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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

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“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

#marvel #the avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky x original female character #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #smut #fluff

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hecticcheer · 3 years

Text

Hyponatremia (unfinished T/M/A fic)

Fiveish months ago I tried to write a fic based on this scenario post I made. I’m super definitely never gonna finish it, and, it just kinda trails off at the end? Also it’s very rough. Features some American measurements in brackets that I’m too lazy to convert, if that gives you an idea. But I figured I’d post it anyway on one-slice-of-cake>no-cake principle.

As for the plot... uh. Jon has a headache; Martin tries to help, but makes it worse. For *checks notes* ~4200 words. If it has one saving grace, it’s that you can mmmmostly understand it without prior knowledge of T/M/A? Long as you know Martin’s living in the Archives to hide from an evil worm monster, you should be good.

As usual, Jon was the first person to join Martin down in the Archives that morning, sometime between seven and eight. And, no more unusually, Martin had twelve-plus hours of nervous energy to work off, and nobody to shed it on but his boss. “Morning. Sleep well? Tim said you still had some work to do when we left for the pub, but I didn’t see you when I got back so you can’t have made too late a night of it.” (Jon shook his head.) “Shame you couldn’t join us, by the way. Elena and Clarisse and them destroyed us on geography, and Sasha says you’re pretty good on maps and that. Maybe you could’ve saved us.”

“Doubt it,” said Jon. Martin waited for him to add more to that thought, but instead he just sort of stood there. Pinched one nostril shut and inhaled experimentally through the other. Trying to figure out which one was clogged, maybe? Tim said Jon’d said he had a headache; maybe it was a sinus thing. Not that this was exactly reliable intel. On pub-quiz Wednesday Tim always regaled him and Sasha with Jon’s latest excuses not to join them. They were always bad, but some were so bad Martin suspected they weren’t so much Jon’s lies as Tim’s lies about Jon’s lies. Probably not a great idea to mention this one, then. He’d stick to the first excuse Jon had allegedly given:

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

Jon closed his eyes, for a bit longer than the average blink, but not long enough to count as a proper wince. “Not even close.”

“Oh. What… was it?”

“Cabinet of statements from 2003. Or at least, nominally from 2003, though by my count less than a third of them actually date from that year.”

“Yikes. Need any help? Extra pair of hands, or.”

“Not right now.”

“2003,” Martin mused—“are you still looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement?”

A short, but hearty sigh. Enunciated, practically. He didn’t open his mouth until afterward, but Martin could see his nostrils flare around it. “No. Three days ago, when I started to look through the cabinets marked 2003, I was looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement. Now I just want to find out which statements in there I can’t send straight to the discredited section.”

Jon stood in the open doorway to his office by this point, hand on the knob as if to remind Martin of his eagerness to close it behind him. Even so Martin tried to peer past him into the office, looking for a discard pile of statements he might offer to shuttle away himself. This was pretty hard to do surreptitiously, though. He’d hoped his eyes would land at once on the tallest pile, at which time he could point to it and say, Are those the discredited ones, then? But from his vantage point all the piles on Jon’s desk seemed taller than usual.

“Right,” Martin said instead; “good luck.” He smiled weakly and returned his gaze to Jon, meaning to restore eye contact before he remembered how seldom Jon looked at people’s faces anyway. At this moment both his eyes were covered by the hand not on the doorknob. It would’ve been weird, he figured, to just duck out now while Jon couldn’t even see him, so Martin told himself to wait until he opened his eyes and only then back off.

But then Jon just stayed like that, for ages, with his fingers on one temple and his thumb on the other, blocking all possibility of sight. Eventually Martin felt like he had no choice but to say, “Are you alright?—or, I mean, how’s your head, by the way? Tim said….”

“It’s fine.”

“Ssssso it—doesn’t still hurt, then?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Thank you,” Jon said, but in one of the least thankful-sounding tones of voice he had. And then he closed the door, without even waiting for Martin to back up.

—

“Thought you might like coffee this morning instead of tea. It’s got more caffeine, and, that’s supposed to help, right? Plus I remembered what you said on your birthday about tea having tannins just like wine does. Of course, for all I know coffee might too—”

“It does.”

“Oh. Well… maybe the caffeine’ll cancel it out and you’ll break even? Or, I don’t know, maybe if you already have a headache they can’t trigger one.”

Jon’s answering Hm sounded pessimistic. Sure enough, as soon as Martin had finished his sentence he said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Probably not,” Martin agreed with a laugh. “Still, least it’s hydration. Though caffeine’s a diuretic, so if I recall correctly you only get about half, volume-wise. That mug’s about… [twelve ounces,] I’d say? So it probably counts as about [six toward your sixty-four].”

“Yes, yes,” replied Jon, picking up his bottle of water and shaking it. When he set it down again, one look confirmed what Martin had suspected from the sound it made—it was nearly empty.

“Oh hey, look at that! Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job even without…” he trailed off, realizing too late that the most logical end to that sentence was my help, and that that was a pretty pompous way to refer to a coffee he was pretty sure Jon didn’t even want. So instead he said, “I’ll go refill that for you.” And before Jon could look up Martin scurried off to the break room with it.

The water dispenser should’ve been changed yesterday. When the water got this low it took ages to fill even a mug, much less a tall bottle like this one. It startled as a trickle, and by about halfway up the bottle slowed to a glorified drip. In his mind he pleaded with the water spout not to make so much noise; promised it he’d put in a new one as soon as he’d returned Jon’s water to him, mouthed encouragements to it. Not much farther, just to the top of the M, come on, you can do it. (The bottle was an Institute freebie, with Magnus Institute inscribed on it in black-bordered green letters. Martin had one just like it somewhere in his flat. Worm bait now, he supposed.)

By the time he brought it back Jon’s eyes were on the statement in his hands. Skimming, by the looks of it, rather than either actually reading or pretending to.

Martin endeavored to set down his refilled water audibly, but not painfully loudly. But Jon’s answering “Thank you” took him so much by surprise that at the last moment his wrist jerked and the bottle fell over.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry.” It had a lid, so, not an actual disaster? Jon did snarl at him though, or at least at the noise. His hands flew up as if to cover his ears, but he seemed to reject that idea halfway through. Just closed his fists around thin air, then leant his temple on one of them and sighed through his nose. “Sorry,” Martin said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jon’s emphatic blink seemed to stand in for a nod.

“Anyway, here’s a further [sixteen ounces] for you, looks like, or thereabouts,” ventured Martin, patting the side of the water bottle with one hand while holding it down with the other so it definitely wouldn’t topple again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Mm.”

“Good luck.”

—

After his stunt with the water bottle Martin had too much distrusted himself to risk making another big noise with the door, so he’d left it with its tongue sticking out rather than latching it. This meant he made almost no sound when he entered again. The first thing he noticed was that the water in Jon’s bottle still reached the top of the M. It still sat in the same place, too—not out of Jon’s reach but far enough away (Martin had told himself at the time) not to seem an imposition on his space. Almost definitely not where one would set it if one intended to pick it up again soon. His coffee seemed to have fared a bit better though. Half empty, one might say. Optimistically.

The second thing he noticed was Jon himself, who sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin on the heels of his palms, and his fingers arranged around his eyes like fence posts. Like a child peeking out at something they’re too scared to look at directly—except that his eyes were closed.

Martin snuck back to the other side of the door and knocked on it, gently. “Hey, uh, Jon?”

He didn’t look up, and opened his eyes for only a second before shutting them again. But he did drop his hands, threaded his fingers together and set them on the table, and bit his lip. “What, Martin.”

“Er—well, I know you said you’d given up looking for Marcus McKenzie’s statement, but I just realized I never asked if you’d thought to look in the discredited section. I mean, from what he said on the phone it didn’t sound like he took his dad’s statement all that seriously, so, maybe Gertrude put it in there, as, like, corroborating evidence that it wasn’t paranormal, and McKenzie senior’s statement just got misfiled?”

“Martin, I invented the discredited section.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just wondered if you’d like me to take that mug away.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jon picked up the mug and made what seemed a valiant effort to drink a little more of the coffee inside it. From what Martin could tell, he barely managed not to grimace in disgust.

“Do you like coffee? I’m not a big fan of it either, to be honest. Oh, well. If you can’t force that down you’ve still got plenty of water there, I see. Besides, it’ll wash out the taste.” (With an actual heh heh, which came out more like a small dog panting than like human laughter.)

Dramatic, snarly sigh from Jon. “Think I’ll pass. It seems to make it worse, if anything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that; must be those pesky tannins. I’ll just take your cup now then.”

But Jon only tightened his grip on it. “Water, I meant. The coffee’s fine. Not exactly my favorite beverage in the world, but, you were right. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks, I’m glad you.” Martin smiled, then frowned. “Wait, water makes it worse?”

“Seems to.”

“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just—too cold, or something.”

His laugh sounded bitter, hollow—theatrically so, in fact. A perfect Ha ha ha, except he didn’t say those words, didn’t enunciate them like Sasha sometimes did when Tim made a bad joke. He just made the exact sounds they were invented to transcribe. “No, Martin. I haven’t just been giving myself a brain freeze every time I.”

“…Right, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” For a few silent seconds Martin picked at a notch in his thumbnail, carved there earlier this morning by a stubborn paperclip. Part of him wanted to tear the nail off and have done, but he knew it would bleed if he did. Nothing to clip it with in the Archives, obviously. “Are you sure you won’t try again? This water’s quite tepid, actually, since I got it literally from the bottom of the barrel—”

“Martin—”

“Sorry, sorry. Just thought it was worth—”

“Don’t you have something better to do.”

“Er… no, actually. Pretty much finished with everything, at the momen…t. Though if you’d like to give me another assignment I’d be happy to—yeah. Do that, for you. Or I mean, for the sake of the Archives; I don’t mean it’d just be, like, busy work. Not accusing you of that or anything.”

“Are you comfortable leaving the Archives?”

For half a second Martin heard this as a hint—an offer? a threat?—that Jon meant to have him transferred to another department. Then he wondered if Jon was hinting it was time Martin found somewhere else to live. “What, like, permanently?”

“No—just as long as it takes to track down and interview Georgie Barker about her role in the statement Ms. King gave us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so, uh. Thank you for asking? I mean, Prentiss said she was done with me, right. At least, me personally. And she already knows I’m here, so it’s not like.”

Jon replied shortly, “Yes.”

“I’d like to listen to Ms. King’s statement first, though, if that’s alright. What’d you say it was about? The Cambridge Military Hospital?”

Another short, emphatic, nose-directed sigh. Couldn’t be too stuffed-up then, Martin guessed. “Technically, yes, though Ms. King insists the building itself had nothing to do with it.”

“Huh. What was it about, then?”

“She alleges that a woman she hired to help film one of her ghost stories peeled the skin off her arm.”

“Oh my god! I mean, did you—was she okay? Did she show you her arm? Did it seem to have—you know—skin?”

“Her own arm, not Ms. King’s.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed for himself now, though with relief rather than exasperation. Managed a tiny laugh, as well. “Okay, well, that’s. Creepy as hell, but, not nearly as bad as.”

“Mm. Nor nearly as verifiable as your version.”

“T…rue, no, I guess not. Anyway do you have the tape? I’d like to listen myself, if that’s.”

Jon pointed to a small stack of tapes on the bookshelf to Martin’s right. Sure enough, the top one had M. King, 0161704 sharpied across the label on its side. “Ah! Found it. Thanks.” He had a tape player squirreled away already; on another day he might’ve pretended otherwise, but for the moment he was too relieved not to have to make a pest of himself by asking to borrow one to worry whether the absence of that request might make Jon suspicious.

Besides, Jon seemed pretty… absorbed in himself, this morning. By the time Martin turned to face him again one of Jon’s hands had crept back up to his face, where its fingers now seemed to comb the hairs of his left eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon do that before, plus doubted the hairs in question needed his help to lie flat. Jon’s eyebrows had always struck him as quite neat. Plus Martin had tried that with his own eyebrows plenty of times before the mirror in his youth, and knew it didn’t work very well even if you licked your finger—which Martin assumed Jon hadn’t. So he figured he should file this behavior in the same box as the earlier fist-clenching-to-avoid-covering-ears thing. As, like, headache-soothing for people who don’t want to look weak. Or unprofessional, or something to that effect.

This gave him a sense of foreboding when he thought too hard about it. But Martin needed so badly to keep this job, now that his flat wasn’t safe anymore. It seemed wiser not to look directly at abstract threats like that. If he could make Jon feel better then it wouldn’t matter, right? Or at least could be put off til next time.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t recall saying I was,” Jon muttered.

