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yeahimaloser · 4 years

Note

Hi lovely! I adore your writing style and noticed you were taking requests. This is my first request ever so if it comes off a little awkward please forgive me! 👉👈

I was hoping for a scenario where Hawks has been wondering why y/n has been skipping out on get-togethers with him for the past week or two. He gets curious enough one day that he just-so-happens to patrol the area where you run off to after you reject another date with him.

He finds out that you have been going to an outdoor avian clinic and taking classes on how to pamper/massage or preen bird wings in order to surprise Hawks for your anniversary coming up.

But not like totally before Hawks confronts you and blurting out “Have you been cheating on me with a parrot?” 😂

Thank you! I hope this all makes sense. Hugs and kisses!

Hello there!! You are so sweet! and you didn’t come off awkward at all! <3

I am so sorry I didn’t actually mean for this to become an angst fic in the beginning ;-;

but it is fluffy don’t worry!

warnings: avian Keigo (Keigo having bird like tendencies)

Also I schedule this to be a bit later than I normally post, I’ll most likely be asleep when this goes up so I just wanted to say to everyone thank you for reading!!

word count: 3.3k

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He tapped his foot against the floor of the restaurant, his patience deteriorating every second as he stared at the door.

As the fastest hero, Keigo never really had any patients for just about anything. One thing he hated more than anything was people being late, he moved fast, he wanted people to move fast with him.

All he wanted to do was go on a nice date night, have some dinner, and go home and watch a movie or something. He just wanted to spend time with you.

You normally never skipped out on dates, so why now?

He had noticed your absence in the last few weeks, more and more you would skip out on him.

The anxiety bubbling in his heart was starting to spill over, seeping into his attitude in daily life. In his head, he wondered if maybe you were trying to signal to him that you weren’t interested in dating anymore, that maybe you were just silently drifting from him. But he loved the 11 months he got to spend with you, he’d never experienced anything like it. It was fresh, new, loving, he didn’t want it to end. Those thoughts had made him feel miserable for the last week or so, but he was still confused by you. Although you skipped out on dates and such, you still acted so lovingly towards him. You would still come home and snuggle up to him, you would still run your fingers through his hair at night, you would still talk mindlessly about your day, as though nothing was remotely bothering you.

So, maybe you really were busy, perhaps he was just looking too much into the issue.

But still, getting stood up for the 4th time in a row would make anyone a bit upset.

He left the restaurant, paying for the drink he had ordered, and went on his way home.

Maybe it was a side effect of his quirk, but when he had these sorts of thoughts his wings would get all twitchy. He had done the research and found that when birds were in a high-stress situation they plucked at their feathers. The article also said that when a person that said a bird was attached to someone that abandons them, they get even more stressed and irritated. Which he supposed made sense. He would never admit it to very many people, (and if the press got a hold of it he would honestly shoot himself) but he had some bird tendencies.

Not big ones, just small ones.

He would bob his head in time with music sometimes, his pupils would dilate and contract when he was concentrating on something, he would mindlessly coo and cluck randomly as well.

Luckily, the commission taught him to control his bird-like tendencies, they told him that some of his bird traits were “off-putting”. But he really wasn’t sure what they were talking about, animal quirks weren’t uncommon, but he didn’t complain, he didn’t mind the help.

But since he’s been dating you, he found himself getting more and more of these tendencies.

A few times, he would find random shiny objects and give them to you, he acted all excited about it too, saying, “I saw it and thought that you could keep it! It’s super pretty so, I don’t know, I thought you’d think it was cool.” After he said that, you just took the objects and told him he was so adorable.

Another time, when you two were just out and about, he had seen you talk to someone with a similar bird quirk to his. He didn’t even know what came over him, but he squawked at the man, effectively freaking him and you out.

He apologized profusely after that.

There was one bird-like quality he didn’t mind all that much, and that was the preening of his feathers. It was honestly so relaxing, the dirt and dust from flying seeped into his feathers, so he always found himself soaking his wings in water and then rubbing them with a special kind of oil.

There were some days, however, were all he could do (or all he had time to do) was take a warm towel and gently rub off his feathers.

And lately, he had found himself going overboard with his preening, pulling more aggressively at his feathers, sometimes even hurting himself. He suspected that it was due to the stress of worrying about what was wrong with you (or him).

He hated all of it, loathed it even. Worse was how hard it was for him to broach the subject with you, whenever he got close he always wussed out. In his mind, even though it bothered him, he didn’t want to lose you. He was so scared that if he brought it up he would hear something he dreaded, and you two would fall apart.

He loved you so much, he wanted you to stay with him. Another bird trait he learned, some birds mated for life, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel that way about you. He just...he didn’t want to lose you.

There was one possibility that was the worst, and yet the most likely. You had been cheating on him.

He really didn’t want to admit it, but it all sort of added up.

You skipped out on dates so you could go out with this other person. When you would become affectionate with him could be a sign of guilt, he read about that online. And the way you wouldn’t see his texts or missed calls when he knew you were on a lunch break, maybe you were seeing someone else.

Was he a bad boyfriend? He thought that he had become better at this whole relationship stuff, maybe not perfect, but he was getting there. He knew he was hard to deal with, he wished he could be better for you, he really did. He knew he was busy a lot, tired from work, he knew he wasn't the most affectionate guy, but he wanted you, he wanted you so much it hurt. Keigo thought that you loved him because he really loved you.

The thought of having to let you go crushed his heart crushed his spirit too. He really did care for you, he knew that you were the one for him, so the thought of you not returning that feeling hurt him.

He flew through the night sky, looking down at the lights of the city. Normally, a sight like this would have made him smile, made him feel like he was on top of the world.

But his wings just felt uncomfortable, the wind blowing through them just increased the feeling.

He just felt… done. Like the whole world felt heavy to him. Maybe he really was overthinking everything, but he couldn’t help it, he was made to be observant.

He knew he had a strange habit of over-complicating things, but it was just his nature he supposed. A trained government agent always has to look into the fine details, at least, that's what he was taught. So, with your absence, he found himself becoming more and more paranoid.

He brought it up to his side-kicks and hero friends, and they all said the same thing; he was just being paranoid. They told him that, “sometimes in relationships, things get a little rough, it happens.” But Keigo couldn’t help but hate the whole ordeal.

He sighed, flying faster to his home.

One time, he had tried to follow you on your lunch break. He supposed it was pretty stalkerish, but he was getting desperate. All he needed was reassurance, just to know if you were actually busy or if that had been a bullshit excuse. He told himself it wasn’t a huge deal, he was just making sure you were doing ok.

...ok maybe it was a bit of a breach of privacy.

He had perched himself on top of a building near your workplace. Keigo had made sure that you wouldn’t be able to see him as he followed you, keeping out of sight as best he could.

His initial thought was you would go to a coffee shop, maybe some sort of expensive restaurant if you were meeting someone.

Yet, to his surprise, he saw you scarf down a sandwich as you entered an animal clinch.

Were you cheating on him with an animal clinch employee?

He wanted to confront you then and there, but from where he was, he didn’t have any reason to.

It looked innocent enough, you were just going to an animal clinch.

He immediately felt guilty. There was no reason for him not to trust you, you had done nothing wrong in this situation. Maybe you really were working overtime and he was just overthinking everything.

He shook his head, sighing, he unfolded his wings and flew off the building he was perched on.

That was a week ago, it was after the third time you stood him up. And now, although he didn’t have any proof of you cheating, he still felt like he had a reason to confront you. He just felt sick of worrying and overthinking everything, and in all honesty, you weren’t helping the situation. Every time he asked you about it, you always came up with some sort of excuse.

He landed on his balcony with a loud thump, not caring all that much about the noise.

As he entered his home, he lifted the hem of his shirt off his head, throwing it on the floor unceremoniously. Walking over to the bathroom, he filled a special bowl full of water and made his way back over to the bed.

It was probably a bad idea to preen himself when he was so aggravated like this, but he wanted to do it, his wings felt so uncomfortable.

His right-wing raised a bit as he sat down, pulling the feathered stump closer to him.

But before he could even graze the feathers with a damp cloth he had, he heard the front door open and close.

Before he had even realized it, he was already zooming down the staircase of his luscious penthouse, knowing full well you were already inside of his home.

“Hi honey,” you slipped your shoes off, not looking at him yet. “How was your day- Oh,” he crossed his arms over his chest, he was sure his expression was one of utmost anger.

“Where were you,” his tone was irritated, his wings twitched behind him.

“I was working. Baby what's wrong,” he nearly rolled his eyes at your concerned tone.

“Don’t baby me, you stood me up,” he huffed, “again.”

He didn’t miss the sorry expression that flashed on your face, “Kei, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve just been so busy lately. I know I haven’t been fair to you, but I’m not doing anything tomorrow! Look I’ll even make dinner for you, ok? Really, Kei, I’m ”

“Y/N,” here it came, “if your gonna break up with me, just do it already

Well, that certainly shocked you (and him if he was being honest). Your whole expression fell into one of confusion, your eyes looked up at him with genuine hurt.

“What? Keigo what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, why would I want to break up with you?”

“I don’t know Y/N?! Why have you been avoiding me for so long!?”

You sighed, “Is that what this is all about? Well,” you pulled out some sort of form, reaching it out to him, “here, I wanted to surprise you on our anniversary, but I don’t want you to think that I’m doing something dishonest.”

He snatched the piece of paper out of your hand, maybe a bit too harshly. He looked at it and was immediately confused.

It was information on a class about… how to preen birds?

He gave you a confused look, to which you gave him a light smile, “I see how frustrating it is for you to preen them, so I wanted to help out. I saw that I could learn how and thought it would be a cute thing for us to do together.”

He stood in shock for a few moments, letting the guilt wash over him.

“I-I’m so sorry.”

You chuckled a bit, “Don’t be, it was wrong of me to leave you high and dry on dates, I just had to work overtime in order to get these classes in.”

Now, he felt twice as guilty.

This whole time he had thought you were drifting away from him, and worse, he thought you were cheating on him. He felt sick. His friends were right, he really was overthinking the whole situation. And worst of all, you were working overtime to do something so nice for him, and here he was, yelling at you.

“I-I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jesus,” he shook his head, “I’m an idiot. You were off doing something so thoughtful for me, and I was being a prick, yelling at you. I’m sorry honey. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”

But you just chuckled, “Keigo, really, it’s ok. I should have at least done something to convince you, or rescheduled our dates. It’s ok honey, don’t feel bad.”

You moved in to give him a hug, which just happened to be the moment you realized his shirt was missing.

“Uh,” he saw your body straighten up, and your face makes a flustered expression, “why is your shirt…”

“Oh, well,” he scratched his feathers nervously, “it’s kinda funny, I was just about to preen my wings. So I have to take off my shirt in order to get the water to the back. Kind of a weird coincidence, huh.”

“Well,” you looked at him, eyes softening, “can I help?”

Keigo was sure his heart had frozen, after a moment or two, he answered, “S-sure.”

-----

You pulled a stool for him to sit on as you sat down on the bed.

Keigo wasn’t sure why, but he felt so anxious. To tell the truth, he never really had someone preen his wings before. He would always do it himself, it was an annoying effort sometimes, but the commission was very big on him looking good for the public eye.

His wings weren’t super sensitive, but the light touches of your fingers running through them felt like pure heaven to him. The sensation was like having someone giving a message, but… different. It felt nicer, more loving, more slow and nice.

The whole sensation made him shutter.

“Is this ok,” he didn’t miss the anxiety in your tone.

“Yeah,” he said, breathlessly. “Perfect, keep...keep doing that babe.”

The little pulls of his feathers relaxed him more and more, making him seep into the back of the stool he was sitting on.

When you had started to add water to the mix, he didn’t notice his cooing.

“Kei?”

“Hmm,” his mind was so far gone in the relaxation of your hands that he barely registered your voice.

“Are you cooing,” you had to suppress your smirk as his body went rigid, as well as his wings.

“I,” his face was almost as deep red as his wings, “s-sorry.”

You giggled, “Don’t apologize,” you pressed softly into the apex of some of his feathers, “if it feels good, it’s fine if you coo. I won't judge you.”

Softly, he let out a few coos, but he didn’t want to freak you out.

But soon, he realized he couldn’t keep them in, you were just doing so well.

You moved softly to grab his feather oil, “Uh, so how does this even work? Do I take a few drops and run them through each individual feather or something?”

You’ve seen him preen his wings before, but until recently you had just started to pay attention to how he exactly did them. You had noticed that the oil he used on his feathers gave a shine to the red plumage, but you had noticed he was a bit cautious with the serum.

“O-oh,” you didn’t miss the light stutter and the soft up-take of his voice, “Um, if you want you can just put a few drops in your hand and rake them through. You don’t have to do each one if you don’t want to.”

You thought for a moment, “Alright, I think I’ll just do each feather. I wanna get this right after all.”

And, honest to god, Keigo gulped.

You’ve never seen him this relaxed and yet so tense, you would have thought he was drugged. You would be lying if you didn’t enjoy it though, the way Keigo melted into you, it was weirdly adorable.

“Yeah,” he let out, “yeah ok.”

After that, it was like Keigo could barely talk.

For a moment, you considered something. When you and Keigo had started to date, you had noticed how he was a bit touch-starved. He craved affection, whether he was aware of this or not, you weren’t sure.

But it made sense, his childhood past, and plus, this was his first real relationship. You wondered if Keigo had ever been shown so decent, honest love before.

Perhaps his bird instincts also played a part in how affectionate he could be. You read once, that when male birds became attached to their mates they tended to get affectionate as well as loving. Plus, some birds preened their mates as a show of love, you wondered if what Keigo was doing was just his way of showing how happy he was with you preening him.

After you were done, Keigo’s head was light and tired. The whole experience for him felt magical, he wasn’t sure why though. He preened himself a bunch of times, why was this the first time he felt this way?

But Keigo’s head couldn’t really process the question at the moment.

“You wanna go to sleep,” you asked, bringing your hands lightly over his shoulders, kissing his forehead.

He let out a small, “Mhm,” as he stood up. You had to help him to his bed because of how wobbly he was.

After you carefully helped him into bed, you turned to go to the bathroom to wash your hands, but Keigo dragged you down.

“No,” he whined softly as you tried to get out of his grip, “cuddles.”

(You couldn’t lie, this had to be the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen him do)

He nuzzled into you, his body flushed against yours.

That’s when you heard it, the little chips. You didn’t say anything, scared that if you did he would stop. You played with his hair as he chirped into your neck, his wings shivered a bit.

You decided to ask him, “Hey, Kei.”

He hummed lightly.

“I’ve never seen you like this, does it have something to do with your bird instincts?”

Keigo thought for a moment, “Maybe,” his voice was light you noticed, “it could be. Kinda just something I experience because that’s what birds do with their...mates.”

You chuckled, running your hands through his wings again, “Maybe it’s because you're also, like, really touch starved.”

“Oh yeah, maybe. I mean,” he looked at you, like a lovesick puppy, “you are my first time in a real relationship.”

You laughed lightly, going back to lightly stroking his hair and feathers.

“Hey Y/N,” Keigo’s voice was tired, and yet, it was soft.

“Yeah honey,” you asked in an equally gooey voice.

He nuzzled in closer to you, giving you a soft, yet deep kiss, “I love you.”

#bnha hawks #hawks x reader #mha keigo takami #hawks x y/n #keigo takami #mha keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha fanfiction #keigo x reader #hawks imagine #hawks headcanons #hawks reader insert #keigo x y/n

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sunshinekindof · 3 years

Text

Tough day

The last few weeks at work have been tough for Billy. New contracts, important clients, regular meetings. And, it seemed, every little thing demanded Billy's attention, so he was tense lately. You managed to see each other, but these were rare, short moments. You were not happy about this, but you understood that now Billy needs your support, although he will never admit it. He was not used to sharing his experiences, because he considered it a manifestation of weakness, but you had a different opinion about this.

Billy tried to spend every free minute with you, but now he rarely succeeded. When you were around, he felt calm, as if at home. At least that was how he imagined the house. The place where he is expected, loved and always supported. Billy knew that he could trust you, but he believed that he should protect you, even from the whole world, if necessary, because he cherished you. Therefore, he did not tell you about his problems, and you have not yet dared to insist.

Having managed to complete all the plans in the morning, you decided to visit Billy, at least for a couple of minutes. You went to his favorite cafe and bought him an apple pie. You knew that food like that wasn’t suitable for lunch, but Billy loves apple pie, and you wanted to please him. Billy rarely got mad at you unless you seriously screw up. And you hoped that your presence at his work would not give him problems today.

You walked into the Anvil building and went straight to Billy's office. Entering the room, you saw Jessica, Billy's secretary. You weren't intimately familiar, but she knew who you were.

“Hi Jess,” you said with a smile. She looked tired and the table was littered with papers. She looked up at you with tired eyes and smiled faintly.

- Hey! How do you? Sorry, but Billy is at the meeting ... - then you both heard your boyfriend's angry voice coming from the next room. From what you heard, it became clear that one of his subordinates made a serious mistake.

Then the door of the meeting room was thrown open, Billy came out and began to address Jessica in a loud voice. Billy looked angry.

- Jessica, where are papers on Mr. Stevens' ?!

You both jumped at the harsh sound. As soon as Billy's eyes rested on you, surprise flashed across his face.

- Y / N, what are you doing here? Something happened?

You cleared your throat and said:

- Sorry to distract you. I would like to talk to you. Will you take a few minutes for me?

Anxiety flashed in his gaze, and he examined you from head to toe before answering.

“Jessica, take the papers on Mr. Stevens's to the meeting room and tell them I'll be back soon. And tell them to re-read the documents before my arrival and understand what the hell they are talking about.

Jess nodded and quickly ran to her desk for the papers.

“Come to my office,” Billy told you, and you followed him.

As soon as you entered his office, Billy closed the door and turned sharply to you.

- So what happened? Are you okay? I didn’t receive any calls or messages from you today, and you didn’t say that you would come to me… - while he was talking, you hugged Billy tightly and pulled him to you. You wanted to take away all his stress, all his stress. Billy was like a taut string about to break.

- Do not be mad at me, please, I did not want to disturb you - you kissed him on the chin - I know that you are now having a difficult period at work and everyone needs your attention, but I was worried about you, so I just wanted to visit you and make sure you're okay.

- Are you worried about me? Billy said quietly, and he hugged you back.

You frowned and said:

“Of course I was worried about you. How could it be otherwise? I hope I didn't bother you too much, but you look like you need a break.

Billy pulled back slightly, looked into your eyes and said:

- How did I deserve you?

You smiled back and said:

- You probably did something very good in your past life.

Billy laughed softly and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed closer to him, and you involuntarily escaped a groan of pleasure.

“And that's not all…” you muttered, “I'm sure you haven't eaten anything, and as far as I know, sugar helps to think better, so…,” you took a pie out of your bag and handed it to him.

“Is that for me?” Billy took the cake from your hands and looked at you with disbelief, as if you decided to make fun of him.

- Of course, silly, who else? - you laughed, - besides, he is very sweet. You'll like it.

Billy looked at you and his eyes flashed with dangerous fire.

