone when we met,” Scully confesses. “We broke up as soon as I got back from Bellefleur.”

Mulder looks at her quickly. “Really? Why?”

She furrows her brow. “Multiple reasons, but primarily I realized that this job, my assignment, was bigger than I’d anticipated. And the things you and I went through together, the things I’d seen… when I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to be tied down to him. To have to go home and have this man ask me how my day was, as though he could ever understand even half of what we do.”

“So you chose the job over him,” Mulder muses.

“In essence… I chose you,” Scully points out. “Whether I knew it then or not. I’d never be able to turn my back on you.”

Mulder exhales slowly. He’s strangely moved.

“Take a left at the next light,” Scully prompts softly. “And yes, I do realize the irony in breaking things off with a man because of his normalcy, only to continue trying to date so-called ‘normal’ men.”

Mulder shrugs. “No, it makes sense. Maybe he just wasn’t right for you, but the next normal guy could be, right?”

“Right,” Scully sighs. “Einstein’s definition of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.”

“I’ve been led to believe that being with me is another type of insanity,” Mulder points out. “And objectively, I can’t disagree.”

“You do make me crazy,” Scully agrees, voice low. “But that’s not always a bad thing.” He feels her small hand squeeze his thigh. “And I fully intend to return the favor.”

Mulder lets out a quiet groan, hands sweaty on the steering wheel. “You planning on giving me some roadside assistance, Agent Scully? Because I’m gonna need it if you keep doing that.”

She removes her hand, tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t do anything,” she says innocently.

“Uh huh.” He pulls into the IKEA parking lot. “Well, we’re here. You ready?”

“As ready as a person can be for a labyrinthian furniture store on a muggy Saturday,” she replies.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Mulder says from his spot on the bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered pieces of a ‘HOLLEBY’ bedside table. “These instructions are useless and-” he flips through the booklet, “-thirty-two pages long, Jesus.”

Scully doesn’t respond; her eyes are glued to her own manual as she assembles a drawer from the second of the two nightstands. “Shh,” she hushes him softly. “I’m concentrating.”

“How have you managed to put any of these pieces together?” he asks, scooting across the floor to her. “There aren’t even words, just vague illustrations.”

She has a screw between her lips as she lines up two of the wood pieces. “I took wood shop in high school,” she says around the metal pin. She removes it and inserts it into a pre-drilled hole. “I guess that was some kind of preparation for assembling flatpack furniture?”

“That’s adorable,” Mulder says, rising to open a window. The room is stuffy with the day’s heat, and his t-shirt is glued to his back. “Do you still have any of the things you made in class?”

“The step stool in my kitchen,” she replies. “And my mom might have some things I’ve forgotten about.”

He casually strips off his sweaty t-shirt and tosses it in the laundry basket. “Remind me to look at that stool the next time we’re at your place,” he says. “Also I’m gonna order a pizza, you interested?”

Scully looks up at him then and is seemingly surprised by the absence of his shirt. “It’s hot in here,” Mulder explains, almost defensive.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Scully says, eyes shamelessly traveling his torso. “And I’m always interested.”

“Are we still talking about pizza here, or…”

“Make my half one with everything, please,” she says, attention returning to her project.

“Wait a minute,” he says, dropping to his knees next to her on the carpet. “I’m not done here.” He leans in and presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin. How she can still smell so good on a sticky June day, he doesn’t know; but he wants to lick her entire body.

“Mulder,” she sighs, putting down her screwdriver, “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the idea,” he says, lips wandering up her neck and behind her ear. He flicks his tongue against her earlobe. “Forget the furniture, honey,” he says, all hot breath and lust. “We don’t need it for what I have in mind.”

Suddenly she’s facing him, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m doing this for you,” she purrs. “Do you think I like putting together IKEA furniture? No one likes it, Mulder. It’s like a multidimensional jigsaw puzzle.”

He pulls her onto his lap. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says, nibbling her ear. “You like being capable Doctor Scully, in charge of things… showing me what those hands can do.”

She leans in, licking his full lower lip. “Not everything is about you, Mulder,” she says, pressing a scorching kiss to his mouth. “I’m just doing my coworker a favor.”

“Is that what they call this nowadays?” he asks, hands clasping her hips as she grinds down on his lap.

She shuts him up with a kiss, the furniture and pizza forgotten.

#god this took me FOREVER #lol I’m busy freaking out over my second covid shot okay don’t @ me #my fic #fmcr #xfiles #txf fic #fox mulder closet romantic #msr #they go to ikea

88 notes · View notes

geminidentitycrisis · 3 years

Text

The Scent of Leather and Hairspray

Present Mic/Hizashi Yamada x F!reader ONESHOT

(WARNINGS! - swearing)

---------

Sooooooo, I have a new favorite Pro, I guess haha

I hope you enjoy, and if you're underage, pretend you're older because I get it, I'd be Hot For Teacher too, but he's not a pedo sorry......

----------

You sighed as, upon exiting the store where you just purchased a frozen drink, the men you passed to enter that store started catcalling you. Just what you needed at the end of a rough day...

"Hey Honey, you'd be cuter if you smiled...!"

"Don't listen to that shit, babygirl, you're sexy as hell, c'mere and hang out a while...?"

Ignoring them the best you could, you kept walking, but they didn't take that very well. "You think you're too good for us, that it, stuck up bitch? Where you think you're goin'?"

You could hear their footsteps approaching behind you and turned to face them after sipping from your drink.

"Guys, please, I've had a hell of a day today and my quirk would probably scar you both for life and what do you say we just don't do this, huh?"

They exchanged glances before fixing you with threatening glares. "You think you're tough, babygirl? We'll see how tough you are when we get through teaching you some respect..." the first one said.

"HEY!"

A voice called from behind you and suddenly an arm was draped gently around your neck. You froze, being caught off guard tended to prompt a panic response when you were so tired.

You smelled leather and an overwhelming scent of hairspray.

"What's the trouble, my homies? Pretty sure ya heard the lady, she ain't jammin' to the vibe ya layin' down, ya dig? Beat it."

Heart skipping a beat or two, your eyes grew wide and a blush flooded your cheeks. "That voice...?!"

You whipped your head up to see the one and only Present Mic.

"Ah! I knew it! I knew I recognized your voice, I catch your radio show every day! You're the Sound Hero, Present Mic!" he flashed a grin down at you, winking.

"Oooh, you've got good ears, Listener! Thanks for Hypin' me up like that! Always great ta meet a FAAAN!" he responded in his commentator voice.

One of your would be tormentors interrupted angrily. "Hey, peacock head, why don't you mind your business?"

"PEACOCK...?! You boys best get ta steppin', aight?! Don't make me beat you up in fronta this pretty girl!" he replied in annoyance after his attention was so aggressively stolen from you.

The blush came back in full force and you couldn't contain a dreamy sigh as your lashes fluttered, eyes lidding contentedly now that you felt safe again.

*he said I was pretty~!* you thought.

"You believe this banana hair lookin' motherfucker? You're about to get your ass whooped, fruity!" the other threatened.

"Hey bro, watch your language! There's a lady here!" with the arm around your shoulders, Mic carefully raised it and guided you behind himself as the two started walking towards you both.

"Enough..."

Another voice came suddenly from the other side of the parking lot and everyone, with the exception of the blonde who was guarding you, turned to see Eraserhead.

Suddenly these jerks weren't so confident.

"Get lost, both of you, and go straight home or I'll bring the two of you in right now for loitering and harassment." he said calmly but with deep authority.

Mic crossed his arms, glaring at the duo as they ran off after a mere moment of hesitation, his cheeks puffed out slightly. "What a couple creepozoids! You okay, Pussy Cat...?" he quickly spun around to check you out, striking a dramatic pose while pointing at you, the trademark grin already back in place.

You smiled up at him with admiration sparkling in your eyes, clasping the cup you held in both hands and tight to your chest, stepping closer to him.

"Yes, thanks to you! You're my Hero~!"

Mic felt his own chest swell with pride a bit, the grin on his face getting bigger as he relaxed his stance and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

Usually by now the damsel has already flung herself on Aizawa, but not only were you praising him, you recognized him from just his voice and he was impressed at that.

"I can't believe I was just rescued by my favorite Pro, I am your #1 fan! Please, are you patrolling the city tonight? Please let me buy you a coffee or tea or something?? Just as a thank you...?"

Hizashi laughed rather loudly, one hand emerging from his pocket to be placed over his chest.

"HAHA! Aaaww, how can I say NO when you ask so sweetly?! Coffee sounds like a rockin' idea right about now!"

"Ugh, we don't have time for this, Mic..." Eraserhead complained tiredly.

Eyes rolling in exasperation, the blonde groaned twice as loud. "ugGHHH!! Don't be such a buzzkill, yo! I'll get you one, too, just chill!" with that, he trailed after you back into the store.

You watched as he doctored up the coffee you poured for him, blushing again when he threw a hint of a smirk your way, using the tip of his finger to lift the gold tinted shades he wore and showing you his emerald green eyes. "Don't worry, I'll pay for my boring friend..."

Smiling, you bounced on your heels. "Damn right you will, I'm not HIS fangirl, after all..."

This promoted a slight blush to his face, but he maintained that knockout grin. "Ha! Well, good thing his best friend is here at least, lucky for him I tagged along tonight, huh??"

"Lucky for both of us..." came your soft reply from over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, your hips swaying temptingly had definitely not escaped his notice.

He followed you to the checkout counter and placed some money beside yours, his ungloved fingertips brushing against your own when he does. Leaning down closer to you, he cocked his head, pushing his shades down his nose this time and raising a brow.

"Does my #1 fan have a name...?"

Your smile bloomed again, blushing up at him. "It's _______...but I might prefer you calling me Pussy Cat...~"

Saying that last bit, you applied a sensual undertone which he picked up on instantly, making his blush spread over his face and grow darker as he chuckled in amusement.

When you guys walked out the door, you noticed Eraserhead seemed really annoyed but tried to ignore him, looking up at the Voice Hero hopefully.

"Listen, I know you're both busy, but if you have just one more second to spare, I can't tell you how much it would mean to me if I could get your autograph..."

Looking away awkwardly, he made a pained expression. "Aw, man, I dunno, we are kinda in a hurry here and stuff..."

You felt your heart sinking when he startled you with another loud laugh. "Hahaha, gotcha! JK! Of course I will, I ain't gonna leave ya hangin' like that, no way, that ain't my STYYYYYYYYLLLE!"

Giddy with excitement, you let out a tiny squeal, quickly fishing out a small notebook and pen from your purse as he set the cups down. When you handed it to him, his fingers brushed yours again, making you bite tenderly at your bottom lip.

They were so warm and soft...

He had started to whistle a cheerful little tune as he spun the pen between his fingers before starting to write in your book, it took longer than you expected, clearly longer than Eraser expected, too.

"Say goodbye to the girl, Mic, it's time to keep moving!" he didn't yell, exactly, too lazy, but he had raised his voice since last.

"YEAH, YEAH, I HEARD YA!!! Gimme a sec, ALRIGHT?!" the volume of the blonde's reply actually made your eardrums flinch and quiver this time, but you smiled anyway as he defended you again.

"There ya go! And hey, just to spite my buddy over there, I wouldn't mind walkin' ya home ta make sure ya get there safe."

The blush came right back, clutching the book to your heart, you gave a weak smile. "No, no, it's okay, really...I took up too much of your time already, and I only live around the corner from here..."

Eyes closing momentarily while you gathered yourself, you took a deep breath before confessing. "...I cannot express how grateful I am for you...not just for saving me tonight, but also for your talk show, hearing your voice over the radio gives me strength and motivation every week...it means the world to me...thank you..."

Beckoning him by flexing a finger, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek when he leaned in curiously.

Eyes widening, his whole face became scarlet red and his grin stretched from ear to ear. "AW, YEAH!"

He jumped, pumping his fists in the air and then proceeded to shoot you with his finger guns while winking again. "Listen, I dropped my digits on that piece'a paper ya got there, Shawty...hit me up sometime if ya wanna chill! I'm down for whatever!"

You were caught off guard by that and checked the page he signed for you, finally reading what he wrote down as he rambled on as background noise about how he wasn't a creep like those other guys and you could say no without worrying about him making a scene, he just had to shoot his shot, I mean you DID kiss ME first ya know...

"For my #1 fan, _______...Thanks for the coffee and stay outta trouble! ...and maybe call or shoot a txt, if your feelin' this funky vibe, too? Live loud, Pussy Cat ;) don't ever let anyone try an put the mute on ya! XOXOX PRESENT MIC!!!"

Followed by his phone number, and there were little hearts drawn around the page.

You were already blushing when he surprised you again by returning your gesture and swooping in to plant a kiss on your cheek this time.

Reaching up to touch the spot, you smiled up at him shyly. "I can't wait...please be safe out there..."

"You got it! SEE YA SOON!" The Pro nodded vigorously, giving an enthusiastic wave of goodbye before grabbing his and Eraserhead's drinks, practically bouncing with every step.

It made you giggle, but you were trying not to get your hopes up too much. For all you knew, he gave his number out to every girl that asked him for a signature.

"Are you happy now...?" Shouta grumbled, taking the cup being offered as he turned to resume patrolling. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HECK YEAH I AM! I'M ON CLOUD NINE RIGHT NOW, I JUST MET MY FUTURE WIFE!!!!!!!!"

You heard him very clearly, the blush traveling all the way down your neck this time, and you couldn't help another small giggle, your heart fluttering with happiness like the wings of the butterflies in your belly.