Martin winced. He had said he was alright—Martin was certain. When he’d first come in that morning, he’d said he was fine when Martin asked, and then he’d closed the door. Didn’t seem worth correcting him over it, though. So Martin just said, “Try to drink something while I’m gone, yeah? Kool-Aid, for all I care, just. You really don’t look like you’re feeling all that well. And any kind of drink other than alcohol should—oh.”

He looked up, hearing Jon swallow what sounded like a lot more than the tiny sip of coffee he’d managed before.

“Well. Great. Thank you for obliging me.”

Jon continued to gulp down water, while staring right at Martin. He paused in swallowing to breathe, but even then did not remove the mouth of the bottle from his own mouth. When he tried to resume drinking it made him cough instead, and even then he didn’t set it down.

“O-okay, well, I’m sure that’s plenty, don’t—?” Hurt yourself, Martin wanted to say, but feared that would sound patronizing. The bottle was more than half empty now. Jon paused for air again. “For god’s sake, Jon, stop—that looks like it hurts—you don’t have to—?”

At last he slammed the empty bottle on his desk—more loudly than could possibly be comfortable for a man with a headache. Leant his elbow on the table, and between pants huffed a laugh and said, “Care to refill it for me?”

On a sort of autopilot Martin chirped, “Uh—sure! No problem I’ll just,” and rushed off with it to the break room. This refill took much less time, since he’d remembered to change out the thingy. But it still took long enough that by the time he got back he worried, “You’re not going to chug this one too, are you?”

“No,” said Jon, eyes and hands both busy now with a statement hitherto hidden by his elbow. He did not reach out a hand to take the bottle from Martin.

“Okay, I’ll just. Leave this here then. See you after the, uh. Yeah.”

—

And lo, it was as he had feared. Chugging [sixteen ounces] of water did indeed make his headache worse. By ten it seemed to count turning the page of a statement as an exertion worth pounding over. True, by lunch time it seemed to have backed off a bit—until he sat back down at his desk with his fork and plate. On his way to the microwave he’d thought he must be on the mend: his head throbbed a little harder than when he’d been seated, but not so much he’d have noticed the difference had he not set out to pay attention to it. Some food, maybe an ibuprofen or two and he’d be fixed, he’d told himself.

Once he got to the break room, though, he noticed something else odd. His limbs were weak. His knees seemed made of jelly, and wobbled beneath him every time he shifted his weight; his arms were steady enough, but when he set down the pizza box on the counter after retrieving it from the fridge he felt a surge of relief, which he hardly understood until he’d transferred a slice from the no-onion half onto a plate and picked up the latter to put it in the microwave. Even these tiny movements made his arms, neck and chest ache like they do when you hold your breath too long. He leant his elbows against the counter and gulped down air until his mouth felt so dry he couldn’t bear to keep it open. Wondered if he should sit down; he felt a bit dizzy. But he had less than 30 seconds left to wait for the microwave, which he figured couldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t, but the walk back to his office did a bit. Moving his legs’ sluggish muscles made his whole body ache—again like it does when you run too long and have to stop for breath. He figured it must be in a similar spirit that his head waited til he’d sat down to unleash its onslaught. Before leaving his desk he’d grown used to thinking of his heart beat’s faint buzzy shocks like the second hand on a clock, criticizing him under its breath from where it watched behind his eyes. This was… a great deal worse than that. He tried to time the beats against the ticking of his wrist watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on that and breathe at the same time. They were fast, though, at least at first. His heart rate did seem to calm down fairly quickly, but he could swear it never got all the way back down to its earlier rate—at least not before his attention shifted from the speed to just. How much it hurt.

Was that what made his slice of pizza so tasteless? When he cut his first bite, on its way to his mouth he thought he caught a whiff of the red onions with which its tip must have shared space, and only his horror of Tim asking What was wrong with that part, then? when he brought the otherwise-empty plate back to the sink stopped him from scraping that bite off his fork and trying again higher up the slice. But when he finally forced himself to eat it? Nothing. No onion taste, thank god, but everything else too seemed… muted. Hardly worth how the exertion of chewing made his head hammer after each swallow. Jon knew the taste of food was hardly the point of eating it, but? In the absence of everything he normally liked about cheese and meat and bread and vegetables, the fact the cheese squelched in his mouth made him wish he’d never left his bed. The way leaves of soggy spinach flapped over the sides of even his neatly-cut rectangles. His stomach tightened in revulsion, so that in his throat he could feel each swallowed lump shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be let in. Not to mention how the effort of cutting it shook the whole damn table.

He told himself he could skip the crust. If Tim asked about it, Jon’d just tell him it’d gone stale. Just get through the… other part, the crumb, the filling. Between throbs the ache in his tired jaw merged with the one behind his eyes. Why didn’t it always hurt to chew? Did the pleasure of tasting food give you enough endorphins to cancel it out? Would everyone have this problem all the time if we had to live on, say, dry toast?

Right, okay, close enough. Ibuprofen now. No, you idiot—other drawer. In the fantasy versions he’d rehearsed of this moment he clapped four of them from his palm into his mouth at once, and swallowed them dry. But his blister pack turned out to have only three left. Which was fine! Just fine. Better, probably, after so little lunch.

Also, dry-swallowing was kind of a misnomer? He’d never really thought about it before, but. Turned out it would only work if your so-called “dry” mouth had spit in it. As it was the pills stuck to his tongue, leaving streaks of spicy burnt-orange when he tried to claw them back toward his throat with his teeth. When they got far back enough on his tongue he had to concentrate not to gag, and they still stuck—even when he turned his nose to face the ceiling and thumped on his chin with his hand (which, ouch)—at that point he gave up and unscrewed his water. Allowed as little of it in his mouth as would let him swallow these damn things, and wash their stains off his tongue. And it still made his head throb harder.

Jon imagined shooting whoever next told him to stay hydrated. He derived little joy from the fantasy, though; couldn’t not think of the loud, sharp noise it would make.

Returning the plate could wait, he decided; not like it would attract worms in the thirty minutes it’d take for the pills to kick in. Meanwhile he’d just… keep sorting. He took a statement off the top of the pile in front of him and blinked at it over and over, until his vision resolved into a shape he told himself hurt marginally less than the others. 9720406, Nathaniel Thorp. Christ, 1972? “Misfiled” was practically an understatement for that one. And here he’d thought Gertrude had kept that part of the century in relative good order. Still, he stuck it on the all other years pile and reached for another. 0130111, David Laylow. Nope—still not 2003. 0002610, Jennifer Wong. 0910203, Lisa Jones. 0081711, Donald Gately. 0100912, Lawrence Mortimer. 0152101, Uzma Rashid. Ha!—0030707, Seymour… Backsides. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen a prank statement with that name before lunch? He grabbed a stack off the 2003 pile and found… Rashid, Mortimer, Gately. Had he switched the—? Look in the unsorted pile again, he told himself. Under where he’d found Mr. Backsides’ tale he uncovered statements 0031212, 0032504, 0031809, and so on. Great. After Seymour he must’ve got mixed up. There was no more unsorted pile—not on his desk, anyway. He’d have to pull some more out of the… open filing cabinet which stood across the room with its tongue stuck out at him. Yeah, well, that could wait too. For now he’d just. Check his email.

#a shifty tract #to be clear hyponatremia is uh. too little sodium in blood. it is the 'eat more salt' ailment #it's very common w/ dehydration so any diuretic (i.e. med that makes you pee more) can cause it?#my plan here was to have martin complain to tim and sasha that he Broke Jon and when he mentions jon said water made it worse ('god why #('didn't i just believe him?') tim as the only Sports Guy in the archives recognizes ah-ha! electrolytes!#and either get him himself or tell martin to get him some trail mix and sports drink #and have jon drag his feet since every other suggestion his coworkers have given him over the last few days of headache &c. has been Garbage #but eventually cave out of pure frustration--enjoy the taste of salty raisin and stale pretzel so much he grins til his face hurts--#and figure out it must be 'cause he switched adhd meds recently #(...tho apparently it's rare for them to have this effect BUT THEY CAN! i have two data points)#nonsearchable tma tag

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cherry-gemz · 3 years

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The City by The Bay: Part II

Summary: Fates push you and a handsome and known stranger into each other's paths. His chilvary and good looks make you take a leap into his world and more.

Chapter Summary: You and Keanu get to know each other better.

Word Count: 2100 +/-

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Y/N (F!Reader)

Rating: PG, fluff

A/N: First time taking a try on a Keanu fic, be nice, please! This little ficlet will have more chapters, hope you enjoy.

Who might be interested: @whiskeyslullabye @marissat1998 @aestheticallywinchester @fookingbitch

Last chapter recap:

"Yeah...just around the corner. Did you...did you want to hang out for a bit? I mean, I didn't know if you were headed somewhere before I spilled your drink. What am I thinking? Of course you were off somewhere…"

"Are you always like this?" You giggle as you turn to head to the hall.

"Like what?"

"Nevermind, I'll be right back," you reply coyly. "And...I didn't have any plans today...I'd love to hang out."

"Really? Cool," Keanu responds and a grin appears on his face.

"Yeah, I can't stay very long, however. I have a meeting with a client for lunch," you reply and he looks deflated.

"Yeah, okay...well..hmmm," he says lost in thought.

You feel stupid, you can't believe he wants to hang out with you and you're choosing work. You're really kicking yourself for even mentioning it. This opportunity will never happen again.

"Well, I tell you what," he pipes. "I still owe you a cup of coffee. I happen to make the most amazing cappuccino. How about I start off with that?"

"Sure, that sounds lovely," you smile and his expression changes in a light-heartedness.

"Great. Great, Y/N, head over to the kitchen after you change your shirt and we can get to know one another better."

You beam and head to the immaculate restroom. It’s very contemporary and the natural light from the ceiling windows are pretty to look at. As you unbutton your blouse you look at yourself in the mirror: you have a goofy grin and you can’t believe in you’re in Keanu’s house. Let alone, changing your shirt and going to hang out with him a bit. This is all surreal.

You grasp his shirt and give it a sniff, clean. And you quickly put it over your head and leave the room with your blouse and book in your hand. As you turn the corner, you see him fiddling about and admire the open floor planned kitchen. You run your hand across the white, granite counters as he ushers you to have a seat at one of the barstools where you place your bag, the book he offered, and blouse down.

He claps his hands and rubs them as a cheshire cat grin appears on his face.

"Okay, be ready to be blown away at these magic hands," he waggles his brows and holds out his large hands as you stifle a giggle.

You'd watch interviews of him and he always seemed so genuine, and while he still does, there's a more childlike, goofiness that melts your heart a little more. You try not fall so quickly, but he really is quite loveable and easy to be around. Much different from the men you're accustomed to in the city. Their grittiness and quick paced talk tends to exhaust you. You're more in your element with one on one, in an intimate setting like today. It's ideal.

Keanu grins and turns steadfast to the counter by the fridge and beelines to the espresso machine. He grabs a new bottle of water from the upper cabinets and places it in the boiler of the machine. You sit taller and try to peer over. You're never really that fancy with your coffee and it's usually due to the nature of your work and how quickly you need that caffeine fix, but you appreciate the art and look forward to his recipe.

He continues his task at hand and opens a canister that's unmarked and pours two shots of ground espresso into the portafilter. He turns to you, to make sure you're watching as he plays along as if he's a magician and you're watching his act.

"Secret recipe," he beams.

"What is it?" You ask inquisitively.

He holds up his index finger and shakes it, "Na uh. If I gave that away, we could no longer be friends."

"Oh, we're friends are we?" You flirt and he blushes. You got him to blush!

He holds out the tamper he pulled out of the side drawer and presses the coffee three times to ensure it's packed tightly.

He then places the portafilter into the espresso machine's group head and locks it in place by turning it to the right.

He continues his stride and places the tiny, white cup under the head for about 30 seconds.

"Voilá!" He exclaims and you clap. He grabs a carton of cream from the fridge and you give him a puzzling look. Even as a chef, you're quite aware of the complexities of cream, so you're curious if this is part of the plan. He pours the cream into a small metal pitcher and inserts the steam wand.

"Ah! Almost forgot…" he smacks his forehead with his free hand and goes to the cupboard and pulls out a jar. You notice it's sugar and he pinches a good handful in the metal pitcher and continues.

As the milk foams, he starts to pour it atop the cappuccino and walks over to give you the cup.