- I know another sweet thing that I want to try.

“Billy!” You exclaimed, but at the thought of his tongue between your legs your body was on fire.

He laughed and walked to his table

“Will you keep me company?” He asked, taking a pie out of the box and handing you one piece.

“Don't you need to go back to the meeting?” You asked, puzzled.

“I’m the boss,” Billy said with a smile, taking a bite of the pie, “besides, I need a break for a few minutes, otherwise I’ll kill them all. They need to be more responsible about their work or they will quickly lose it. I need professionals, not amateurs.

While Billy was eating, you got an idea. You didn’t think about it for a long time, fearing that you would get cold feet and change your mind, but you always wanted to do it.

- You're too tense, dear, - you said, went to the door and closed the door on the lock. Then you slowly approached Billy, who was sitting on the couch and looked at you attentively, - if you want, I can help you ..., - you said quietly and knelt down in front of him.

Billy's face was filled with excitement, but he seemed to be trying to control himself.

Then you ran your palm over his crotch and squeezed his cock through his pants.

Billy sighed sharply and said:

- Baby, you shouldn't ...

“I know,” you cut him off, “but this is what I have been thinking about for a long time and ... you don’t want me to ?,” you asked quietly and looked uncertainly into his eyes. You weren’t experienced in sex too much, but with Billy, you became more confident. Sometimes it just seemed to you that you weren't enough for him, that he could find someone better. But as soon as such thoughts appeared in your head, Billy immediately convinced you otherwise.

- God, of course, I want this, - he said confidently, took your face in his hands and leaned towards you, - I just want you to be sure that you want it.

You smiled and kissed him.

“I’m sure,” you smiled, “besides, you and I don’t want you to explode from the tension, right?” You winked at Billy and began to unbutton his pants.

- I can control myself very w ... - he began, but as soon as you pulled his cock out of your pants and ran your tongue over the head of the cock, his hips involuntarily twitched, and you laughed softly.

“You were saying ...,” you said, looking at Billy again. His eyes burned with fire, his lips are compressed, his breathing quickened.

You wanted to quickly relieve Billy's tension, so you drew your tongue along the entire length of the penis several times, then took it in your mouth and began to suck.

“My good girl,” Billy muttered and moaned softly.

Billy put his hand on your head, grabbing your hair and began to guide you. Billy's moans intensified and you felt his cock throbbing in your mouth.

“Baby,” Billy said in a low voice, “if you don’t want me to ...

You looked up at him, momentarily looked up from his cock and said

- Cum in my mouth, Billy. I want to taste everything of you

You again took his cock in your mouth and continued to suck, not taking your eyes off Billy's eyes.

In a moment, you felt Billy come with a groan in your mouth. His head is thrown back, his eyes are closed. You licked his cock clean, then zipped up his pants and sat on the couch next to Billy. Now he was relaxed and you were happy.

“Are you feeling better?” You asked him. Billy pulled you close and kissed you passionately on the lips.

- You can not even imagine.

- I am glad, - you giggled,- Well, I think I'll go… - you said. You wanted to get up and walk to the door so Billy could get back to his work, but he wouldn't let you and pulled you closer to him.

“Stay with me for a few more minutes,” he muttered into your hair.

You sat there for a while, after which Billy still had to return to his duties. But he promised you that he will come home early today and this time you will moan.

#ben barnes #ben barnes imagine #billy russo imagine #billy russo x reader

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Memories, Pt. II

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks

Word Count: 1982

a/n: Ahh, part 2! I hope you like it :)

I know it's only been a day since part I, but this really felt like it took forever to write. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out though. Again, sorry if it's confusing! Hopefully you understand the concept I'm going for.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

4 Years Ago

"Y/N!" Steve called out to you from down the hall, a man with dark hair walking beside him. "I'm glad I caught you. Buck came back from a mission last night, and he's the only one left for you to meet."

You eyes lit up at the mention of Bucky. You'd always admired him for the steps he took to recover from his time at Hydra.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You smiled, trying not to sound too eager. "It's an honor to meet you Sergeant Barnes."

"An honor?" His eyes sparkled with disbelief. "And please, just Bucky."

You nodded at his request before explaining. "An honor, truly. Sorry to be blunt, but you've been through hell and are still out there helping people every chance you get. You're a hero." You whispered that last line conspiratorially, knowing he would get flustered from your brief conversations with Sam Wilson.

"Did Wilson put you up to this?" He questioned, a tell tale flush blooming on his cheeks.

"Just the hero bit." You chuckled when he rolled his eyes. "Everything else came from me." You waited a beat before continuing. "It's true though. You are a hero." You winked before saying goodbye and continuing with your night.

Steve stared at his best friend as he watched you walk away, knowing exactly what that small smile meant. "You like her!" He accused, although lightheartedly.

"Shut up, punk. I just met her." Bucky tried to stop smiling, but your lingering first impression left him feeling giddy.

"Doesn't matter. It's true." Steve easily dodged Bucky's fist. "You don't have to admit it, but I know."

The two men continued down the hall, Steve teasing Bucky when he was still smiling 10 minutes later.

Present

You must've fallen asleep eventually, because next thing you know you are waking up to a room full of people. It takes a minute for you to recognize all of them, but you know the names and reputations well enough to figure it out.

Bucky has his head resting on the edge of your bed, your hand still encased in his. You involuntarily squeeze his hand, as if your muscles have a mind of their own, to gain his attention.

It's comical how quickly his head flies up, gaining the attention of the multitude of superheros in the room.

"You're awake!" Wanda shrieks, beyond relieved to see you home.

"What happened?" Sam adds on, concerned for what you went through.

"Are you okay?" Nat questions as well.

Your eyes flicker between them, unsure how to respond to any of them. Luckily for you, Bucky clears his throat to capture your attention.

"How are you feeling?" Your body instantly relaxes at the softness of his voice, as if remembering things you don't.

It's weird, lying in a room full of people who believe something you know not to be true.

"I, um, physically I feel fine." His eyes on you pull the truth out. "I, um, I'm still kind of confused about what's going on though."

He presses a kiss to your palm, again easing the tension from your body.

"You don't remember anything?" Nat's first to speak up, her typical skepticism peaking through.

"Not about the mission. I mean, I was kept in that room the entire time I was there." Three years flashes in your mind. Why do they think it was only three months? None of this makes sense. "I know all of you though." You're careful not to lie, knowing she would likely spot it.

Their faces relax as they take in your statement, causing a jolt of anxiety and stress to run through you.

Hydra may have convinced you that 38 people died at your hands, but your own personal morals haven't changed. You've accepted "the incident" as they put it was your fault, but that doesn't mean you're a cold blooded killer. They didn't have enough time to change you that much.

Steve, although upset with the lack of information, understands the position you're in. It's easy to see he's still worried about what happened to you while you were "captured".

"Why don't you go up to your room and decompress. The memories could still come back to you."

You can't help but smile at the kindness being shown to you. You give him another small smile while nodding, trying to figure out a way to get someone to take you to "your room" because you have no idea where it is.

"C'mon, I'll help you." Bucky wraps an arm around your waist as you stand, and although it's the first time you've experienced it, it feels completely natural to be in his embrace.

Everyone calls out statements of encouragement and well wishes as the two of you walk out of the med bay. You do your best to not marvel at everything you pass, simply trying to remember the layout of the building.

A few turns later, you've arrived at an elevator where Bucky presses the button for your floor. When the doors open again, he guides you through a hallway to what you presume is your room.

"Thank you, for helping me." You turn to him before stepping into your room.

"I would do anything for you." He whispers back, hand still rubbing your hip. When he leans in to kiss you, you panic.

"Um, I'm going to take a shower. Maybe feeling clean will help with all of this." You vaguely gesture to the air, unsure how to put everything into words.

"Oh, uh, sure. We can talk later?" He hides his confusion at your behavior, understanding how weird it can be to readjust.

You nod before closing the door, leaving him slightly stunned in the hallway. A few steps into your room, and a friendly Irish voice is calling out to you.

"Welcome home, Ms. L/N. Would you like to hear your messages?"

Your heart rate spikes as you rapidly look around the room, trying to spot the intruder.

"Who, who said that?" You continue spinning, trying to spot the voice.

"My name is Friday. I am an AI built into the compound." Your breathing settles as you begin to comprehend the information. Nobody is in your room. You're alone.

"Oh. Okay." You continue taking deep breaths, trying to prevent the panic from settling in now that you're alone.

"Would you like to hear your messages?" The AI asks, again catching you off guard.

"What messages?" You can't deny that you're intrigued by the concept of someone leaving you messages here. "What the hell happened? What is going on?" You mutter to yourself.

"You left for a mission 3 months ago. Communication was cut off 2 days after your departure. All resources were diverted to finding your location and bringing you home." Friday announced, as if it was common knowledge. You would suppose it should be if it was true.

"3 months ago? I was there for 3 years. I've never been here before! Why do they all think I'm an Avenger? None of this makes any sense." Your head is spinning, and all you want is to wash the last 3 years of dirt and grime from your skin.

As you step into the shower, Friday continues to answer your questions, ultimately giving you the version of events that the Avengers all seem to believe.

You joined the team four years ago. Tony and Steve brought you back to the compound after you fought alongside them. Your mutation gives you enhanced senses, allowing you to predict the enemies moves. Despite your lack of true training, the two men were impressed by your skills and dedication.

After getting dressed, you finally bit the bullet and asked to hear the messages. Instantly, Bucky's shaky voice filled your ears.

"Y/N, we lost contact with you yesterday. I just, I needed to feel like I was talking to you." A shaky breath could be heard before he continued. "You promised me you'd come back. I, I can't lose you, doll. Stay strong. We're going to find you."

The next message began immediately. "It's been a week now without you. Steve says we're getting closer, but I know he's just trying to calm me down. I will find you, Y/N. That's my promise."

Tears began pouring down your face as you listened to his voice, sounding battered and broken due to your absence.

"Steve keeps telling me to rest. He says I won't be any help if I'm burnt out. But, I- I can't sleep knowing you're there. Not knowing what they're doing to you. I can't sleep because all I see is you, and it hurts. Doll, it hurts so much. I'm going to find you. I will because I can't lose you. Not like this. Not to them."

The messages continues playing, doing nothing but encouraging your tears.

"Two months. I'm so sorry, doll. It's been two months and we're not any closer. I hope you know we're trying. I'm trying. I won't rest until I have you back in my arms. I love you."

Your breath caught in your throat at those three words, he loves you? How? How can he love you if you didn't even meet until yesterday?

"We figured it out. We've got a location. I'm coming baby. I'm coming."

The last message ended with a beep, but you barely heard it. Your breathing was erratic, your heart rate skyrocketing as the anxiety took over your body.

He couldn't possibly love you. Not when he doesn't know the things you did. The people you killed.

"Enacting protocol 7, paging Mr. Barnes." The AI's voice went unheard by you, muffled by your choked sobs.

Not 30 seconds later, Bucky was rushing into your room.

"Y/N!" He ran to you, pulling you into his arms in a tight embrace. He whispered soothing words into your hair, slightly rocking you back and forth.

Somehow, he knew exactly how to calm you down. His warm breath on your neck, strong arms around your body, and the soothing rocking motion all worked wonders for you.

"It's okay. You're okay. You're home now. I've got you. You're safe."

His words brought fresh tears to your eyes, although your breathing calmed and anxiety lessened after a while.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He whispered a few minutes after your body stopped shaking.

"I, I'm just so scared." You didn't know what to say. You wanted to come clean. To explain who you really were, but the fantasy described to you by the AI sounded like a much better life.

A life you wanted to believe in, but felt like you didn't deserve.

"Scared of what, doll? You can talk to me." He whispered, still rocking you back and forth, rubbing your back with his flesh hand.

Of me. You wanted to come clean, but it was terrifying. You couldn't go back to that prison.

"Of... Was I really only there for three months?" Your voice was shaky, confusion laced with fear.

Bucky's guilt at not finding you sooner multiplied tenfold as he took in your expression. You looked so innocent and afraid, his heart broke just thinking about what Hydra did to you.

"Doll, I'm so sorry I couldn't come for you sooner. I know three months must've felt a lot longer... I promise, I'll do everything I can to help you get through this. You're not alone." He held you closer, tucking your head close to his heart in a show of protectiveness.

"Can you just, stay with me tonight?" Your words were barely a whisper, afraid to test the strength of the delusion you found yourself in.

"Of course." His words were firm, but soothing to your ears. "I love you." You squeezed him tighter, resting your body against his as the two of you laid in bed.

permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mcu fic #marvel fic

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lunarastrobabe · 3 years

Text

Joel Miller x F!Reader: Sleepless Night

(Fluff/Angst) (Age Difference) (Warning: Details of smut included)

Joel sat down on one of the chairs on his porch, clutching his guitar in one hand, and coffee in the other in his well-known owl mug. Letting out a heavy sigh, with tired eyes and set the guitar by his feet, taking a sip from his drink. He had struggled sleeping the past few nights due to the last patrol he had went on with [Y/N]. The memory of her getting jumped by runners and her cries for help traumatised him. Thanks to him, he saved her life. It wasn’t the first time he had saved her or risked his life to keep her safe, he was determined to protect her. Since that day, he’s been avoiding her. He had never spoken to her openly about his past, and he knows if these feelings keep growing, he would regret not talking sooner.

He remembered when she had arrived at Jackson a year and a half ago, being only 25 and having no family, she found it hard adjusting to new people, new faces. After a few months, she settled right in, getting to know Ellie and Dina and helping out on patrols with them every now and then, and having a brotherly-sisterly bond with Tommy. He took her in to his house, she didn’t know anybody and Joel was the first person she had met, feeling he was trustworthy.

Staring at the dark liquid he swirled it around in circles not noticing you had went looking for him, she stood in the doorway of the front door, her hand on the doorframe.

“Joel?” Her quiet tone was like music to his ears. Jackson was peaceful, most of the area was asleep, snow covered the ground like a blanket. He jumped a little at her presence, but relaxed realising it who it was.

“Evenin’.” He says, setting his almost empty mug of coffee on the small wooden table, which was now cold from the length of time he was lost in his thoughts. His voice was rough, feeling exhausted from the lack of rest.

“Can’t sleep?” She asked, closing the door behind her, keeping quiet as possible not to wake up the nearby neighbours and took a seat beside him. He shook his head at the question. “No.”

She pulled her jacket closer around her body and crossed her leg over the other. Joel shifted in his seat a little, clearing his throat. She looked over at him, watching the wind go through his soft, silver hair. His heart skipped a beat, feeling her eyes scanning him, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I never said this before but,” She started, moving her hair from her face. “Thank you, for saving my ass again.” He turned his head, looking over at her, he had missed that smile, he had missed her laughter when they would patrol and she’d throw snowballs at him. Seeing her around Jackson, having that friendship with Ellie and Dina, offering to take dangerous patrol areas to keep the town safe. Risking her life multiple times to save others. The sound of her name or the sound of his name being spoken by her, feeling a sense of new-found love and happiness, something he missed experiencing a long time ago.

“S’alright darlin’.” He gave her a half smile, his hazel eyes filled with fear, and pain, he masked it well and she noticed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, the way her eyelashes fluttered, or when her nose would scrunch up when it was cold, or when they would sit by the fireplace while he strummed his guitar.

“Um, Joel?” She looked at her lap and fiddled with her fingers. He sat up in his chair, his hands resting on his thighs. “Is everything okay? I haven’t .. seen you, for a while.” Her words had a nervous feeling to it. He exhaled heavily. He had to tell her what was going on in his mind, the thought of her blaming herself for his avoidance was already worrying him. He was the only one she trusted with anything, especially from the start. Every night, if she needed his comfort, his in particular, he would be there for her, he’d make coffee for her and sit with her and let her vent to him about anything that bothered her. He never wants her to feel alone, and during that time of knowing her, he fell in love, and he knew he was, he kept it inside, fear of losing her, like he had lost Sarah and Tess.

“Let’s go inside and talk this out.” He stood up, taking his guitar gently in his hand and the empty mug, guiding her back in the house. The heat from the lit fireplace warmed up the room. Kicking off his shoes, he set the guitar next to the couch, and went to the kitchen to make the coffee, keeping up the tradition. She sat on the couch and patiently waited for him to return, admiring the large bookcases. Sounds of spoons clinking together and the shuffling of his feet across the floor made her smile.

Joel returned, holding two mugs of hot coffee and placing them on coasters on the small coffee table. Her eyes watched his every move, thanking him for the drink, smiling to herself, he remembered to put some cinnamon in her drink, that being her favourite. The curtains were shut and there was silence between the both of them, the fire was the only sound in the room. She sat cross-legged and turned her body to face his, holding the mug in her hands tightly warming up her cold fingertips, waiting for him to explain.

He sat there for a while, figuring out how to explain his behaviour to her, the guilt inside of him eating him away. A sad expression washed across his face. She frowned and looked down at her drink.

He set his mug on the coaster again, letting out a sigh and looking over at her. He felt her eyes burning into him, as if they were looking into his soul. “That day, when the infected attacked you,” He always found it hard expressing his true feelings when it came to people he cared deeply about, afraid that more loss and more pain would return. She listened to him, she really listened, understanding every word he was saying. “watching you struggle and cry, it-, it terrified me. Terrified of what would happen if, I hadn’t stopped it.” A glistened look covered his eyes, he kept his composure, trying to stop himself from breaking down.

She set her mug beside his, taking in what he had just told her. As he continued, “I’ve had, a great deal of loss, fighting to survive all these years, but, also fighting to protect you,” He rubbed his bearded chin with his hand. “I don’t want those things, out there, to turn you into one of them.” He pointed to the window, gesturing to outside. His thick Texan accent growing deeper, the difficulty expressing this made his stomach flutter.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling touched by his words and realising, she meant more to him than he let on. She was patient with him, knowing he was closed off, always kept to himself, no matter the situation. He was more worried about the feelings and well-being of others than his own.

“But, why me?” She asked softly, he knew she appreciated everything he’s done and still doing for her and for her safety. Her actions of being there for him when he needed her was enough proof. Actions speak louder than words. His brows furrowed at her question. Keeping her eyes down, away from looking into his eyes.

“You go through near-death experiences when it’s us together, you’ve slain multiple clickers and bloaters, you’re so hell-bent on keeping me as close as possible to you. There are other people who need more protection than I do.” She felt guilty for causing him to put himself through horrible situations, feeling like she was forcing him to look after her. “I just, feel like a burden.” She bit her lip, worried at his response.

“Look at me,” He whispered in a raspy tone. When she refused to look into his eyes, he spoke once again. “Darlin’.” That little pet name was a little secret that only they knew about. He reached over, tucking hair behind her ear and turning her face to look at him, a hand resting on her cheek. His large, warm, rough hands felt like a security blanket to her. All the anxiety and stress he felt, washed away when his skin came into contact with hers.

“You ain’t ever been a burden.” His eyes stared into hers, all he ever wanted to do was love her, make her feel special. His body shifted position. She had no trouble opening up to him in the past, he knew her like the back of his hand, he knew about her family, her childhood, the trauma she experienced, he felt deeply connected with her, they both had experienced loss.