He just had that effect on you.

Glancing down at the notebook in your hand as you sipped your quickly melting frosty, you noticed in the bottom right corner was a little arrow, below which was written the word "flip".

You looked up again but the two Pro Heroes were already gone.

Curiously, you flipped over the page.

MARRY ME?!?!!

a. YES!!!!!

b. a

c. b

That smooth sonuvabitch had you blushing and giggling all night.

115 notes · View notes

littlegnoblin · 4 years

Text

Happy Valentine’s Day to my best friend and other half @donestiel

read on ao3

Dean comes home from work to find Cas and Jack sitting at the table, red heart-shaped lollipops strewn in front of them.

He gives Cas a quick kiss. “You trying to give the kid a sugar rush or what?”

“Daddy! It’s for Valemtime’s Day!” Jack yells excitedly, hopping off his chair to hug Dean’s legs.

“It’s pronounced valentine, Jack.”

“I don’t know, valemtime kinda has a nice ring to it,” Dean says. Jack beams up at him and he can’t help but ruffle his hair.

“Yes, well, the holiday has become so bastardized that I suppose renaming it wouldn’t hurt.” Cas squints at the box the candy came in. “Does no one find it odd that their children are passing around cards demanding others belong to them?”

Dean sits down and pulls Jack into his lap, flipping through the little pink cards. “I don’t know that you’re supposed to think about it that hard, dude.” He comes across a card that reads ‘kiss me’ and holds it up. “This, on the other hand-- they’re five, what the hell do they need to be kissin’ for?”

“I want kisses!” Jack protests.

“You’re a little kiss monster.” Cas leans in and presses a big, exaggerated smooch to Jack’s cheek. “How was that? Did it satisfy the beast?”

Jack giggles and nods enthusiastically.

“Hey, I’m gonna need to sample one of those kisses myself. Make sure they’re regulation-- standard procedure.”

“Is that right?”

“‘Fraid so,” Dean says with a shit eating grin.

He’s expecting a goofy kiss like the one he gave Jack but Cas uses his thumb to tilt Dean’s chin just so and kisses him deeply.

They break apart when two tiny hands push at their faces and Jack tells them to knock it off.

“This is what Valentine’s Day is all about, champ. Besides, I thought you liked kisses.”

“You guys do it gross.”

Dean smiles and bounces his eyebrows at Cas, who rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small curl of his mouth.

“Perhaps your father will help you write your classmates’ names on the cards while I get dinner ready.”

“I can cook,” Dean says quickly. The thought of Cas’ last attempt at cooking has his stomach churning and he’s pretty sure feeding that toxic waste to Jack would be considered child abuse.

Cas holds up a cardboard box. “It’s frozen pizza.”

“Alright, I’ll do babysitting duty. Just make sure you take the plastic off this time.”

“It’s not babysitting when it’s your own child and that was one time.”

“One time too many,” Dean mutters.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, dear.”

Cas glares at him. “I expect you to eat a healthy portion of salad along with your pizza tonight.”

“You making it yourself or is it bagged?”

The glare intensifies.

Jack tugs on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you like doing valentine’s stuff in school?”

“Nah, it, uh-- it wasn’t really a thing when I was your age.”

That’s a blatant lie but Dean’s not going to tell him the truth and bum him out. What five year old wants to hear that their dad didn’t do Valentine’s Day exchanges because there was barely enough money for food, let alone candy, and he never really stuck around any school long enough to get included in the holiday stuff. Shit’s depressing.

“So you never got no cards or nothin’?”

“Nope.” Dean never got cards but he did get invited under the bleachers a few times in high school to unwrap a different kind of present. He’s not telling him that either, though.

“That sucks. Can I have a lollipop?”

“Nice try, kid.” Dean taps on the card in front of them. “Get to writing.”

He oversees the careful labelling of the cards, reminding Jack to double check the list of names anytime he spells something wrong and corrects a few backwards letters. They debate who gets what card and Jack complains that he has to give one to Tom who keeps cutting him in line.

Cas rejoins them in the middle of Jack’s impassioned rant, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“While I agree that Tom is a-- what was it you called him?”

“A butthead.”

“Yes, right, a butthead. While I agree he is a butthead, unfortunately I think you need to be the bigger person. Maybe this will even convince him to stop cutting in line and you two can be friends.”

“No way. I don’t wanna be friends with Tom.”

“You never know,” Dean says. “I didn’t like your dad when we first met, but I think he’s a pretty okay guy now.”

Jack looks at him wide eyed. “You didn’t like Daddy?”

“No way, he was a butthead.”

“It was more of a misunderstanding,” Cas explains.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it?”

Cas lifts an eyebrow and stares him down. “What would you call it, Dean?”

Shit, that should not be so hot.

“Not the point; the point is that I didn’t think I would ever like your dad and now we’re married. Things change.”

Jack furrows his brows, considering. “I don’t want to marry Tom.”

Dean snorts. “You don’t have to. In fact, please don’t. His mom is a nightmare.” Cas kicks him under the table. “What! She is!”

“You don’t have to marry him and you don’t have to be friends with him,” Cas says, ignoring Dean completely, “but you do have to give him a card and some candy.”

Jack grumbles but does as he’s told. Dean’s legs are starting to fall asleep but he’s become increasingly aware of how fast Jack is growing up and soon-- way too fucking soon, if you ask him-- he won’t be sitting in his lap at all so he silently resigns to not feeling his legs for the next ten minutes.

“All done!” Jack yells and throws his hands in the air.

“Sweet, now let's stick some candy in these bad boys and call it a night.”

“Wait, there’s a extra, what should I do with it?”

“Is there anyone who’s not in your class that you’d like to give a valentine to?”

Jack gasps and slaps a hand over Dean’s eyes, nearly poking one out in the process. “Close your eyes, Daddy!”

Dean dutifully closes his eyes until Jack tells him he’s finished. He slowly opens one eye and sees the pink card held about an inch from his face.

“For me?” he gasps dramatically.

“Yes!”

The front of the card reads ‘You’re the best!’ and when he opens it, he finds ‘Daddy’ written in some of the neatest handwriting from Jack he’s ever seen. Beneath it he’s signed his name, the K backwards like it always is on his first try.

“I gave it to you because you never had one before and also you’re the best daddy ever, who makes me yummy chocolate chip pancakes and cheeseburgers and does funny voices for bedtime stories,” Jack explains.

Dean wraps his arms around his son and rests his cheek on top of his head, his heart feeling fit to burst. “Thank you, Jack. I’m gonna keep this forever.” And he means it.

“Welcome. Can I have a lollipop now?”

Cas points at Dean. “He gets that from you.”

After the valentines are carefully put away and they’ve had dinner (plastic free and edible, which Cas seems proud of), Jack gets a bath and is tucked in bed. Dean and Cas spend the rest of the night sprawled out on the couch watching reruns of Doctor Sexy and drinking beer. Party city.

When the Doctor Sexy reruns switch to Jeopardy, Dean knows it’s officially midnight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.”

They tip their bottles together.

“I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not planning anything,” Cas says, picking at the label on his beer.

“What? No, of course not. We never do anything. I thought we were on the same page about avoiding that shit after our first Valentine’s together.”

They both shudder thinking about the sweaty cupid ‘handshake’.

“We are, but we never actually discussed it and I…” Cas pauses and tilts his head. “I think having Jack around and seeing the world through his eyes, experiencing things in a new way, it makes me wonder if we’re not missing out on some of the little things.”

“Hey, we appreciate lots of the little things-- like you not cooking frozen pizza with the plastic still on.”

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay. So you sayin’ you wanna celebrate now?”

“Sam and Eileen do.”

“Sam and Eileen are saps. And they don’t have a five year old running around.”

Cas makes a sound of agreement and softly strokes the back of Dean’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. “You make a fair point. In all honesty, I don’t want to do anything extravagant but I would like to take the opportunity to remind you how much I love you. Am I allowed to be sappy for a moment?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess you deserve one day to get it all out.” He puts their bottles down and faces his husband. “Lay it on me, big guy.”

Instead of looking annoyed, Cas just looks fond. “You know, it’s ironic that a man as full of love as you are is so quick to dismiss any sentimentality. You are a fascinating creature.” A thumb sweeps under his eye where he’s got permanent dark circles and settles at the corner where his lines get deeper every day. It makes Dean want to squirm but he holds still under the reverent touch. “Perhaps that’s why I never stood a chance.”

“C’mon, man,” Dean says, dropping his eyes to the couch.

“Hush, I’m allowed, I’ll have you know. My husband gave me explicit permission.”

“Well, your husband is thinking about rescinding the offer.”

“I love you.”

Cas says it with such conviction that Dean can’t help but look back at him, at his bright eyes and soft smile; at the evidence of his love written all over his face.

“I love you, endlessly, Dean Winchester. For everything that you are; the good and the bad. From the moment I saw your soul in hell, so bright it was almost blinding, I knew I would never be the same. You breathed life into me, gave me meaning and purpose, taught me the value of love, and you did it all, selflessly, simply by being the man that you are.” Cas draws him close, presses their foreheads together. “I can never give back all that you’ve given me but I promise you will have my love until we are nothing but a forgotten memory, and longer still.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and they breath together in the small space between them.

“You can’t-- you can’t just say shit like that,” he whispers.

“And why not?”

“Because it’s not true, first of all.” Cas opens his mouth to argue but Dean covers it with his hand and hurries on. “You’ve already given all of that back and more. God, Cas, if it weren’t for you I’d have been dead years ago. I needed to stick around-- to take care of Sammy, to stop whatever or whoever was trying to end the world next-- but you… you made me want to live. Really live, not just survive, you know? I fuckin’ love you, man.”

Cas pushes Dean’s hand away and presses his lips against Dean’s fervently.

When they finally break apart for desperately needed air, they both pretend they aren’t sniffling like little girls.

“You happy now? Can we go back to not doing this?”

Cas laughs. “I hadn’t planned on making it quite so emotional, I apologize. You always bring out the most in me.”

“Ugh, enough,” Dean groans, shoving Cas’ smiling face away. “You aren’t allowed to say anything even approaching romantic for the next twenty four hours, capiche?”

“I can agree to that, as long as I’m allowed to give you a gift later.”

“I thought you said you didn’t plan anything?”

“It’s nothing big.” Cas’ fingers sneak under Dean’s shirt and trail along his stomach, dipping to his waistband. “I just happened to walk by Victoria’s Secret and see a pair of pink satin panties in the window.”

Dean’s heart beats a little faster. “Oh yeah?” he says breathlessly. “Not gonna lie, that seems more like a present for you.”

Cas hums and leans over Dean, forcing him to lie back on the couch. “Well then I suppose I’ll just have to do whatever you want while you wear them.”

When he kisses him he tastes like cherry candy and Dean thinks could learn to like this holiday.

#spn #destiel #deancas #bend-me-shape-me #sweatercas #rambleoncas #acklesy #alivedean #userpris #usersila #goodthingsclara #shelikestv #hope you guys dont mind me tagging you!!!#sarah writes

197 notes · View notes

calamitykaty · 4 years

Text

A Twist of Fate

Charlie x Fem! Reader

Word count:7670

Warnings: Slight Swearing, I think that’s it?

Requested: Sorta? It’s a multi writer topic by @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic revolving around the idea of y/n finding an ad to rent a date for Thanksgiving. *You can find the first writers fic HERE

A/N: HUGE thank you to @dream-a-little-bigger-x for reading every rough draft of this that I sent her, along with bouncing ideas with me! Also a huge thank you to @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic for supporting me when I got stuck and reading my super rough draft!

I wasn’t gonna post this until tomorrow but now I have a Christmas Reggie fic that I want to post tomorrow so...Happy Reading.

Y/N wrapped the buffalo plaid scarf around her neck and pulled her favorite slouchy red beanie over her thick mop of curls. Her cellphone was pressed between her right shoulder and ear as she buttoned up her navy peacoat and half-listened to her mom rattle off the preparations she needed to make for Thanksgiving.

“Mom, I really need to…” Y/N attempted to interject only to be cut off by her mother. She placed the phone on speaker and set it down on the counter while she slipped her feet into a pair of black boots. She had stopped listening to her mother’s droning voice nearly a half-hour beforehand, but her ears perked up when her mother asked the dreaded question.

“Are you bringing Noah this year honey? I know you guys like to alternate holidays with his family, but your Aunt Martha is going to make it this year and she is just tickled to finally get to meet him.”

Y/N pursed her lips and ran a hand over her face, she hadn’t told anyone that Noah broke things off with her two months prior. She hadn’t meant to keep it a secret for so long, but her mom loved Noah and she just knew she would blame her for ruining a good thing. She had been dating Noah for three years and it was perfect until Noah started talking about marriage and Y/N began to realize that she couldn’t picture her entire life with him. Noah felt like a moment in time to her, not an eternity.

“I’ll have to check, Mom, I don’t know what Noah is doing yet.” Y/N settled on a half-truth to buy herself some time. She placed her elbows on the edge of the counter and rested her head in her hands.

“Honey, I need to know by the end of the week, okay?”

She could hear the irritation in her mother's voice at the non-answer that Y/N had given to her. Her mother was a meticulous planner and she could not stand curve balls making a mess of her perfect holiday plans. Her mother treated every holiday as if the editors of Better Homes & Gardens were going to drop in at any moment and do a two-page spread on her decor and perfect meal.