"Mmmm, smells amazing. Thank you," you graciously accept the cup and take a sip. An explosion of the dark, roasted bean excited your taste buds. It's most likely hands down the best you've had.

"Omigosh, Keanu. This is beyond good. I don't think I can ever go back to normal coffee again!"

"Aw shucks, you'll give me a complex now," he teases.

"Well if you ever decide to quit acting, I say you'd make a hell of a living doing that. Why, my bookstore would have lines out the door to see Keanu Reeves make them a cappuccino!"

He laughs heartily, "That would be a sight wouldn't it? Ah that's fantastic."

You bring the cup to your nose as you try to make out the ingredients. You can tell there's a hint of spice and earth, and you take a guess of what he has mixed with the grounds.

"Is there cocoa powder?" You look directly at him and he bites his lip.

"What are you doing?" He asks and shakes his index finger at you playfully and walks over to you.

"Trying to figure out this recipe. You don't go tell a chef that it's a secret and expect them to not figure it out. I saw you toss in some sugar for the cream. And even noticed you use cream instead of milk. But I think it's cocoa...maybe even a hint of cinnamon?"

"What are you? Some super chef-dectective?"

He dabs the frothy cream from your cup and places it on the tip of your nose, making you giggle. He licks his finger off and gives a sly smile.

"Maybe I have a profitable future ahead of me?" You lightly rub off the cream and gaze into his eyes.

"I think so Y/N, I think so." He shyly turns his eyes away and taps the side of the cup as if he's pondering a thought.

"So tell me," you gain confidence in speaking with him. "If you can make such a delicious cappuccino like this one, why were you at Saint Frank's?"

"Hah," he replies as he turns to start his own cup. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

You smile in-between another sip and notice he's flirting back.

"Well?"

You prod and arch your brow as he leans his back against the counter. His black shirt hugs his biceps as he crosses his arms, and the blue jeans he pairs it with fit him perfectly. His medium length hair seems to always get in his face, but it's endearing and he swipes away some strands. He's handsome without any effort and you slightly blush as your mind wanders about how his lips would feel against yours.

"Honestly, I went out for a ride and needed to clear my head. I found myself just being pulled in that general direction and decided I needed a cup of joe," he says as he pours the cream for himself.

"I guess it was you pulling me in or something,” he adds.

"So then what, it's like fate that we happened to be at the same place at that exact moment? And you happened to bump into me and make me spill my drink, therefore resulting in me jumping on your motorcycle with you. And then visit the home of a mega movie star and try the most fantastic cappuccino?" You laugh and he tilts his head earnestly.

"What, you don't believe in fate, Y/N?"

"Not exactly," you reply.

"Why not?" He walks over and sits next to you on the other barstool.

"I mean, if it wasn't me, it'd be some other woman you'd be inviting over instead."

"No…" he replies as he takes a sip of his drink. "No, I don't think I would."

You both sit in silence for a minute, you sigh and then turn to look outside at the view.

"I'm sorry, Y/N if I've seen to offend you. I can drive you back if you'd wish…" his voice softens and you can tell you hurt him a little.

"What? No, Keanu. I'm...I'm sorry," you place your hand on his. His knuckles are worn and rough. He looks down at your hand and a small smile appears.

"I...I want to be here, really I do. I guess I'm trying to make sense of it all. You're Keanu Reeves. And I'm just me. Why do you want to know me for?"

“Why wouldn’t I want to get to know you, Y/N? I am very glad we met. You're funny and kind... I'd like to get to know you further. Let alone, you're beautiful."

You blush and look away, he's not coming on strong, but could he be sending you signals that he's into you? Did you die and just find yourself in limbo with the angel before you?

"Do you want to go for a drive before I take you back?" He asks as you both notice you haven't lifted your hand on his. You quickly remove it and place it in your lap.

"Sure, but this time please wear a helmet. I was worried sick thinking if something terrible might happen."

He softly chuckles, "Of course, I have many in my garage to choose from. Curious though, is it because you care about me, Y/N?"

"Oh believe me, more than you know," you quickly cover your hands over your mouth as you realize what you've said.

He kicks his lips and tries to brush it off.

"I'm sorry," you apologize. "I really should use my filter from time to time."

"No need for apologies. Your truthfulness is refreshing."

"Well I have a lot of that. Probably more than I should. I bet you find in your line of work it's difficult to find people you can trust."

"Yeah, I definitely have a close knit of friends through the years. Do you have family here?"

"Yes, born and reared in the Bay," you say with confidence. "I went to culinary school in New York for a minute, however. But there's something about this city that's magical."

"So you believe in magic, but not fate?"

You laugh, "Okay, you got me there."

He finishes off his cappuccino and motions to ask if you're finished, which you nod and hand him your cup. He walks over to the sink and rinses out the cups. It's fascinating to watch him do mundane things like wash dishes.

"I am beginning to enjoy the city. There is much richness to it and the landmarks are beautiful. I will be honest though, I haven't had much time to explore like I usually like to do when I'm on location."

He places the cups back in the cupboard and dries his hands with a cream colored terry cloth.

"You did mention you had a project up here. Mind if I ask what?"

His eyes light up as if he were a kid on Christmas Day expecting all the joys of the morning.

"Oh well it's not for a movie. I'm not filming yet...least as far as I know. My agent, Meredith keeps me up on that."

"If not a movie, then…?"

"A book," he replies.

"You're not giving me much here, buddy," you laugh as he joins you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I...it's just something dear to me that I've been working on and haven't really announced anything yet."

"Look, I get it. Don't worry, no pressure, you reply as you start to get up.

"Well it's not that," he gestures a stopping signal with his hand. "I... I really don't know what it's about it. I'm collaborating with a friend of mine, a photographer. And we are in the early stages, that's all."

"Oh well it sounds great," you say enthusiastically.

"Yeah...I feel good y'know? I feel like I'm doing something different and that I can connect to people on a different level."

"Keanu...the influencer," you say as you raise your hands up in the air as if an imaginary marquee is right before your eyes.

"Haha, I wouldn't go that far. But, I'll have to keep you posted."

"Yeah, that would be great," you cringe. Great. Everything is great. Why are you being such a spaz?

He doesn't notice, but he gets quiet again and you don't know what to do next. Silence sometimes makes you feel awkward and now throw in the ridiculously nice and dreamy man in front of you and you're a ball of nerves.

He seems relaxed, however. In tune with himself and surroundings.

He smiles and holds out his hand, "C'mon. Let's get going on that ride. I'll take you to one of my favorite spots in the house besides the library...the garage. Oh, and don't forget your book."

You nod as you place it in your bag and accept his hand and hope to never let go.

#Keanu Reeves #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #The City By The Bay #meet cute

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tmntgirlie · 4 years

Text

Saviors in a Half Shell 2

It was always the same routine. Find somebody (or somebodies) causing trouble, get there as soon as possible, and kick ass. He knew his role- he knew he could rely on his brothers to know what to do as well. They worked almost seamlessly as a team every night. As soon as the shadows began to fall, they were there to protect the city.

This was nowhere near as easy.

“You alright there, miss?”

“I’m pretty sure this is pretty illegal. Leonardo.”

Very few humans had ventured down to the turtles’ lair. It wasn’t the most inviting place. All sewer lines and tunnels leading to the lair stunk like nobody’s business. It was no surprise nobody ever accidentally made their way down.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to begin her complaints about the smell. Longer than he expected, but still. Even when she asked where they were going, why the smell was so strong, nobody gave her a straight answer. It was a good thing she had a blindfold.

Leonardo wasn’t sure why she didn’t seem disgusted at the sight of them. The few humans that had witnessed them had varied reactions- even April was in a state of shock the first time they met face to face. What could she be thinking about them now?

She didn’t even ask what they were. She had seen them.

“Ah, home sweet lair!” Mikey sighed with glee as he hopped down from the rather large ‘pipe’ like entryway. “Welcome to our crib, Y/N!”

The woman took in a deep breath as Raph set her down on the ground. She was thankful he didn’t put her on her feet, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand right. “Was the blindfold really necessary?”

The orange-masked turtle snickered. “Of course it was.”

“I guess the smell isn’t so bad now- wait, did we just go through the sewers? Why is it so cold down here?”

“Guys, I think she figured it out.”

“Can it, Mikey.”

Y/N could hear a quick ‘thud’ before someone untied her blindfold. She blinked a few times as her eyes began to adjust to her surroundings.

Oh, this would take more than a few seconds to adjust to.

She got to her feet finally, brushing off the thighs of her pants. She did a slow spin, looking the room up and down. She pursed her lips together before she finally turned to the four that had kidnapped her.

Leonardo stood first, his arms placed tightly around his back. She noticed he wasn’t the tallest of them all, but he definitely wasn’t short. This one stood at least a foot above her, and was a wall of green muscle.

Green muscle?

She assumed the next was Raph, he had been referred to a few times on the way there. He’s the one that carried her. He was definitely the biggest, both height and muscle wise. She made a mental note to make nice with that one. Though, she thought, if they had meant to hurt her, they would have done it by now. They wouldn’t have taken her.

She wasn’t going to use the term ‘rescued’ just yet.

The third one was adorned with a purple mask and- were those tortoise-shell glasses?

About that last one.

“Well, whaddya think?” The green thing with an orange mask asked. He was practically jumping up and down. “You’re here!”

Y/N frowned, not saying a word. This was definitely a lot to take in. Were those shells on their backs?

“My bad, my bad! Allow me to introduce ourselves!” the orange-masked green one said quickly as he waved his arms in the air, as if to erase everything up till now. “I’m Michelangelo, the best one of the group. That’s Donatello, the brains. Raphael, the muscle, and Leonardo.”

She slowly turned towards Leonardo. “Huh, you don’t get a description. What’s that about?” It was unclear if it was sarcasm or pure curiosity dripping from her voice.

The blue-masked turtle smirked at her. “Don’t need one, miss.”

She waved a hand mindlessly through the air. “Y/N is fine. I guess. You guys live in the sewers?”

“How’d you guess?” Raphael had never given a better deadpan look in his life.

“I mean, it makes sense. Not sure how you could afford an apartment like this in the Big Apple in this economy,” she shot back, though it was clear this was no longer sarcasm. It wasn’t anger, irritation- what was it. “Now. Do you guys regularly kidnap women on rooftops or was this a one-time thing? I’m sure there are more out there.”

Leonardo shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen.”

“I guess I’ll have to cross ‘mutant turtle ninjas’ off of my list of things I don’t think are real,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, looking towards the ceiling. “That’s really high up.”

Not as high up as I had been earlier, she noted.

“What made you try to do it?”

She turned back to them, not sure which one had spoken. “What?”

“Stand on the edge. What made you do it?”

“It’s… It’s complicated, I guess,” she said quietly. “Probably not something you’d be interested in hearing about.”

The blue-masked turtle (Leonardo?) took a small step forward. “We swore to ourselves and our allies to protect this city at all costs. That includes you.”

“I’m not sure my life story up until now is something you can mentally prepare for.” Y/N forced a laugh, shaking her head again. She had convinced herself time and time again that it was just another sob story, one more tally that might not even be worthy of being drawn. “I’m gonna be frank here. So, are you guys turtles? Not regular turtles, obviously.”

“Mutant turtles, miss,” Raphael said through a grin. “Unlike any other.”

She tapped on her chin. “Mutant turtles that are about twice my height, made of muscle, that… Fight in favor of the most populated city in the country.”

Michelangelo tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Saving damsels in distress in the shadows.”

“I’m definitely distressed,” she snorted. “I must be dreaming.”

It surprised Leonardo how easy it had been to get this woman to talk to them. She didn’t seem afraid, and she didn’t say why. He wasn’t about to ask.

Sure, she didn’t divulge into her life story with them, but she did agree to play a multiplayer video game with them. Even April didn’t indulge at their requests.

He settled on the belief that she thought she was dreaming. It was an easier reality to swallow than a human simply accepting that she was napped by mutant ninja turtles. He couldn’t stop from questioning what made him notice her in the first place.

It was a quiet night. The brothers were jumping from the rooftops both for exercise and pleasure. It definitely wasn’t to see who could do it the fastest. And Michelangelo definitely was not the fastest.

He never bragged, of course.

“How did you get all of this stuff down here? Did you really carry things one by one through the sewers?”

It was amusing how easily she spoke now versus just an hour ago. And while dominating at Super Smash Bros, nonetheless.

“We’ve been living here for as long as we can remember, we’ve had years to collect,” Raphael answered before Leonardo could even open his mouth.