There have been times where he’s had thoughts of making love to her, just to hold her close to his body, being as gentle as possible. The dream of pushing her against the wall, both their hands hungrily grabbing at each others clothes to tear them away. Her pushing him closer to press his hard-on against her core, to feel how much he wanted her. Grabbing at her thighs as she’d grind herself against him, her soaked panties staining his jeans. Curiosity being a main factor, wishing to know what she tasted like and what he tasted like between the sheets. To graze his lips across her skin, to feel her body tense up underneath him when hitting her high, her nails digging into his skin as he pushed in and out of her. He longed to hear her soft moans, her calling his name as he made her his own, tangling fingers through her hair. He never wanted to let her go. She had never laid with a man before, as she had told him subtly in the past. She had been having those thoughts and feelings towards him just as much as he did. Her having no experience with sex in general speak, in her mind, she knew exactly what she would do.

He took her face in his hands, rubbing her cheek with his thumb, he didn’t like feeling vulnerable, but it was overpowering, he wanted to kiss her, right there, right now. She slowly moved her position and kneeled in front of him, his hands sticking to her like glue. She moved little bit closer.

“You promise?” She whispered, his skin covered in goosebumps, feeling the closeness of their faces just inches apart. Her lips hovering over his.

“Yes.” He replied. She was now in a crawling position, her hands finding their way into his lap then moving them to his grey t-shirt, running her hands up his chest and finally resting them on his shoulders. His breath was shaky, waiting for it to finally happen.

And there it was, his lips brushed against hers, his facial hair tickling her mouth. It was slow and innocent at first, his body tensed but relaxed, both getting used to what was happening in the moment. He pulled back for a moment, feeling a little embarrassed at the sudden urge. His eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips. Licking his own, wanting to taste her fully, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her body weight on his chest, his arms snaked their way around her waist, holding her tight, worried if he let go, she would disappear. She let out a slight giggle, leaving him with a comforted feeling that she wasn’t rejecting him.

“Kiss me again, cowboy.” The use of the word ‘cowboy’ surged through his veins, kissing her once again, his tongue diving in taking dominance. His grunts and her moans against the kiss was too much to bare. Feeling beads of sweat on his forehead and her heavy panting, he pulled back and looked once again in her eyes.

“Take me.” She ran her fingers across his lips, his mouth curving at the side with a smile.

“You sure?” His fingers ran up and down her sides.

“Show me what you’ve got.” Replying as she kissed the corner of his mouth.

That burning feeling of lust, desire and attraction possessed them. Feeling a sense of love in his heart, he felt whole.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us 1 #the last of us 2 #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part two #the last of us ii #tlou1 #tlou2 #tlou #naughty dog #x reader

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astro-rain · 4 years

Text

delicate; b.barnes

chapter six - “lake, the sequel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: reader seeks out bucky after his dramatic exit and they find themselves earnestly conversing... back at the lake

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: this story is available on my wattpad as a bucky x OC fic @ / typicaldaze :)

He didn't like this feeling. No, he didn't like this feeling at all. He hated it, in fact. It was betrayal, bodily betrayal. He just could not sit in that room any longer or he would've peeled his skin off. His lungs felt as if they were bound with barbed wire and the state of his stomach had him worried he was going to throw up. Most of all he felt guilty. How could he have just stormed out of the room like that? She was going to hate him now. How could he let this happen?

He was thinking this over whilst sitting at the lake, hands in the grass, trying to distract the physical body from the mental cacophony he had just endured. He had somehow found his way there after leaving Y/N. These extremely unpleasant sensations were unfamiliar. Was he sick? Could he have been drugged? He was so confused. Bucky realized he seemed to be confused most of the time. Following that realization, he became mildly pissed off.

The super soldier stared out at the lake. It was a calm day, the water tranquil and clear. It was a stark contrast against his stress. He leaned forward and looked into the water at his reflection.

"Damn," he said out loud.

Is that really what I look like now?

His eyes traced over the long shaggy hair, dark under eyes, and the subtle but noticeable worry lines. This sight reminded him of when he broke the mirror at his old place in Bucharest. Now he remembered why. God, he looked as fucked up as he was. He leaned back and tossed a stone at where his reflection had been.

A deep sigh left his lungs, which were now conveniently working properly.

"Fuckers," he muttered, referring to the mercurial organs.

He had spent nearly two years alone in Bucharest, and he had grown accustomed to living in this new body. He was always on edge, that much he could tell. However, he was never too introspective; he never thought about his feelings or his behavior. All he was focused on was surviving. When there is more to life than survival, that's when things get complicated... not that they weren't complicated before. God, he was running in circles inside his own mind. His scarred and ruined and manipulated mind that resided in this body that was used as a tool for destruction and violence and death-

"Hey."

His head whipped around, startled out of his thought frenzy. Always on edge. Mentally, he shook his head in disappointment.

"Oh! (Y/N)!"

He stood up immediately. "Listen, I'm so sorry about before, I don't know what-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, holding up her hands. "Bucky, you do not need to apologize, everything is totally fine."

He was taken aback. Words didn't seem to work.

"I'm not mad if that's what you were thinking," she said.

"You're not?"

"No, of course not. If anything I was worried."

"I- Worried?"

"Yes, you were clearly in distress, and that room was the last place you wanted to be. I'm glad you found your way back here because you look much better now," (Y/N) explained with earnest eyes.

She could tell he was freaked out? She probably thinks he's insane.

"Yeah, I... I think I'm better now."

He was far from okay, but definitely better than before.

The psychologist sat down next to where he was standing. He didn't move, but looked down at her.

"I don't think it'd be wise to leave you alone here considering you're supposed to be in a session with me right now and you can't go anywhere without an escort. It would most likely lead to suspicion and then trouble you don't need. I'm going to stay with you. We can continue the session if you'd like, but if not we can just sit."

She said this all while looking straight forward at the water.

In all honesty he wasn't sure what to say, so he settled with a breathy, "Okay," before sitting down next to her.

"I'm getting the vibe that this is more of a just sit situation..."

"Yeah... I think I'm all therapy-ed out for today," Bucky said in a meek attempt at a joke.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wide smile. He then realized that she didn't know he could see it, and that's why this smile seemed different. Most differents in Bucky's life hadn't been outstandingly pleasant. But this was a welcome different. This was a good different. It was genuine and unbridled. That was the most open he'd ever seen her.

Every now and then he forgot that he was a literal trained super spy. He may not have any PhD's, but he had his own way of reading behavior, cues, and subtleties. Perhaps he'd make an effort to be more observant. Perhaps he wanted to learn a little more about what else was behind this new different.

A few beats of comfortable silence passed before he heard the word again.

"Hey," (Y/N) started softly. "I'm sorry if I went a little too far today. I know I said our first session wouldn't be much, but I realize I was pushing too far."

"Oh, it's okay," Bucky replied, looking down at the grass between his knees. "I think it's more my fault anyway. It's not like the questions were super intense."

He let out a loaded sigh. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Bucky it's really okay. If it's anyone's fault it's mine. This whole process is supposed to be based on your comfort levels and at your own pace. And there's nothing wrong with you. Your reaction was completely normal given the circumstances."

Bucky wasn't terribly familiar with reassurance. He turned his head, looking at her dead on. She was so genuine, like she knew all of what she was saying was the all encompassing truth.

Echoes of different combinations of "there's nothing wrong with you" and "completely normal" and "your own pace" flitted around inside him until they melted into a feeling he hadn't felt in so long: hope. It was horrifying... yet it gave him a kind of relief he didn't know he could feel.

The super soldier then realized that (Y/N) was looking right back at him dead on. He was about to stumble through some sort of apology for staring or thankful expression for her kindness, but he noticed that she didn't look like she was necessarily waiting for a response. She was just... looking.

Bucky tried to say something, anything. But he just couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. In this brief moment, he felt crystallized. His conscious, logical brain was somewhere far away, hypnotized by the stillness of the moment. It was only a few seconds, but somehow felt longer. These very few seconds of mental sedation were soon over.

Speak, idiot.

He snapped back to reality, suddenly finding himself inspecting at the grass below him.

"Thank you."

"Of course," she replied without missing a beat. Her tone of voice was water soft.

"(Y/N), do you... do you know what happened with me earlier?" he asked, cautiously. "Like, what was wrong- I mean, not wrong but why I-"

He sighed frustratingly, cutting himself off.

Her face was patient, but she was waiting for a description of something he didn't know how to describe.

"I know I said we were done for today, but I-I don't know how to explain it, and I want to know what it is," he confessed.

"I think you had an anxiety attack."

Anxiety? That couldn't be right. There's no way that could've been from being nervous.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Anxiety. It seemed as though you were experiencing high amounts of anxiety. Most people get nervous at times, but those tiny amounts are normal. But, some other people are a lot more nervous a lot more of the time. Sometimes, these peoples' anxiety can get particularly high and be so overwhelming that their body kinda takes over, and they can experience really uncomfortable physical symptoms, and this can turn into an anxiety attack."

"I thought I was... sick or... or drugged or something."

"Well, I'm almost certain you weren't drugged, and I'm pretty sure you can't even get sick."

"Oh."

He honestly didn't know what to say.

"Bucky," she looked straight at him again and he almost felt himself slipping. "In terms of psychology, a lot has progressed since the 40's. I'm not sure how anxiety was presented or studied then, but there's really a lot more to it than people think. And honestly, given your situation, it would be strange if you didn't develop an anxiety disorder."

Anxiety disorder?

"Anxiety disorder? I have that?"

"Well, again, I think we have to do more work to confirm, but that's what it seems like."

"I thought you said I had PTSD?"

"I do. I think you have both."

Christ.

"Wow, I'm a whole sack 'a problems, aren't I?" he chuckled, giving up on trying to internally oppose his short comings.

"You're not a problem, Buck. You had to deal with a whole sack of problems, though," she smiled.

The nickname didn't miss his radar. Was that the first time she's called him that? He ignored how he liked it.

"That's for damn sure."

They conversed for a while after that, and didn't seem to notice how late it was until the sun began to set. The ending day's reflection on the water created an aura so relaxing Bucky didn't want to move. But alas, reality calls.

(Y/N) stood up. "If you're not back soon, they'll start looking for you. We should probably get going."

Bucky stood up, too, following her request.

"I'll walk you back to your quarters," she offered.

And so they went, conversation continuing naturally, as if they were old friends. Bucky found it strange that someone he knew so little was so easy to talk to. He brushed it off as some inherent therapist quality.

He still found her hard to read although he knew her more with each passing word between them.

Despite all of this, the walk back, with cool air, a melting sky, and languid steps, was the best thing he had experienced since coming out of cryo. His memory may be spotty, and his mind may be rough, but this, this he was sure of.

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky headcanon #marvel #steve rogers #bucky reader insert #marvel fanfiction #bucky blurb #bucky drabble #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfic rec

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harryhandstan · 4 years

Text

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry and @bopbopstyles for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :)

final word count: 7.1k

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them, "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #so happy this is finally done and being posted!#soooooo many times I almost just deleted it bc I didn't know how to feel about it #but anyway hope y'all enjoy!

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Text

Human Error (transfemme!sarah)

(A/N) this really doesn’t actually have anything to do with sarah being trans, it just takes place in the same universe. this is literally just an event that happened in this au written out so i can write about effects surrounding it without people being confused lol.

“Reese, we’re slammed, any chance you can take treatment four?” Maggie pointed at Sarah Reese, and then at the fourth treatment room. Sarah looked up from the computer, before grabbing her tablet and heading to the treatment room.

“Hi, Mr. Nearling? I’m Dr. Reese, what seems to be the issue today?” Sarah pushed for hand sanitizer, rubbing her already-dry hands together until the gel had absorbed.

“Trouble breathing…” The man took a few labored breaths, “Cold sweat… I’m shaking, I can’t breathe-”

“Okay, I see, when did this start? Does your chest hurt at all?”

“I… I had a big meeting today and it just happened suddenly. I guess it hurts a little bit.”

“Can I take a listen to your heart?” Sarah asked, already taking her stethoscope off of her neck. The man nodded, and she pressed the drum to his chest. His heart was racing.

He started talking fast, “Are you going to be able to give me a doctor’s note? I’m going to lose my job…” He started breathing faster.

“Has this ever happened before?” Sarah asked, lifting the stethoscope from the man’s chest, “Any history of anxiety or panic disorders?”

“Never like this,” He choked up and coughed a bit, “But, I had social anxiety as a kid.”

“Do you have any family history of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, or high blood pressure? Do you smoke, drink?”

“No, none of that,” The man waved his hands, “I’m a healthy guy. A vegetarian, everything- everything is fine! I’m perfect, I can’t-”

“Mr. Nearling-” He was hyperventilating, and Sarah grabbed one of his hands, “Mr. Nearling, I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Dr. Reese let go of his hand, and hung her stethoscope back around her neck, and tapped on her iPad, “I’m going to give you something to calm you down, then we can talk about coping strategies and I will refer you to outpatient psychiatry to continue care. April, push 1.5 milligrams of Ativan.”

April pushed the medication through the patient’s IV line, and Dr. Reese pulled up a round, spinning stool to the bed and sat down. April nodded at the doctor, and left the room, pulling the curtain shut.

Mr. Nearling calmed down noticeably, which Dr. Reese took as a success - Panic attack subsided. Dr. Reese smiled, “It’s normal to have some residual physical symptoms, mild tightness, shortness of breath, but as the medication works you’ll calm down more and more. Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

Mr. Nearling shrugged, “Maybe? I’ve never gone to the hospital for it.”

“After a severe panic attack you may have more panic attacks in the coming days or weeks, so I’m going to call in a mild benzodiazepine in case you need a bit of help,” Dr. Reese typed that into the tablet, “When you feel the anxiety and panic start up, you definitely want to try coping mechanisms before you take medication for it. The medication is just for if those coping mechanisms don’t work, which sometimes happens and is to be expected every once in a while.”

Mr. Nearling nodded, taking a deep breath. It was shaky going out, but residual anxiety can do that.

“So, a good first step, whenever you’re having a panic attack, is to recognize that you’re having a panic attack. If it doesn’t work to say it in your head, say it out loud,” Dr. Reese tapped the tablet against her leg with each coming syllable for emphasis, “I am having a panic attack.”

“I am having a panic attack.”

And just like that, it was no longer a panic attack. Mr. Nearling went limp, and the monitors started going crazy. Dr. Reese held two fingers to the man’s neck, and yelled out, “I need a crash cart!”

Everything moved fast after that. Sarah was pushed out of the way by two ED doctors, who started barking out orders.

“He’s in cardiac arrest, page CT. Reese, get on his chest-”

Sarah could feel blood pounding in her ears, and she clasped one hand over the other and started humming. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive. Stayin’ alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive… No matter how much CPR she performed, she still needed the song to keep her on beat.

“-Milligram of Epi.”

Ah, ha, ha, ha…

“Hold compressions,” Dr. Choi barked, holding two fingers to the man’s neck, “Clear!”

The man’s chest lurched as he was shocked, and Sarah’s heart jumped into her throat. Dr. Choi held his fingers back to the man’s neck, “Another milligram of Epi. Charge to 200.”

Sarah resumed compressions. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’...

“Clear!”

Sarah held her hands up, shaking. This never got easier.

“Asystole,” April sighed out, preparing another milligram of Epi. She knew exactly what Dr. Choi was going to ask for next.

“Another milligram of Epi.”

Sarah reached to resume compressions, but Dr. Choi swatted her hands out of the way and did CPR himself. Dr. Choi did it slightly faster than Sarah did. He knew the man was dead.

Sarah squeezed her clammy hands together, shaking like a leaf.

Dr. Bekker rushed in almost immediately after Dr. Choi stopped compressions, and was floored when Choi called time of death.

“Alright, why wasn’t this patient taken to the cath lab as soon as his heart attack was diagnosed?” Ava’s tone was stone cold.

Everyone looked at Sarah.

“He uh… He presented with…” She cleared her throat, “With shortness of breath, mild chest pain, cold sweat, shakiness, and extreme anxiety as well as a positive history for social anxiety. He did not-” She cracked her knuckles, “Um… He also displayed signs of work-related stress and no- Uh, no risk factors for heart attack. I determined he was having a panic attack and ordered 1.5 milligrams of Ativan and started talking about coping strategies with him.”

“Whenever a patient shows up with chest pains they should receive a FULL cardiac workup REGARDLESS of history and risk factors,” Dr. Bekker took a step towards Sarah, and grew louder, “If YOU were in the emergency room with CHEST PAIN, would you be anxious?!”

“I- uh-”

“You did NOTHING you should have. ANXIETY is NOT a contraindication for a heart attack, and now this man is dead. Leaving him to die in the waiting room would be more effective,” She spat out, her tone venomous, “Psych residents, I swear. God, isn’t anyone in this hospital competent?”

Sarah was out of the room before she even knew she was moving. Her feet dragged her away and her heart was practically leaping out of her chest. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she started chewing on her tongue to avoid letting them go. She clenched her fists as Dr. Charles called her name.

“Dr. Reese! I was paged to the ED, something about you?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” She pushed past him, and he grabbed her arm.

“Sarah,” He whispered, “Go sit in my office when you’re done. I’m going to finish rounds. We’ll talk when I’m done,” He started to walk away, before turning around, “You’re not in trouble, Sarah, I just want to understand what happened.”

Sarah pushed open the swinging door to the women’s bathroom, bolted into the nearest stall and slammed the door shut. She sat down and started sobbing.

I’m in love with her.

She choked on her own snot, and ripped off a piece of toilet paper to blow her nose.

I’m in love with her, and she hates me.

She let out a wail.

i’m in love with her, she hates me, and I failed her.

The bathroom door opened.

“Sarah?”

Sarah held her breath, pulled her knees up to her chest to avoid making any noise.

“I don’t think she’s in here,” Sarah heard April, a gentle voice amongst the madness.

Sarah heard a pager beep.

“Ugh, I have a heart transplant. Whatever, send a note to Dr. Charles and let him know I was looking for her.”

She wants to yell at me some more. She wants to hurt me. She somehow knows about me and I’m going to get fired. I’m going to get fired and be all alone. She knows about me and she’s going to hurt me and I’m going to get fired.

They left, and Sarah let out her breath and let her feet fall to the floor. She blew her nose again, and took a deep, shaking breath. She stood up, and leaned her forehead against the stall door. She took her hair down from it’s low ponytail, and shook it out. She grabbed a piece of her hair and started absentmindedly braiding it - an old anxious habit.

A few minutes and three braids later, she opened the stall door and stared into the mirror in front of her. She wiped away her tears, approached the sink, and splashed water on her face, soaking one of her messy braids in the process. She dried with a thin paper towel, took another shaky, deep breath. She grabbed a helping of hand sanitizer on her way out of the bathroom. Force of habit. Even leaving her bedroom at home she sometimes tries to push the sanitizer button, even though it isn’t there.

Sarah practically ran to Dr. Charles’s office, hurriedly taking her braids out and running her hands through her tangled hair.