“Got it, mom! I have to go!” Y/N quickly ended the phone call and shoved her phone into her pocket. She huffed out a heavy sigh and made her way to her front door, grabbing her keys from the catch-all bowl on the table next to the door. She quickly locked up her apartment and rushed down the two flights of stairs to the small community lobby. She adjusted the scarf around her neck and reached for the door but stopped as a new flyer on the community board caught her eye. She took a step back and ripped the paper from the thumbtack that held it to the cork board and shoved it into her coat pocket before pulling the door open.

Her hair whipped around her face as she stepped outside and was met with the cool autumn breeze that had settled in over the last month. Y/N looked both ways before stepping off of the sidewalk and hurrying across the street where her best friend, Leigha, was already waiting for her inside the small corner cafe.

“How is it that I have to drive from the other side of town and can make it on time but you literally live across the street and can’t?” Leigha teased as Y/N unraveled her scarf and took her coat off, draping both over the back of her chair before sitting down.

“Sorry! Sorry! My mother…” Y/N rolled her eyes as she recalled the phone call.

“Enough said!” Leigha laughed, she had one of those laughs that turned heads. Her laugh was always a little too loud and sometimes she would snort, it always caused Y/N to break into a fit of giggles. Leigha had been Y/N’s roommate all the way through college and they had been inseparable since the very first day they had met.

“So,” Leigha crossed her arms on top of the table,” did you work up the courage to tell her about Noah?”

Y/N shifted her gaze across the cafe and bit her lip “not exactly…”

“You are unbelievable, y/n ” Leigha sighed, exasperated.

Y/N snapped her eyes back to Leigha and held her hands up in defense “I tried! Well...I mean…I tried to try…”

“You know if you show up stag and your mother already has a place setting for a plus one, you might as well just go ahead and bury yourself, honestly” Leigha tutted.

“That’s why I have a plan!” Y/N turned around and rustled through the pockets of her peacoat before placing the crumpled flyer on the table. She smoothed her hands over the paper and pushed it towards the middle of the table.

Leigha snatched the paper up as the waitress came over and took their orders, Leigha ordered a blueberry scone with a chai tea while Y/N ordered a croissant with a side of strawberry preserves and a coffee.

“I mean…” Leigha read over the paper before sliding it back over to Y/N, “you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Y/N bit her lip and stared down at the flyer, re-reading it for the fourth time before she pulled out her phone and scanned the QR code to bring up the app.

“I can’t believe I am actually this desperate to try to literally purchase a date a week before Thanksgiving.” She muttered as she began to fill out her profile.

“Wait! Thanksgiving is next week? As in a week from today? I haven’t even made my Thanksgiving Pinterest board yet!” Leigha panicked and grabbed her face.

Y/N looked up from her phone and shook her head at Leigha’s antics “why do you need a Pinterest board? You literally do the same thing every single year.”

“Yeah…” Leigha jutted her bottom lip out in a pout, “but I want people to think that I am making all of these intricate and super cute appetizers and stuff. It’s the illusion that I care about!”

Y/N looked up and thanked the waitress as she set the food and coffee down in front of her before turning her attention back to Leigha who was eagerly biting into her scone.

“Help me answer these?” She passed her phone over to the girl and picked up the knife, spreading the strawberry preserves onto her croissant.

“Beach or Mountains?” Leigha readout with her mouth half full.

“Mountains!” Both girls yelled out at the same time and burst into giggles. They continued down the row of questions, passing the phone back and forth until Y/N finally hit the submit button. Leigha practically yanked the phone from Y/N’s hand as the algorithm began to shoot out potential matches. Her thumb scrolled through the pictures at lighting speed before she stopped and slowly scrolled back up before thrusting the phone in Y/N’s face.

“This one! Oh my god, this one! And if you don’t select the platinum package so that boy can say he loves you then I will literally never speak to you again!”

Y/N wiped the jam from her chin and grabbed the phone from Leigha. He was cute, there was no doubt about that but unlike Leigha, she cared about what his profile said about him. She scrolled through his pictures, one of him playing guitar, one hiking, one surrounded by friends around a campfire. Lover of nature, endless adventure, campfire songs, and sharing the love with my friends. I’ll jump if you jump, let’s take this plunge together?

She felt her lips curl up into a soft smile as she whispered his name to herself, liking the way that it rolled so easily off of her tongue.

“I told yooouuuu!” Leigha sang out and crossed her arms over her chest, a smug look on her face.

Y/N placed the phone on the table and tried to control the blush that she could fill rising to her cheeks, “calm down,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m paying for a Thanksgiving date, not falling in love.” She selected the platinum option and typed in her credit card number before clicking the purchase open without a second hesitation.

“I better be your maid of honor!” Leigha teased as the two girls dropped the appropriate amount of money onto the table and began to layer their coats and scarves back on. Y/N pulled the girl into a hug and placed a kiss on her cheek before heading back across the street towards her apartment.

She had just placed the keys back into her catch-all bowl by the door when her phone began to ding. She felt her heart begin to race as she saw the approval message on her screen that Charlie had accepted her request to rent him as her Thanksgiving date.

“Oh my god...okay...okay, this is fine...everything is fine.” She muttered to herself as she received another notification that Charlie had messaged her. She set her phone down on the counter and peeled her coat and scarf off before slipping her feet out of her boots. She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and grabbed her phone, refusing to look at it until she had settled in on her couch. She crossed her feet under her and pulled a throw pillow to her chest before finally sliding up on the notification and reading the message that he sent.

Let's get to know each other? Lunch tomorrow?

Y/N hesitated for a moment before her fingertips began to slide across the keyboard on her screen.

Sounds good! How do you feel about chicken & waffles? I know a place!

She read over what she had sent several times, worried that she sounded too eager. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she waited for his response, watching as several dots appeared and disappeared several times on her screen before he finally sent his response.

A girl after my own heart! How is 12:30? Send me the address?

She felt her cheeks grow warm at his response and mentally reminded herself that he was just being kind and that she was quite literally paying for him.

500 Rue Kennedy Dieppe, NB. and 12:30 is perfect! I’ll see you then!

Y/N took a deep breath and closed the app before her thumb hovered over her mother’s contact. She quickly clicked on her number and quietly whispered to herself “please don’t answer, please don’t answer, please don’t answer.”

“Thank god!” she exclaimed as the phone sent her to voicemail. She rolled her eyes at her mother’s elaborate message before finally being told to leave her message at the sound of the beep.

“Hi, mom...it’s me...I just wanted to let you know that you will need to make sure to set an extra place setting for thanksgiving. Love you.” She rattled off, keeping the message vague but to the point.

The following day Y/N stood inside of her closet staring at her assortment of clothes trying to decide what said “I'm cool and definitely not desperate even though I paid for a date for Thanksgiving because my family is insane.”

She pulled a mustard yellow cable knit sweater from a hanger and laid it out on her bed before heading back to her closet. Her fingers sorted through the variety of skirts before settling on a silky, pleated navy skirt that was cinched at the waist. She laid the skirt out next to the sweater before moving over to her vanity.

She sat on the poof chair and stared at her reflection for a brief moment before pulling the small drawer to the left open and lining up her primers, eye palette, eyeliner, mascara, and her signature red lipstick. She grabbed the mason jar that sat on the right tableside of the vanity and grabbed the appropriate brushes, lining those up as well.

She used her middle finger of her right hand to gently swipe the eyeshadow primer onto her eyelids before dusting the brush across a shimmery gold eyeshadow. She used a maroon eyeshadow on her crease and slowly blended the colors until she achieved a golden and subtle smokey eye.Y/N shook her hands out to steady her nerves before slowly pulling the liquid eyeliner across her eyelids and flicking it softly at the end for a subtle cat-eye before she carefully built volume on her eyelashes with the mascara. Finally, she grabbed the matte red lipstick and carefully swiped it across her lips before blotting them with a tissue.

Y/N jumped at the sound of her phone vibrating on her nightstand. She moved across the room and grabbed the phone from the charger.

See you soon!

She felt the nerves settle back into her stomach and wiped her clammy hands on her pajama pants before quickly undressing. She pulled the yellow cable knit sweater over her head, careful not to let it touch her face. She followed that by pulling on the pleated navy skirt, the fabric falling just above her knee. She pulled on the fabric of the sweater at her waist so that it slightly hung over the waistband of the skirt before she slipped her feet into a pair of black pointed flats. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and pulled her curls over her shoulders before grabbing her purse and slinging it across her body.

Y/N entered the bustling restaurant and let her eyes wander across the tables trying to find Charlie. She wrung her hands together and pulled her lips into a thin line when she didn’t see him, her heart dropping at the thought that she had been stood up or even worse, that she had really fallen for a scam. She turned on her left foot and reached for the door, barely pulling it open before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She let go of the door, resulting in a soft thud as it closed.

“Y/N? You weren’t about to bail on me were you?” The soft voice teased as she turned around.

“I thought you had stood me up, actually.” She could feel the blush that dusted across her cheeks at the accusation. Her left hand fell to her right wrist, her fingers loosely wrapping around it as she looked up at Charlie through her eyelashes and offered an apologetic smile.

Charlie’s green eyes crinkled at the edges and his nose scrunched up as he laughed “take the money and run, I wish I would have thought of that!”

“Oh..” Y/N looked back at the door and then back towards Charlie, “if you don’t want to do this, it’s fi--”

Charlie smiled softly at her “I was just teasing, I didn’t want to sit at the table by myself in case you didn’t show and have to do the walk of shame, so I was at the bar.”

Charlie placed his right hand on the small of her back and guided her to a table in the middle of the bustling restaurant. He pulled her chair out for her before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. Y/N tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced at the menu, though she already knew what she was going to order. The waiter, a young kid, probably seventeen stopped by their table and quickly took their order.

Y/N finally looked up to find Charlie staring at her, his face cradled in his hands with his elbows propped up on the table.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why a very beautiful girl would need to rent a date for a Holiday.”

Y/N felt herself blush at his compliment and shrugged her left shoulder “I got dumped.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry”

She smiled and waved him off “It’s no big deal, we wanted different things out of life. He wanted marriage and I,” she hesitated, she hadn’t talked about this with anyone other than Leigha.

“You what?”

“I want adventure and I know that sounds silly. Like, of course, you can have adventure and marriage but Noah,” she paused, “that’s my ex.”

Charlie nodded and gestured for her to continue, “Noah works in the financial district and he wanted marriage and kids and stability….and I barely know what I want to eat for breakfast let alone what I want for eternity.”

“You’re a free spirit, nothing wrong with that!” Charlie interjected and Y/N felt her first genuine smile of the night spread across her face.

“You get it.”

“I do get it.”

Y/N thanked the waiter as he sat down two beers along with their orders of chicken and waffles, before turning back to Charlie.

“So, tell me about your family. What should I prepare myself for?” Charlie lifted the pint glass to his lips and took a sip of the amber-colored beer.

‘Well,” Y/N blew air into her cheeks and sighed, “my mother thinks she’s Martha Stewart. So be sure to compliment the decor as soon as you see her. You’ll win her over for sure...and maybe don’t mention the whole free spirit thing or you will definitely end up on her list of terrible suitors that I have brought home.”

“Noted.” Charlie nodded before adding, “and your dad?”

“My dad is easy going, just talk about beer and hockey and you'll be fine.”

Charlie threw his head back in laughter and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the way his whole face lit up when he laughed. She felt a flutter in her stomach as Charlie leaned forward so that his forearms rested on the table and his fingers lightly brushed across hers before he pulled back. Y/n pulled her hands off of the table and dropped them into her lap, her fingers lightly traced over the silky fabric of her skirt.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and rolled her bottom lip into her mouth before exhaling, “yeah, but I should probably tell you something,” she looked up at Charlie through her eyelashes.

“Well, c’mon then..” Charlie teased after several seconds of silence.

“My folks don’t exactly know that Noah and I are….done...and I know there’s going to be a big event made of it when they find out.”

“Oof…” Charlie sighed and took a swig from his beer and a bite of his food.

Y/N felt her heart beating in her ears, “I understand if you, I mean if this is too much and you want to back out.”

Charlie looked at her with a playful smirk, “are you actually going to eat that or?” He pointed at her untouched plate of food with his fork.

“W-what?” Y/N looked down at her food and back up at Charlie before letting a smile slip onto her face. She didn’t understand how someone she had just met could put her nerves at ease without even trying.

Charlie let his fork clatter on his plate before leaning forward on his elbows. Y/N watched with furrowed brows as he grabbed the maple syrup and poured it in a circle over her chicken before he leaned back into his seat and met her eyes with a soft smile on his face.

Y/N picked up her fork and knife and cut into her maple drenched chicken before popping a small bite into her mouth, “are you happy now?” she teased Charlie before putting her fork back down.

Charlie tried to hold back the smile that threatened to take over his face as he nodded his head.

“So, what’s our story going to be? It’s gonna have to be a good one if I have to upstage Noah to win over your folks.”

The two spent the next hour concocting a believable, but very romantic story of how they met. They talked about their likes and dislikes, their quirks and habits, and all of the little things that couples are supposed to know about each other,

Y/N felt butterflies erupt in her stomach as Charlie walked her to her car, his left hand just barely brushing against hers. She mentally scolded herself for feeling jittery over a guy that was simply fulfilling his job, but she also couldn’t help but hope that maybe he was feeling their connection too.

“I’ll pick you up next Wednesday at 4 pm, yeah?” Charlie asked as they arrived at her car. Y/n tucked her hair behind her right ear and nodded.

She felt her breath hitch as Charlie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek before walking backward and sending her a wave.