“Collect much more and you’d be considered ‘hoarders’,” she said, grunting as she was taken out by none other than Michelangelo.

She set the controller down in front of her, leaning back against the couch. She felt even smaller sitting against the couch on the floor, but it was her fault. She had declined a space on the actual couch.

“Finally! Thought you’d never die!”

As the words left Michelangelo’s mouth, everybody in the room fell silent.

“Oh. Was that too soon?”

That was putting it lightly. You could slice through the tension in that room with a knife. Or a katana.

“Is there anything to drink in here?” Y/N said finally, looking up to the first turtle she could see without straining her neck. She made no comment about what Mikey said.

“What were you thinking you’d want? We have sodas, juices… Not much juice. We have soda that tastes like juice, though,” Leonardo said. He stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Y/N grabbed a chip from the bowl positioned between Michelangelo and Rafael as she followed the oldest brother. He had to be the oldest. Donatello was a close second, but he didn’t seem nearly as confident.

She was certain that all eldest siblings were just dripping with that oldest-sibling, leader, person-in-charge kind of confidence.

It wasn’t nearly as long a walk as she expected to a room that faintly resembled a kitchen. There looked to be a stove of sorts in the corner, something that resembled a deep freezer next to it, and an assortment of tables between those and a refrigerator.

“You guys kind of have it made down here,” she noted as she followed him towards the fridge. It had to be an older model, but there were wires sticking out the back that made her feel like it had been ‘upgraded’ somehow. “Solitary, no neighbors to disturb you, all the fixings to have a good time.”

“We make it work for us,” the large mutant turtle told her. “It’s our safe haven. Up top, we’re heroes, but only if we’re not seen. Here, we can be ourselves.”

“I always have to be ‘on’, a facade of myself,” Y/N said. “But no matter what I do, it feels like it’s never enough.”

The two stood in silence before Leonardo slowly, oh ever so slowly, opened the fridge. He gestured for her to look inside.

This kind of stock would put any caffeine-addicted young adult to shame.

“Sodas, all flavors, we have cherry, vanilla, orange- I probably wouldn’t touch the orange without Mikey’s permission, he might cry.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” she bobbed her head. “Is there anything… Not carbonated? But also not water.”

“Before you ask, we don’t have any coffee or alcohol. Or milks, not our thing.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Any tea?”

He perked up. “You want some tea? I could brew some. Any requests?”

“Anything but green tea is fine with me,” she shrugged. “I don’t like leaf water that looks like.. Green leaf water.”

Leonardo quickly ushered her out of the ‘kitchen’ and back to his brothers, crossing his fingers that they would stray away from the ‘death’ comments. Mikey was going to pay for that later.

He took his time looking through their rather large selection of teas. It was curious that she asked for tea specifically- his brothers barely touched it unless they were sick. They stuck to the bubbly, syrup-filled beverages that he swore would make their teeth rot within the next few years.

White teas, black teas, caffeinated and decaf varieties covered the table. He had decided to lay them all out to really choose. It took a few minutes of pondering before he settled on his favorite. He hoped she liked chamomile.

As the water was brewing, he could feel a new presence in the room. He turned to see his adopted father, and quickly gave him a slight bow. “Sensei.”

Why was he surprised? He was more surprised it took this long of them being home for him to come see them.

“You brought a civilian home,” Splinter said carefully.

He felt his heart drop. “I had to, dad. She was standing on the edge of the roof- I thought she was going to jump.”

Splinter let out a slow breath. “I see. It was a good decision to bring her.”

“I couldn’t just leave her, even if I talked her off, what if she actually did it?” He didn’t want to imagine that. He barely knew her, but the idea of anybody willingly taking their own life wasn’t something he wanted to picture. She didn’t seem like a bad person. She seemed good. She didn’t deserve it.

“Now that she is here, what will you do?” his master questioned, flipping the switch off of the kettle as the water began to almost boil over. “I see she has already made herself welcome with your brothers.”

“If Mikey can keep his comments to himself,” he gritted his teeth. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. He poured the hot water into a cup, though now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold that quite comfortably. They weren’t exactly for small human hands.

“Leonardo, what will you do now?”

“Dad, I don’t know what to do. I swore to help the people of this city, but against the bad guys and robbers and thieves- I don’t know what to do. What should I do?” He felt smaller with every word.

He was supposed to be the leader, the turtle with a plan. It was his idea to help her, his idea to bring her to their home. He hated to even think the words ‘suicide watch’, but that was it, in a nutshell.

“Dad, do you think we can help her?”

“If she came this far without a fight, I have no doubt she is able to be helped. Mental illness is a complicated matter. I implore you to help this woman see the light. At this point, she might need someone to show her that life is worth the journey to get here.”

Leonardo, as he always was, was both enlightened and baffled by his father’s words. But if he said that he needed to show this human that life was worth the journey, that show her he shall.

Starting with that chamomile tea. He just hoped he didn’t burn the tea leaves.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2k14 #tmnt 2k16 #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt splinter #tmnt x reader #tmnt imagine #tmnt imagines

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calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt · 4 years

Text

Why You? (C.H.)

a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS bby aww yeah its here. this is only the first part, there will be a part two i swear!! (Maybe even part three idk). also, disclaimer: I really, really lover the name gemma!! I think its super pretty!

There were two things in this world that Gemma was certain of. One, that her parents had really fucked her over by naming her Gemma. And two, Ashton Irwin had terrible taste in friends.

Well, friend.

Calum Hood. The bane of Gemma’s existence. Somehow, when he walked into the room, every rational thought she ever had left. They replaced themselves with the need to make passive-aggressive comments.

Now, Gemma prided herself on the fact that she was very much not a bitch. Well, as much as possible, she wasn’t. But it was hard to not hate this man. His irritating smirks, the way he smoked, even how he always called her Germ (Gemma, Gem, Germ. Real clever, Cal).

But what ticked her off the most was how he always barged in unannounced. To everything.

This was especially inconvenient now. You know, since Gemma was half drunk and sobbing her eyes out on Ashton’s couch.

“I don’t get it, you know?” It had been a tough day at work. It was always a tough day at work. Gemma watched as her tears plunked into her wine glass, a frown reflected back to her on the maroon surface. “I’m just plain better than him. So why am I always last for promotions?”

“It’s probably the fact you think you’re better than everyone.” Oh, great. If there was one thing this night was missing, it was that ever-present nail on a chalkboard voice.

There were several different types of drunks, as far as Gemma was concerned. Weepy, fun, angry, needy, philosophical, and blackout. Normally, Gemma was a very fun drunk, the life of the party. But she was about to turn into the Incredible Hulk of drunks.

“Cal, what’s up?” Ashton jumped off the couch, a smile on his face and a hand outstretched to greet his friend.

“Was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by and see if you wanted to hang.” Cal shot daggers at Gemma then, crossing his arms. “Didn’t know you had company.”

He practically spat out the word.

“Whatever, bitch boy. I was leaving anyway.” Gemma threw the blanket off of her, using more force than necessary and began snatching up her things. She hated acting like this in front of Ashton, but if Gemma didn’t stomp her feet to release anger, well, there was a chance Cal wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future.

“Gem, wait. You’re drunk.” Ashton caught her arm, concern written all over his face. Gemma watched him as he kept glancing over at his keys on the kitchen counter. His concern wasn’t her problem, though.

“I already called for an Uber. It’ll be here in five.” Gemma made another move for the front door, only to find Ashton’s hand still on her arm, a tight vice grip.

“At least wait inside where you’ll be warm.” She almost said yes. It was right on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spring into the world and agree. And then.

“Nah, let the drunk wait out in the cold. Maybe she’ll sober up a bit, eh?” Calum fucking Hood. The door was slamming shut behind her before Ashton could even blink.

Gemma could see her breath in the desert air. That’s what kept her from screaming into the night sky. Well, that and basic social constructs. But Gemma kept it in. Each time a puff released out into the night sky, she felt a little more tension leave her shoulders. Yeah, she still wanted to feel her hands around Calum’s neck. And yeah, she still wasn't promoted. But at least there was the cold.

“Why do you two hate each other?” Ashton stood at his door with his eyes closed and forehead resting on the frame.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Cal was rummaging through Ash’s fridge, looking for something to drink out of boredom.

“I’m serious. Why? Why are you two constantly at each other’s throats?” Ashton spun, rubbing his hand roughly over his face. There was always this tension between the two of his friends, and it was torture for Ashton. Every party playing the negotiator, every dinner he was the peacekeeper. Hell, he practically had to put them in a time out the last time they went to the bar together. It wasn’t like he could just not invite them to things. Gemma and Calum were two of his closest friends, and he wanted them at important things. “I mean, on paper, you two should be best friends.”

Cal spat out the kombucha he had found in the depths of the fridge. “What the fuck?”

Calum and Gemma had nothing in common. Nothing. Cal was cool, confident. He was a normal fucking human being.

Gemma Rossi was out of her mind. She was a control freak, and barely tolerable even at her best. Everything that came out her mouth was both petty and passive aggressive.

“First off, I am nothing like that psychopath. Second, what the fuck?” Cal’s voice rose more and more with the second what the fuck. This time it was his turn to slam things, the kombucha splashing out onto the counter as it made contact with the top of the kitchen island.

“I’m serious. You’re both funny and cool. And know-it-alls.” Ashton was starting to see this. See everything. Calum and Gemma paired perfectly together. They had enough similarities to get along, but plenty of differences to still have stuff to talk about. This was maybe brilliant.

“You’re out of your mind.” Cal rolled his eyes, hard. The last time he had a full length conversation with Gemma, she told him he was drinking beer wrong. As if that was even a thing.

Cal was tired of this bullshit spiel Ash was going on. It was hard enough having to interact with her almost daily. He didn’t need Ashton comparing him to her now. It wasn’t that Cal didn’t want to like her. In fact, he tried to see the best in people even at their worst. But the way Gemma was so full of herself, so sure she knew everything. God, it set fire to something deep within his soul.

When he told Ashton as much, Cal did not enjoy his response.

“That’s called being horny, mate.” Ash let loose a giggle, rubbing his hands together. The grin stayed on his face. “And that whole sure of herself thing? Confidence.”

Cal just grumbled and swallowed the rest of his kombucha in lieu of a response. Truth was he didn’t have one. It was hard enough trying to convince himself to be civil with her, much less try and see her as a likable person.

Coffee was a safe space for Gemma. Caffeine had never really had an effect on her, but it was comforting. She didn’t care hot or cold, as long as the coffee was strong.

So when none other than one Calum Hood sauntered his way into her favorite shop next to the recording studio, she deflated, to say the least.

All she wanted was one thing. One thing unmarred by the smug jerk that was Calum Hood. She brought her phone to her face and her coffee to her lips, trying to hide as much as her face as possible as she attempted to escape from the shop without speaking to him. Well, walked dignified, not escaped. She wasn’t afraid of speaking to him, of course. She would merely prefer not to.

“Hello, Gemma.” Ah, there it was. He was leaning with one shoulder on the wall, waiting in the queue. It would have been kind of hot, had it been anyone else. Well, it was still kind of hot. But Gemma would never admit that, not even to herself. Feelings for Calum were like bathing in mud. Disgusting on principle, no matter how good it might feel.

“Hey, Calum.” She forced a smile onto her face, but it greatly resembled the smile of the Mona Lisa. Practically non-existent. So much for escaping unnoticed. “I have some papers for you to sign when we get back to the studio.”

“Ah, look at the little lawyer, ever the professional.” Cal smirked at her, his arms still crossed as he stepped up to the counter to order his drink. “Since you did say ‘we,’ I’m assuming you want me to walk back to the studio with you. Now, while normally I find desperation unattractive, I’d love to accompany you back to the studio. If you’ll so kindly wait as I get my beverage.”

Gemma had to find a new job. When she signed up to be a legal representative for bands, she thought it would be exciting. Meeting new people, traveling the world. She didn’t know how much of a pain in the ass said bands would be. Maybe at her next job she’d get respect. She could see it now, her own little fantasy keeping her sane as she stood next to her least favorite person in the coffee shop. She didn’t feel inclined to leave the fantasy, that is until Calum started snapping his fingers right under her nose.

“What.” Her voice was flat. Gemma had recently come upon the decision that no emotion was probably better than anger her voice, so she kept it neutral.

“I was just asking you what you got.” Gemma looked at him with a blank stare. Got? Got what? She certainly didn’t have anything for him, if that was what he meant.