She unlocked Dr. Charles’s office door with her key, and closed the door behind her. She did not turn the lights on. Instead, she made a beeline for the couch. There was a throw blanket stored under one of the cushions, and she pulled it over her after grabbing it. She covered her face with a pillow, and screamed into it.

“Sarah?”

She forcefully uncovered her face, before relaxing once she saw it was just Daniel.

“Sarah,” He inquired, sitting down at his desk, “What happened today?”

Sarah sniffled, “I misdiagnosed a heart attack as a panic attack,” She choked out, “Mid-30s male presenting with shortness of breath, mild chest pain, cold sweat, anxiety, healthy weight, vegetarian, panicking with a history of social anxiety, currently experiencing work-related stress, no family history of heart disease, nothing.”

Dr. Charles sighed, “Common mistake. Hardly something to have a-”

“He died, Dr. Charles,” She cried, “He’s dead.”

Dr. Charles’s face hardened, “I see,” He faltered.

“And- And Ava, God, Ava…” She pressed her hand to her forehead, “She yelled at me in the middle of the ED, and she said I was incompetent and-” She choked out a sob, “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Sarah,” Dr. Charles’s tone softened, “She’s just… She’s just angry. She won’t be angry forever.”

“I just really messed up today,” Sarah swiped her tears away with trembling hands.

“You did,” Dr. Charles agreed, “You did mess up today, but-”

“I’m going to get sued-”

“Sarah.”

“I’m going to lose my residency and I don’t have a fallback plan, I’m in so much debt and so much trouble-”

“Sarah, you’re not going to lose your residency,” Dr. Charles yelled, and Sarah fell silent. He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but you’re not going to lose your residency. Every single doctor has a misdiagnosis in their career, it’s just part of the job.”

“But he died. And it’s my fault.”

“Sarah, you are going to lose patients. And sometimes it’s going to be your fault,” He reasoned, “You’re a good doctor, Sarah, you’re a good doctor who made a mistake. You want to know what happened during my residency? I diagnosed a teenage girl experiencing vomiting and lack of appetite with bulimia,” He raised his eyebrows at Sarah, “She died of malnutrition. Autopsy showed she had ulcers all along her digestive tract,” He shrugged, “She was in too much pain to eat! But all I saw was a sickly thin teenage girl that was vomiting and couldn’t eat.”

Sarah stayed quiet.

“The point is, things happen. Death happens. Sometimes, conditions disguise as one another. Medicine is hardly ever an exact science,” Dr. Charles pointed out, “Human error is expected, you’re not going to get fired, and you’re probably not going to get sued. Mr. Nearling presented with no typical risk factors of a heart attack, and all the typical risk factors and symptoms of a panic attack. Did you purposefully ignore Mr. Nearling’s heart attack?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Boom,” Dr. Charles threw his hands up in front of him, “You had no malicious intent. You made a mistake, a common mistake, on a patient that didn’t present typically, and it had consequences.”

Sarah nodded.

Dr. Charles sighed, and looked at Sarah with a look of sympathy, “And now it will never happen again, right?”

She nodded.

“You’re going to take complaints with these symptoms more seriously?”

She nodded.

“You’re not a bad doctor, Sarah, you’re just a human,” He said, “In med school they always teach you what someone who has a heart attack looks like, just like they taught me what someone who has an eating disorder looks like. You just have to learn to get past that phenotype and look deeper.”

Sarah stayed quiet.

“Look... This is hard. I get it,” Dr. Charles sighed, “Just... go home, Sarah. Take a breather.”

“What?”

“Go home. Come back in a few days. Take a break.”

“Yes sir,” She said, quietly, before standing up to leave.

(A/N) thanks for reading :) i’m going to build on this at some point and write a follow-up to this one shot. hope you enjoyed! this is a foundation for the parts i want to write, so it doesn’t have too much about sarah’s actual transition. i am so sorry for making ava be mean :(( EDIT: If you liked this, check this out bc I am continuing it!

#chicago med #one shot #chicago med one shot #sarah reese #writing #also my favorite sarah headcanon is that she still has to hum or sing stayin alive to do cpr #she has no natural rhythm without a guide lol #thats okay #transfemme!sarah #my au #angst #mild angst #dr charles #dr charles comforting sarah reese #dr charles is a good father figure #crockettstiddies

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thatshiscigar · 4 years

Text

Enough

JJ Maybank x Reader

Requested by Anon: Hi! I was wondering if you could do a JJ imagine where the reader has never been in a relationship before or has even had her first kiss yet. And one night when she's drunk she breaks down and confesses to jj that she just never felt enough (not pretty enough, funny enough, you name it she doesn't feel it) she always thought everyone could do better than her. If you don't feel comfortable writing this I completely understand!

Warnings: underaged drinking, feelings of anxiety, slight angst

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

Let me know if you wanted to be added to my obx taglist!

There are multiple stages of “Y/N’s drunk”, as your friends call it, and the first stage is “the flirting, dancing drunk.” And it was holding up to its name.

You were out in the crowd, dancing with Kie and JJ, having some well deserved fun. Your cup was getting noticeably empty, so you made your way over to the keg, where John B and Pope were hanging.

“There she is!” John B called.

“We were wondering when you’d be back,” he finished as you walked up to them.

“Just pour me another one.” Your words were far passed slurred. Pope looked at John B, silently asking if it was okay to fuel you up. John B gave the green light , and Pope filled your tank. You thanked them and turned back to the crowd. You found Kie and JJ again after not too long, and continued to dance.

You felt the energy of everyone around you. It was insane. You started to feel every bead of sweat as it fell down your body. The feeling of feeling everything was far too overwhelming. It panicked you. Your head felt heavy, and you stared to get dizzy. JJ, being a couple drinks in, barely even tipsy, noticed your state. He grabbed your shoulders, trying to stable you.

“You okay?” He screamed in your ear, making sure you heard him. You shook your head no, and he lead you away from the loud mass of people. Kie noticed, and followed.

“What’s up?” She asked as you sat down on a log.

“She doesn’t feel well,” JJ answered quietly, worried for you. You were bent over, holding your head in your hands. JJ sat down next to your and started to stroke your back, soothing you.

“I’m gonna take her back to John B’s, clean her up, y’know,” JJ said to Kie, eyes not leaving you. He wasn’t gonna let you out of his sight til you were okay.

“Yeah, I’ll go tell JB and Pope.” She ran off to go tell the boys, leaving you and JJ.

“Let’s get you outta here, pretty girl.” He guided you up, slinged your arms over his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around your waist.

The world still felt like it was spinning, though slightly less than just a few minutes before. Before you knew it, JJ was opening your passenger door, and guiding you into the seat. He started digging in your pockets to find your keys.

“Relax, slick, they’re right here, at least take me to dinner first,” you slurred, pulling them out. JJ snickered as he grabbed the keys and closed your door. You felt way better. Your second wind was hitting and it made you want to get out of the car and run back to the keg. The confidence the alcohol gave you was addicting. Before you could act on your impulses, JJ was pulling out and driving away, making you leave the only thing that made you feel like you could do anything. JJ noticed your pouting as he pulled into the Chateau. You were into the next stage of “Y/N’s drunk”, the sad, crying stage. He knew what was coming, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with it.

You stumbled into the shack, JJ helping as much as he could. He set you down on the couch, and went to the kitchen to fill you a glass of water.

“How ya feelin,” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“I’m okay,” you said lowly, head hanging low. You didn’t want to let JJ see you like this. You didn’t want to let the boy you love see you like this. You felt pathetic. You had loved JJ for as long as you had been a part of the group. His goofy smile and reckless antics were enough to make you fall, but you were sure JJ wasn’t interested in you. All the girls he hooked up with proved it. They were beautiful, and you felt there was no way you could compare to them. You never felt pretty enough, smart enough, experienced enough, or funny enough to have JJ. You haven’t even had your first kiss yet, but here you were falling for a boy who has done it all. You felt like such a child.

JJ sensed your sadness, something he had become very good at. He knew all of your little cues to tell your emotions. He knew everything about you. He knew how you ran your hand through your hair when you were stressed. He knew how you playing with the ends of your hair when you were anxious. And he knew how you bit the inside of your cheek with you were about to cry.

He sat down next to you, pulling you into his side. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting the tears drop.

“What’s up, pretty girl?” He asked, not wanting you to keep everything bottled up. You rolled your eyes before you stood up.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered, your back to him as you walked to the kitchen.

“What?” JJ was dumbfounded at your actions.

“I said don’t call me that, okay?” You said louder, slamming your hands on the counter. You didn’t dare look up at him. He couldn’t see your tears. JJ stood up from the couch slowly and stood in his place.

“Y/N, I call you that all the time, I don’t understand-“

“You don’t mean it!” You looked up at JJ, letting him see the damage he’s done. Your eyes were red, your face was puffy. His face softened when he saw you. He felt guilty, but he wasn’t sure for what.

“You know, you run around sleeping with every girl on this damn island, but you don’t even look at me! I’m right here JJ, and I love you!”

You were surprised at your own words. You didn’t mean to let it slip, it just did, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

JJ didn’t know what to do. The girl he’s loved for forever just confessed her love for him. He’d been waiting for this moment forever.

“Please, say something,” you pleaded. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see his face as he rejected you.

JJ snapped out of it when he heard you. You sounded sad, and it broke JJ’s heart. JJ was never good in sad situations. He never knew what to say. His body took control of his mind as he walked up to you. You slowly looked up to him, and met his eyes. JJ was staring at your lips, thinking about his next move. He slowly moved towards you, and when you moved towards him, he knew it was okay.

He smashed his lips onto yours, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your arms found their home around his neck. Your lips were made for each other. You were made for him, and he was made for you. You belonged together.

You broke apart for air, and here came the next stage of “Y/N’s drunk”, the giddy, laughing stage. You giggled as you broke apart, resting your forehead on his.

“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” JJ knew the answer, but he wanted you to admit it. You bit your lip to stifle another laugh, and you nodded yes.

“Good, glad it was me,” JJ breathed out. He immediately connected your lips again. He couldn’t get enough of you. You were far more than enough for him. You were perfect to him. Everything you were was perfect, and from that moment on, he would make sure you knew it. He wouldn’t let a day go by without reminding you of how much he loved you. He didn’t deserve you, and he knew it, but he was thankful you decided he was enough for you.

Taglist: @supremestarkey @lovelymaybankk @blueeyedbesson @whormotional @classywaves @sexytholland

#jj maybank blurb #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj imagine #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj x reader #obx #obx netflix #outer banks #outer banks netflix #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine

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thefinalcinderella · 4 years

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 6 - The Sound of a Shouting Soul (Part 3)

Wanted to get this out a lot sooner but life got in the way

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. So there’s like rankings for how much someone can hold their drink. Waku (which includes all of Chikusei-sou) are people who don’t get drunk no matter how much they drink. Zaru are people who only get a little bit drunk after drinking. Geko are people who can’t drink at all.

Previous | Next

They had to completely get rid of their summer fatigue and they had to rest their bodies gradually before the meet; they trained a lot during the fall, but they didn’t run as much as they did during the training camp. Even so, as expected, even Kakeru began to feel both physically and mentally tired.

It was from the pressure of thinking “What if we do all this and it doesn’t go well on the day of the meet and it ends up being all for nothing?”

Unlike the previous meets, the qualifiers were a one-round competition with no redos; if you didn’t get the time you wanted, you couldn’t just bet on the next one, and that tension weighed heavily on Kakeru’s mind and body.

The training regimen had become denser. Twenty kilometers was the norm for cross-country, and build-ups were introduced into track practice. For instance, if you ran seven thousand meters, you ran the first thousand meters at a pace of less than three minutes and ten seconds, and then worked your way up to two minutes and fifty seconds at the end.

As they ran long distances faster and faster, the pain was not negligible. The inability to breathe during the endurance runs and the violent palpitations of the heart after running as fast as you can assailed you at the same time. It was like playing water polo while drowning, and Prince and the others threw up many times. However, every time Kiyose would caution, “Endure as much as you can.”

“You’ll get into the habit of throwing up. Hold it in and run.”

“I can’t do it.”

“I’ll choke on my own vomit.”

Prince collapsed onto the grass next to the track, and the twins, who were trying to look after him, also threw up with him. It was a miserable situation.

However, sandwiching the proper amount of rest needed between training sessions, the residents of Chikusei-sou gradually became able to keep up with the build-ups and the twenty kilometer cross-country runs. They went to the Showa Memorial Park in Tachikawa, where the qualifiers would take place, and everyone did a trial run of the course.

One day, less than half a month before the qualifiers, Kiyose gathered everyone after they had finished a cross-country run. A chilly wind blew through the open field in the approaching sunset. The tips of the grass had lost their vigor, and there was no trace of summer left. The fruit on the swaying persimmon trees, which no one was picking, were the same color as the setting sun.

“It’s a battle of concentration from now until the qualifiers,” Kiyose said. “Focus and control yourselves so that you’ll be at your peak both physically and mentally on the day.”

“Well that’s easy to say.” Nico-chan sighed. The stress from the tension was giving him an unusually large appetite these days and he was having a hard time regulating himself.

“I feel like my delicate heart has already reached its peak.” King couldn’t help but get stomach cramps during training. “I wonder if I can last until the qualifiers.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Kiyose’s tone was calm, reassuring everyone. “You’ve all done more than enough training; all that’s left to do is use that pressure to hone yourselves. Envision yourself as a beautiful blade running in the qualifiers, and sharpen and polish it well.”

“What a poetic expression,” Yuki said.

“But I get it,” Prince said. “You don’t want to sharpen it too much or you’ll snap before the qualifiers, but if you keep it too dull, it will be useless if the blade still seems cloudy on the day of the competition. It’s something like that, right?”

“Exactly,” Kiyose nodded. “You can’t get there just by recklessly practicing; it’s a battle within yourself. I want you to listen closely to your mind and body, and sharpen yourselves carefully.”

I see, Kakeru thought. This might be one of the strengths that’s required for long-distance.

Long-distance didn’t require explosive power nor was it something that required extreme concentration during a competition to perform a technique—all you did was send forth your legs alternately and plainly moved forward. All you had to do was sustain the simple act of “running”, which most people had experienced, for a set distance. The stamina needed to sustain that was cultivated during daily training.

In spite of that, Kakeru had seen runners whose health broke down during or right before a competition many times: they ran well at first, but suddenly their pace was thrown into disorder; their bodies were in good shape, but three days before the race, their times during practice suddenly stalled; there were those that caught colds even though they were very careful, and ended up getting taken off the lineup on the day of the competition.

Kakeru couldn’t help but feel confused. Practice makes perfect. Why did people ruin themselves when all they had to do was run? Kakeru himself had gotten diarrhea at the last Inter-High he participated in. He hadn’t eaten anything cold or rotten, but his stomach suddenly took a bad turn. He was still able to run, so there were no problems, but he kept wondering, “Of all days, why did I get a stomach ache right before the race?”

He understood now. It was described as a “failure to adjust”. The reason for almost all of them was pressure; the anxiety of suddenly wondering “Is this enough?” no matter how much you trained; the fearful thought of “What if I still lose?” arising as soon as you were confident that it was enough. The more you sharpened your body and mind, the more fragile you became; you got colds and stomach pains more easily, like a precision instrument that breaks down abruptly from just a little bit of dust.

Honing yourself until you were sharp and smooth enough to overcome fear and anxiety and withstand any dust—that power was probably one aspect of the “strength” Kiyose talked about.

Kakeru understood all that, but there was still the question of whether or not he could put it into practice. The more serious you were about running, the less easily you were able to free yourself from pre-competition nerves, and confronting your own body and mind was a very lonely process. You always had to fight alone in the space between compromise and excess.

Kakeru eventually stopped thinking about everything. The more he thought about it, the more fear would arise, because he could only imagine bad things.

People were afraid of ghosts because they thought about and imagined them. Kakeru hated those sorts of ambiguous, vague things; he didn’t want to be bothered by the irritating dullness of “If I think it exists, it exists”, he wanted clarification on whether it was “there” or “not”. Just like being able to move forward if you simply moved your legs, one foot in front of the other.

Kakeru ran without thinking anything. He threw himself into training and repeated the act of “running” as he remembered it with his body. He didn’t know any other way to overcome pressure.

The other members of Chikusei-sou, unlike Kakeru, were inexperienced, so they hadn’t yet established a way to relieve tension. Some, like Kakeru, practiced harder and harder, some burned incense and slept, and some reread sports manga from beginning to end. Everyone was working hard to make their final adjustments for the qualifiers.

With two days to go before the qualifiers, Kakeru felt that his concentration was improving at a good pace.

Practice that day was light, as they shouldn’t be tired on the day of the competition. Of course, each person did their morning and evening jogs, but there was no real practice scheduled on the day before the qualifiers either. They had done everything they had to do, all that was left was relaxing their bodies while keeping an eye on their health while raising their fighting spirits and concentration.

“Let’s do one last finishing touch.”

At Jouji’s suggestion, everyone at Chikusei-sou decided to have a small drinking party two days before the qualifiers. For this group, drinking was the easiest way to relieve tension and solidify their bonds.

The landlord was invited as well, because he was more or less their coach, but there was a problem: the landlord had entrusted Kiyose with the money to fix the hole, but Kiyose had given that money to Shindou to put aside for the Hakone Ekiden; with the transportation and lodging costs, they never had enough money.

As the landlord stepped over the threshold of the front door, Jouta crossed in front of him while looking at the gravure page of a magazine. Distracted by the photo of a woman in a bathing suit, he took off his shoes without looking up at the ceiling and kept close to Jouta as they went upstairs. The tactic was a success. Kakeru and Jouji, watching the situation from the kitchen, gave each other a small high-five.

It was arranged for Prince to sit on top of the hole. You must not stand up as long as the landlord is here, not even if there’s an earthquake or you have to go to the bathroom. Given that strict order by Kiyose and Shindou, Prince obediently hid the hole while reading manga.

“Now, we would like a few words from our coach,” Kiyose said when the liquor was flowing well. The landlord, hugging a large bottle, got up unsteadily. Wondering if he might see him act like a coach for the first time, Kakeru looked forward to what he was going to say.

“It’s finally time for the qualifiers…let me tell you the secret to winning,” the landlord solemnly stated in his hoarse voice. “Move your left and right legs one after the other and go forward!”

The room fell completely silent. The landlord seemed to have sensed the overflowing disappointment and despair.

“…You do that, and you’ll reach your goal one day. That’s all!”

“’That’s all’?!” King roughly put down his cup.

“Is this person okay?” Yuki said.

“Can’t we get a coach who’s a little bit better?” Nico-chan said.

“Ah, my motivation has completely gone down now,” Jouta said.

Quiet unsatisfied voices filled the room. Kakeru hurriedly turned to Kiyose.

“Haiji-san, from the beginning, you believed that this team could definitely make it to Hakone. I thought it was more than impossible, but…why were you so confident?’

“Mm?” Kiyose looked up from his cup and smiled. “Because everyone can handle their liquor.”

“What?”

Everyone immediately stopped complaining about the landlord and now turned to look at Kiyose.