A week later and Y/N found herself pulling on a green sequined, long sleeve dress, the hem set just above her knees. It was her go-to holiday dress, classic but not too formal. She painted her face with gold eyeshadow, a sharp winged eyeliner, and her classic red lips. Her hair hung over her shoulders in cascading curls. She sat on her bed, fastening a pair of strappy black heels when her phone dinged. She fastened the buckles of her heels and grabbed her phone, a smile instantly sliding onto her face at Charlie letting her know he’d be at her place in five minutes.

She stood up and checked her appearance one final time before grabbing her gold clutch handbag and shoving her phone into it, just as Charlie knocked on her door. She quickly made her way to the front door and turned the lock before pulling the door open.

“Wow…” Charlie breathed out as she came into full view.

Y/N shyly smiled back at the boy, thankful that the blush she had on her cheeks already would mask the red glow that she could feel heating up her face.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she teased, her eyes trailing from his brown wing toed shoes up to his pristine white button-up and finally to his slightly coiffed hair.

“Shall we?” Charlie extended his arm out to Y/N after she locked her door. She looped her right arm through his left, her hand resting lightly on his forearm as they made their way through the corridor and outside to Charlie’s car.

He opened the passenger side door for her and waited for her to get situated before closing the door and running around to the other side of the car. Their forty-minute drive was mostly silent as Y/N worked to calm her nerves down. She knew that she was going to have a lot of explaining to do when she showed up with Charlie in place of Noah and she was trying to memorize all of the details that they had agreed on a week prior.

“Are you okay?” Charlie glanced over at her for a brief moment before returning his eyes to the road, his left hand took hold of the steering wheel as his right hand settled on her bare knee.

His hand was warm against her cold skin and Y/N wasn’t sure why but she found her left hand moving to settle on top of his hand. Without hesitation, Charlie flipped his hand over and let her palm fall into his before his fingers slid between hers and gently curled.

“Just nervous…”

Charlie lightly squeezed her hand before letting out a small chuckle “if I didn’t know any better, I would think that you’re the one about to meet my family.”

“Oh, I’m not nervous about them meeting you, they’ll love you,” Y/N clarified,” I’m nervous about the terrible things that I know my mother is going to say to me about ending things with Noah.”

Charlie licked his lips as he pulled into her parents’ driveway. He pulled his right hand free from hers and put the car in park before turning slightly in his seat to face her.

“You know that nothing she says is going to be true, right? You don’t have to live by someone else's timeline for your life.”

Y/N pushed down the warming feeling in her heart and nodded her head at his words.

“Yeah, I know...are you ready?”

Charlie smiled brightly at her and pulled the keys from the ignition before getting out of the car. He double-stepped around the car to the passenger door and pulled it open for her, waiting for her to get out before closing the door.

He slid his left palm into her right hand and tangled their fingers together before placing a soft kiss on her hairline and whispered “let’s put on a show.”

Y/N could feel the nervous energy erupting in her stomach as they stood outside of her childhood home. She took a deep breath before twisting the doorknob and pushing the red front door open. They were met with the warm heat of the home and the smell of cinnamon as soon as they stepped inside. Charlie let his eyes wander across the walls of the entryway, scanning the line of pictures before tugging Y/N over to one.

“This is you, yeah?” The question was rhetorical as it had been obvious that it was her in the picture. She stood on a cliffside, at the top of a mountain with a bright smile on her face, her childhood dog, Rex, beside her and the ocean behind her.

“Yeah, I was seventeen and went backpacking by myself for the first time. My mom was so mad. This family that was passing by was kind enough to capture the moment for me and my dad insisted that it be hung on the wall of accomplishments…” Y/N rambled off the story before letting her eyes move from the picture and up to Charlie.

Charlie smiled down at her and laughed, “this is gonna sound insane, but I think that was my family that stopped and took the picture.”

Y/N pulled her brows forward so that her forehead was pinched in the middle “shut up! No it wasn’t!” she finally exclaimed.

“Rex….the dog’s name was Rex. I remember because I thought you were pretty and I got flustered and I said something dumb about Rex from Toy Story.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide as Charlie recounted the story and she felt her cheeks growing red at the revelation “well, this is a weird twist in fate--”

She was cut off by the sound of her dad’s deep voice bellowing her name as he turned the corner. Charlie pulled her into his side and let his right-hand rest on her hip, while her right hand rested on his chest.

“Well, this certainly isn’t Noah!” Her father exclaimed a large smile on his face and his eyes soft. He had never been the biggest fan of Noah’s to begin with.

Charlie dropped his hand from her waist and stepped forward with it stretched out towards her dad, “Charlie Gillespie, sir.” He was taken aback when her dad threw his head back in laughter and pulled him in for a full bear hug.

“Nice to meet you, son”

Y/N giggled at her dad’s antics, he had always been the type to do things like that. He was a stout man with laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He had graying hair and a well-kept beard and he radiated kindness.

“And you, little missy, are going to have a lot of explaining to do to your mother.” Y/N pulled back from her dad's embrace and blew the air out of her cheeks.

“Yeah, I know…”

Her dad gently squeezed her arm and gave her a reassuring smile before leaving the two to grab a beer from the kitchen.

“Why do I have the overwhelming feeling to call your dad pops and ask him over to mine to watch hockey?” Charlie joked.

Y/N shrugged and tangled her fingers with his, “I told you he was the easy one. Are you ready for the rest?”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

Y/N tugged on Charlie’s hand and he followed behind her as they made their way to the den where her brothers were corralled around and a card table, intense looks on each of their faces as they held their cards close to their bodies. Their wives were set on the opposite side of the room. Y/N could feel the three women’s eyes on her as she entered the room with Charlie and she knew their hushed whispers were aimed at her and the fact that Charlie was very much not Noah.

Her youngest brother, Josh, was the first of the three boys to look up and notice her. He dropped his cards on the table, face down, and scooted his chair back against the hardwood floors.

“Junebug!” He yelled as he practically launched himself towards her. Y/N exploded into a fit of giggles as her feet left the floor and he twirled her around in circles. Josh was three years younger than her, sitting at nineteen but she had always been the closest with him. Her giggles quieted down as he sat her back down and turned to Charlie.

“Well, you’re not Noah.” Josh quipped with a playful smirk on his face.

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck and laughed “I have a feeling I am going to be getting that a lot today.”

“You play poker?” Josh eyeballed him.

“I know my way around a deck of cards, yeah.” Charlie shrugged.

Josh turned to Y/N and lightly punched her shoulder, “looks like you got yourself an upgrade, Junebug!”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her brother and wished Charlie luck as he was pulled over to the table and introduced to her two older brothers, Samuel and Michael. She felt her shoulders relax for a moment as the table erupted with laughter from something Charlie had said. He looked up from his cards and shot her a wink before turning his attention back to the game at hand.

Y/N glanced back at Charlie one last time before making her way over to the prying eyes of Amy and Melissa, the wives of Samuel and Michael. The two women each held a mug of her mother’s homemade cider in their manicured hands.

“Who’s the cutie?” Amy was the first to speak, her left eyebrow raised as she asked the question.

Y/N looked over her shoulder for a moment with a smile before turning back around “Charlie…”

“Oh! Well, you’ve certainly never said Noah’s name like that before!” Melissa looked at Y/N with wide eyes.

Y/N shook her head at the two gossipy women “like what?’

Amy and Melissa both shot knowing looks to each other before Amy quipped, “sweetie, that boy’s name left your lips like honey falling from a spoon.”

“It did not!’

“You can deny it all you want, but we both heard it!” Melissa declared and brought her mug up to her lips, taking a sip of the warm cider.

“Looks like I’m out boys!” Y/N heard from the other side of the room. She glanced over her shoulder to find Charlie laying his cards down on the table before he slid out of his chair. She smiled at him as he made his way over to her. He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and tugged her back into his chest, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Charlie, these are my sister-in-laws, Amy, and Melissa.”

“Very nice to meet both of you.” Charlie beamed at the two women.

Melissa and Amy stood up at the sound of heels clicking against the tile floor of the kitchen. Melissa made her way around Y/N and she gently squeezed Charlies’s bicep, “good luck honey.”

Charlie pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek and tightened his arms around her waist as he felt her body tense in his arms.

“You’ve got this,” Charlie reassured before loosening his grip on her and letting her grab his hand.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and gently pulled Charlie behind her as she navigated through the formal dining room and towards the kitchen where her mother was sure to be found.

She stopped just inside the doorway to the kitchen and turned to face Charlie, “you can still get out of this, ya know?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Charlie placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around, nudging her into the kitchen while he followed.

Y/N stood silently for a minute as she watched her mother pull the green bean casserole from the oven and wipe her hands across her floral apron. Her mother was a thin woman with auburn hair that was almost always pulled into a chignon.

“Mom? Can I talk to you?” Y/N hesitantly asked, suddenly feeling less like a twenty-two year old woman and more like a twelve-year old child.

“What do you want to talk about, dear? Because if it’s about Noah,” her mother grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the brown gravy that was simmering on the stove, “then I frankly don’t have time to listen to your childish reasons for ending the only good thing you had.”

“You know?” Y/N choked out

Her mother grabbed the pepper grinder and began to twist the top over another pot of food, “I called Noah after we spoke last week since you couldn’t give me a straight answer when I called you.”

“Oh…” Y/N placed her hands on Charlie’s chest and gently pushed him backward. Her eyes pleading with him to give her a minute. She didn’t want him to bear witness to the reprimanding she knew was about to come. Charlie hesitantly left her side and waited on the other side of the door.

Her mother finally turned around to face Y/N. She placed her hands on the edge of the counter, her knuckles white from the tight grip.

“Honestly, y/n. I don’t know why you can’t get your life together. You graduated college just to throw away your education for this silly photography hobby of yours and now you threw away a perfectly acceptable relationship because you want to travel and have adventures? You’re not a child, anymore, y/n. When is this going to stop? When are you going to grow up?”

Y/N stood silently as the words washed over her. She could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“I…”

“What? You what, Y/N? What explanation could you possibly have this time?” Her mother cut her off.

Charlie pushed himself off of the wall he had been leaning on from the other side of the door and quickly made his way back into the kitchen. He felt her mother’s eyes on him as he quickly pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek, his hand sliding across the middle of her back before he put on his best smile and made his way over to her mother.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Y/L/N. My mother would be insanely envious of the spread you’ve created, it’s magazine worthy!”

“Thank you, dear. You are much too kind! I am so sorry, but I don’t believe I caught your name?”

Y/N looked down at the floor and smiled to herself at the charm that Charlie exuded as he introduced himself to her mother and offered to help her bring the endless amounts of food to the formal dining room for her.

“I’ll go gather everyone.” Y/N shot an appreciative smile to Charlie before she made her way back to the den to gather the rest of the family into the dining room.

Y/N made her way over to the empty chair next to Charlie, the latter getting out of his own chair to pull her chair out for her before sitting back down. He placed his hand on the inside of her thigh and let his thumb rub circles on the top of her leg.

Her dad stood at the top of the table and carved the turkey while small talk was exchanged between her brothers and their wives and suddenly the question finally came from her mother.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Y/N glanced over at Charlie not sure if he was going to take the lead or not and was surprised when he started spitting out a story that was definitely not the one they had agreed on during their lunch meeting,

“I met your daughter several years ago on a hiking trip with my family,” Charlie paused and looked over at her before continuing, “my older brother, Patrick actually took that photo that you have on your wall in the entryway!”

Y/N’s heart was beating erratically as Charlie squeezed her knee before turning his focus back to her mother “your daughter took my breath away that day and I kicked myself for weeks for not getting her number and just having this missed connection. I guess you could call it a twist of fate, really, that I found her again.”

Y/N’s mother smiled at the two of them and Y/N felt her body tense for just a moment before relief rushed over her at her mother’s words “that may be the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life.”

“Can we eat now or?” Josh hesitantly asked as he grabbed the plate of yams and began piling a portion onto his plate.

Y/N felt at ease for the rest of the evening as their shared meal went off without a hitch. Her family shared embarrassing stories of her with Charlie and she sipped glasses of wine as he endlessly complimented her. Her heart felt full as the night drew to a close and her dad pulled out the last Thanksgiving tradition. The wishbone was passed around the table until it landed in her hands. She turned to Charlie and gestured for him to grab the other end of the bone. They both tugged on the bone with their eyes closed until it snapped.

Y/N opened her eyes and looked down at the fractured bone in her hand and then over to Charlie who was holding the larger side.

“Make a wish,” she whispered to him with a soft smile on her face. Charlie shook his head and kissed her forehead.

“I don’t have to, I’ve got everything I want right here.”

Y/N dropped her eyes to the table and reminded herself that as much as she felt the connection between her and Charlie, that he was just playing a role.

She looked up as the sound of chairs sliding against the floor filled the room. She followed suit and slowly stood up from her chair.

“Do you need help, mom?”

“You go ahead and head out honey, I know you have a long drive.”

Y/N made her rounds of goodbye to her family before looking back at Charlie and grabbing his hand. They silently walked to his car and he opened the car door for her. Y/N hummed along to the songs that played on the radio during the drive back to her place. She tried to ignore the heat that she felt in her stomach as Charlie’s thumb ran across her knuckles every now and then. She watched the cars that passed by them, red tail lights lighting up her face as they drove on the highway. Before she knew it they were parked outside of her apartment.

“I guess this is it then…” Charlie looked over at Y/N as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“I guess so.” Y/N agreed, her right hand rested on the door handle as she looked at Charlie, her eyes searching for any indication that he didn’t want her to leave. She let her hand pull on the door handle when Charlie didn’t respond.