Calum must have seen the confusion on her face, judging on how hard he rolled his eyes. “To drink.”

“Oh. Just a cold brew dark roast.” Gemma started down at her shoes, a small smile playing upon her lips. Who was this man next to her, asking downright civil questions? If it had been anyone else, she could have mistaken it for some twisted form of casual, pleasant conversation. She glanced up at Calum again to make sure that it was, in fact, Calum Hood standing next to her and not some reverse-doppelgänger that was kind instead of evil.

Then Calum snorted. “Guess that explains why you’re so bitter all the time. The coffee is a reflection of your soul.”

Ah. There it was.

---

Calum didn’t know why he said it. They had been having a decent conversation. He had even thought to himself how nice it was to have a talk with her that didn’t include fighting. So why had he gone and ruined it? He had never been the self sabotaging type, even though there was nothing to sabotage. He didn’t want there to be anything to sabotage, either.

But when Gemma had smiled at him, well, at something he said… It was kind of nice. That’s why he said that. She was about to say something, Cal could just tell. But he turned away from her, going to retrieve his coffee instead. It was hard enough watching her smile and charm the pants off of their bosses every day. He didn’t need her fake attitude with him as well. Although, if there was one person Gemma was never fake with, it was most definitely Cal. She had been up front with her dislike of him right from the start. And she never tried to hide it either.

Still, as she followed him out of the coffee shop with several exasperated sighs, he couldn’t help but wonder about what it was like for her to smile at him and mean it. He shook his head quickly. It was probably awful. He would never enjoy her smiling at him. It’d be weird… and gross.

The studio was at most a four minute walk, but god, did it feel like an eternity. So much awkward silence ensued, Cal almost wished they were screaming at each other. Which, she was probably close to doing.

“Listen, darling, if you want me, you can just say so.” Calum figured it was a good enough ice breaker. Gemma could yell and rant all she wanted, but Cal just wanted her to get it over with before they got to the studio. The studio was his sacred space.

“All I want from you is silence. And to be left alone, but I’ll settle for silence at the moment.” Gemma was clutching her coffee like her life depended on it. Her Knuckles were practically white, and Calum could swear that there was a vein bulging in her forehead, just like the cartoons.

“Well, your wish is my command, dollface.” Calum mock-bowed and could hear her practically growling. The smirk that played upon his face was just reflex at this point. Making her angry was so easy these days. He bowed again as he held the door for her when they got to the studio. Just to rub it in.

---

“I’m done with him. Ashton, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon, I’m telling you.” Gemma dropped her head into her hands and sighed. What was the point of life really? “In fact, I might have to strangle him.”

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t. We kind of need him for the band.” Ashton leaned on the counter adjacent to Gemma, staring hard at her. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to make a tough decision. About what, Gemma had no clue. “We should go get drinks tonight.”

“Um, no? You’re literally a recovering alcoholic. There’s not a chance in Hell I’m putting you in that situation, especially when you’ve come so far.” Gemma picked her head up, studying every inch of Ashton’s face. She could not have been more proud of him, each day her heart swelling more with pride and love in his progress. She would never, ever let herself even think of putting him in a situation that could harm him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashton chuckled, twisting a ring on his index finger. “Better than ever, actually. I was thinking we could just go to a restaurant, actually.”

“Oh. Well in that case. Sure.”

Thirty-eight minutes. That’s how long Calum had been sitting alone at the bar of some poorly-lit restaurant waiting for Ashton, without so much as even a text. Ashton had a lot of great qualities, but being reliable wasn’t one of them.

Minute thirty-nine was when he noticed her. Gemma.

She, too, was sitting alone at the bar, just a few seats down. Calum was guessing that she hadn’t noticed him yet, since she hadn’t fled the bar like a trapped animal.

She was furiously typing on her phone, a petulant frown upon her lips. Her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, but there were a few little strands falling out around her face that did nothing to conceal the alcohol induced flush on her cheeks.

Cal was wondering why she was here. That is, up until a large man came up and put his arm around her shoulders, leaning in until his lips were practically on her face to speak to her.

Cal almost looked away. He almost left, almost minded his own business.

Until he saw the look of disgust on Gemma’s face. And the way she tried so hard to get his arm off of her.

Maybe he hated Gemma, but she didn’t deserve this. No one did.

“I don’t see a boyfriend anywhere.” God, Calum could smell the stale beer on his breath from here. He didn’t know who this guy was but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Gemma wanted nothing to do with him.

“How bout now?” As the drunk straightened, Cal sized him up. While the man probably had about fifty pounds on him, Cal had a solid two inches on the drunk.

But the drunk just grumbled something about ‘whore’ and ‘not worth it’ and waddled away.

Gemma, for the most part just looked defeated. Slightly surprised, but again, mostly defeated.

“Hello Calum.” It came out with a heavy sigh, but Cal still took the seat next to her.

“Aw, hello to you too babe.” The bartender slid Cal’s half finished drink back down to him, and Cal took a long sip. “Don’t look so happy to see me.”

Gemma snorted. Like actually snorted, as in the sound a pig makes. And then she laughed. Calum was convinced he had broken her. Who knew that was all it took.

“I’m sorry. It’s just. Why you? Why did you, of all people, have to be here? What god cursed me with having to deal with you constantly? It’s just- why are you here?” Gemma looked incredulous. She stared at Cal, one eyebrow cocked, and a sarcastic smile on her lips.

“Ashton told me to meet him here and then never showed.” As soon as Cal said Ashton’s name, Gemma fully choked on her drink, coughing and everything. Cal just stared at her, wondering if she was so drunk that she could remember how to swallow. Was that even possible?

“Okay. I should go.” Once again, Gemma was trying to escape having to have a conversation with Calum. He had half a mind to just let her go. But curiosity got the better of him, so he followed her out into the frigid air.

“Hang on. What do you know?” He stood next to her on the street. There was something going on for sure, something she knew that he didn’t.

“According to you, nothing.” She smirked, clearly reveling in the fact that she had something he wanted.

“Spill.” It was cold, and Cal just wanted to be at home in bed, not here playing games with Gemma.

“Fine.” Gemma shivered in her sheer top, clearly as cold as Calum. “I think Ashton set us up. I was supposed to meet him here, too.”

“I’m going to strangle him.” Cal closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the sky, exhaling slowly.

“You and me both.” Cal watched as Gemma turned away from him and began walking down the dark street, her shoulders hunched for warmth.

Calum really had to learn to bite his tongue. And not stick his nose in other people's business, especially not Gemma’s. Still, it was getting harder and harder for him to convince himself he didn’t care. Even though he didn’t. Care, that is. She could walk home in the cold, all alone in the dark. Wouldn’t matter to him. Not one bit. In fact, it’d probably be good for her. Teach her a lesson about forgetting her coat.

That reasoning was how he found himself walking her home, his warm leather jacket around her shoulders.

@rip-lukes-balsamic

#no proof reading we die like mne #calum #calum hood #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood 5sos #calum hood 5 seconds of summer #calum hood fanfic #calum hood oneshot #calum 5sos #calum imagine #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos au #calum 5sauce #calum 5 sauce

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sollitudde · 3 years

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haikyuu & cafes (1/?)

bigass creds to @luvoikawa with this post that inspired me to write too much nonsense about nonsense

all my writing got deleted edition 🐸 also jesus christ sorry this is super long i just really like cafes and drinkys and coffys...

karasuno

ukai

for a guy who gets up early every morning coffee is a must. canned coffee is his drink of choice for getting up and it’s one of his morning routines before starting work. he actually dislikes cafes because they have an atmosphere he isn’t too fond of and likes bars (enjoys shit beers = enjoys shit coffee) more- but he could go to a cafe when asked by his friends or if he’s going on a date, just don’t ask him about what type of coffee he’d like specifically because all he wants is it to be hot and black, no milk no sugar. when he was younger he actually disliked coffee, but with age he learned to 1. not be fussy about it 2. just tolerate it to pick him up. it’s not like he dislikes the tastes of it but i don’t see him as picking up oh many tannin inteiciasies cause he’s not developed a pallete, also gets the cheapest no fuss shit. prefers hot over cold even in the summer

for food, he doesn’t enjoy completely western menus. likes meat and doesn’t order any sweets like pastries and whatever the fuck, not only is it too expensive but also he’d just rather have the coffee unless he’s particularly hungry. like i said he isnt a cafe guy but life takes you to a lot of places so ☕️

takeda

actually can taste tanins like some sort of a legend. still though on a teachers salary you’re not going to have an espresso machine at home so he settles for his drip brew. actually doesn’t like espresso too much either if hes working at least. but since he is a teacher and a club supervisor he drinks 2 (two) of those shits a day, one in the morning from home one in the afternoon from the teachers lounge- needs it to deal with the energy at practice. takes just milk in his coffee and prefers it steamed, but has that shitty milk foamer thing that takes so much time to get results out of he just ends up drinking drip w cold milk; the workingmans choice.

with cafes and food he still enjoys drip brew (this time fancier) coffee with milk. could ask to taste test the plain bean coffee if he enjoyed his first cup so much. LOVES a pastry with his drink, if he goes there to do work will get a coffee and a pastry of any kind, i think he likes cream so expect him to get a cream puff esp if on a date cause then he gets to share it and be cute 🥴 loves a cafe hangout with friends or an s/o

kiyoko

pre time skip she did not need coffee at all. like her face at first says either only black coffee or shes so well adjusted she needs nothing and i’d say it’s the latter though i could debate. though she was an enjoyer of canned coffee milk later in life before having to consume coffee for life energy in her adulthood. nothing too fancy either though, small coffee machine that only she uses (tanakas a pussy!) for making coffee, pours milk and adds a teaspoon of sugar into it- doesn’t really like flavors cause to her they taste artificial. busy lady! so she can pick up some starbucks or sit down for a brief second and get coffee wherever she is, thinks it energizes her and also is an enjoyer of the novelty of steamed milk. it actually doesn’t buzz her ever even when she first starts drinking it so rather than having to drink more coffee as the tolerance builds up she just has a plateau of coffee give me caffeine boost

for cafes she just gets whatever looks good to her. also not the biggest fan of sweets rather than a good bread, enjoyer of plain croissants and good bread if she gets a sandwitch. who doesn’t love carbs

yachi

the sweet sugary drink enjoyer has arrived. didn’t even touch coffee until her 3rd year at college, tried a sip of black coffee from her friend in junior high and became instantly afraid of it- managed to skirt by college with a good schedule until the junior terror seeped into her veins and now her early classes she has to drink coffee for. but like she still gets good grades so it’s only the morning she’s required to partake in bean water for- doesn’t even do anything on weekends if she doesn’t have anywhere to be. at home she has 2 syrups 5 milks and overloads her drink so much she’s barely drinking any coffee at all, still the sugar and the hot stuff in the morning has an effect (placebo lol)

loves a starbucks for its accessibility, but gets refreshers and iced drinks more often than any of their caffeine. not only does she think it’s not worth it if she can make coffee at home, but she has a tiny cafe she goes to to cram that serves a mean lavender rose vanilla latte (fucking ew?) that shes in love with. but it costs a lot and she’s a rare visitor, gets sweets and small sandwitches if she goes. w friends she doesn’t know that well she’ll get a flavored coffee to seem mature&cute, but with old friends she’d rather drink a milk tea or a seasonal drink rather than bother w a latte (since she uses it to get energy if it’s 5pm and her day is nearly done whyd she need it then?) no 7-11 coffee or vending machine coffee (junior high trauma) rather sweets and candy if she’s buying from one

daichi

courtesy to @sugardaddykenma, i think daichi oinking his way to the top ended after he had a midlife crisis- so he stops drinking coffee the way he would at the pig pen. sorry ok enough puns but yeah i think he was drinking way too much coffee in both college and at his “job” so coffee now messes with his stomach so much he thinks he might have a heart attack if he drinks more than one cup a week. i don’t know if that directly makes sense but too much coffee can literally kill you and since now he doesn’t fear the revolution here’s another thing for his mind. no coffee, maybe like once if hes at a cafe with his friends but really really prefers plain tea more- especially as he gets older. likes green white and black teas rather than herbal cause caffeine, and doesn’t put sugar in either cause hes #real and genuinely enjoys the flavors more that way

doesn’t go to cafes except for reunions or hanging out with the boys, always more of a “what do they have to eat” rather a “what’s new and exiting to drink” boy. i actually think the only reason he does drink coffee occasionally is because sugawara teases him and also sometimes it’s easier to order something to not be embarassing and to live up to the expectation of a dilf on the prowl rather than well like. dilf drinking tiny mug of jasmine tea. surprisingly an atmosphere enjoyer, people talking all around him is comforting- though if he were to go there frequently he’d grown annoyed

sugawara

king of looking fuckable at a cafe. literally can’t drink coffee black and hates it but still uses it for that energy boost in the morning. has a cheap espresso machine (like 2nd hand and super busted) with a milk frother cause he can’t even drink coffee with just milk it’s so repulsuve to him, he’s gotta fancy it up with syrups & steamed liquids to get anything out of it. but like i said hes king of looking fuckable at a cafe and that’s cause he goes to them all the fucking time. to study to hang for dates like part of it is the ambience is unparalleled but also i mean 1. he likes looking hot 2. he can study 3. man idk hes just a little bitch that wants to look smarter than he actually is. literally in love with the concept of a meet cute so hes in there like “wow... i look so pretty and i’m reading such a big book won’t someone come talk to me”enjoys smiling at other hot patrons and the nines. i think he’d start banter only if you spilled a drink though or something happened hes not that confident to go up to someone full force, and well while he is there sometimes for the hell of it he does actually study there too cause it forces him to do something rather than fuck around on the computer at home. win win system

frequent cafe flyer and frequent cafe snack enjoyer. he’d much rather go for the small snacks like chips and nuts rather than big meal shit cause since his stuff is there he doesn’t wanna get anything on it, and would rather lounge back at home while eating anyways. frequent buys you a sweet on a date type of move, asks if you wanna give him a small bite but doesn’t actually enjoy most sweets that much. ICE LATTE ENJOYER but only when hes on the go or it’s summer, they make a mess when condensation happens.