“There are many long-distance runners who can drink a lot. I guess it’s thanks to their internal metabolism. You guys have surpassed being heavy drinkers, you’re bottomless pits, aren’t you? (1) I’ve been observing your drinking habits for a long time and I thought, ‘This could work.’”

“There are plenty of heavy drinkers in the world.”

Shindou looked up at the sky as though to say “I can’t believe this.”

“You dragged people into this thing for that reason!?” Yuki’s voice cracked with anger. Kakeru groaned. He had wanted Kiyose to get everyone motivated again, but it had had the opposite effect.

“Did we really come all this way based only on how much we drink?” Prince, shocked, was about to get up, but Shindou restrained him with his eyes and he hurriedly sat back down. “That’s like building a skyscraper on top of mud with just willpower.”

“Of course that’s not the only reason,” Kiyose said, but his articulation was a bit odd. “I noticed the spark of talent that had been sleeping in all of you.”

“Haiji-san’s drunk,” Kakeru sighed.

“Aaah, isn’t there anything livelier to talk about?” King fell onto the tatami, looking up.

“By the way, how are things with Hanako-san?” Musa asked the twins.

“Hana-chan?”

“What do you mean by things? We get along well?”

The twins both answered innocently.

They don’t know. These guys really don’t know at all. Everyone else muttered to each other.

“By the way, you guys don’t have girlfriends, right?” Nico-chan, who had been nibbling on a piece of dried squid since earlier, said as though it had just occurred to him. “If you do, you’ll have to get them to cheer for us the day after tomorrow.”

It was rare to hear such a topic discussed at Chikusei-sou. Part of it was because their living spaces were so close, they were careful not to deliberately step into each other’s private lives, but it was also because they would all somehow know even without being told expressly.

However, for almost half a year, all of them had been busy training and weren’t able to keep track of each other’s love lives at all. Of course, no one had ever brought their girlfriend to their room before—their conversations and anything else could be overheard, after all.

The twins said, “We’re recruiting one!” in unison. If you’re recruiting, then you should be aware of the existence of applicants, Kakeru thought. King silently curled his back.

“What about you?” Yuki asked Nico-chan.

“I don’t have that kind of energy left right now,” Nico-chan scratched his stubbled chin.

“Same here,” Shindou hung his head. “I’ve been going all around negotiating with the supporters’ association and the school, so I’m afraid that she’ll run out of patience with me soon.”

“You’re dating someone?” Kakeru was surprised. He couldn’t quite connect the reserved and honest Shindou with the brilliance of love.

“Shindou-san has been in a relationship with a woman since he started school,” Musa explained. “It is hopeless for me. I cannot find anyone who will come to my hometown.”

You don’t have to suddenly go all the way there… Kakeru thought.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend, Kakeru?” Musa asked. Kakeru shook his head.

“I’m not popular, after all.”

“It does not seem that way, though.”

“Um, what about you, Prince-san?” He hurriedly shifted targets, but Prince’s eyes were still on his manga.

“I’m only interested in 2-D girls.”

Even though he was born with an idol-like face, it was like pearls before swine. Prince glanced at Kiyose.

“Leaving that aside, I sometimes hear rumors about Haiji-san in the literature department, you know? He looks like that, but there’s all kinds of…Ow!”

Crying out in pain slightly, Prince shut his mouth. A peanut flicked by Kiyose had hit him right between the eyebrows. There was no one brave enough to press Kiyose more than that.

Kiyose laughed slightly and asked, “What about Yuki?”

“I’ve got prospects, a good personality and my looks aren’t bad? Of course I have one,” Yuki answered calmly. King curled himself up more and more.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” As the landlord was pouring shochu into his teacup right to the brim, a phone rang. It was Yuki’s. Excuse me, Yuki said and left the room.

“What, was that his girlfriend again?” Nico-chan said. Kakeru also noticed that Yuki’s phone had been ringing a lot these days.

“But Yuki has been looking somewhat somber recently, has he not?” Musa tilted his head in worry.

King seemed to have decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. “There’s no ice,” he said, shaking the empty bowl. Kakeru, who was near the door, stood up and said, “I’ll go get some.”

He went downstairs and saw that the entrance’s sliding door was open, and that Yuki was outside on the phone. He could hear his voice slightly. It seemed like he was arguing about something, and although Kakeru was curious, he crept into the kitchen, concealing his footsteps so that he wouldn’t disturb him.

He transferred the ice into the bowl and refilled the fridge’s ice maker with water. Judging by the way everyone was drinking, it might not be ready in time. Kakeru turned the fridge’s temperature knob to “strong” and left the kitchen with the bowl.

The front door was still open. But there was no sound of talking. After some hesitation, Kakeru put on his sandals and peeked outside.

Yuki was squatting next to the door, looking up at the night sky.

“I made ice,” Kakeru called out to him softly. “Let’s go back and keep drinking with everyone.”

“‘Kay,” Yuki answered, but he made no attempt to stand up. He looked absentminded, his left hand gripping his phone.

“Did you get some kind of bad news?” Kakeru stepped over the threshold and squatted down next to Yuki while holding the bowl.

“No,” Yuki said. “My parents saw the news story and nagged me about showing up back home once in a while.”

“Where do you live?”

“Tokyo.”

If that’s the case, then it wouldn’t take much time to go back home, and there’s no need for him to lodge in a rundown apartment like Chikusei-sou in the first place. That reminds me, Yuki-senpai said he didn’t go back home for New Year’s, Kakeru recalled, and sensed that there were some circumstances behind it.

Insects were buzzing loudly in the grass of the yard.

“Kakeru, why aren’t you excited about getting interviewed?” Yuki asked.

“Umm,” Kakeru said. “I’m resented a lot. I think my parents and the guys from my high school team probably don’t want to see my face, so that’s why: I want to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“You’ve been through a lot, I see. I thought you were just a track maniac,” Yuki’s words were biting, but he didn’t pry any deeper.

“Thanks to being a track maniac, I ended up having to keep secretly running away from interviews,” Kakeru laughed.

Noise suddenly erupted from the twins’ room. There were sounds of people running around and shouting something.

“What’s going on?” Kakeru and Yuki looked overhead and stood up.

The window facing the yard opened. “Yuki! Are you there!” Kiyose shouted.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Call an ambulance!” Kiyose recognized Kakeru and Yuki and waved his arms to hurry them. “The landlord’s throwing up blood!”

Kiyose got on the ambulance and accompanied the landlord to the hospital, and then finally returned to Chikusei-sou some time after the next day had already started.

The early to bed and early to rise routine was so ingrained in everyone that they couldn’t keep their eyes open, but they were all worried about the landlord’s condition, so they had stayed up and waited. Kiyose, surrounded by the residents at the entrance, gloomily told them the news with a tired expression.

“He’s got a stomach ulcer, so he’ll stay in hospital for a week. Apparently the reason is stress from extreme nervousness.”

“Stress!?” Jouji shouted hysterically. “Why was he stressed?”

“He was a carefree coach with no sense of responsibility though?” Jouta tilted his head. He definitely just drank too much, Kakeru thought.

“I also have a lot of questions about the reason, but…the landlord was probably worrying about us in his own way,” Kiyose rubbed his temple. “For that reason, the day after tomorrow—or rather, tomorrow—we will do the qualifiers without the coach there.”

“I don’t really mind, though.”

“It’s not like he’s ever there.”

The twins stated their candid thoughts, and Kakeru nodded.

“Didn’t you say we can count on him when we need it?” Kakeru muttered.

“I said ‘probably,’” Kiyose responded, and as though to say “good grief,” took off the hoodie he had on.

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

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uwu-boll · 3 years

Text

Yesterday I consumed nearly 4 grams of mushrooms. Here is what that was like for me:

First, this isnt my first rodeo. I've consumed psychedelics a few times before; I wouldnt call myself necessarily experienced but I have an education background in psychopharmacology and I have a couple of trips under my belt already so I knew what to expect and how it was going to feel going into it. 2 months ago. my girlfriend and I purchased 7 grams of mushrooms to split for our anniversary weekend this past week. We purchased a hotel room - I wanted to avoid doing this at home due to a very stressful living situation - and situated our setting so as to be best prepared to go about our experience. This included water, music, videogames, some snacks, etc. The necessities.

Our day started following a night of several shared margaritas and burgers between us. We went swimming, had coffee and a light breakfast, went to therapy together, and then a healthy midday lunch. Following that, we gathered the supplies for the night and settled in at around 3pm. Starting then, I measured out the dosages for the both of us; 2.75g for her, 3.87g for me (the dosages were more or less arbitrary, but we had a ballpark of what kind of experience we were looking for). She ate hers straight up, while I prepared a 'lemon tek'; powdered shrooms soaked in lemon juice for some time. There is some science behind it, but the idea is to shorten the duration or the experience while making it more intense. This also helps with digestion to prevent nausea, although there will still be some present as your body tries to 'reject' the chemical.

My shrooms sat in lemon juice for 20 mins before I tossed them all in orange juice for me to take big gulps of. Disclaimer - I HATE the taste, smell, texture, EVERYTHING about mushrooms. This... isnt necessarily better, but it's the best way to consume them short of capsules, I've found.

3:25 PM: I start drinking my pulpy orange juice - mushroom cocktail. It tastes like sour orange juice, because of the lemon juice I added, but the thought of the mushrooms in there makes me gag before I even get the concoction in my mouth. I can already tell this is going to be an endeavour. I take one big swig, maybe a fifth of the bottle, and approximately a quarter of the dose. I wait about 5 mins before taking another swig

3:35: one more swig, followed by a dab, hoping that the weed will calm my tummy. It does, but not before I nearly puke coughing up a lung

3:45: I finish the cocktail. This whole time I'm watching my girlfriend - who is approximately 15 minutes ahead of me having already dosed - set up the Nintendo switch and design a character on Tony Hawks Pro Skater, the remastered edition. She finishes, we take a dab, and we start playing. We, for some reason, start with a VS game, first to 500,000 points. I dont know why we thought that was a good idea, but we did. From here on, times are approximate.

Approximately 3:50: We are mindlessly skating in complete silence, absolute fixated in this game. I'm pretty high from the dabs as it is, so I'm spacing out and having trouble coordinating.

Approximately 4:00: I'm focused entirely on how gross my stomach feels having drank the cocktail. My body feels heavy, and it's very difficult to coordinate in the game properly.

Approximately 4:15: We are probably 100,000 points into this game before we both realize how long it's going to take before anyone wins. Were both kinda over it, and clearly struggling with performing and we only know it's going to get worse. As the come up begins, I feel a profound sense of anxiety. Recognizing it as the comeup anxiety, I dismiss it, but it's quickly becoming pretty overwhelming. The lemon tek, in shortening and intensifying the experience, creates very powerful come ups. We stop playing THPS and switch to Super Mario 3D World, which makes me feel better

Approximately 4:30: We get through 2 levels before we stop playing for the night. We decide to cuddle and try to calm each other down. We put on Bo Burnham's 'Inside' to listen to while we come up, which was a great idea because we love him. Really got us talking about our pasts and the meanings behind each of his songs. My body is very heavy, but I feel at absolute peace within it - I'm not biting my nails compulsively or shaking my legs - despite the come up anxiety and the slight nausea. I feel attached to the bed, I didnt want to get up even if I had to. I am absolutely CHEESIN, smiling so hard my cheeks still hurt a day later.

Approximately 4:45: I am staring at the wall, looking at what appears to be a pattern overlaying the texture of the wall. I see the same pattern on the bathroom floor. I'm questioning as to whether or not it's really there. I quickly move to the ceiling - a popcorn ceiling - where I am blown away; the lighting in the room makes the ceiling look both purple and green. My pareidolia is going crazy and I see constantly shifting patterns in the white noise that is the popcorn ceiling. The crazy thing is knowing that there is no pattern to the nonsense I am seeing, but making out patterns regardless. I stare at this for awhile. The ceiling is flowing like water.

The exact order of events henceforth are kind of a blur. We lay in bed for the rest of the night, but the topics of discussion vary from point to point, mostly us complimenting each other and praising each other. At some point, Inside ended, and we listened to Hamilton. However, I hardly remember both the end of Inside nor the entirety of Hamilton, and so it's likely that around d approximately 5 oclock, began the Great Existential Breakdown (TM)

At approximately 5 oclock, I was peaking. Emotions were running high, and, in response to being hungry, I had a breakdown because I hated the fact that I was born into a world dominated by cruelty, inhumanity, and the insatiable drive for profit. I hated that I lived in a world where something as simple as hunger was a problem, and that food - a human right - is commodified. I hated that consumption was obligatory, and that to feed the endless gluttony that is the human need to consume, we exploit both our fellow humans, and the planet. I hated that in that obligatory need to consume, weve facilitated this social climate in which it's okay to pollute our world and exploit the human labor condition so as long as its convenient to the consumer and profitable to the corporation. (Now that I think about it, this may have been spurned by Bo Burnhams 'That Funny Feeling', which I feel like is his most powerful song on the album. ) This quickly evolved into how being born, and forced into a world without your consent where conditions like this exist in the first place is inherently a violent act, and that having children is immoral until we create an environment where those conditions are obsolete. Then to how bullshit it is that I am forced to take care of a meatsuit for the whole of my life, but I have to pay to upkeep all of it as if i had some choice in the matter. This lead to me talking about how I wanted to be a transient observer of the universe, untethered to any physical point in space. Not quite dead, not quite alive - still able to see things happen, but not be able to participate. I then went on to say how I didnt think suicide was the answer to my problems because that doesnt necessarily get rid of the conditions that lead to my despair, but rather creates new problems for my loved ones. I knew that the key was to live in despite of the despair and to continue on in search of my own personal meaning.

This breakdown lasted approximately 3 hours and was very emotional for both of us. We spent a lot of time crying and talking about stuff weve never spoken about before. The comedown was very gentle and helped me feel very cathartic and relaxed. Over the course of the comedown I took several dabs, a few of which brought me back to 'The Wonky Space' (TM). However, this was short lived. My girlfriend sat in the tub naked from the waist down, which quickly turned into a bath, and from there, after my breakdown, we started to relax, watch some Shameless, went downstairs, got some snacks, some drinks, and went to bed.

Before I fell asleep, and once I knew the experience was 100% over, I took some time to reflect and felt very satisfied with what happened. It wasnt at all what I expected the night to be, but I felt like I needed to do that, and experience that kind of existential pain. I felt very relaxed once I got control of my body again, and that peace - the general sense of wellbeing, happiness, lack of anxiety, connectivity to my partner and my fellow man - has persisted well into the next day, and will likely continue for at least the next week. 10/10 would do again.

Would I say I had a bad trip? No. Was it a good one? N...no. but I had a great time, it was fun, and enlightening, and helped me realize where I feel like I am struggling mentally.

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getitinbusan · 4 years

Text

The Big Bang

Yoongi SMUT

Happy 4th of July to my Dirty Little American Friends

Nervous didn't even begin to describe it. Terrified, panic stricken, petrified, you were experiencing all of it.

Usually the one to calm your anxiety, you looked at your boyfriend, Yoongi was just as bad off as you.

"It's going to be fine, they'll love you because I love you."

You squeezed his hand trying to reassure him as much as yourself. "So because they have no choice?" He laughed a little.

"Fuck, you know I didn't mean it like that."

You pulled the car into the driveway and took a deep breath, "It'll be good... I promise."

Not that it wasn't awkward, it really was, but things were going smoother than expected.

Studying his English diligently since you'd met, he was trying really hard to make conversation. Standing back you watched him, beer in hand talking to your Dad as he grilled.

You loved him. He was so far from home, so far from his comfort zone but here he was, just for you.

Catching his eye you couldn't help but light up, he smiled at you as you made your way over.

"Try this," you held the fork to his mouth. "umm, It's good."

"It's mom's Dorito Salad."

"When we get home you should make it for Jeongguk, he'd love that."

Home, it sounded strange. Here you stood in the place you'd been born, surrounded by family and life long friends but it wasn't really home anymore.

He gave your waist a squeeze, "Everything okay?"

It was, as long as you had him it didn't matter where you were.

"Are you ready to get on the water?"

His smile grew, "Your uncle said I can use his fishing gear."

Exhausted from all activities it was definitely nap time.

Leading him up the hallway, your tiny dog followed in pursuit as you pushed the door open.

"And this is where the magic happens!"

He looked up and down the hall to make sure nobody was around before he caught your lips between his.

"I'm about to sleep in there, I don't want to know about it."

You pushed him back onto the fluffy duvet, "You don't have to be jealous baby, It's only ever been me and my imagination."

Swinging a leg over you straddled him as he laid back. "I was however hoping to change that this weekend."

Caught up in your words and hands you could feel him getting excited under you. Reaching to undo the top button of his shorts his hand grabbed yours and he moaned. "Stop teasing…"

"I'm not teasing, I'm committed to it."

"No...come on baby. I'm not disrespecting your parents like that. They don't want us sleeping together in their house."

"Do you always have to be the good guy Yoongi."

He nodded, "We're going to be together for a long time baby girl, I don't need to give them a reason to hate me."

Rolling off of him in a frustrated huff you could only manage an angry, "fine!"

He giggled, "Don't be a spoiled brat, I'll make sure you get properly fucked when the first opportunity comes up."

You leaned back into him for a kiss.

"I'm exhausted, go hang out with your sister so I can nap."

"I get it...I'm going...geez."

You flipped the light switch off and as you were about to close the door you stuck your head back in.

"I love you Yoongi, it really means a lot that you're here with me."

"I love you too peach now get the hell out, I'm tired."

He threw a pillow towards you but you closed the door at just the right moment. All you could hear from the hallway was him laughing, "I'm gonna get you next time."

You knocked on the door lightly, he'd been asleep for hours. The time change and the stress had caught up to you both.

Walking into the room you pulled the window shade beside the bed open. The sun was starting to go down but what light was left came in to illuminate his face on your pillow.

"Hey sleepy, we're going to go soon. It's time for my favorite part of the holiday!"

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, "Fireworks?"

"Yes fireworks!!!"

Arriving at the field everyone set up their chairs and blankets.

"You want to go up front?" he kept walking.

You pulled him back, "No, back of the crowd is always better."

Everyone was in their own world, coolers were stocked with snacks and alcohol and conversation flowed freely. The air was warm and the sky was growing dark as you sat holding hands.

"You can put your arms around me," you whispered. "Nobody's looking."

His mouth went up into a crooked grin, wrapping his hands around your waist the first firecracker sounded above you.

His eyes shone under the flare, he was so beautiful, relaxed, peaceful, happy. The illuminated display suddenly didn't seem important, you couldn't take it anymore.

Standing up you reached for his hand, "Come on." Grabbing the blanket you motioned to the tree line behind you.

Leading him up the path you pulled him into the denser section of the woods. It wasn't as loud and you could just make out the flashes through the leaves.

"What are you doing? Why aren't we watching fireworks?" His confusion was cute.

"You promised we could have sex when the opportunity came up remember?"

You kissed his neck knowing you'd need to break down some of his stubborn resolve.

"Baby I told you earlier, I can't... your parents."

"1. We aren't in their house. 2. Everyone's drunk and nobodies paying attention 3. It's always been a fantasy to have sex with fireworks going off...please Yoongi? I need you so badly."