She swung the car door open and stepped out into the street before making her way to the sidewalk. She turned around at the sound of another car door shutting and was taken aback by Charlie running over to her side

“I should walk you to your door,” Charlie answered the silent question

Y/N smiled and led the way through the apartment corridor until they stood outside of her door, her keys dangling in her left hand. She looked up at Charlie and smiled, “you didn’t have to see me inside, ya know?”

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and shrugged, “all part of the job.”

Y/N felt her smile falter and turned around to place the key into the lock of her apartment door. She quickly turned the key and opened the door before stepping inside. She turned to look at Charlie one last time, “well, thank you for giving me my money’s worth,” she let her eyes fall from his.

“Goodbye, Charlie.” She closed the door and dropped her keys into the catch-all bowl before kicking her heels off and making her way over to the couch. She let her body slump into the soft cushions and pulled her phone out to call the only person that was going to understand.

“Tell me everything!” Leigha demanded as soon as her face appeared on the phone.

‘Well,” Y/N sighed, “I think I accidentally started to fall in love with him.”

Leigha couldn’t stop the giddy laughter that erupted from her small frame “I knew this was going to happen! I so called this!”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her best friend and poked her bottom lip out in a pout “it’s not funny Lee...I’m never gonna see him again and now I have all of these feelings to deal with.”

“You don’t know that!” Leigha argued

“I appreciate that you’re a hopeless romantic, Lee, but I was nothing but a paying customer to him...he basically said so himself.” Y/N frowned, thinking back to Charlie’s words as he walked her to her door.

“Oh...hun, I’m so sorry.”

Y/N let a sad smile slip onto her face, “I’m gonna go to bed, coffee tomorrow morning?”

Y/N hung her phone up and pulled herself up from the couch. She shuffled through the apartment until she reached her room and slowly peeled the sequined dress from her body. She made her way to the vanity and grabbed a makeup wipe and slowly removed the makeup from her face before she crawled into bed and pulled the covers tight around her body.

It was 8 am when Y/N was pulled from her slumber by her phone blaring the ringtone that Leigha insisted she set for herself. She rolled over with her eyes still closed and fumbled around for her phone before slowly cracking her eyes to hit the green button.

“What?” Y/N grumpily answered

“Don’t what me!” Leigha chastised, “there’s a cute boy at the cafe and he just ordered your order! Like to the T!”

Y/N set up in her bed and pressed her fingers into her eyes, rubbing the sleep away in small circles.

“Ok? And?”

“AND?! AND!!! His name is Charlie! I swear to god if you don’t get out of bed and make yourself look decent, I will literally kill you!”

Y/N dropped her phone onto her bed and pulled the covers back. She quickly made her way to her bathroom and brushed her teeth. She stared at herself in the mirror and ran her fingers through her messy bed head, her curls tangling together between her fingers.

“Shit..okay….okay…” She muttered to herself and opted to twist her hair up into a top knot. She secured it with a hair tie and ran back to her room where she threw on a pair of black leggings and an oversized jumper. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest when she heard a knock on her door.

She wiped her hands on her leggings and quickly made her way to her front door. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves before reaching forward to unlock the door. Her hand shook as she turned the doorknob and slowly pulled the door open. Stood on the other side was Charlie with a small brown bag and a hot coffee extended out to her.

Y/N stepped to the side and opened the door wider, allowing Charlie to come in.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she took the bag and coffee from his hands. She sat the bag on the counter and pulled the cup to her lips, taking a small sip. She hummed to herself as the warm liquid slid down her throat.

Charlie stepped forward and hesitantly took the drink from her hands, setting it on the counter behind her. Y/N watched anxiously as Charlie’s eyes moved across her face, flickering between her eyes and lips several times before he lifted his hands and placed one on her right cheek while the other cradled her neck.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Charlie whispered into the space between them before catching her lips with his. Charlie pulled away before Y/N had a chance to react, his face glowing red as he held his bottom teeth between his top two teeth.

“Is this free of charge?” Y/N joked as she placed her hands on Charlie’s chest and leaned forward, bringing her lips back to his.

@straywonpil @siennanoelle01 @choppedhoundsludgeclod @cool-ultra-nerd @hxney-bunches-x @crybabyddl @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @dream-a-little-bigger-x @kcd15 @all-in-fangirl @ifilwtmfc @onlygetaway @iainttakingshitfromnobody @angryknightstatesmantrash @jazzyhales @bathtimejish @lanasfandoms @miranda0102 @emotionalbruv @aliandthephantoms @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost @5sosmukefan @alexpjoyner @mo-d3ans @hannahhistorian92 @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic @sunflowerbecca @n0wornever @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie #luke patterson #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie fanfic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #julie and the phantoms fanfic #luke patterson fanfic

318 notes · View notes

meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 10]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, guided masturbation, dirty talk, jun being a wild one, sad?????angst(sorry), mentions of break-ins/theft, yet again this chapter was meant to be shorter but here we are 😭🍒 more plot than anything else but enjoy! and as always, thank you so much for your support and interest in Cherry Bomb!! 😭💕💕💕 have a good weekend and don’t forget my halloween intro post goes up tomorrow as well!! stay hydrated bbys!!💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - ?

“Damn.”

Seungcheol sits beside you Friday morning, lips pressed into a firm line when he sees the five-digit number staring back at him from your revenue page.

“Yeah, it’s---I--I’m…”

The two of you fall into a tense silence as you both stare at the exorbitant amount of money that the videos have made, unsure of what to say or even think.

“Um, I mean, o-obviously you get a cut of the money too, ‘Cheol! You’re half the video so…”

“Yeah, but even so, that’s---that’s an insane amount of money we made off of, what, three videos?”

You nod back slowly, sighing as you rest against the back of the sofa. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t think… they’d do that well. Like, not saying we suck! We obviously don’t, but just… I didn’t think they’d do that well.”

Seungcheol laughs, leaning back against the cushions as he meets your blushing face. “I could quit my job and just cam with you for this amount of money. I mean, this much off of three videos? Imagine if we were regulars together.”

The thought alone sends your mind into a flurry of various ideas; biting your lip as you lean into Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Hey, I have an idea for tomorrow’s show but remind me to ask you later!”

hoshi_tiger_xx: still out of town baby?

sleepy_wonu: i feel like you moved and you’re just not ready to tell us lol

Seungcheol smirks reading the comments; eyes flitting over to you from his place on the sofa.

“Moved? I wish! This place is probably waaaay more than my own rent though~” You pause, letting the sound of donations sound off and comments fly past on your laptop screen. “And I’m probably heading home tomorrow so get ready to say bye to this backdrop!” You pout.

therealchan99: can we quickly discuss those videos tho

angelhan: actually yes

Biting your lip, you note that Seungcheol’s eyes are already on you and that you’ve already hit the donation minimum to start your show. “Well…” You start pushing the straps of your bra down, unhooking the back until you can toss the flimsy material off. “What do you guys want to know? You know I kiss and tell~”

dom.cheol: how does he gets you so fuckin wet, baby?

alphagyu97: ur not rly friends are u? Is he ur bf?

alphagyu97: im not pressed either im just curious!!!

universe_WZ: thats what they all say

chwenon: yooo that last vid was fuckin fire tho

tangerine_kwan has donated $50

tangerine_kwan: is he ever gonna join u on cam? think u guys would be good

“Hmm~ Well, let’s start with dom.cheol’s question…” You shoot the camera a sultry smirk as you spread your legs; fingertips already dancing along the lace of your panties. “It’s really not hard~ He’s really good at what he does, y’know? Knows how to talk to me and get my panties wet~”

xcaliburDK: is he good looking

kitty_junjun: probably not as well as me 🤪

gentleman_josh95: stop while u r ahead

Letting out a soft giggle, you watch as Seungcheol rounds the sofa, leaning up against the back of it as he faces you. He keeps his phone in hand, thumb still dancing across the keyboard.

dom.cheol: he has to punish you so often though, baby.

artist8hao: i know, whats gotten into u babygirl? Why r u acting out so much?

“‘Cause I like it when he punishes me~” You lick your lips as you hook your thumbs into your panties, slowly guiding them down your legs. “But I like it when he’s sweet to me too~” Your eyes dance up to Seungcheol, tossing the material his way before speaking.

“Won’t you be sweet to me now?”

alphagyu97: oh shit hes there

universe_WZ: let him fuck your pretty pussy on cam baby

“Aww, I’d love that but he’s still a ‘lil too shy for a live show!” You run your fingertips through your folds, collecting the wetness on them before you bring them to your lips. “But not shy enough to lend your voice, maybe?”

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

Seungcheol makes sure to raise his voice enough so that he’s within earshot of the mic; adrenaline rushing through his veins when he, too, notices the sudden influx of comments and donations at his sudden appearance. “My baby’s been good today though, hasn’t she?” Nodding, you get lost in Seungcheol’s firm stare as the sound of donations and comments fire off in the background.

“Mmhmm~ So why don’t you guide me and show me how a good girl gets rewarded?”

He sets his phone down onto the back of the sofa precariously, both hands in the pockets of his sweats as he watches you. “Normally, good girls get to sit on my cock but we’ll save that for another time, baby. For now, why don’t you get those fingers nice and wet for me? Let them see how good that mouth of yours is.”

therealchan99: those pretty lips that look so good around a cock, just like i thought

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

sleepy_wonu: fuck yeah

You make sure your fingers are properly wet before you drag them down your body, soft sighs on your lips. “Don’t tease me too much though, okay?” Seungcheol grins in return, picking up his phone and sending a quick donation to keep up appearances before he glances your way again.

“Of course. So why don’t you play with that cute ‘lil clit of yours. Bet it’s still nice and sensitive after last night, huh?”

A stuttered moan falls from your lips the second you start rubbing slow circles on your clit; eyes fluttering shut at the memory alone.

xcaliburDK: fuck, all that cum spilling out of her cunt was hot

artist8hao: bet she was nice and full huh? Such a shame she wasted it

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, “Right? Guess I’ll just have to fuck it deeper into her pussy next time.” You can’t help but clench around emptiness as you pinch your clit between your fingers at his words.

“Ngh, he made me come home with cum trickling down my thighs…” You whimper, “Not that I minded.”

“She begged me to fuck her in the shower too. Wanted me to mark you up real pretty, didn’t you? So that all your viewers could see.”

“Mmhmm…” He watches as you slowly slide your fingers down your folds to your entrance before they slide back up to your clit. “Why don’t you put two fingers in, hmm? Pretend they’re mine while you fuck yourself on them.”

kitty_junjun: aww her fingers are so small compared to yours

gentleman_josh95: bet its not even enough for her anymore huh?

dom.cheol: probably not

You slowly ease in two fingers at once; moaning when you sink them knuckle deep. “O-oh, fuck… Wha--what should I do n-next?”

“Fuck yourself on them, baby. Go however fast or slow you want to. Make yourself cum on your fingers.” He pauses; running a hand through his hair before he shoots you a devilish smirk. “But tell me how badly you wish it were me, ‘cause we both know you do.”

alphagyu97: wheeew lets hear it babygirl

tangerine_kwan: yea baby tell us

“It’s---It’s not the s-same… ‘Cause your fingers are b-bigger than mine…” You whimper, “And--a-ah, and they’re longer too…” Scissoring your fingers, you let out a breathy moan when you start thrusting your fingers faster into yourself.

“I wish it were your fingers, knuckle deep inside my pussy and making me cum. F-fuck, and stretching me open…”

You place your thumb on your clit; rubbing harsh circles on the nub as you chase your high.

Seungcheol watches with keen eyes, the way your heels dig into the sheets and the way your brows furrow in concentration; licking his lips when he can tell you’re already close to your orgasm.

“Now let’s see that pretty pussy cum, sweetheart.”

You towel your hair off after your shower; shuffling towards the living area as Seungcheol settles into his makeshift bed on the sofa.

“Don’t you want to sleep in the bed with me for once, ‘Cheol?”

His lips press into a lopsided smile, “Are you asking because it’s your last night here?”

“Maybe~”

He lets out a breathy laugh as he reaches for his pillow, gesturing you back towards his bed. “By the way, what was your idea for your show?” You sit cross-legged on the bed just as Seungcheol sets his pillow back against the headboard.

“...How do you feel about maybe filming with me at my place?” He quirks a brow at you just as he settles onto what he deems his side of the bed for the night. “Do tell.” He has a vague idea of where this is heading, but he lets you continue; curiosity eating away at him the longer you hesitate.

“Well, I was thinking… Maybe, and only if you’re okay with it, but… I was thinking maybe you could drive me back to my place? And I know it’s about an hour out from here but I’ll pay gas money! And we can just start heading towards my apartment a little before my show starts. That way you can use toys on me ‘n stuff. And I don’t mind if you spend the night either ‘cause it’ll probably be kinda late when we finish...”

Seungcheol nods; already thinking about the possibilities with the amount of toys you had at your place compared to his. “I mean, yeah, why not? And don’t worry about the gas money, I think we’ve both made enough money this week to last us a while.”

You can only pout in return, laying on your stomach next to Seungcheol who stares up at the ceiling. “Speaking of which… What’re we gonna do now?”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, you run your fingers through your damp hair. “I mean… What are we going to do about the videos? Are--Are we still going to film together?”

His lips press into a firm line as a million thoughts run through his mind; he’d thought about it a lot himself the past few days since. “I have an idea but I’m not sure how you’re gonna feel about it.”

“Shoot, we’ve got nothin’ to lose I don’t think!”