asahi

hate to tell you folks, but you won’t find this guy in any cafes ever. if he needs to study in a public place he’d rather go to a library and if he can’t go there he’s just seriously gonna sit on the street if it’s the worst of it. can not only not handle cafes if it’s at full capacity, sugawara once shared his cafe strategies with him and now he overthinks whenever he steps foot into one. if he does enter a cafe it’s for a to go order of a cafe au lait (with soy milk, he got in the habit from ordering the wrong thing and never asking them to fix it) because espresso beverages give him anxiety, and add anxiety with a lot of people there it’s just no good and he becomes nervous. he does relax when his friends are there though, and a la p5 enjoys a quiet cafe at night the best. he like herbal teas without sugar (maybe some honey) and aromatic tea blends, but not refresher like beverages at starbucks

since he doesn’t sit down and eat at cafes hes not getting anything substantial, but has a pertulance for sweet stuff! nothing too big but if he gets something sweet with his coffee (and he does get coffee out a lot actually i feel i should clarify. it’s the devil wears prada influence and if you’re a fashion designer chance is you need to go somewhere fast so he needs the energy to power walk and actually ends up picking up coffee for his crew sometimes)

nishinoya

oh christ dude if he got coffee while in high school he’d go fucking insane. way too much current energy + caffeine is such a bad combination- but i think he’d never step into a cafe until his world traveling days. in which case i mean like first of all if you are traveling you’re going to have to keep a tight schedule unless you’re like rich as fuck and can afford to leisure around, and i think he does have some savings but at the same time if he’s himself he’s very likely running around- in summary, cafe visits very dépendant on the culture. cafe dates and cafe stops to get a pick up i think would be the most common stuff here, and coffee would be only used as a wake up i need more energy tool

with food i mean going to a great underground cafe is a right of passage if you’re traveling so i’m sure hes tried all sorts of shit and also hes a big eater, so i can see him getting whatever looks the craziest. big coffee ice cream enjoyer but like i said that’s just to wake up & i think there’s better places to get better juice (& international soda) than a hole in the wall coffee place. did someone say italian sodas or do i have to get my hearing checked

tanaka

man this guys a pussy. thinks starbucks is the fancy coffee place even though it’s a chain and can’t enjoy a non sweetened coffee- even sweetened coffees are a bust. honestly also is too concerned about caffeine being able to “hinder” him, it’s not going to kill you or make you crazy but probably saw someone go balls off the walls with it and is too pussy to try it himself because he thinks he’s so energetic already it’ll make him turn super saiyan. very big enjoyer of a juice, a smoothie, or a refresher again if we’re going from starbucks’ menu. actually yeah it the place offers smoothies he definitely gets that 100% no questions asked, cause it’s the one sweet he can permit himself because he actually thinks it’s healthy when the only reason it “is” is because it’s fruit. does not enjoy the vibes whatsoever and is kinda spooked by everyone drinking coffee in coffee drinking establishments. his wife is more of a man than him in that regard but he can take it

cafe foods aplenty though! likes to walk in and run to get smth and leave, cause it’s less effort than making something and more effort than going to a convenience store. actually has this thing where he picks wifey dearest up snacks he thinks she’ll like. before that he used to scoff at them but now seeing as shes a frequent patron and he is married to her he’s all like look at this treat i bought for you at (blank). it’s kinda sweet! plus he prolly gets a takeout drink for himself too so win win

ennoshita

physical therapy is a lot of work! sorry for the lack of substance for this guy but like a normal adult i think he is normal with his coffee consumption. aka- drinks it to get up, and when hes tired. i think he has a particular interest in trying new things though and will get whatever is interesting to him or something that is weird on the menu like a pumpkin chocolate latte or some shit like that that is unusual but still tasty. adventurous and also you can’t tell at all that hes had coffee, acts completely the same and people even tell him he should drink some coffee cause of the low energy. hes had two cups already and that’s enough!

kinoshita

i think this guy just doesn’t like coffee for whatever reason. he seems like the type of dude to just not drink it and instead go for something energizing in the form of tea or an energy drink but not bean juice, just a vibe! enjoys a cafe every once in a while but goes rarely, i mean hes just chilling! there is a place that hes gone to that he is now an irregular regular of that has a tea infusion of different berries and ingredients that’s meant to clear up your sinuses and calm you. they don’t sell it in packets and hes disappointed about that but the very reason it exists at all is because it’s made out of fresh chopped shit and spices, also it’s a gimmick. they serve them in tea pitchers and he stays there and reads until he finishes. it’s the little things!

kazuhito

writing got erased again but like literally just think of a guy. a guy that works at a company who has to go to work everyday so yeah he drinks coffee and the chances of it being instant are very high. actually doesn’t know that starbucks is a chain and just has the regular drip coffee machine at home, probably takes it with milk and sugar and whatever is there at the time. relaxed guy and relaxed preferences

kageyama

dude doesn’t even know what coffee is to be completely honest. well no that’s a lie he definitely tried some but it made him jittery and he can’t be jittery or else he’s not doing perfect tosses, so no can do. like i know the milk joke is old but i don’t think the habit stops at high school i genuinely think unless one of his teammates or someone with him is like no getting milk or they don’t just serve raw milk because who the fuck would he maybe gets a milk tea at most. honestly not a fan of sugary drinks such as juice or refreshers and whatnot nor iced drinks because well hes just a weirdo. if you take him to a sbucks or somewhere else either order him a london fog or water or a cup of milk if you want your cashier to have something funny to tell. he likes matcha lattes but since they’re high caf he only gets them on off days and like when does he have those? never. genuine weirdo

okay for food it’s anything goes but i think thr funnier thing to talk about would be the amount of time it takes him to read a menu. literally can’t decide on anything especially if a place is out of stock well hes gonna be out of comission for a few minutes as he reconsiders. asks what this has and what’s in this if it’s not listed so it’s really best to just pick smth for him, plain simple and he won’t have any complaints and just sit down w you.

hinata

actually got fond of espresso in brazil but still prefers juices and shit to actual caffeinated beverages. they don’t make them like they used to there 😔 but he does get lattes. LOVES coconut milk and nut milks cause they have an “oomph” (what?) but honestly anything goes kind of guy in where he can get coffee out of a machine at a convenience store starbucks a cafe anything anywhere no problem. thing is though he can only consume it in a short amount of time aka just the morning or else he’s unable to sleep at night, a thing that is most definitely a placebo but like he believes on it so insistently that he just doesn’t mess with it. is a fan of anything new and anything that catches his interest in coffee places, likes to pick stuff up rather than sit down cause he’s a fan of walking and talking and drinking

pastry guy :) or just anything breaded. again likes to pick whatever catches his interest cause he became more adventurous with food for sure, enjoys a sandwitch or some shit i mean you get the point i think. he’s just a funny little guy

tsukishima

honestly? cant fucking drink black coffee. i think it’d be so funny and well also fitting that if he does drink anything he does drink super sugary sweet stuff, like i mean we know he enjoys sweets anyways so why not push it further and say this motherfucker can’t handle tanins at all? and like by all i mean he has to have tea with milk and sugar no matter what it is (well not herbal tea 🍵 that’s an emoji of a green tea but herbal tea never should be enjoyed with milk) his go to is a hot matcha latte and a cold iced vanilla latte. cause both are sweet and make him look a little less pussy when ordering them. straight up will chug purely black coffee out of spite and suppress gags to seem cool, it’s okay tbough hes so far only worried about this happening in front of friends and it hasn’t yet. he has practiced at home though and he can so far not gag but still squint, which he’s thinking if he has to explain will explain by “well uh it tastes like shit so”

i don’t think he needs coffee to get up but instead does need something sweet. since cake doesn’t last a while i’d see him trying to buy some for himself discreetly like i know this dude isn’t a pussy but also imagine being so hard and then being made fun of for eating a cake alone by yourself in a cafe. doesn’t order sweets therefore unless hes in a private room or with a trusted friend. yamaguchi won’t tell on you bro in fact he’ll order the cake and let you have it. doesn’t like any savory thing on the menu for some reason, no matter the place he goes

yamaguchi

actually enjoys tanins but chugs cheap shitty coffee for energy no matter the time of day. he just got used to the lack of taste and definitely grabbed a caffeine addiction to add to his problems to worry about but it’s okay cause hey while he’d never say it he thinks it’s better to be able to taste them and enjoy a normal cup of good beans than to be like his unnamed friend. enjoyer of the whole menu, entirely dependent on the mood. focusing, straight espresso shots, reading, matcha or peppermint tea, vibing, lemonade or lemonade mixture idk you name it. very into cafe energy and feels good whenever he enters one, but doesn’t do it out of neccesity cause once he did actually have someone slightly hit on him at a cafe and he stopped going to it because he interacted with them very awkwardly. is sure the baristas heard and just can’t do it anymore. has pulled all nighters and 24-hr study sessions in internet cafes chugging coffees like a motherfucker. hasn’t yet poured a redbull into coffee yet but i mean it could be coming we never know (nah hes afraid of it)

not a fan of ordering stuff in cafes at all cause hes not there to eat. can be persuaded for a bite if friends are there but if not then hes avoidant of foods. you can’t blame him! it’s kind of awkward to order food at a coffee place anyways so he just steers clear

#obituaries☠️(headcanons)#haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #karasuno hcs #karasuno headcanons #genuinely do not want to tag tbis more at all. i am tired

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missjanjie · 4 years

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Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) | (2/?)

Title: Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) Summary: A sequel to Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa are back at NYU, but with new and improved positions. Brooke’s ready to start her career as a professor when, as fate would have it, she realizes her TA, Jackie, might have the hots for a student named Jan. The couple just might see it as a sign to give two new girls the love story they found in the same place. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~6.1k (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: E

read on ao3

Jackie stood in the center of her apartment, hands on her hips, and exhaling deeply. She had spent the past few hours cleaning the place from top to bottom. Had it been a bit over the top? Perhaps, but she felt like she would be better off being too thorough than not enough. Maybe it wasn’t the first impression Jan would have of her, but it was one that would count.

She checked the time on her phone – she had finished with ten minutes to spare. Regardless of anything else, she was pretty proud of what she had accomplished, and she probably could put off cleaning for a couple weeks now. Who knew all she needed was just the right bit of motivation? With the time she had left, she poured herself a glass of wine. She earned it. Beyond that, she needed it.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door and Jackie narrowly avoided spilling what was left of her wine as she set it down on the counter and raced to open the door. “Hey Jan,” she greeted casually, as if she hadn’t nearly tripped over herself to race to the door.

“Hi Jackie,” Jan chirped as she walked in, unaware of what had transpired, nor did she pick up on the fact that Jackie seemed slightly out of breath. “Okay,” she prompted, setting a purple folder on the table, “I’m ready for audition prep 101 with Miss Cox.”