He looked around assessing the situation then back at you.

"I wore this dress so you can get in and out nice and easy."

Raising the hem of the shift dress slowly up your thigh, you showed him your secret.

"I'm not wearing any panties."

He closed his eyes struggling with his dilemma but his cock was already leading the charge.

"I can't believe you're fucking doing this to me, if we get caught i'm telling everyone it was your idea."

"We're not gonna get caught I promise." You spread the blanket under the tree, "No one can see and because of the fireworks...no ones gonna hear you moaning but me."

Dropping to your knees you grabbed the waist of his shorts and pulled him closer to you. "Can I suck you for a bit?"

He was flustered, "I mean how much time do we have..it can't be that much...can it?"

His unusually shy reserve was turning you on.

"Just enough to get you hard.."

"You think I'm not hard? Jesus Y/N, I'm ready to blow"

Pulling down his zipper, he wasn't lying. His cock was at full attention and the light from the overhead explosions highlighted the dribbles of excitement on his tip.

The invigorating thrill of getting caught had you just as wet and excited as him. Licking your lips while staring up at him you wrapped your hand around his shaft and pumped him until he moaned.

"Did you miss this?"

He threw his head back as you wrapped your lips around him greedily sucking. It was urgent, rushed and hard, you had a small window of time before the smoke cleared and people scattered.

Popping off of him you laid back and lifted up the fabric of your dress. Exposed on the ground, you drew your finger over your clit enticing him. You felt dirty and you liked it. This place from your childhood, you needed to prove you'd outgrown it, that no matter how everything else had stayed the same you hadn't.

"Hurry, please Yoongi."

He got down and lay over you. Cautious no more he anchored himself into your wet waiting core. Everytime you made love he waited for your signal. With hungry eyes you nodded, "Fuck me, hard."

Moving quickly he pumped inside you. Rocking his hips forward against your clit, the wetness between you lubricated and heightened every sensation.

Glad for loud banging overhead the expletives dripped off your tongue as he pounded into you. The speed and intensity picked up and the cheering sound came through the trees. The finale of the show spurring on the most intense orgasm you'd ever had.

Not having the luxury of time on your side, you pulled yourselves together and ran back to your spot undetected. As the last of the lights dissipated into the night everyone gathered to leave.

"So what did you think of it Yoongi?" Your Dad patted him on the back.

"Well sir, I don't think I'll ever look at fireworks the same now that I've experienced a real 4th of July party."

#Yoongi smut #Min Yoongi #Yoongi #Bts smut #4th of july

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

Text

young god | chapter 7

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of mental disorders, foul language, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of alcohol

description: from jisung’s psychoanalysis to the crime investigation, nothing seems to be adding up. jisung and hyunjin have an unpleasant first encounter, and a conversation with hyunjin’s grandmother leaves you with more questions than answers. hwang hyunjin wanders the streets like a ghost, and the police are hot on jisung’s trail.

watch the trailer here!

07| seeing ghosts

You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped in, the space as dark and cool as a tomb.

You made a beeline for your room and chucked your bag onto the desk, rummaging through your closet for a comfortable hoodie. With a relieved sigh, you flicked on your table lamp and let the warm glow soften the darkness. The sun had gone down during your walk home, the busy sounds of the city hushed by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of the evening breeze. Jisung had held your hand the whole time -- two or three of his fingers gently hooked around yours and lightly swinging back and forth as you walked.

He had waved you goodbye from the stairwell -- heart-shaped smile and all -- but even as you propped open your laptop and shuffled through your notes, the feeling of his fingers lingered on your skin. You felt the blood rush to your face as Jisung’s voice -- soft and achingly vulnerable -- echoed in your ears.

Promise...you’ll never leave me?

You slammed your notebook down with unnecessary force, violently shaking your head as if trying to fling the thoughts away. Damn it, y/n. Focus! The notes you had scribbled looked as if they were falling off the lines of the paper. With a deep breath and a light slap to your own cheek, you began typing them up.

Patient: Han Jisung

Age: 20

Memories and short bits of dialogue flashed in your mind as you read over the papers.

Session One.

Patient has undergone mandatory psychological evaluations in the past, in educational institutions.

Mentions racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, and possibly palpitations when in the presence of the therapist. **(May simply be conversational and therefore unreliable).

Suffering from nightmares as of late; sleep problems. Appears uneasy when speaking about said problems.

End of session.

You frowned. Straightforward enough. Slightly strange, if read out of context -- but nothing that stuck out in particular. Biting your lip and shrugging, you flipped to the notes from today.

Session Two.

Questions were focused on family and childhood. Patient looked

Your fingers stalled on the keyboard, Jisung’s expression from earlier flooding your memory. How his eyes had widened like a deer in headlights’ when you’d asked about his family. And -- had you been imagining it? -- they way his voice had wavered when he finally answered. Frowning, you shook your head -- no, no. You were probably just overanalyzing things, right?

Still, you found yourself typing out the one detail that had always been nagging at the back of your mind --

Patient looks upset at any mentions of family and childhood

At this, you hesitated again. You had barely known the boy for two weeks. There were things that Jisung wasn’t telling you about his childhood, that was for sure -- but wasn’t it normal not to know everything about each other yet? And it’s not like Jisung comes from a broken family or something, you thought. After all, he did say that his mother loved --

You froze.

Slowly, as if like a ghost was whispering in your ear, you felt an icy cold chill trickle down your spine, Jisung’s hollow voice echoing in your mind.

“My mother...like I said, she loved unconditionally. Patient, nurturing, kind...everything, well, you could ever want from a mother.”

Loved?

Past tense?

Your hand shot for your notebook and you practically ripped through the pages, looking for any other quotes you had written down.

“I don’t think my family was like everyone else’s.”

“My mother’s eyes were always so...loving and caring.”

Your eyes widened, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

“It sounds like your mother loves you a lot, then, huh? That’s so cute.”

“Y-yeah, she did.”

“Your father?”

“I wasn’t close with him. He was never...never around, so…”

What the hell had happened to Jisung’s parents?

You barely suppressed the urge to bang your head against the table. Am I stupid? How had you not noticed what he’d been saying? What else had you glazed over and swept to the back of your mind?

You reached into your bag and pulled out your textbook, mumbling under your breath as you scanned the glossary. Mood swings. Nightmares. Anxiety. You’d read about this combination of symptoms before, hadn’t you? Sure enough, your fingers landed on the page you had been searching for.

POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER

The words glared coldly back at you as you read aloud, “Patients who suffer from PTSD are those who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event in the past. Any mentions or reminders of this event can trigger the patient and send them into a distressed state. Symptoms include…” you felt a lump in your throat and swallowed thickly. “Nightmares, inability to concentrate, and an exaggerated startle response at any mention of the traumatic event.”

Your thoughts immediately wandered to Jisung’s sudden flashes between moods -- his bright, blinding smiles, easily swept away by the cold, stormy look in his eyes. How he sometimes seemed so far away, expression glazed and unfocused. And now, with what he had mentioned about his family…

Jotting this down with an increasingly uneasy feeling in your gut, you continued flipping through the textbook, skimming through familiar case studies and theories. Words leapt out at you from the pages and made your stomach turn: Abusive childhood. Case study: Jeffrey Dahmer. Psychopathy. Case study: Ted Bundy.

You held your head, groaning, and slammed the textbook shut. Were you really looking at serial killer cases to compare your boyfriend with right now? If Jisung could see you, he’d probably think you were being intrusive and paranoid -- trying to diagnose someone just because a couple of symptoms matched up. You’d been lectured in class over and over again that it wasn’t your job to speculate and form baseless assumptions -- rather, that was exactly what made an irrational therapist, but...it almost felt like you were trapped neck-deep in quicksand. The more you tried to stop thinking about the secrets Han Jisung seemed to be hiding behind his dark eyes, the deeper you found yourself sinking.

It was nearly midnight by the time you finished the outline of your report, cicadas languidly chirping outside your window as you leaned back in your chair and yawned. In the end, you had included a bit of everything -- from the most harmless theories to the darkest case studies. Skimming over your notes warily, you shut your laptop and rolled into bed, completely drained. Speculations. That’s all they were -- it couldn’t hurt to write down all the possibilities, right?

You shook your head before finally drifting off to sleep, a relaxed smile on your face.

What were the chances that Jisung was hiding anything serious, anyways?

────────

Bang Chan threw another shot of espresso down his throat, not tearing his eyes from his papers. His fingers were vibrating slightly from the amount of caffeine coursing through his veins, and he swore he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his toes -- but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

He’d received the crime scene files an hour earlier -- sketches, photographs, coroner’s report, witness statements. He’d spent the better part of the night arranging and rearranging them like a madman doing a Sudoku puzzle. Everything was fanned out now, his desk looking like a filing cabinet had exploded all over it. Cold cases, his own theories, even research he’d done on the side…

And yet not a single damn thing was adding up.

Every lead Chan had gotten had steered him into nothing but dead ends. He’d never seen anything like it -- the same type of killings, occurring within the walls of what was supposed to be the safest school in the country. They had occurred at irregular intervals at first -- a handful in one month, followed by a four month period of uneasy quiet before the killer had struck again. He could count the cases off of his fingers by now; Chan had read them so many times, raking through the files for even the slightest of clues.

First, it had been an arson in one of the health sciences laboratories -- one male student pronounced dead at the scene, ghastly chemical burns having melted away most of his facial features.

Then there was the body found hanging from the rooftop of one of the dorms, skull practically crushed from blunt force trauma.

The list went on and on, small details linking what had otherwise seemed like a spattering of anonymous murders. The killer was a pyromaniac, for sure -- more than half of the deaths were fire-related -- and might as well have been related to the Hulk or something, because the rest of the victims had been killed -- seemingly -- by bare hands.

Even Minho seemed reluctant to answer his questions, and Chan couldn’t blame him -- the sheer lack of evidence found at each crime scene was embarrassing. He could hear the coroner’s exasperated voice in his head:

“No fingerprints -- the killer probably wore gloves. No murder weapon, so no DNA to sample off of, either. Heck, there isn’t even that much blood spattering to analyze, Detective.”

That ruled out the usual causes of murders taking place in Miroh Heights -- drunkards who took a bar fight too far, crimes of passion, domestic violence. No, Chan shook his head, his brain feeling like mush slopping around in his skull and making him wince. They were dealing with someone much, much more complex.

Chan had a fistful of blond hair in one hand and a cup of nearly-empty coffee in the other. What was this killer’s M.O.? Serial killers almost always had a motive, and their victims usually had some things in common. Chan flipped through the victims’ profiles, gears in his head beginning to turn again despite his drooping eyes.

Na Jangmin, Victim #1. Cause of death: Smoke inhalation and respiratory burns. Chan remembered interviewing his classmates, and being surprised at how indifferent they had been about the supposed tragedy.

“He never saw us as his classmates, you know. He’d pick on the first-years like fresh meat. They say half of the new med students dropped out because of him.”

Interesting. He flipped to the next file, tapping his pen against his lip.

Park Beomsoo, Victim #2. Cause of death: cervical fracture and asphyxiation from hanging. Found nearly decapitated and swinging from the rooftop balcony of a dorm building. What had been interesting about this case, however, was the sheer amount of date rape drugs found in the man’s system during the autopsy.

“Rohypnol, mostly,” Minho had informed him. “Along with traces of GHB -- enough to cause brain damage for life. The man was likely already knocked out for good by the time he was hanged.”

This had been baffling until Chan had investigated further, and found out about the man’s reputation.

“He’d slip pills into girls’ drinks at the club,” one of his friends had told Chan, “and was proud of it, too. All he’d brag about was how many half-conscious girls he’s taken advantage of.”

Chan exhaled with a low whistle. That couldn’t be a coincidence -- the killer had to have known about Park’s disgusting habits. So the victims did have something in common -- although it wasn’t like any case he’d ever seen before.

None of the victims had been, per se, good people. They were, interestingly -- and revoltingly -- enough, monsters of another kind. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, simply because they were hated so much already.

Huh. A killer targeting killers. Interesting. But how? And why? Did the killer have some sort of fucked-up sense of justice?

He tapped his fingers anxiously. All his hopes lay on the evidence they had collected from the Yellow Wood attacks -- but the crime lab had yet to hand it over to his team. He grimaced at the memory of the body, whose head had caved in completely and rendered the victim practically unrecognisable. How could there not be a single trace of incriminating DNA from something so...brutal? And then there was Yang Jeongin, who, as far as he knew, was still in critical condition at the hospital. If only he would wake up, maybe Chan would finally get a lead…

Chan didn’t even notice the sun beginning to rise outside of his window until the first ray of morning light pricked at his eyes, making him blink in disoriented confusion. His burning pupils flickered to the clock. 6:25 A.M. Damn it.

He kicked his chair back and threw on a wrinkled suit jacket, stuffing all his notes into his briefcase before promptly stepping out of his office. Work never ended for Detective Bang.

Chan glimpsed his reflection in the shop windows as he made his way back onto Miroh Heights’ campus, running his hands through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame his bedhead (was it even a bedhead if he hadn’t touched a bed in 48 hours?). His eyes caught the familiar storefront of Glow Cafe and he immediately steered himself towards it. Wouldn’t hurt to grab himself a fresh cup of coffee, and maybe he could look at the crime scene again with fresh eyes.

The barista -- Hyunjin, was it? -- was scrawling something on the chalkboard sign propped outside, stumbling to his feet and brushing the chalk dust off his hands when he saw Chan approaching.

“All right, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin gave a small smile that looked more like a grimace, his tired eyes wandering behind Chan. The detective didn’t have to turn to know he was staring at the spot Jeongin had been found -- the barista looked like he was seeing ghosts. Chan took a deep breath before plastering a reassuring smile on his face, throwing an arm around the younger boy’s hunched shoulders and steering him into his cafe.

“I’m gonna need you to make me a cold drip, kid, because I feel like dea--” he caught himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. No death. No death. “Like shit. I’m feeling like shit.”

But Hyunjin didn’t even seem to hear him, wordlessly making his way behind the counter and starting the coffee machine.

Chan watched him and sighed, pulling out a chair and collapsing over a table. Seconds later, the diner door swung open, the windchimes ringing brightly as two familiar faces walked in.

“Good morning, Chan. How’s--bloody hell, you look like death.” Woojin’s eyebrows shot up when he joined Chan at the table, looking the sleep-deprived detective up and down. Behind him was Han Jisung, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Chan grimaced and checked his reflection in one of the empty glasses. Sure enough, his eyes were puffy and ringed with layer upon layer of dark circles, and his mop of dandelion hair was at the point of no return. “To hell with it. What brings you two here this early in the morning?”

Jisung and Woojin exchanged a look before Jisung spoke up, grinning his usual sheepish grin. “I set my alarm way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went out for a morning walk. We bumped into each other, and were both in need of some coffee.”

Woojin nodded, pulling out a chair for the younger student. “I take it you’re here for the same reason, Detective?”

Chan grinned. “Guilty as charged, Captain. How--”

A sudden crash rang through the empty cafe, cutting him off. All three heads snapped up to see Hyunjin standing over a broken pot of coffee, glass shards splaying all over the floor tiles and the dark, bitter liquid seeping into the crevices.

Chan jumped to his feet, holding his hands out. “Hey, you okay? Don’t move, I’ll get a mop. Uh, where do you keep your mops?” The detective’s voice trailed off when his eyes landed on Hyunjin’s face. The barista’s hands were still frozen in place, but his eyes were livid and staring straight at Han Jisung.

“Why the hell are you here?” Hyunjin was speaking through gritted teeth.

Jisung blinked. “Is...is it too early? Sorry, dude, I can leave if--”

“Why are you always interfering with the investigation? You were at the crime scene for no particular reason, and now you’re here again.” Hyunjin’s voice was getting louder and louder. “It’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me--”

“You seem to be more of an interference than me,” Jisung replied, standing up abruptly. All childlike humour had vanished from his expression. “Rushing the investigation, hanging around the crime scenes despite not having an ounce of experience.”

“My friend is in the hospital, and nobody fucking knows why--”

“Jisung!”

All four men turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw you waving cheerfully through the window. Unbeknownst to the situation, you pushed open the glass doors and ran up to a bewildered Jisung, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “What brings you here?” You turned to Hyunjin. “Hey, ‘jinnie, I just thought I’d come early today, since I’ve been arriving late for the last couple of shifts. You know Jisung? He’s the blind date!”

You smiled at Chan and Woojin, who both nodded back but seemed at a loss for words, their gazes flickering between the two boys and you. Hyunjin’s face of confused shock mirrored Jisung’s, words finally spilling out of both boys’ mouths at the exact same time.

“This is your boyfriend?” “This is your friend?”

You blinked, taken aback at their raised voices. “I--yes? B-but--”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes at Jisung. “So you’re the one y/n’s been talking nonstop about? Is this a joke?”

Your stared at him. “Hyunjin!” Your eyes fell on the shattered coffeepot at his feet and you yelped. “Holy frick, what happened? Hold on, I’ll get th--”

You were interrupted by Jisung shoving his chair aside with a loud bang. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but you could see his fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they were shaking violently. “Fine. I’ll get going, then.” He looked to you, sighing. “See you later.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Hyunjin cut you off. “No, you won’t.”

Giving Hyunjin one last long, wordless look, Jisung strode out of Glow Cafe.

When he had gone, you turned on Hyunjin, fuming. “Hwang Hyunjin, what the fuck--”

“Do you really have to date him? Him?” Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Why on earth are you so worked up about who I date?”

“The guy’s suspicious as hell, y/n! I have a bad feeling about him. And I don’t fucking like it.”

You sighed, reaching behind the counter for a dustpan and rag. Woojin took them from your hands and handed the rag to Chan to clean the spill, and you turned back towards Hyunjin. “Look, I know you’ve been shaken up lately. We’re all on edge, Hyunjin. Lashing out isn’t going to help.” You rubbed his back gently, and, despite his expression softening slightly, his brow remained furrowed. Exhaling slowly, you tried to change the subject. “Is your grandma awake? We should make sure she takes her medicine.”

After making Chan and Woojin a new pot of coffee, you and Hyunjin headed upstairs to the studio apartment where him and his grandmother lived. Here, the walls were made of old red brick, foggy panelled windows letting in weak strains of sunlight. Still, Hyunjin insisted it was cozy, the wooden frame bed his legs were too long for shoved against the windows, his architecture sketches and designs hanging from the walls. Down the hallway was his grandmother’s room, which Hyunjin paid much more attention to than his own -- keeping it as clean and comfortable as possible.

Hyunjin’s parents lived and worked abroad, leaving Hyunjin in the custody of his grandparents. The moment he’d gotten into Miroh Heights, he’d moved into the shop his grandmother had started, and had eventually also taken up the responsibility of storeowner once her dementia had worsened and his grandfather had passed away. Nowadays, she seldom got out of bed, Hyunjin being the only one taking care of her and keeping her company.

When you entered her room, Grandma Hwang was sitting up in bed, a newspaper in her hands. Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was the morning paper from two days ago: MURDER AT MIROH HEIGHTS, with the burnt-down flat on the cover.