Seungcheol eases onto his side as he meets your stare, “First of all, I don’t mind filming more videos with you. And to be honest, it’ll probably take me a bit of time before I’m okay with showing my face but I don’t mind being on your live cam shows either, if we can figure out some camera angles. But the thing is… I think if we’re going to be filming together, you need to change your filming schedule.”

Panic runs through you for a second at the idea but you quickly push it aside to hear his suggestion. “How so?”

“Well, right now you’re doing shows on Fridays and Saturdays, every other Monday and every other Wednesday, right? Your next show is Wednesday which is fine but I think if we end up filming videos together regularly, we need to adjust how often you actually cam and how often we post pre-recorded videos. ‘Cause let’s be real, you’d be way too tired if you kept it that frequent. Three live shows a week and filming with me? It’s way too much for you.”

This time, it’s your lips that press into a firm line. But Seungcheol was right. There was no way you could keep your normal schedule on top of filming with him in between. “That… That makes sense. What are we gonna do about, uh, I mean---’cause we don’t really live near each other…” Mumbling, you trail off, hoping that Seungcheol knew the answer.

“Hmm, well, you can keep your Friday shows and then I can swing by on the weekends. We can film a few videos over the weekend, even if they’re just short ones, or even film long ones and then you can just cut them into shorter pieces. So, in theory, you’d only do two live shows a week and one upload of both of us? We can figure out everything else as we go in terms of splitting profits and stuff.”

You nod at his suggestion, feeling better about the idea. “That sounds reasonable! I’ll have to make a notice for my page but hopefully it shouldn’t be too big of a change…”

Seungcheol yawns as he stretches, eyes filled with sleep when he looks at you.

“We don’t have to do anything too soon either. Those videos are still makin’ money so let’s get some sleep!”

You and Seungcheol spend the Saturday afternoon driving around town; even going so far as to drop by the roller rink one last time to say your thanks and goodbye to Jeongguk.

“The two of you are somethin’ else, man. Really. With my whole heart, I just--I love it.” He pretends to wipe a tear off of his face as you and Seungcheol share a look.

“Promise me you’ll think of my offer?”

You nod in return, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I promise! Seungcheol tells me you stream often yourself so I feel like I can trust you but only if you get my good side too!” This time Jeongguk’s eyes light up with excitement as he reaches for your hands over the concession stand counter.

“Oh my god, if---if I promise to give you half a cut of profits, would you show up on my gaming stream? You don’t even have to be good, just if we collabed, I really think---”

“Okay, ‘Guk, I think that’s enough for now. You can ask her a thousand questions next time.” You pat Jeongguk’s hands as he pouts. “I’ll think about it, okay?” You whisper under your breath; a small smile on his lips as he nods back.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

Seungcheol links his hand with yours as he leads you out of the roller rink and back to his car; eyes flitting to his watch to check the time. “We’ve got time to have dinner and then we probably need to hit the road after.” You nod, “Sounds good! Where are we headin’ for dinner?”

“‘Guk and I went to this diner called ‘Dynamite’ a while back… The food’s alright and I haven’t taken you there yet so we can go there if you’re okay with it?”

“Sounds good!”

Seungcheol pulls into the parking lot of the diner 30 minutes later as the same neon signs greet him back. He parks near the entrance again, noting that it seemed fairly empty this time as well.

“I wonder if the guy is still here…” He mutters as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “What guy?”

The two of you exit his car; jogging up to him as he waits for you. “Just the guy who was our server when I was here with ‘Guk. He seemed familiar and it was weird.”

Seungcheol opens the door for you, letting you in first as the cold AC blasts you.

“Welcome to Dynamite, I’m Jun and I----Oh fuck!” Jun drops the menus in his hand, lips settling into a wide smile as he walks up to you and Seungcheol, tripping on his own feet as he meets you at the door. “I’m a big fan!” He harshly whispers. You blink up at him just before your eyes flit down to his pastel coloured name tag.

Jun.

Oh. kitty_junjun.

“O-oh, you’re---you’re kitty_junjun aren’t you?” You whisper back; already noting that he was quite handsome himself.

Fuck, are all my regulars hot?

“That’s me, baby! And oh--you! It’s you! I remember you from last time! You were with that other guy! Are you… y’know. The guy.” Jun wiggles his eyebrows as he steps back and picks up two menus from the counter. Seungcheol mentally grimaces but he nods.

“That’d be me.”

Jun’s eyes light up with enthusiasm as he gestures for the two of you to follow him towards the seating area. “I’m such a huge fan, really! Of Cherry and, well, really both of you now.” He leads you to a booth before he sets the menus down onto the table. “I hope you don’t mind but I volunteer to be your server and the milkshakes are on me tonight!” Finishing with a wink, he leaves the two of you alone as he walks back towards the counter.

“Wow, ‘Cheol when you said small town, you really meant it, huh?” Giggling, you take in Seungcheol’s mildly embarrassed appearance. “Hey, you’re famous!”

Am I famous? He thinks, Or is it just my dick?

“So that’s three people that could clock me in person… I mean, I guess it could be worse.” He mumbles; cheeks flushed pink when he sees Jun walking back towards your table. Jun leans against the booth, nodding as he props a hand on his hip.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you guys. It’s just, I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity!” He laughs, “I’d ask for your autograph but then I think that’d be a little too weird.”

You can’t help but giggle at his comment, turning slightly to face him better. “Guess you were right when you said you thought you saw me, huh?” He snaps his fingers as the memory comes back to him in an instant.

“You’re right! Fuck, I almost forgot about that. Man, I thought I was having a fever dream.”

Jun stares off to the side before he fixes his gaze onto Seungcheol; eyes wide. “Hey, I never caught your name, I don’t think?” Seungcheol gulps, hoping that Jun doesn’t connect the dots as easily as Jeongguk did.

“It’s Seungcheol.”

“Oh… okay! Well, cool, are you guys ready to order?”

He lets out a breath he doesn��t realize he was holding as you relay your order to Jun; lips falling into a shaky smile as he gives his order to Jun once you were done.

“Okay! I’ll be back in a little bit!” Jun shoots the two of you a smile before he leaves the two of you alone again.

“Well, this is an interesting Saturday if I do say so myself!” Seungcheol can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him; shaking his head at the way you seem to take it so easily. “I can’t believe you’re so chill about running into people that know you!”

“Like you said, ‘Cheol! It could be worse~” You pause, “This one time I was at the grocery store and this older man came up to me and said he recognized me. I was like, cool, y’know? I know my viewers are all different ages so I don’t judge. But then, two kids came up to him calling him ‘daddy’ and I literally bolted out of that place before his wife could find me!”

The two of you share a laugh before changing the topic; only stopping when Jun comes by with your orders, twenty minutes later.

“Hey, this is kinda random but it’s not so busy right now, so… Did you wanna sit with us and chat?” You offer as your eyes dance between Seungcheol and Jun. The latter’s eyes twinkle with excitement as he sets the last plate down.

“Wait, seriously? I can take my 15 if you’re being serious!” This time, you look to Seungcheol for his opinion, already noticing the way he seems more relaxed.

“Yeah, that’s cool with me.”

Jun all but runs off to tell his manager as you scoot over to give him space when he gets back. “I’m surprised you asked if he wanted to sit with us while we had dinner.”

“Why not? He seems nice! And we’re making friends!” Seungcheol nods in agreement just as he starts eating and just as Jun makes it back to the booth with a milkshake of his own.

You pat the empty spot next to you as he gasps slightly. “I feel like the second luckiest man on earth.”

He slides into the booth next to you, making sure to keep a reasonable distance. “Hey! You’ve got a show tonight so… are you two, y’know…” Seungcheol makes a conscious effort to not choke on his food as he chews slower than he usually would; eyes flitting over to you just as you set your utensils down.

“Um, yeah! We don’t really know what we’re gonna do yet but no spoilers okay~ Nobody knows what he looks like, Junnie!” You pout. Jun can only vibrate in his seat; a pink blush on his cheeks at the sudden nickname.

“Of course! My lips are sealed shut! And well, if you’re ever back in town, I’ll give you guys my employee discount if you swing by!” He grins.

The three of you talk about various topics within Jun’s fifteen minute break, thankfully none that involve camming. Jun pouts when his time is up, a sigh on his lips when he stands. “Damn, well, I guess I’ll see you later then, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows, chuckling.

“Just wave me over if you guys need anything, okay?”

The rest of dinner goes on without issue and Seungcheol finds himself in a lighter mood than when the two of you first arrived at the diner.

You make sure to leave Jun a big tip, winking at him on your way out.

“Ready to head home after a week?” Seungcheol shoots you a sad smile as he walks you to the passenger’s side of his car. He opens the door for you and lets you in before shutting it and jogging to the driver’s side.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re not gonna see each other anymore. If anything we’re gonna be seeing each other fairly regularly since you’re gonna come over to film!”

Seungcheol nods as he sets your apartment into his GPS; pulling out of the driveway as he begins the hour drive to your place.

“Yeah, and I mean, we can figure out what schedule works better as we go. Maybe we only need to film every other week or something too, right?”

“Mmhmm! I’ll start drafting a notice for the schedule change tomorrow and then I’ll run it by you before it goes up.”

The hour drive seems to go by quicker than you expect as the two of you spend the time singing along to songs on the radio; judging Seungcheol’s impeccable vocal skill when a rock song comes on.

“Wow, I--I didn’t know you had the vocal cords to do that, ‘Cheol!” He takes his eyes off of the road for a split second to shoot you a cocky grin.

“I’m pretty good at karaoke. We should go next time! Maybe invite all of our new friends.”

You snort in response, slapping his arm as he pulls into a residential part of town. “And if the person working the front desk of the karaoke place knows us?”

“Then we invite them in too!”

A slight blush paints your cheeks when you realize how much Seungcheol seemed to have relaxed in the last few days, if not hours. You knew it was never easy to get used to being recognized in person and there were still a lot of times where even you were flustered in person.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” Seungcheol’s concerned voice has you immediately peering through the window; eyebrows furrowed when you see the police cars parked outside of your apartment complex.

“W--wait that’s my--my apartment complex, ‘Cheol pull over!”

He parks the car a little closer to the scene; getting out of the car with you as the dread becomes more and more evident on your face. “Hey, I’m here with you, okay? Maybe it’s just nothing.” He offers; simultaneously knowing that his words were currently going in one ear and out the other.

The two of you walk hand in hand up to the front where you spot your landlord standing with a police officer. You call her name as she turns to you, gesturing for you to come closer.

“Didn’t you get my text message? Or any of my calls from the last 45 minutes?” You shake your head no in response, eyes dancing to Seungcheol who’s expression matches your own. “No--No I--I was out at dinner, I didn’t even hear my phone go off. What’s going on here?”

She sighs, arms crossed in front of her chest as the police officer clears his throat. “Well, Miss, there were a few break-ins tonight here. There’s a lot of broken glass and a lot of missing items. Thankfully nobody was injured but unfortunately we’re going to be running an investigation so it could take some time.”

“I--w--what about m-my apartment?” Your landlord sighs, “I’m sorry, honey, but your apartment was one of them, I---hey!”

You all but drag Seungcheol with you as you start making your way towards the entrance of the complex, panic and adrenaline guiding you as you all but throw the front door open. The sounds of the officer and your landlord shouting your name become fuzzy as you make your way through the halls; side stepping the stray items that were left on the floor. You make it to your hall when you notice a police officer standing at your front door that seems to have almost been ripped from the hinges.

“Miss, you can’t be in here, we’re---”

“This is my apartment, please just let me in!”

The officer standing at your apartment door notes the distress in your voice and sighs, “Show me some ID and I can let you in.” You quickly fish out your ID as he cross-references it with his documents. “Alright, go ahead. Please just don’t touch any of the hard surfaces.”

Your palm feels clammy against Seungcheol’s as you step into your apartment; shaky gasps on your lips when you notice the items strewn about. “O-oh my god…”

Seungcheol squeezes your hand tight, unsure of what to say. This was definitely the last thing he would’ve expected to happen at the end of your one week stay with him.

You can’t help the tears that threaten to spill as you look around your apartment and Seungcheol quickly notes the glassy look in your eyes when you turn to face him. Seungcheol quickly turns to the officer, voice stern. “I’m sorry to ask but can you give us a second alone, please? This is a lot for her to take in.” The officer nods as he steps back into the hallway.

“Baby? Tell me how you’re feeling, sweetheart.”

It only takes a split second before you’re sobbing into Seungcheol’s chest; his arms wrapping tightly around you.

He rubs your back gently, cooing to you softly as you let out your emotions. “Seungcheol, I, hic, wh--what am I--I, hic, g-gonna d-do? I…” You trail off as your mind goes a mile a minute. He’s unsure of how to comfort you, eyes taking in the ransacked room.

“We--we should probably talk to the officer outside? Figure out what’s going on. I--I mean, you’re definitely coming home with me. I’m not leaving you here like this and with nowhere to go.”

You pull away from his chest, tears still streaming down your face when you look up at him. Seungcheol feels his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. God please, I’d do anything to make sure she never cries like this again, he thinks.

“But my--my s-stuff, I--this--”

“I know, baby, I know. Let’s just both be thankful you weren’t here when they broke in, okay? We can replace the material stuff.” He smooths your hair down and wipes your cheeks, leaning down until he’s at eye level with you.

“I promise you, we’ll figure it out, okay? I’m not leaving you until we do.”

Nodding, you let Seungcheol take your hand as he brings you back to the front door where the officer is. “Hello? Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

Seungcheol looks your way before clearing his throat. “We just want to know what happened to my girlfriend’s apartment.” You squeeze his hand, hiding behind him.