Jackie picked up the folder, hand lingering on the counter while she decided whether or not to grab the glass as well. She settled against it, leading Jan into the living room. “So, how many songs do you have it narrowed down to?”

“I got it down to three,” she replied, waiting for Jackie to open the folder to see the pieces of sheet music as well as a few typed up monologues. “I have a couple tried and true ones, and one that’s a little new to me, but I think it fits the vibe of the show better.”

“Smart thinking,” Jackie praised, looking at the sheet music. “Who are you auditioning for again?”

“I thought it over, and I’m gonna go for Veronica. It’s kind of out of my comfort zone, but that’s what excites me about it, you know? If there was ever a chance to break out of what I usually do, this would be it,” Jan explained. “So, if that narrows it down any further…”

“Oh, it only leaves one option,” Jackie said simply. “‘Everything Else’ is the only one with the right energy, the other ones are too… cute, too lighthearted.” She handed Jan the sheet music.

Jan nodded and took the paper. “I trust you implicitly.”

“At your own risk.” Jackie chuckled. “Will you sing for me? I’d like to hear you go through your number, see if anything needs to be tweaked,” she told her, but she also just really wanted to hear her sing. Jan seemed so bright and confident, she was eager to know where that came from.

And Jan seemed more than willing to oblige. “Of course, I have the music on my phone, if you have a speaker or something that I can plug into.”

Jackie nodded and helped Jan get set up. “I want you to run through the whole thing, that way we can pick out the best section for your sixteen bars,” she explained. She sat down on her couch, looking as Jan stood in front of her, the student taking a few preparatory breaths.

And then Jan started singing, and everything made sense for Jackie - why Jan was in this program, why she exuded such a positive confidence. Her voice was immaculate, it captivated Jackie’s attention even more than their first meeting. And she must have shown her approval, because Jan seemed excited by her expression once she’d finished the song.

“So that was good?” Jan asked, eyes bright and hopeful.

“Perfect, are you sure you even need my help?” Jackie teased. “Here, I’m gonna highlight the bars on the sheet music,” she said, standing up and motioning her over to the dining room table.

Jan moved to stand right behind Jackie, perched up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on her shoulder, hand resting on her waist. “I’m excited about this. I wish you could be in the room or something, like a good luck charm.”

Jackie let out a soft chuckle. “You think I’m a good luck charm?”

She shrugged and smiled. “I dunno, I feel a good energy with you. Like, your presence is warm and calming. It’s a good balance, considering my default is the same as a person that took half a bottle of caffeine pills.”

That brought a slight blush to Jackie’s cheeks. She turned, giving her a hug, one she wanted more than she would ever let on. “Well, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“You smell nice,” Jan observed before Jackie pulled back from the hug.

“Oh, thank you.” Jackie grinned, doing her damndest not to get flustered. “Um, do you want something to drink? I was having a glass of wine myself,” she said, already walking over to her glass.

“I’m not twenty-one, but I won’t tell if you won’t,” she hummed.

Jackie chuckled, pouring Jan a glass as well. “I’m from Canada; it’s eighteen there, so we can play by my rules.” She winked.

Jan’s brow rose as she accepted the glass. “Oh, so you’re the boss here?” she asked as she took a sip.

“This is my house,” she pointed out with a light laugh. “Ergo, my rules.”

“Oh, we’re using our fancy adverbs now. Point taken,” Jan teased, then held her glass up. “Cheers!”

Jackie grinned, clinking their glasses and taking a sip. And for a moment, everything was calm and relaxed, but then there was a sudden, loud crack of thunder that made them both jump. They both looked out the window and saw that rain was pouring down as if it were a storm of biblical proportions.

“Shit, it’s really coming down hard out there,” Jan observed. “Wasn’t even raining when I got here.”

“I can’t let you go back out there,” Jackie shook her head. “You can stay here at least until the rain lets up, I don’t mind if you crash here if it doesn’t,” she offered.

Jan let out a small sigh of relief. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, of course,” she replied, as if she hadn’t been hoping for the offer. “It’ll be fun, we can get wine drunk and watch bad reality TV.”

Jackie started to open her mouth to agree, then paused. “Have you eaten yet? You should definitely have some dinner if you’re going to keep drinking,” she said, setting her glass down so she could go and rifle through her fridge. “I have leftover sushi if you want, or I can make sandwiches or something.”

Something about the naturally kind and doting demeanor Jackie had instantly put Jan at ease. It made her feel warm and comfortable, like they had known each other for years without the awkward pretenses that sometimes came with meeting someone new. “Whatever’s easier. I’m not a picky eater.” She shrugged.

While Jackie decided on the sushi and got that out, Jan was pouring herself another glass of wine, and topped Jackie’s glass off as well. “Thank you,” she hummed when Jackie handed her the plate, setting it on the table and sitting down to eat. “Y’know, everyone always says that sushi never tastes as good on the second day, but like, they’re just snobs. It’s totally just as good. Or maybe my standards are low, whatever.”

Jackie giggled softly as she listened. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made Jan ramble like that, or if that was just part of her personality. Either way, she thought it was adorable, and sat next to her as she hung onto her every word. “I think leftovers are underrated as a whole,” she agreed.

“You get me.” Jan beamed, one hand over her heart and the other on Jackie’s shoulder.

She bit down on her lip, not knowing how loud the laugh that nearly escaped would’ve been, and put her hand on top of Jan’s. “I try,” she cooed, then stood up. “Come on, let’s go watch TV,” she said and moved them to the couch, then topped off their glasses.

Jan sat down next to Jackie, as close as she could physically be without sitting on her lap. In her defense, this was always how she’d get after a couple of drinks – touchy-feely, flirty, and yes, even more talkative than normal, as demonstrated by the tangent she went off on about the show they were watching.

And Jackie wasn’t exactly complaining – especially about the touchy-feely part. The alcohol was affecting her as well; the part of her brain that was constantly plagued with overthinking and worry was always the first to go once she started to get tipsy, and neither of them had stopped drinking as they continued half-watching TV.

“God, you’re so pretty,” she said, not realizing it was out loud.

Not that it would’ve been a problem, as Jan just seemed to appreciate the compliment. “Aw, thank you! I think you’re super pretty too.”

“Do you really?”

Jan scoffed. “Of course I do. I thought you were hot since I first saw you,” she said, tossing her ponytail off her shoulder as she picked her glass back up.

“This is news to me,” Jackie admitted as she had more to drink as well.

“That’s why I’m telling you, duh,” she giggled, then turned to better face her. “Your hair is so nice and thick and shiny,” she observed, immediately going to play with it, running her hands through it and twirling pieces around her fingers.

Jackie let out a content sigh as Jan’s fingers wove through her hair. “Careful,” she warned, “this is practically foreplay for me.”

Jan smirked, her arms draping around Jackie’s neck. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but neither of them would’ve been able to say who initiated the kiss, just that one second they weren’t kissing, and the next second they were. They could still taste the wine one each other’s lips as they let the deep, languid kiss continue.

Jackie pulled Jan onto her lap, arms wrapping around her waist. She trailed her lips along Jan’s jaw and down her neck, starting by just kissing and nipping along the expanse of skin before leaving a mark just where her neck met her collarbone. Her hands moved up and down Jan’s body, starting to push up her shirt.

Jan was a bit more direct, swiftly undoing the buttons on Jackie’s blouse and slipping it off her shoulders. Their lips reconnected in another heated kiss, and she gripped Jackie’s hair with one hand while the other pushed her bra up and palmed over her breast.

That gave Jackie enough reason to follow her lead, pulling Jan’s shirt off and pulling her close, their bodies flush up against each other. She unhooked her bra soon after, tossing it aside and letting her hands explore Jan’s bare torso.

The way Jackie’s hands felt against her body sent goosebumps all over Jan’s skin. Jackie’s hands were smooth and warm and made her arch into each touch. She started to grind against Jackie as well, straddling her thigh to better do so.

Jackie was fairly certain that she had never seen anything hotter than Jan grinding on her thigh, or heard anything hotter than the little whimpers and whines she let out. It landed on top of Jan’s sheet music, pushing a couple pages onto the floor, but neither of them noticed in the slightest.

Any sense of control or inhibition that Jan had entered Jackie’s apartment with had long since gone out the window. She tossed her head back, letting out sharp, breathy moans as she continued to grind on Jackie’s thigh with more and more fervor and desire.

Jackie caressed Jan’s body, hands moving up and down her sides, memorizing every curve with her fingertips. She pressed open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, down to her stomach as far as she could reach, eyes flicking up to watch the expression of relaxed pleasure on Jan’s face.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Jan’s voice was higher, more strained, and it wasn’t long before she realized she was chasing the orgasm that was rapidly approaching. Her hips were bucking more erratically and she was grabbing onto Jackie wherever she could.

“That’s it, come for me,” Jackie cooed, kissing and sucking at Jan’s neck as she held her through her orgasm. And once she felt Jan let herself go limp in her arms, she scooped her up and carried her into bed.

They laid in bed quietly, nothing but the sounds of thunder and rain hammering against the windows to be heard. It was calm, but with the distant tinge of anxiety because neither of them knew what to say. What was there to say after that?

Jackie turned to face Jan, hoping the words would come to her. But to her relief, Jan had passed out. And Jackie had to admit, she looked just as beautiful asleep.

------

Jan was the first to wake up the next morning, groggy and disoriented, but not quite hungover. She wasn’t sure how she should feel about waking up topless in Jackie’s bed – guilty? Confused? Stressed? It wasn’t that she regretted it, but she was afraid that it would complicate what was supposed to be a friendship at most.

Time was ticking away before Jackie would wake up, and Jan needed to decide what she wanted to do, and quickly. She pushed herself out of bed and went into the other room to get dressed. As she went back into the bedroom, she noticed that Jackie had personalized stationary on her desk (because of course she did). Jan decided that leaving a note and bailing was the best option - it was more personal than a text and she was still able to avoid confrontation.

Hi Jackie!

Sorry to run out on you like this, I had to get somewhere in a rush. But I had a great time with you last night, and I’ll see you in class on Monday. :)

Jan ♥

Jan wondered if the heart was too much, but decided it would be worse to erase it, so she left it on Jackie’s nightstand and quietly left. And she kept her fast pace, making it back to her dorm in record time. The second she got back to her dorm, she flopped onto her bed and screamed into her pillow.

“Rough night?” Lemon asked as she casually looked over at her disheveled and distressed roommate. “Not like you to spend it elsewhere.”

“Got caught in the storm, stayed with a friend,” she mumbled as she sat up.

Lemon arched her brow. “You get hickies from your friends often?”

Jan’s eyes widened as she turned to look in the mirror. Sure enough, there were multiple visible bruises littering her neck. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Looks like someone already did.”

“We didn’t have sex!” she insisted, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “I mean, even by lesbian standards, it wasn’t sex. We weren’t even naked.”

Lemon continued to look at Jan as if she were insisting the Earth was flat. “First of all, as a lesbian, I have no fucking idea what ‘lesbian standards’ are and I don’t want to know. Second, Even if it wasn’t ‘technically’ sex, it was enough to get you all worked up like this.”

Jan groaned and laid on her back. “It just shouldn’t have happened… It was my TA, Lem.”

“Damn, you gonna get some extra credit at least?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know why I tell you things,” she murmured, reaching for her phone. She knew telling Gigi wouldn’t be any easier, but it wasn’t exactly something she would be able to keep as a secret.

And when Jan did meet up with Gigi, she wasn’t dreading the confession any less. They sat in a booth at a nearby diner, placing a brunch order before she decided she needed to just rip the bandage off. “I spent the night with Jackie.”

Gigi nearly spit her coffee out at that. “You did? Why? What happened? Don’t you skip any fucking details, Sport.”

Jan chewed on her lip. “The storm was really bad, so we decided I’d just stay there. Then we had some wine… well, a lot of wine. And we… We didn’t fuck, per sé, but things got very heated.”

“That would explain why you’re wearing a scarf in seventy degree weather.” she nodded as if she were making an astute observation. “So what happened when you guys woke up?”

Jan’s gaze drifted down to the table. “I woke up before she did, left her a note and went back to my dorm while she was asleep.”

Gigi looked at her friend like she was ready to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. But instead she just asked, “Are you fucking stupid?”

To which Jan shrugged and replied, “Maybe.” There was a brief pause as they received their meals. “But can you be specific as to why, though?”

“This was literally a sign that you guys have a connection, at least a physical one. The least you could’ve done is talk to her, how’s she going to take it as anything other than you not being interested, and don’t you try and act like you’re not.”