Hyunjin quickly pulled the newspaper from her hands, tucking it away under his arm. “Don’t let her read the newspaper,” you remembered him telling you once, “I don’t want it to upset her. I don’t know why, but she’s started saying these strange things ever since the murders began. I don’t want her dementia to get worse.”

“Good morning, Grandma Hwang,” you smiled at her, patting her hand. She turned to you, looking as if she were staring straight through you. Hyunjin reached into her bedside cabinet for her medications. “Have you taken your medicine today?”

Slowly, the old woman shook her head, her eyes landing on the newspaper under Hyunjin’s arm. “Familiar…”

You frowned. “What’s familiar?”

She lifted a crooked finger, pointing straight at the burnt-down flat. “The old Han house...from years ago. So familiar. So...so long ago…”

Hyunjin and you exchanged a look. Are you sure she’s just rambling? You mouthed at Hyunjin, who nodded, but his expression was unsure. I’m gonna get her some water, he mouthed back, and disappeared from the room.

A few moments of silence passed as you watched the old woman, the soft morning glow smoothing out her wrinkles. Not being able to suppress your burning curiosity, you blurted, “Why--why is it so familiar?”

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration but her eyes were blank slates, hands gesticulating meaninglessly. “Pastries...the pastries, need to deliver the pastries to all the houses. All the houses except the Hans’--” she shook her head wildly now, voice trembling. “No, no, not the Han house!”

You could feel your heart leap to your throat, a cold sweat beginning to form on the inside of your palms. Even if she was just rambling, like Hyunjin claimed, it made you extremely uneasy. “Why not the Han house?” You pressed, your own voice quavering slightly.

“Nowhere to go, my dear, nowhere, nowhere, went up in flames--” she gasped, hands clutching her face as she babbled. “So much burning, Lord help me...and...and everyone...burned to ashes...except for that tiny, little boy. Crawlin’ out--”

You heard Hyunjin clear his throat from the doorway, and the old woman’s voice faltered. He was holding a tall glass of water in one hand and shot you a look as he reached for his grandmother’s box of medications. You turned back, hoping she would continue, but her eyes were already glazed over with the fog of forgetfulness.

As she swallowed her medicine, you turned to Hyunjin. “She was talking about...about delivering pastries.”

“Mm. Back in the day, when she still used to run the store, we did pastry deliveries,” Hyunjin explained, stroking his grandmother’s hand absently as she finished the glass of water. “She used to go door to door, around the neighbourhood, handing out baskets of them.”

You nodded slowly. “Was...was there ever a fire in Miroh Heights? A really big one, like -- like a house burning down.”

Hyunjin gave you a weird look. “A fire? The deliveries stopped around 13 years ago. I wasn’t there, you know. Whatever she told you, don’t listen to her. Her memories get all mixed up.” He saw your expression and frowned. “What? Did she say something weird?”

You bit your lip, but shook your head. “No. Nothing at all.”

────────

Jisung tore down the darkening backstreets, not knowing where he was going and feeling like the ground beneath him was spinning wildly out of control. Fucking hell. He had barely sat through his classes without losing it, the paranoia eating him from the inside out like a parasite. The air was cool and damp, the sky crammed with grey storm clouds knitting together ominously.

They didn’t suspect him, right? There was no way they knew it was him.

Imagine his barely concealed panic when he’d run into police captain Kim Woojin first thing in the morning. They’d talked about his major, the weather, everything but the investigation. And Chan -- the detective had greeted him just like he always had.

It was just that damn Hwang Hyunjin.

“You were at the crime scene for no particular reason...it’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me.”

Bloody hell.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let them find out. Everyone knew Hwang Hyunjin had been showing the early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from finding the delivery boy half-dead in a pool of blood. There was no way they’d take him seriously.

He began limping as he wove through the alleyways, the foot he’d dropped the rock on still throbbing from the impact. He turned a corner briskly -- and slammed headfirst into a stout middle-aged man.

“I’m sor--”

“Look where you’re fucking going, punk,” the man screamed, the foul stench of liquor hitting Jisung’s nostrils and making him stumble backwards. The man was clearly homeless, judging from the state of his clothes and his matted hair. He must have wandered onto campus while the gates were still open. His milky eyes were squinty and he was swaying, an empty beer bottle swinging precariously in one hand.

Jisung lunged forward, ripping the bottle from his hands, and in one savage motion broke it over the man’s nose. The man howled in pain and Jisung raised the jagged glass again, ready to plunge it straight through the man’s open mouth -- he knew this motion well, he’d done it so many times he’d lost count--

But when he stared into the man’s bleeding eyes again, he saw a flash of your face. And he felt his entire body seize up, his arm stopping dead in its tracks.

You smiling at something he’d said. The way you’d hide your face behind your notebook when you were flustered. The smell of your hair when you hugged him tightly. The warm, familiar feeling of your skin brushing his when you ran your fingers through his hair--

The broken bottle slipped from Jisung’s hands, crashing onto the cobblestones. The man was whimpering, nose still spurting bright red blood. Jisung’s gaze flickered from one of his milky pupils to the other. Blind. He let go of the man’s tattered shirt collar, breathing hard as he turned around and did the only thing he seemed to know how to do.

Jisung ran.

Above him, the sky rumbled with deafening thunder before the clouds split open, sheets of rain pouring down on him as he stumbled down the streets. Blood was welling in his hands, crimson and sticky, and he wasn’t even sure whose blood it was anymore. All Jisung knew was that he needed to find you. He needed you by his side, to tell him it was okay, to say you would listen. To make him feel sane again.

He made it onto the main road and spotted a figure in the distance. Squinting through the rain, Jisung made out the shape of a taller man stumbling towards him. Before he could muster up the energy to turn away, the man had already reached him, hands shooting out to grab Jisung’s shoulders in a vicelike grip. Blood roaring in his ears, heart leaping to his throat, Jisung forced himself to look up.

It was Hwang Hyunjin.

Jisung immediately shoved his blood-soaked hands into his pockets, forcing himself not to yell when shards of broken glass dug and sliced into his palms. His mind was racing, running over a million possible things he could say. But Hyunjin didn’t even look down -- his gaze stayed on Jisung’s face, eyes glassy but narrowed.

Jisung realised with a start that the barista had been drinking.

Hyunjin’s face was twisted into an expression of raw, tormented grief -- the kind of sadness that could only be felt when one was heavily intoxicated. “I s-see him ev’ry time I close m-my eyes,” he suddenly choked out, and Jisung didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about Jeongin. “His c-cold hands, the pool of b-blood, the poor kid--”

Jisung tried to wrench himself from Hyunjin’s grasp, but the barista didn’t budge. This was bad. He had to get out, had to get away, before Hyunjin sobered up and recognized him--

As if he could hear Jisung’s thoughts, Hyunjin’s grip on him tightened, the barista’s voice barely a whisper. “Who are you, Han Jisung? What are you hiding?”

Jisung felt his heart stop. “There’s nothing--I’m not hiding anything!” He stammered, feeling Hyunjin’s dark gaze bore into his own. The blood on his hands were beginning to seep through his pants, and it took all of his willpower not to cry out in pain. There was blood on Jisung’s face, too; he could taste it trickling into his mouth with the rainwater, but he could only hope it was too dark -- and that Hyunjin was too far gone -- to see.

Just as abruptly as he had grabbed Jisung, Hyunjin let go of his shoulders, looking like he was either about to cry or throw up. The taller boy pushed past Jisung, shambling down the street and disappearing into the thick veils of rain. Jisung watched him go, a sick, hollow feeling in his gut.

Above him, the rain began to fall harder.

────────

You woke with a start to a crack of thunder, eyes snapping open and your chest heaving. Your clothes were soaked through with a cold sweat. You’d had a nightmare after going to bed early, but any recollection of it was already beginning to fade away.

There had been a killer in your dream, covered in hot, crimson blood and surrounded by endless fire. Screams and children wailing echoed in your ears, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the killer’s face.

On your bedside table, your phone buzzed, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. Calm down. It was a dream -- just a dream. Shaking, you reached for your phone, reading the notification that had startled you. And just like that, you blood ran cold again.

DANGER

ACTIVE SERIAL KILLER AT LARGE

10:44 P.M. AN ATTACK HAS OCCURRED ON CAMPUS. POLICE BELIEVE THE PRIME SUSPECT IS THE PERPETRATOR OF THE MIROH HEIGHTS MURDERS. THE KILLER IS STILL ON CAMPUS.

MIROH HEIGHTS IS ENTERING LOCKDOWN.

REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS PERSONS TO MHPD IMMEDIATELY.

RESIDENTS STAY INDOORS.

You nearly dropped your phone, fumbling with it to check the time. 10:46 P.M. This was real. This was happening. Bits of your nightmare came back to you in hot flashes. A sudden burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder sent you burrowing underneath the covers, terrified tears beginning to form in your eyes. Pulling the comforter close, you pressed the Phone app and called the first person you could think of.

Beep.

Be--

“Hello?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as soon as Jisung’s familiar voice filled your ears. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice trembling uncontrollably, “did I wake you?”

There was a long pause before Jisung finally answered. “No, of course not. Is everything alright?”

“I--I’m scared,” you mumbled, chewing on your lip. The sound of Jisung’s voice, and even his breathing, was already beginning to calm you down. “Did you -- did you get the alert too? There’s a s-serial killer on campus right now.”

Jisung’s legs had threatened to give way the moment he heard your voice, pressing his phone to his ear like a lifeline. Despite your voice sounding small and shaky, he felt his erratic heartbeat beginning to steady. He quickly skimmed over the lockdown notification, cursing underneath his breath. Shit. Breathing hard away from the receiver, he tried to sound as calm as possible when he brought it back towards his mouth. “Yeah, I just got it.”

Your ears strained, and you frowned -- you swore you could hear something that sounded like heavy rain coming from the other end of the line. “Are you...outside right now? Get home as soon as possible--”

“I’m home,” Jisung interrupted you, a small smile in his voice. “Bad service, yeah -- a lot of static. Probably the storm outside.” The lie tasted bittersweet on his tongue. His hair was drenched in water, dripping onto his face as he spoke. Even through the tinny phone, he felt a rush of warmth fill his hollow chest, the corners of his parched lips tugging upwards. He could almost see you curled up in blankets in your bed, hiding from the storm outside.

No, he corrected himself with a pang, you weren’t hiding from the storm.

You were hiding from him.

Jisung unclenched his fists, broken glass falling from his palms and leaving half-moon shaped cuts in his skin. You’d called him the moment you felt scared. You had trusted him. Jisung felt the water droplets sting at his wounds, his hand feeling as though it were burning away.

Who am I?

Was he the boy you loved, the one who made you laugh, the one who made you feel safe?

Or was he the depraved serial killer that sent everyone he loved running?

You heard Jisung clear his throat on the other line. “Listen, don’t be scared, okay? The killer, he -- he won’t hurt you.”

You laughed, just the sound making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. “How do you know?”

Jisung tilted his head back, face to the sky, feeling the torrents of rain wash away the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. With the hands of a wanted murderer, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he pressed the receiver closer to his mouth, lips curling into a sad smile.

“I just do.”

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joaquinfeed · 5 years

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Snuggle Buddy (Arthur Fleck x Fem!Reader)

Prompt: Reader works as a professional cuddler at SnuggleBuddy. Arthur utilizes her service. Also, for the sake of the story, Penny Fleck has already passed in this.

Warnings: Cursing, implied anxiety, descriptions of bad coping mechanisms (Arthur banging his head against the wall)…I think that’s it?

Word Count: Around 6,000. I know it’s a doozy.

Arthur was nervous. His palms were sweating slightly, his heart rate was uneven, and his leg hasn’t stopped moving for the last twenty minutes that he has been sitting. His eyes trailed over the small print on the business card— “SnuggleBuddy.”

Arthur thinks back to early that day; he was at Ha-Ha’s getting ready for his usual shift when one of the guys—Randall— took a jab at his love life.

“Just in case you need to touch someone other than yourself, Art,” Randall laughed, handing him the card.

Although Randall’s comment bothered Arthur, he wasn’t entirely wrong. He hasn’t experienced human touch—real, genuine human touch—for a very long time. Arthur couldn’t even think of a moment when someone had given him a hug, or a kiss, or wrapped their arms around him. Not a single soul besides his mother dared to understand him in an intimate way.

As soon as his legs allowed it, he walked over to the phone and carefully poked in the number on the card.

“Hello, this is Pete from SnuggleBuddy. Are you looking for a cuddler, or are you looking to become one?”

Arthur faltered. “I’m looking to, um, find one. My name’s Arthur.”

“Okay, Arthur,” the man paused, and Arthur heard rustling in the background. “I have a few questions for you, and we can get you somebody in no time.”

Arthur answered every question that came at him, only letting out a yelp when Pete asked him if he’d like to pay for other activities. After declining immediately—and blushing profusely—Arthur had finally been paired up with a girl.

“Her name’s Y/N,” Pete said. “You will be billed for every hour that you spend with her. Your first session is scheduled for tonight at 7 PM at the address you gave me. Does all that sound correct?”

Arthur nodded before realizing that the man cannot see him. He stuttered out a ‘yes’ and hung up the phone.

His heart was thumping loudly in his chest; he couldn’t believe he went through with calling them. So many worries plagued his mind already— How would he afford this? What if you thought he was weird? If everyone at Ha-Ha’s found out…

He shook his head at that thought. He has absolutely no idea what’s going to happen, and there was no way for him to know.

And so, he waited.

—

A few hours later, a knock interrupted the Charlie Chaplin rerun that had been playing on his TV. Arthur pushed his freshly washed hair out of his eyes, making his way to the door. He opened it up, and his breath caught in his throat. Standing in front of him was someone he has never seen around Gotham—he would have remembered.

“Hi, Arthur,” you smile at him while giving a small wave. “I’m Y/N. I work at SnuggleBuddy.”

Arthur only gazes at you in shock. He definitely was not expecting someone like you; actually, he didn’t know what he was expecting. After a small bit of silence, you glance around nervously.

“Is this not the right apartment? Are you not Arthur?”

“No, I- I am.”

“Oh. This is your first time I’m assuming?”

Arthur nods, his mind finally catching up with him. He steps aside to let you in, and you move past him, checking out his apartment. Your eyes land on the TV, and you smile seeing “The Kid” playing across the screen.

You turn to Arthur. “Chaplin fan?”

“Huh?”

“Are you a Charlie Chaplin fan?”

He points over to the stack of tapes sitting by the small TV; your eyes follow his gaze until they land on the pile. You stand there, paused in thought while Arthur continues to watch you. Suddenly, you’re struck with an idea.

“Hey, if it would make you more comfortable, we could do the session on the couch? That way we can watch a film or two instead of laying in silence. Unless you’d be more comfortable with that. Whatever works for you, Arthur.”

He leads you to the couch, and both of you sit down.

“H-how does this work?”

You smile at him, trying to calm his nerves a little bit. “Really, it works however you want it to. Usually, people tell me what they like, what they don’t like, what makes them uncomfortable, what makes them feel relaxed.”

“I don’t know what I like,” Arthur says, looking ashamed at his lack of self-knowledge.

“That’s alright. We can figure it out,” you assure him. “I’m going to put my arms around you, okay?”

You wait for his consent before wrapping your arm around him. “Is this okay?”

He nods but stays stiff in your arms. “Do I…touch you?”

“You can,” you tell him, watching as he timidly puts one of his arms over your shoulders while the other one rests across his waist. You both stay like this for a little while, getting comfortable with the feeling of each other. After a few minutes, Arthur relaxes into your embrace, and you drop your head onto his chest.

Having this type of job was, no doubt, a little awkward at times. It was the only opportunity you were faced with after moving to Gotham city. You didn’t want to do this forever; sometimes, you thought about quitting after a long, hard day with some overly-touchy pervert. But sitting here with Arthur, his heartbeat steadily beating in your ear, you thought the job wasn’t so bad.

“So, Pete, the guy you talked to when calling CuddleBuddy, he mentioned that you said something about not having this type of contact for a while,” you say. “How long has it been?”

You feel Arthur clam up at the question, and you immediately blurt out, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I was only curious.”

You look up at him and see his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. His eyes are looking back at you, and you finally notice just how green his eyes are—like different hues of a forest. He seems to be studying you too, but as quickly as the silence came, it ended.

"For my whole life, I guess,“ Arthur says, breaking you out of your daze.

You frown. "Your- Arthur, that’s not healthy. We need to feel connections like this, you know?”

Arthur didn’t know. His mother—when she was living—was there to dance with him or hug him when the moment called for it. But he has never experienced anything outside of that. He briefly wondered if that’s something he should bring up with his social worker, but the thought left his mind when he felt your arms tighten around him.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad if I did,” you spoke up. “I was just surprised.”

He brushes off your apology, dispelling your fears of already upsetting him. When it’s clear that nothing else is going to be said on the matter, you lay your head back on his chest, content with only sitting with him for the remainder of the session.

Somehow, by the time the credits were being presented, Arthur was lying against the side of the couch, and you were lying next to him—your head still resting by his heart.

—

You could hear the TV playing in the background, your eyes fluttering open to the sound, only to be met with blinding sunlight coming through the windows. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You shoot up off of Arthur’s sleeping form, and he wakes with a jolt, looking just as startled as you. "I am so sorry,“ you tell him, burying your face into your hands. "I swear, I didn’t even realize that I was falling asleep.”

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry,” he says, his voice still raspy from the night’s sleep. “I can’t remember a time when I’ve slept like that. I-I have insomnia.”

“Oh,” you nod sympathetically. “I’m glad I stayed over then.”

Arthur gives you a small smile. Your caring demeanor felt fresh and generous compared to the other residents of Gotham. But it’s only for a job, he reminded himself, he hired you. At that thought, panic arose in him.

“I don’t have the money to pay you for all the time you spent here,” he says, looking at a clock that read 9:23 AM.

“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault anyway. Pete will be in contact with you about how to pay for the session.”

Arthur hopes his disappointed look wasn’t too obvious; he honestly didn’t want you to leave. Even so, he walks you to the door and gives you one last small smile.

"I hope this isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing you,“ you say, returning his smile.

He blushes slightly, ducking his head. "It won’t be.”

—

Arthur has never been so happy strolling through the streets of Gotham on his way to Ha-Ha’s. The subway ride was surprisingly uneventful and the sun was still out—an unusual occurrence for the dark and somber city. Although, Arthur wondered if the city was actually that uninviting, or his change in scenery was due to the happenings of the night and early morning.

When Arthur gets to work, everything runs smoothly. Randall’s jokes never cease, but this time, they don’t bother him as much. There’s a lightness in his steps as he carries out the rest of his shift at Gotham City Children’s Hospital.

The real trouble comes on his way home; he chalks it up to bad luck—his day going “too well.” A few teenagers poking fun at his make-up, messing with his clown cap, and causing him to hold his throat as he chokes out unwanted laughter. When he returns to his apartment, his steps are less light than before—the stress of the evening finally catching up with him.