“Well, we can’t really know for sure. A few other apartments were broken into. For some, the locks were picked and for others, it seemed like they just used blunt force against the doors until they gave way. Unfortunately, seeing as this is a gated apartment complex, the hallways don’t have any security cameras and we have no idea how the suspects got in past the gate.” The officer pauses for a moment as he lets his words sink in. “Usually with cases like this, a lot of the material goods eventually show up in local pawn shops or even just discarded in near-by trash containers. And judging from the building history, this isn’t the first time these burglars came by. This seems to be the second time. But that’s all we know for now. I suggest you pack some of your things and hang tight in a hotel until we get more info because, unfortunately, your door is ready to fall off of the hinges and we need to get a detective in here to see if there’s any fingerprints on the surfaces.”

“Will there be someone patrolling this place all night? How are we sure they won’t come back?”

“We’ll have an officer posted at all times, young man. I promise you nobody will get back in here.”

The tears stream down your cheeks as you quietly stand behind Seungcheol; lip quivering as Seungcheol thanks the officer for the information before turning to face you again.

“‘Ch--Cheol, what’re w-we, hic, gonna d-do now?” Your voice sounds so small to him as you keep your eyes focused on the floor.

“Has your apartment been broken into before? Be honest with me.”

“O--once, but--but it w-wasn’t this bad...” He clenches his jaw at your words. How the fuck did this happen before without anyone finding out? “Wait, so this has happened in the past? And you never said anything?” You peer up at him, eyelashes wet with tears.

“It, hic, they--they didn’t take as much s-stuff that t-time. But--but now I’m, hic, won--wondering if they were just s-scouting...” Seungcheol’s vision goes red; knowing exactly what he wanted to do and say but unsure of the possible outcome.

Fuck, screw it.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, sweetheart.” He pauses, exhaling deeply before he continues. “We’re gonna pack a bag, take all your important things that you can find. I don’t care if we have to fill up my entire car with your things. And you’re coming home with me. I don’t care if you have to break the lease on this place, but I can’t in good conscience know you’re living here if people are breaking into it like this.” You open your mouth to speak, brows furrowed. “But--”

“No! No buts this time. I--I can have Jeongguk help with moving. I’m sure Seokjin-hyung can take his shift at the roller rink for one day to help us move your things. And we’ll figure things out as we go.”

“The r-rent, I--”

Seungcheol shoots you a small smile as he tilts your head up to meet his soft and warm eyes. “Please, don’t worry about something like that right now. I’m just happy you’re okay. And that you weren’t here alone where I couldn’t help you.”

You nod shakily, hands covering Seungcheol’s as he holds your face in his hands. “Seungcheol, I’m so--so sorry, I--I don’t even k-know where to start, I--this is---it’s all just so much. Really I can just---just get a h-hotel and you can g-go home...” The tears threaten to spill again but Seungcheol quickly tugs you into his inviting arms.

This was by-far not at all how he expected to end his weekend. And he could only assume you felt the same way.

“I know it’s a lot. But we’re good at figuring things out on the fly, right? You have to trust me on this one. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. But for right now, I think you need to hurry and post a notice that there’s no show tonight while I look for your luggage so we can grab some things and get out of here, okay?”

He releases you from his hold, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead.

“I’ll fix it, I promise.”

#cherrybomb!cheol #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #scoups #seungcheol

438 notes · View notes

katymacsupernatural · 4 years

Text

The Proposal Part 11

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Jensen needs help keeping his life in order. To keep the media off his back. In order to do so, he comes up with a plan. Y/N, just a producer’s assistant, is pulled in to play a part she never thought she would have. Jensen’s fiancee. Only will it stay as a part to play, or will she start to want more?

Catch Up: Masterpost

The plane ride back to Vancouver was quiet, but not uneasy. Jensen had his script out, going over his lines while you mindlessly stared at the book in your hand. A historical romance book that seemed to have nothing on your life right now.

Your life would make any fiction story pale in comparison right now. With a fake engagement that turned into a real engagement, you were sure it would be any author’s dream. But it was real, and it was happening to you. Now.

How could you focus on the book in front of you when your mind continued to swirl around and dissect your current situation. How were things going to be now that you were back in Vancouver? Would working on set be awkward. How was Jensen going to act now that he was away from his family, and back with his friends and coworkers?

And then there was the matter of your brother. You couldn’t wait until you could pry him away from your Aunt and Uncle. To get him back with you where he belongs. It was going to take time, and money, and patience. None of which you had much of.

“Y/N, you’ve been staring at the same page for the last ten minutes now. What’s up?”

Giving up hope on the book, you closed it, placing it back on your lap. “Just thinking about what’s going to happen when we land. There’s so much that needs to happen or could go wrong. I just don’t want to disappoint you, or ruin things.”

Jensen reached for and grasped your hand, offering you support. “We’re in new territory for both of us. We’re both bound to make mistakes. It’s gonna happen. We’re still getting to know each other. On top of that, we’ve turned a fake engagement into a real one. It’s a lot of stress for both of us. But I believe we can get through it.”

He held your hand the rest of the way as the plane skidded to a stop. His words had calmed your nerves, at least for now. But you knew they were bound to pop right back up. After all, there were so many unknown variables.

Stretching in bed the next morning, you had to agree with Jensen. Your apartment was tiny, and probably not in the greatest part of town. It was one room, your kitchen, your living room and bed all within an arm’s length away from each other. Your neighbors across the hall got into tremendous fights, while the people above you listened to techno music at two in the morning. But it was yours, and you were able to save the rest of your money for the day you would be able to fight for your brother.

You had tried to make the place homey, with your colorful quilt and vintage pictures hanging on the wall. But it didn’t hide the water stain in the corner or the stained tile in the kitchen. But it was your own place, and that had been enough until Jensen had stepped into the cramped space last night. His large stature had made the small place seem minuscule. He had glanced around, his face full of dismay.

“This is where you live?” He had asked, and you nodded, slightly ashamed of your tiny run-down place.

“It’s cheap. I can save the rest of my paycheck,” you had answered back defensively.

He had continued to frown before leaving last night without saying another word, and you wondered how he was going to react today.

You didn’t have long to wait. As soon as you arrived at the set, ready to let the never-ending duties of a PA keep your mind occupied, Jensen was tugging on your hand, pulling you into his trailer.

“Morning to you too,” you muttered as he forced you to the couch. Handing you a cup of coffee, he perched on the stool across from you.

“Morning,” he muttered distractedly. “Listen, I’ve been thinking. Most of the night to be in fact. About you and that apartment. About your brother. And I’ve come to a decision I hope you don’t mind.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You’re going to move in with me. I know, we hadn’t talked about it before. But that seems like the best option. You’ll be somewhere safer. Somewhere your brother can move into that the court won’t argue with.”

“Okay,” you answered simply, knowing that it was the best thing. While you loved having your own place, you would do everything in your power to get your brother back.

He seemed taken back that you didn’t put up an argument. “Good, that’s settled. Tonight, after work, you’ll get what you need and bring it to my apartment. We can go back later and get everything else, place it in storage for now.”

Sipping on your coffee, you couldn’t believe how fast everything was happening. “And my apartment?”

A knock on the door stopped him just as he opened his mouth to answer. “Jensen, you’re supposed to be in makeup!”

“We can talk about that later,” he answered. “You can keep it, or whatever. But we’re going to have bigger things to worry about soon enough.”

He stepped out of his trailer, leaving you there with an empty coffee mug, and your heart racing. What big things?

As you made your way to the offices, you wondered if you were going to be able to handle it all. It seemed like each new minute you were thrown a curveball, and soon enough one might be strong enough to knock you off your feet.

“Y/N!” Jim called out. “Come see me in my office please.”

Gulping, you followed him into the spacious office. The office that just last week had turned your life upside down. Sitting down on the edge of the seat, you stared nervously at him. “How was this weekend?” He asked, opening up his laptop.

“It went well,” you answered nervously. “His family was nice.”

“Good, good.” To be honest, he seemed more interested in his computer than you, and you hoped he would get to the point so you could go on with your day. Finally, he glanced up, turning the computer around. Jensen’s face was on the screen, on one of the main entertainment websites. “Is this Bachelor no longer available?” The title read. Skimming through the article, you saw they had found out about the party. But there was no mention of you by name.

“I talked to Jensen this morning, and we want to make a more public announcement. The proposal at the brewery was fine. But we want it to be more widespread. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We want to do photos, Have a big engagement party up here. Staff, friends, a couple of entertainment magazine people. But before that, we will have staged engagement photos taken. I’m thinking Wednesday. Jensen has a light shooting day, and I can get someone to cover you. Of course, we’ll pay for your dress and the party. All you have to do is look pretty, and pretend to be in love with Jensen. That can’t be that hard, can it?”

Read Chapter 12

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bi-danvers0 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @screechingartisancashbailiff @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987

The Proposal Tags: @supraveng @vicmc624 @lottieellz101 @impala-dreamer @maddiepants @emilyshurley @tonystark-makes-me-cry @starryeyeseunbyul @rach-12 @spnfamily-j2 @ima-be-a-mongoose @flamencodiva @compresshischest09 @parinarain @stoneyggirl @tftumblin @massivelycreepypineapple @posiemax @traceyaudette @peacedolantwins2 @eliwinchester99 @deans-baby-momma @aiofheavenandhell @athenamikaelson @samsgirl93 @meowmeow-motherfucker @chevyimpala00067 @metalfangirl

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03 @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#the proposal #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural rpf #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #spn fanfic #spn rpf #jensen rpf #jensen x y/n #reader insert

204 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

fic: the apprentice year

Here’s something I wrote for a zine, a while back. Maybe someone’s in the mood for quiet s8 angst.

(read on AO3)

It's raining when Sam crashes the car. Middle of the night, Texas somewhere. Not enough sleep, not that sleep could possibly help, and bad visibility, and this numbness that started in his gut but has taken over every part of him. Not the best conditions. Narrow two-lane highway, headlights blurring through the dark wet, and then there's a flash—white-and-brown and small, a dog?—and he swerves hard, and then it's—squeal of brakes, the tires sliding, a smash.

He breathes slow, both hands curled around the steering wheel. Car's still on, rumbling idle. His head hurts. Hard to see through the rain but it looks like he killed a sapling. He unclenches one hand from the wheel and touches his forehead—wet—and the windshield's cracked again, and he turns around in the seat to see the dog bolting off down the road. He opens the door and steps out into the mud and, yes. A broken tree, and a mile marker crumpled, and the paint all scraped up, and the windshield. He wipes his forehead again and his fingers are smeared red. He puts that hand on the car and then has to—his legs crumple—he crouches, letting the car take his weight, feeling the engine in his bones. He can't think, with the rain this loud. His head hurts. He says, out loud, "I don't think I can do it," but it's hard to hear over the downpour, and anyway, no one's there to hear. No one's there.

There's a mechanic down the street from a motel. The windshield will be three hundred and that feels like too much but then, who would Sam ask, who'd be honest. He asks them to repaint, too, so he doesn't have to see the gouges of his fuckup. The mechanic looks at his forehead instead of at his eyes. "You get that looked at, sir?" he says.

Sam walks through the damp morning to the motel. The clerk frowns at him but Sam puts a hundred in cash on the counter and then there's the room, dim with the curtains drawn. Two beds—why? Habit. He's been sleeping in the car so that people won't ask the question. Trying to sleep. He takes off his wet muddy clothes and runs a shower, hot, and there's mud on his hands and blood too and the cut on his head bleeds pink against the white tub, and he's so tired he wants to just sit down, right there in the bathtub and let the water pound against his face and make it so he can't think about anything else, so he can't, so he won't have to—but he can't. He has to pick up the car at some point. He turns off the shower and dries off and walks naked through the dim room to the bed closer to the door and he crawls under the blanket and puts his face into the pillow and thinks that he won't sleep, because how can he sleep in a queen bed in a motel room in a town he doesn't know without his brother. He can't possibly. He can't, but he has to, because his brother is dead.

It took a while to come to that conclusion. Dick was gone. The air, throbbing thick and strange. The room empty. Sam stood alone in that awful building with distant alarms wailing and his head and heart entirely still, because there had been a place where his brother was, and now he wasn't there anymore.

He did research. He asked questions. He prayed, and when there were no answers to his praying he burned acacia and camphor and blood-red petals of anemone and demanded a demon, but none came. He knelt on the road at midnight with dirt caked under his broken nails and was prepared to offer—what little it was worth, that he could offer—but no one arrived to take a deal. It was like the world he'd always known was there, that darker mystery that swirled under the daytime normalcy everyone else knew, had just vanished. Gone. He was finally free to live a life that was average, and safe, and boring, but what did it matter—how could it matter, without Dean.

There was booze but then there wasn't. There was a brief, considering moment when a dealer in Kansas City saw Sam's expression and offered relief, but it would've failed the same way the booze had. There was staying up until he had no choice but to pass out in the backseat and forgetting to eat and driving, nowhere, with no destination in mind, because what was there? A job, a ghost, a brutal and pointless putting of one foot in front of the other, when the only thing that had ever mattered, the only thing that had made the life he'd chosen worth choosing, was—

He drove until he nearly hit a dog, and hit a tree instead. He stopped not because he wanted to but because there didn't seem to be any point in driving more. He got a motel. He slept, because that was all there was left to do.