His hands reach for the phone before he can stop himself, and dial the number for CuddleBuddy. This time, the process is short. He only has to ask for you, and the next session is booked. Luckily, you didn’t have any previous arrangements tonight.

“They were harassing you, Arthur, you should tell someone,” you say, once you are cuddled up with Arthur again for the night. “People can’t treat you like that.”

“Yes, they can,” Arthur mumbled. “There’s nobody to tell, Y/N. Everybody is just mean.”

“Not everyone,” you say against his chest. “Your not.”

He only hums as a response, before glancing over towards the kitchen.

“Would you like to eat something? I could, um, make dinner,�� he suggests.

“Are you paying for more of my time if I say yes,” you jokingly ask.

Arthur stumbles over his words. Of course, he thought. Payment. He just had to keep reminding himself that he was paying for your time; you were not here voluntarily.

“R-right. I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized. “Let’s just stay here then.”

“I was kidding. Dinner actually sounds nice,” you smile.

You both get up and make your way to the kitchen. For the next thirty minutes, you watch him as he whips around the kitchen, making dinner. You offered to help, but he insisted that he had it. By the time it’s done, and in your mouth, you were pleasantly surprised.

“Mmm,” you moan. Arthur was a damn good cook, and it showed. You were too focused on the food in front of you to notice Arthur’s cheeks turning a bright red color.

Poor Arthur sat on the other side of the table, his ears burning from the small noise of pleasure you let out. How was it possible for one to sound so melodic, he wondered.

“Do you like it?” He asks, despite knowing the answer.

“I do. It’s really good,” you say. “Any chance you want to be a chef?”

“No, actually, I’m pursuing a career in comedy,” he says proudly.

“Maybe I can hear some of your routine sometime.”

“Maybe.”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. You two shared Gotham horror stories, talked about family, and discussed mental illness in-depth. Arthur told you about the parts of himself that troubled him and society’s inability to understand. Your eyes stayed on Arthur the entire time, even after he got up to put away the dishes. His tan long-sleeve shirt, paired with his baggy pajama bottoms, made him look incredibly adorable. You tried to stop your mind from thinking anything like that about the man. After all, he only hired you for a job. But you couldn’t help it if his curls fell around his face in the most perfect way, or his smile shined with warmth when talking to you, or his eyes—God, his eyes—looked so lovely in every light possible.

When he’s done washing the dishes, you both return to the living room to resume the session. You move to sit back on the couch, but Arthur stays standing, shifting back and forth nervously.

“Can we, um, can we move this to the bedroom?”

You arch an eyebrow at his statement. “Really?”

His eyes become frantic as he moves to explain further. “I-I mean, instead of the couch. We could, you know, cuddle on the bed. I- I definitely did not mean…”

He trails off, and you giggle before getting up. “I know what you meant Arthur, relax.”

He nods relieved. He gestures for you to follow, leading you to what you presume is the bedroom. As you enter, your eyes glance around to the flower-covered walls before landing on the soft-looking blankets that lay across the bed. You don’t waste any time standing; you climb in next to Arthur, letting your limbs tangle in the same way they had earlier in the evening.

Your fingers graze his slender figure; the feeling of his warm shirt against your fingertips was enough to make you shiver. He brought the blankets up over you both, still hesitating as his arms rested back against you gently.

“Tell me about Ha-Ha’s. I don’t mean your shitty co-workers or rude boss; I want to know what you love about it. What makes you happy about working there?”

“I like making kids smile,” he says softly.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Yeah. Sometimes they’re just walking past me, sometimes I visit the children’s hospital.”

Your heart melted at the mental image of Arthur, fully dressed in his clown make-up, interacting with the kids. His clown persona, who he mentioned was named Carnival, was something that you’d love to see.

You could feel the smile on his face when he spoke his next words.

“I get to sing and dance with them,” he says. “They never look at me funny for dancing.”

“That’s amazing, Arthur,” you tell him. “I bet you’re really good with them.”

“You know, you could come with me sometime,” he suggests. “They wouldn’t mind.”

You nod slightly before letting your eyes fall closed. You both lay in silence, taking in each other’s shallow breathing. A calm sensation that Arthur’s never experienced washed over him. The rise and fall of your head on his chest worked to ease his anxiety about the subway events. He still couldn’t fully relax in your hold, which is why he stayed quiet about his wish for you to pull him closer. Almost as if you read his mind, your arms tightened around his midsection as you snuggled further into his embrace.

“Arthur,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to be friends?”

The room fell silent. You didn’t want him to feel pressured to say yes, but you wanted to give him time to think it over. After talking to him about his decision to hire you, plus his lack of physical intimacy, you could only assume that the man doesn’t have many or quite possibly any people he considers a friend.

“You want to be my friend?”

You pick your head up off his chest, gazing into his pools of green that are filled with curiosity and disbelief. You don’t even have to think twice before nodding your head.

“I do,” you say. “Do you want to?”

“I do.”

—

The next few weeks are gone before Arthur realizes it. Not only is he able to see you every other day, but his cuddle sessions haven’t stopped simply due to your budding friendship. As the weekend approaches, he uses his time off work to go pick up his medications as well as see his social worker, Debra Kane. Although the process was no different—Arthur sat down, she asked if he brought his journal, she made a few remarks about some of the content, then asked about his job—his experience seemed to be a lot more rewarding.

“I have a friend,” Arthur all but beamed at the woman. “Her name is Y/N.”

“Arthur, have you thought any more about the prompts I gave you for last week’s journal writing?”

“She thought that I was wanting to become a chef, which is funny because I’m actually trying to be a comedian,” he says, disregarding Debra’s question. “She wants to hear my routine.”

“That’s certainly good,” the social worker comments offhandedly. “Are you experiencing any kind of negative thinking?”

Arthur laughs a little, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. He slides one out of the box, rests it on his lips, and lights it. Some things never change, he thinks to himself.

As Debra probes him with more questions he hears every week, his mind wanders back to you. He can nearly see you on the other side of the room—watching, smiling, waving. He doesn’t want to get caught up in his perceived idea of you, though; he only wants to keep you in his reality.

Arthur thinks back to his childhood—images of him sitting alone in the school cafeteria flash through his mind. For once in his life, he had somebody besides his mother, who seemed to care about him. He had a few boys in his early years that tried to befriend him, but upon learning his idiosyncrasies and hearing his booming laugh echoed through the quiet halls, they quickly turned their back on him, leaving young Arthur to wonder what went wrong.

When he was old enough to work, he was out trying to help his mom keep up with rent. He took odd jobs with quick payouts to hold on to their life in Gotham city. By this time, Arthur stopped trying to make friends all together. He knew the things he needed to do to keep surviving in a city like Gotham, and going out of his way to get rejected again wasn’t one of them.

After leaving the social work office, he arrives home feeling both excited and apprehensive. His trip down memory lane had brought the feelings he held towards friendships up to the surface. You were bound to realize what a freak he was at some point; he wonders how long it will take you to figure it out.

A knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts. He’s even more surprised to see you on the other side when he opens it.

“Oh, hey,” Arthur says.

“Hey,” you repeat.

“Did we have a session booked?”

“No, no,” you tell him. “I just thought we could hang out—if you wanted to that is. Sorry to just drop by.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he steps aside and lets you into the apartment. You make your way to the couch, and Arthur follows behind you. He stops short of sitting down and asks if you want anything to eat or drink. You decline his offer and pat the seat next to you.

“Come sit.”

He sits next to you stiffly, rubbing his hand over his bouncing leg. You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering why the man is so fidgety all of a sudden. Maybe you made him uncomfortable by showing up, you told yourself. He did say it was okay, though.

Before you could mull over your thoughts, Arthur broke the silence.

“Do you want to watch a movie? Um, or I could show you my stand-up routine? Or we could do something else. What do you want to do?”

You chuckle at his line of questions while tilting your head at him. “Watching a movie sounds fun, and I’d love to hear your routine.”

He immediately gets up and sprints to the bedroom, leaving you on the couch to smile at his behavior. He surely was adorable.

When he comes back, he’s dangling a few VHS tapes in one hand, and holding a journal in the other. You watch as he resumes his spot next to you and lays out the tapes onto the table.

“You can choose a movie, and I’ll pick out some of my jokes,” he says. You look over the different films ranging from “A woman of Paris” —a Charlie Chaplin feature— to one made by Ernst Lubitsch called “A Shop Around the Corner.” You finally land on one titled “Duck Soup” and pick it up to hand to Arthur.

“Good choice,” he gives you a small smile. “This is actually a comedy and a musical. This goofy man named Rufus—you’re going to like him—he becomes president of his country. The country beside them thinks Rufus is awful so they try and start a war. It- it doesn’t sound much like a comedy, but I swear it is.”

Your lips curved upwards, and your eyes twinkled with amusement. As you listened to Arthur go into extensive detail about the movie’s plot, you found your eyes dropping to his lips. As they moved with every word, you noticed how soft they looked despite them being slightly cracked. You wondered what it would be like to kiss-

“Y/N,” Arthur jarred you from your thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

Your face flushes red at being caught staring. You’re not sure if Arthur knew where you were looking, but he sure as heck knew you were distracted.

“Everything’s fine,” you reassure him. “It’s just been a long day. Did you want to show me some jokes?”

You gesture towards the journal still in his hands, and he smiles instantly. It takes a bit for Arthur to feel relaxed while presenting his material to you, but once he made you laugh a few times, he gained the confidence needed to finish. You were pleasantly surprised at the jokes he had come up with for the routine; they molded perfectly to your sense of humor and left you nearly in tears every time. You weren’t sure if they were actually that funny, or if you just wanted the beaming smile Arthur would shoot you after he made you erupt in laughter to stay there.

After nearly an hour of joke-telling went by, and some convincing on your part, you persuaded Arthur to put on the movie—insisting that you were not tired.

The film opens up with the flag of Freedonia—the country the movie takes place in. Straight from the beginning, you’re already invested in the storyline; your eyes carefully watch every movement on the screen, and you laugh when you finally meet Rufus—the new president of Freedonia. Rufus was just as Arthur made him out to be: goofy. As you watch the story unfold, you can tell why Arthur likes this movie so much. You look over to see if he’s smiling at the screen, only to see that he is, in fact, smiling, but not at the television. No, he is smiling directly at you.

You give him a questioning glance, and he ducks his head, immediately apologizing.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I was looking at you,” he explains.

“So? You’re allowed to look at me,” you chuckle, and his eyes meet yours again.

“I am?”

You can almost feel his breath from how close you’re sitting to him on the couch. Your shoulders are pressed together, while your thighs lay side by side. As a cuddler, you’ve been much closer to Arthur than you are right now, but somehow, this particular time feels more intimate than the others. Later, you’ll blame it on hormones, or maybe even your own mental stability, but just as Arthur was about to repeat his words, you leaned in and pressed your lips right against his.

The kiss didn’t last long, though. As soon as you felt the man tense up under your touch, you nearly flew off of him, sliding yourself to the other end of the couch.

“Shit. Fuck, Arthur. I am so sorry. That was so out of line for me to do. I wasn’t even thinking,” you slide your hand over your face, afraid to look over at Arthur in case he was glaring at you. “I should go.”

He didn’t say anything, and you assumed that was your cue to leave. You cursed yourself for being so brainless as you got up from the couch. As your hand reached for the door, you heard Arthur’s laughter from behind you. You felt tears sting your eyes as you left his apartment feeling foolish.

He found it funny; you found it heartbreaking.

Arthur scrambled to get up as he saw you leaving. His hand held tightly to his throat, as harsh chokes of laughter came barreling out of his mouth. He stopped just shy of the door, nearly toppling over as he tried to force himself to swallow the laughter. By the time he got the door open, you were gone.

He forced a pained smile at the empty hallway, turning back and shoving the door closed. The voices of his past cried out to him as he paced around the living room. You’re such a freak. What’s so fuckin’ funny? You were born by mistake. As more torments flew through his mind, Arthur stopped in front of the wall to lean his head against it. He didn’t know why you left in such a hurry, but he assumed it had something to do with him. He lifted his head back and slammed it against the wall with a sickening thump. Bang. You caused this. Bang. You made her feel like that. Bang. It’s your fault. Bang, bang, bang.

He slid down the wall, a single tear dropping from his eye, and just sat there. He couldn’t even feel his head throbbing; the pain in his heart was too high.

—

Days went by, and Arthur hadn’t heard from you. He picked up the phone several times to try and call your workplace, CuddleBuddy, but couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. He was too afraid of what you’d say when you had the chance. Not even a full month of friendship, and he’s already lost you. When he does get the courage to call the company, he’s only let down once again by the latest news.

“Sorry, man. Y/N quit a few days ago,” Pete tells him.

“Q-quit?”

“Yeah, she pulled her profile down from the bulletin, and said she was moving on.”

Arthur panics. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How would he get in touch with you now? Would he ever see you again?

He runs a hand through his curly locks before asking, “How can I reach her?”

“Uh, I’m not really supposed to give out her information, man.”

“But- but it’s Arthur. Arthur Fleck. I’ve been calling to book sessions for the last month.”

“Yeah, I know,” the man on the other line sighs. “But I don’t know who you are. I can’t really tell some guy her private business.”

“I’m not some guy! She’s my friend,” Arthur reasons. “Please.”

Pete groans and mumbles a 'fine’ before rattling of your address.

“If she ends up murdered tomorrow, I’m telling the police it was you.”

Arthur thanked him and chuckled lightly at the joke—assuming it was a joke. He took the piece of paper, which carried the address he had just scrawled down, and raced out the door. He grabbed the subway, recognizing your place to be near the Children’s hospital that he worked at occasionally. Once he was standing in front of what he had hoped was your apartment, his nerves were at an all-time high.

He was scared of rejection, scared of seeing your disgusted, disappointed, or aggravated face along with any words that might follow.

After three timid knocks, he waits patiently for you to open the door. When the door does swing open, he was met with an expression he wasn’t expecting—shock.

“Hi,” he utters shyly.

“Hi.”

Your heart thumps in your chest wildly at the view in front of you. You couldn’t believe Arthur was standing in your doorway right now; you half-expected this to be a dream. After you left his apartment that night, you felt the lightness you’ve been feeling for the past couple weeks drain from your body, only to be replaced by tightness in your chest and a dulling ache in your heart.

“You quit,” Arthur says, breaking the silence that loomed over you both.

“I did,” you open the door wider, letting Arthur walk into your apartment. He takes a look around, noting that the decorations you have chosen seem to be very you. He wants to marvel more at his surroundings, but instead, he turns back to you.

“I tried to book a session, but you quit,” he says, a hint of resentment in his voice. “Why would you do that?”

You sigh, offering him a small shrug. The ache in your heart hasn’t gone away, not since you saw him last. You wanted to give him a real explanation, but you didn’t want to bring up the kiss. You were afraid that his balled-up fist, quick-paced breathing, and twitching nose —all of which happened when the man felt anger— would be the result of your careless and selfish action.

“Why are you here, Arthur?”

“I- I want to know why you quit.”

“Because I knew you’d call,” you admitted. “I knew you’d call because that’s who you are.”

You sniffle quietly; the tears that have been threatening to fall since Arthur showed up were now spilling down your cheeks like a river.

“I didn’t want to see you,” you wiped harshly at your face.

Arthur gave you a troubled look. His expression was soft, but his eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

“Please don’t be upset,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You gave him a bewildered look. “You’re …sorry? What on Earth are you sorry about?”

He only shrugged, so you took a deep breath and continued with what you had to say.

“I kissed you,” you looked away, still ashamed at the way you handled the situation. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess I just felt like I should in the moment; it was completely wrong of me. I apologize.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Y/N,” he mutters while fumbling with the zipper of his tan jacket. “I- I liked it.”

You smile sadly at him. “You don’t have to lie. I’ll be okay. We can continue being friends if you want; I just need some time.”

“But I’m not lying,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

"You- you laughed at me, Arthur,“ you whisper before chewing on your bottom lip, tears welling up in your eyes once again.

"I didn’t!”

Arthur tried his hardest to hold in whatever laughter that was always on the surface and bubbling over. He didn’t want to leave you feeling upset again, and he surely didn’t want you to think he was disregarding or making fun of your feelings.

“I have a condition,” he says. At your confused look, he shuffles around in his pants pocket to pull out one of his cards. He hands it to you, bracing himself for your reaction.

“Oh,” you say, reading the front before flipping it over and skimming over the back. “So- so you weren’t laughing at me?”

“No! I would never. Not unless you made a joke.” Arthur assures you before pausing. “Did you?”

“I would never,” you repeat to him. Both of you stay unspeaking, taking in the words that the other has said. You wanted to talk more about what happened, but you didn’t want to cross any more lines in the relationship.

“Y/N, can I ask you something?”

You nodded weakly.

“Why did you kiss me? Is that what friends are supposed to do?”

“No, Arthur,” you look solemnly at him. “Friends don’t do that.”

"I didn’t think so,“ he says. "So, why would you? ”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I don’t know. I think you’re funny.”

His eyes search yours for some clarification, but he finds none. “You kissed me because you think I’m funny?”

“Yes,” you say. “and because you’re sweet and easy to talk to, and- and handsome.”

Your face heated up at your comment, but there was no taking it back now. Arthur’s face matched yours, and he stumbled over his words to try and respond.

“What- what does this mean?”

He was pretty sure he knew what it meant; he’s seen enough movies to know precisely what it meant. However, he couldn’t be too careful. The mere thought of him getting it wrong, and you—his only friend in Gotham—leaving was too much for him to handle.

“I think you know what it means, Arthur,” you say to him.

“Can you please just tell me?”

You exhale. “Do you want to go out with me?”

Although you didn’t directly answer his question, it was almost better. He didn’t waste a single second before nodding his head.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Arthur musters up every ounce of courage he has and slides his arms around you in a hesitant embrace. You hug him back tightly, encouraging him to do the same. You stand there for the next couple minutes, the events of the last couple days catching up with you both. “Can we- can we kiss again?”

You pull back enough to look at him, your lips curving into a smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You lean into him, capturing his lips in a slow kiss. You could feel your heart explode with emotions; Arthur’s lips timidly sliding over yours as his hands came up to rest on your cheeks. When you pulled apart, you looked at Arthur with his crimson cheeks and slightly swollen lips, and you couldn’t think of anything or anyone more beautiful than the man in front of you.

“When can we do that again?”

You giggle at his question, your eyes sporting a playful gleam. “Well, if you were my boyfriend, we could do that all of the time.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and you nearly choke on the air around you.

“R-really? Arthur, do you understand what I just said?”

He nods, and you explore his face for any trace of uncertainty or humor, but there is none. He was completely serious.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“No,” he huffs. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking that the same apartment, the same questions from my social worker, and the same people were going to hold me back forever. I don’t want to be held back.”

You bite your lip, wondering how you’re ever going to keep this relationship going if he’s always this damn adorable.

“Okay,” you smile at him, not being able to control your happiness.

“So, Y/N,” he looks at you shyly, with a small smirk in place.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, does that mean I get cuddle sessions for free?”

You laugh, playfully swatting him on the arm as joy tugged at the corners of his lips too.

And you both thought to yourselves, how did I get so lucky?

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