When he wakes up the room is dim with afternoon. The sun on the other side of the building. A reflection, from the vacancy sign outside, that throws up a white square on the wall. He watches it for a while, tracking how it moves slow over the wallpaper, thinning out as the sun falls. A slow eclipse, until it disappears.

What the hell, he hears.

He sits up, ignores the head-throb from moving. There, boots on the carpet, standing in the way of the bathroom, looking around like the motel's a surprise—six feet (forget the lie about the extra inch) and strong and beautiful as he ever, ever was—Sam swallows, drags in air that feels like it can't fit in his chest with everything that's roaring up in it—Dean frowns, and looks at him, and says, in a voice that sounds distant, Sammy, what the fuck.

Sam stands up and staggers. His head, god. He tries to step forward and it's Dean who comes to him, looking around, saying what's going on, where is this—are you— and Sam braces on the bedside table and reaches out but then Dean flickers, somehow, like a broadcast jolted with static, and Sam's hand curls in the air between them, his body flinching even if his mind doesn't quite get it yet.

Dean stops in his tracks and looks down. Spreads his hands, looking at the scarred knuckles and the more-scarred palms. Sam manages to get himself under control and stands up straight, and takes the step that means he's inches away, but no longer dazed from waking he can see: Dean's not here. Dean's not quite here. There's an almost-shimmery distance to him. A projection, on an inadequate screen. Sam looks at his face and just faintly the outlines of the room present are present, showing through him. A bitter taste in the back of his throat and he swallows, again, but manages to say, out loud, "Are you real?"

Dean looks up at him, brow furrowed. Could ask you the same thing, sport. Sam laughs, sort of, caught in his throat, and Dean's face changes. Jesus, you look like shit.

"Thanks," Sam says. Dean flickers again and it's nauseating to see the blank space where he was, even if he half-solidifies a second later. "God. I—can't believe this is happening."

Okay, but what is happening, Dean says, and looks around again. This isn't… He shakes his head and even half-there Sam can see the confusion, the annoyance at the confusion. His brother. His chest aches. I wasn't here. Where's here?

"Texas," Sam says. He still hasn't caught the name of the town. He reaches out because he can't not and his fingers brush—what? Nothing. The air's insubstantial because it's air. Dean looks down at his chest where Sam's not touching him and he says, very quiet, shit , and then he looks up and says shit, Sam , more loudly, and he reaches up and doesn't touch Sam's face because of course he can't, and it's only then that Sam realizes he's crying.

Hey , Dean says, and Sam shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, although of course it's not fine. Dean's eyes, concerned, and his nose with the bump Sam's so often traced with one finger, and his mouth, full and worried. He passes his thumb over where he ought to be able to touch Dean's bottom lip and Dean's eyelids flicker, his mouth parting. Sam shakes his head again, dizzy. Dean. He didn't think he'd see him again, outside of an afterlife he hadn't yet decided to try for.

Texas, huh? Dean says, after a few seconds. He smiles, fake devil-may-care, the expression that Sam's always loved and kind of wanted to smack him for, in equal measure. He looks Sam up and down, and raises his eyebrows, and says, guess it's true they make things bigger here, and it's only then that Sam remembers that he's naked, and even like this, a ghost or a hallucination or a fever-dream, Dean can make him roll his eyes. Dean's grin widens and he passes a never-there touch over Sam's bare chest. Hey, slugger, can't blame me for—

He disappears.

Sam stands there, alone, for a few seconds. He breathes deep, in and out. He passes his hand through the space where Dean wasn't and of course there's nothing there, and then he sits back down, on the bed, braced on his knees, looking at the faded plaid of the wallpaper and the day through the flimsy curtain. His face is still wet and so he knows—he hasn't cried, since that day, so he knows that something happened today that was different from all the ones that came before it. Dean's dead, gone, and yet he isn't. Sam licks his lips. That means there's—something to do.

He eats. He sleeps. He goes and picks up the car, and the mechanic looks less concerned when Sam takes the keys. He goes back to the room and reads a book, for a few hours, and doesn't remember a thing when he lifts his eyes from the page. He showers, again, before bed, and when he comes out the room is hot, and he taps the air conditioner and realizes, shit. Busted.

The clerk in the office is unhelpful. "I can move your room," he says, reluctant to do even that, but Sam's not leaving the room where he saw Dean. "Maintenance guy quit, so we're gonna have to call someone, might be a day or two."

Sam looks at him and chews the inside of his cheek. "You have the last guy's tools?"

He's never fixed an air conditioner but he knows how to use the internet. It turns out it's a little harder than the diagrams make it look. While he's got sweat between his shoulderblades and he's considering percussive maintenance that there's a huff of a laugh, behind him, and Dean says dude, you look like you're gonna have a stroke .

Behind him, raised eyebrows and amusement. A cut on his cheek—new? From what? "Sue me," Sam says, irritated. "I didn't go to HVAC school." Dean's grinning and the irritation washes away like it was never there. Sam steps forward and Dean's face changes, too, looking all over him. "Dean," Sam says, and feels— "Where are you? What's going on?"

Dean shakes his head. You know as much as I do, man. He hesitates. It's like—I've been asleep and I just woke up, but I can't remember what I was dreaming about.

Are you dead. The sentence forms under Sam's tongue and he swallows it. If Dean doesn't know then asking won't help, and if he is then Sam's sunk the same way he's been for the last month. Are you real is the next question, but then if he's not real then that means Sam's crazy, and Sam knows from crazy and, really, if he is, this is the best crazy he could hope for.

Dean's looking at him, not smiling at all, now. I miss you , Dean says, unexpectedly. He flickers—like he did before, a projection cutting out—but he's shaking his head hard when he resolidifies. Shit. I don't—I don't know what that is. I don't get it. You're right here and I'm missing you. How does that work?

"I don't know," Sam says, "but I know exactly what you mean."

The corner of Dean's mouth turns up, but it's not glad. Sam breathes out slowly, the hard knot of grief in his chest barely allayed.

It feels impossible. Maybe it is. He doesn't try to reach out again and neither does Dean. Dean's eyes flick up to the A/C unit and he jerks his chin. You need to take out the compressor , he says. Check the fuse box. I can walk you through it.

Sam's eyes are hot. "I know how to check a fuse," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows at him. "Not completely useless."

Prove it , Dean says. Bitch .

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away so Dean won't see that they're wet, and does.

Dean comes and goes according to some clock Sam doesn't get to see. Most days, Sam doesn't do much. He eats, showers, shits, sleeps. He watches bad daytime TV and not-much-better nighttime TV. He reads. He takes the car out on drives through the country. Flat around here, and what little green there is browning in the heat of summer. The office manager says he can stay at the motel for free if he keeps fixing things and so he does, and sometimes he's got his head under a kitchenette sink trying to figure out how not to dump backed-up foulness onto his face when there's a presence, all of a sudden, and his brother's voice saying why the hell are you using that wrench?

Sam's alone except when he's with Dean. The days smooth out into a routine. He wakes up sometimes and Dean's sitting there, on the edge of the bed somehow even though he can't really touch anything, and Dean'll say took you long enough, sleeping beauty , and Sam will roll his eyes and say, "Look who's talking, didn't you sleep through an actual earthquake once?" and Dean will grin and Sam will stretch out on his back and they'll bicker about the time in Portland, Maine, when Dad tanned both their hides for not being ready for the werewolf hunt at midnight, and they both insisted it was the other's job to set the alarm. I told you , Dean'll say, eyes crinkled like he's trying not to laugh, and Sam'll launch into his theory about how Dean's memory is shot from too much booze, and they'll waste the time, that way, ragging on each other. Other times Dean will be quiet, and so Sam will too, and they'll look at each other with their hands an inch apart on the blanket, and Dean will say, after a while, you remember? and Sam won't know what he's referring to, exactly, but he'll swallow and he'll say that, yeah, yeah. He remembers.

Moonlight makes Dean's face a strange, alien blue. In the day he's golden, gorgeous, cracks jokes and makes fun of the way Sam holds a screwdriver. Sometimes he has bruises; sometimes there's blood dried on the angles of his eyesocket. Once he shows up holding his ribs like something got him, wherever he is, and he just sits with his back to the kitchen cabinets while Sam fixes a garbage disposal and rambles about some time in Tulane when he dropped a ghoul and then banged a supermodel, that same night. "Oh, really," Sam says, pulling open the gears while he tries not to think about splintered bones, about the fragility of lungs, about the soft vulnerable edge of Dean's beating heart. "Tyra Banks or Kate Moss?"

Okay, Dean says, and does it sound thin? Hurt? So maybe not a 'super' model. But she was hot. He rolls his head to look at Sam and winks. Not as hot as some people, though. Don't worry .

"I was in a panic," Sam says, dry, and Dean chuffs laughing and then coughs, pained, and says, nodding at Sam's job, you're gonna want a 5/8ths for that , and in the next second he's gone. Sam braces his hands on the counter and breathes deep for a solid minute, bleeding inside his chest, before he goes into the toolbox, and gets the 5/8ths wrench.

The first time they were young, even if at the time Sam would've said otherwise. Their dad was gone and they were alone, really alone, for the first time in their lives—only, they weren't. They'd never been. An argument and a bad night and going out and finding Dean sitting on the hood of some wreck in Bobby's junkyard, and they'd said—he can't remember. Not everything. He does remember very precisely the moment when he gripped Dean's wrist and Dean looked up at him like he was surprised and Sam had said, you know, Dean, you know what I— and Dean had covered Sam's mouth with three fingers like it wouldn't be true, if he didn't say it. But then he tugged his hand away and he leaned up and kissed Sam, anyway, so it didn't matter so much, if Sam said it or didn't. That was the first time.

Over the years they fell closer together and farther apart. They hurt each other, sometimes so badly Sam thought it'd be forever broken and he'd just have to live that way, with his ribs split apart, bleeding where anyone could see. When they came back together it felt like nothing could ever split them up again. Not demons, or angels, or death.

The last time, they were in a cabin in Montana, and they were going to do something nuts in the morning. What else was new. It was quick, and then it was slow, and afterward Dean lay half-sprawled over Sam's chest, the two of them sticking together with sweat and worse, and Dean tipped his forehead against Sam's collarbone and sighed. This is such a dumb plan , he said, and Sam drew two fingers up from between his shoulderblades to the little soft hollow at the top of his spine, where his hair was shorn to velvet, and where Sam tended to bury his nose, when they slept in the same bed. When they let themselves do that. Yeah, Sam said, after too long, but when has that ever stopped us? Dean snorted, and rolled away, and Sam curled behind him that night in the too-small bed, and in the morning, for once, Dean woke up first, and he smacked Sam's shin and said come on, sleeping beauty, time to ride , and Sam groaned and got up and didn't think about it, much, and then that night Dean was dead. Gone, or dead.

He thinks about it, now. What he would've done, if he knew that was the last time he'd be allowed to touch his brother. What he might've said, if they'd had the chance. Before hell—before hell for both of them—they'd known what was coming down the pipe, and they'd been scared, and they hadn't screwed either time, or slept together, even. They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, staying awake past midnight and through to dawn, and when it was time—they'd gotten in a goodbye, each of them, and Sam had ached to know how little that was. How it wasn't enough. This time—he didn't get a goodbye. He gets to look, but not touch. He gets to smile at him nearly every day and he gets Dean's jokes and his ridiculous stories and his safe, sure guidance, his eyes on Sam's speaking the promise they always gave each other—and it isn't, it isn't nearly, it isn't close, to enough.

Summer passes into fall, and fall into winter. Sam doesn't reach for the wrong wrench as often. He takes a drive through a cool twilight and when he opens the motel room door with a six-pack in hand, Dean appears one second later, looking out at the car through the window, and he says hey, how's the carb treating you?

He sits at the table in the room, taking the carburetor apart piece by careful piece. Dean looks over his shoulder, leaning on the table (somehow), pointing out where Sam's screwing it up (constantly). "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck," Sam says, and Dean snorts and says wouldn't have to if you'd ever paid attention to anything that wasn't Eskimo poetry , and then Sam tells Dean that Eskimo isn't an appropriate word to use, and Dean tells Sam that he need to clear the sand out of his vagina, and—it's not enough, but god if Sam isn't happier than he's been in—how long? Since the last time Dean was sitting right there, with his arms folded over the back of a chair, grinning at Sam and getting under his skin and just being—everything. Everything that mattered.

It starts to rain, before Sam's done. He leaves all the parts spread out and clean to dry on the table and sinks onto the couch with his beer, and Dean looking at him still from his backwards perch on the chair, and his grin softened down to something else. "What," Sam says, tipping his head against the wall. He's feeling mellow. In pain, maybe crazy. Content. Desperate. The usual. He's gotten used to it. Thinking maybe it'll be this way, ever after. Thinking he can handle it, if that's so. Dean's here even if he's not here, and that means that Sam doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Dean's got a bruise on his cheekbone, again. A cut on his lower lip. He looks tired. He flickers, precursor maybe to disappearing, but he stays. In the dim light he looks almost real. Almost present, like Sam could reach out and get his hand around his jaw and tell him everything he's ever thought, everything he ever wished for the two of them. How he meant it, when he told Dean there was nothing he wouldn't do. Even live, if that's what it came down to, just for the hope to see Dean's face, one more time.

The rain's loud, on the eaves of the motel. Dean hasn't said anything. Still just watching, his eyes steady. His mouth that soft curve. "What?" Sam says, again.

Oh, Dean says, quiet. You know.

Sam does.

#wincest #my writing #the formatting on this keeps feeling fucked but i'm just going with it #if i can't write right now #i can at least post stuff i wrote like six months ago

47 notes · View notes