“I’m not not interested,” Jan conceded. “I just… It shouldn’t have happened like this, you know? I went over there to practice for my audition, not to dry hump her fucking thigh.”

Gigi did her best to listen and be the supportive friend that Jan clearly needed. “Look, you can’t un-fuck up how you handled that,” she started. “We just need to figure out where to go from here.”

Jan nodded in agreement as she picked at her food. Where did she go from here? Her heart said back to Jackie, but her brain said into a coma, ideally.

#jankie #rpdr rpf #rpdr fanfiction #i didnt tag branjie bcs this is a jankie-centric chapter

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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It’s The End Of The World || Orion, Ricky, Winston. ft Lydia

TIMING: the night of 12/06/2020 (12th June) LOCATION: Abandoned Warehouse Rave on the docks PARTIES: @3starsquinn, @ricky-corderbro, @danetobelieve, @inspirationdivine SUMMARY: Rio, Winston and Ricky attend an end of the world rave. Ricky is jet lagged. Winston is stressed and makes bad decisions and Orion throws up. Lydia makes a new friend.

Winston wasn’t really feeling like going partying. Actually, going raving at the potential end of the world was apparently what everyone else was doing and when Todd had excitedly explained that they were going to be invited to a rave that he was playing at, well Winston hadn’t really been keen to go. But after a few drinks and some arm twisting, Winston had been convinced to go along with their other friends. They’d gotten dressed and were stepping out of the taxi that had dropped them off by the warehouse near the docks and Winston was nervous. They’d pre-gamed a bit before and they were tipsy, but that didn’t change the fact that they had seen some shit with Rio. They knew what needed to be done to resolve this and they weren’t going to be involved. They couldn’t change what might happened and honestly Winston had never felt more helpless. “Todd told us to just say we were here as his guests and show him our tickets and he’d let us in,” Winston adjusted their glasses a little, “all ready?”

Orion’s anxiety had been through the roof. He wasn’t sure if he had found the time to mention this to either of his roommate’s, but he hated parties. He had been to a few now. All times dragged against his will by Athena to some frat house where he proceeded to find the farthest bathroom from the noise and hide out. He had gotten so little sleep the last few weeks studying everything about this demon language that he wasn’t even sure he could stay conscious at this party. He had already dozed off in the car multiple times on the way here. It definitely didn’t help that Rio barely knew this Todd character that Winston and Ricky were friends with. He just hoped that the two of them weren’t like Athena was at parties. She usually stuck around for about ten minutes before ditching Rio. He wasn’t sure he was equipped to handle that here. “I’m sure this goes without saying, but I am definitely not.” Rio sighed, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. “I think I need… a drink. Or several.” Rio found himself saying, the exhaustion and stress getting to him. Rio had never been drunk before, he had never even had more than a couple of sips of alcohol. This was going to be a long night.

One very early and very long plane ride and one incredibly hellish layover in LaGuardia later; Ricky was back in the US, back in White Crest, and apparently on his way to a rave that Todd was DJing at. Truth be told it wasn’t the thing he wanted most to be doing right now; a long bath and about three straight days of sleep sounded a lot better. But even though he was still adjusting to his human body after a straight week and a half in his true form with his extended family and was still trying to figure out how to move with legs instead of swimming, he was happy to be home with Winston and Rio. Even if they were crammed into the back seat of a taxi. “I need something with caffeine or I’m going to pass out. I haven’t even had time to unpack yet; I wore these clothes on the plane, and I am not nearly awake or put together enough to make it through tonight without some help” They all fell out of the cab and Ricky stretched, sauntering up to the door with a smile on his face. “Hey. Cordero, Dane, and Quinn. We’re here as guests of the DJ.” He held out their tickets and waited for them to be let in, turning to his friends as the walked into what felt like a solid wall of sound, even to Ricky’s terrible hearing. “Well. To the bar?”

As a large and very muscular bouncer led them through to the warehouse which had been brightly decorated in UV paint, Winston headed straight for the bar and probably would’ve made it if they weren’t accosted by a number of scantily clad men and women who attacked Winston with paint similar to that which was decorating the walls in patterns of eyes, spirals and cascades of colour that shone brightly in the darkness. The music was booming and before Winston knew it they were as brightly coloured as the walls, their t shirt was ruined and they definitely needed a drink now if they hadn’t needed one before. “Three actually six jaeger bombs please and like a vodka coke,” Winston passed the bombs round to their friends and swallowed them with a grimace, gross. They immediately regretted their drink of choice and tried to slam away the taste with copious amounts of vodka coke which some how made it worse. “Uh, maybe this wasn’t a good idea?”

The group was ambushed by some fanatic painters. Orion’s hoodie and jeans were sacrificed to their whim, and though Rio mostly let them do their thing, he was very adamant about his sleeves remaining down as they trailed their brushes across him. They compromised by spending extra time on his face and neck, which only slightly stressed him out knowing that he had no way of knowing what they had drawn on him. He was totally lying; it really stressed him out. Even more reason to drink. Winston ordered a concerning amount of shots at the bar and Rio tried calming himself down. This was what he had wanted, right? “I uh- can you just make me something super sweet? Like really really sweet.” Rio smiled nervously, pulling the fake ID that Athena had procured for him out of his wallet. The bartender barely gave it a second glance before shuffling off to make their drinks. “Is this where I die?” Rio found himself asking aloud, taking a moment to glance around the place. It was packed wall to wall with glowing, dancing people. The music was deafeningly loud and it was way too hot for the hoodie that Rio refused to take off. Rio didn’t waste any time when the bartender brought the drinks over. He slammed the first shot as quickly as he could, immediately coughing and clearing his throat. “Oh my god ew! Oh god this stuff tastes like battery acid. Why would they make this? This was a terrible idea.”

It was only because he’d let Winston and Rio enter the warehouse before him that Ricky had enough time to react to the glow paint artists, whipping his shirt off and tucking it into his back pocket before they covered him with geometric designs that pulsed in time with the flashing lights. He pounded the two Jaeger bombs that Winston had ordered him, wry smile crossing his face as it looked like Rio might die from the alcohol content, “Only the first two taste like battery acid. It’s when they start tasting good that you gotta start worrying about how fucked up you’re getting.” He ordered himself a vodka soda and looked around the crowd, sipping his drink. This might not have been exactly what he’d wanted to do on his first night home but he was getting enough appreciative looks from appropriately handsome men to make this night potentially worthwhile. “This was a great idea, Winston. Don’t even second guess it. We’re supporting our bro, getting drunk, and getting his on by crowds of people who appreciate the fact that all three of us are studs. Should we go say hey to Todd? Least let him know we’re here jamming out to his set?” Finishing his drink he ordered another one, tipping the bartender heavily as he started to wind his way through the crowd and up towards the DJ booth.

The crowd pulsed and throbbed as everyone danced. Winston could barely help themselves from getting into the mood. They were pretty drunk now, two jaeger bombs and the vodka, not to mention everything they’d had before. Grabbing Orion’s hand, Winston dragged their friend slowly through the dance floor. “Battery acid is exactly what I imagine these taste like, but they’re also going to make this way more bearable way faster.” It was hot and Winston couldn’t imagine how Orion could stand being in just a hoodie but they weren’t about to push the matter as they slowly made their way through the crowd of sweaty bodies that were doing their best to move along to the thrum of the bass and the blare of the drums. “It’s going to take us forever to get towards the stage,” Winston was sure that being on Todd’s guest list meant that they could do this the easy way, but right now they were too drunk to really think clearly and honestly, if they were going to do this then they might as well enjoy themselves, “Ricky you gotta go first and clear us a way you beefcake.” Winston giggled tipsily, unsure if their friends had even heard a word they said over the roar of the crowd and the hum of the music. Maybe slightly against their better judgement Winston was starting to enjoy the end of the world. Why not have a good time? Right?

Winston and Ricky was the only solace that Orion had right now. They were grounding him in many ways. Mentally, they were keeping his anxiety from completely spiraling. Physically, they were the only reason that Rio hadn’t ran from the place as soon as he stepped foot inside of it. Right now, the only thing Rio could focus one as how hot it was. He was sweating, and kept pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes with the hand that wasn’t being dragged through the dance floor by Winston. “He is a beefcake isn’t he?” Rio giggled, shutting himself up by taking a long sip from the fruity drink the bartender had mixed him. It tasted way better than those shots had. Rio took another drink. People pushed against them as they pushed onward and Rio found himself ducking and dodging flailing arms as they danced to the music. How did they think with how loud the music was? The dim lighting, trippy glowing colors, deafening music and crowd was making Rio dizzy. The place was disorienting enough, but Winston’s hand dragging wrapped around his was making Rio’s head spin all it’s own. Another drink. “Do you think Todd hates me?” Rio found himself asking, a question he would usually never ask anyone aloud, especially mutual friends of the guy. The alcohol was working way too quickly. Another nervous drink. “Don’t answer that that was dumb. Let’s just find Todd.” Another drink. Oh no, he was almost out already. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Oh jesus. You guys are already drunk?” Ricky slammed back his drink as they made their way through the crowd, effortlessly parting the sea of people with his aptly-described beefcakeness, “That’s me. Dumb of brain, thicc of heart and ass.” He made sure he had an eye on both Winston and Rio at all times; this definitely didn’t seem like either of their scenes and he wasn’t about to lose them to a random drug trip induced by someone random ravegoer. He almost missed Rio’s question, and it was only because he’d turned around to check on them that he was able to read the other man’s lips, “What? Of course not. I don’t think Todd is capable of hating anyone, like biologically. It’s in that man’s blood to just love everyone and be the chillest of chill bois.” As they passed by a smaller secondary bar on their way to the DJ booth Ricky ordered a couple of shots and pounded them in quick succession, “It’s harder for me to get drunk.” He explained as he set the small glasses back on the bar and gave the bartender a nod, “We got more blood than you guys.” Eventually he muscled, smiled, and danced them a path through the dancefloor up to the booth where Todd looked like a) he was having the time of his life and b) he was on about seven different drugs. This close to a bank of speakers it was impossible for Ricky to hear anything except the bass so he just waved and shot Todd a smile and a thumbs up; those were pretty universal, right?

“Hey, we’re not all build like a brick shit house Ricky,” Winston replied with a giggle as they sipped their drink through a straw and gently squeezed Rio’s hand. They could barely hear anything that Rio was saying, but they were pretty sure he’d just said something about Todd hating him. Which was absurd. “Of course Todd doesn’t hate you, Ricky’s right, he couldn’t hate you if he tried.” They flashed them a reassuring smile and had to admit that they kind of envied the amount that Ricky could drink. He seemed like he was having a good time on his own without needing to be drunk. It took them slightly longer to get over to Ricky and Todd, as they were separated in the buzz and hum of the crowd. Left with just Rio, Winston was eventually able to pull them close enough to Todd to wave from the crowd and grin, but despite the potential impending end of the world, Winston had to admit that they loved this song. “Fuck, this is actually pretty fun,” they said dancing in place, hand still clutching Rio’s fingers, “I’m probably just really drunk.”

Orion felt a little bit better, with the assurance that Todd didn’t hate him. At least as far as Ricky and Winston are concerned. Rio was way too aware that he wasn’t sober. Or maybe he wasn’t nearly as aware as he thought he was. Was that possible? Was drunk Rio capable of being faux aware of being drunk without actually realizing just how drunk he was? Did any of that make any sense? The confusion made Rio giggle. Rio knew his tolerance was going to be awful considering he hadn't drank before, but he had hoped that being a hunter might give him at least some semblance of an advantage. But Winston was clearly just as bad off, because he was suddenly dancing along to the music, a song that Rio wasn’t familiar with. There was a noticeable difference now. Even drunk Rio could tell. Before, moving through the crowd together it just made sense that the two would hold onto each other so they didn’t lose their way. Now… well the two were standing next to one another and Rio’s fingers were still in Winston’s grasp. “You’re definitely drunk” Rio laughed, watching them dance along to the music without moving their feet. It was more swaying than anything else. “I think I’m drunk too.” Rio admitted. Was two shots and a mixed drink normal for someone to get drunk off of? Despite his internal monologue telling him not to, Rio found himself starting to sway in rhythm with Winston, trying to play along with him. If he tried to focus on the music he might be able to ignore how the only part of his body that he could focus on was the hand that Winston was holding onto. “I’m uh- I’m glad I came here. With you and Ricky.”

It was a semi-familiar sensation to Ricky to stand on the outside watching other people. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Winston had grabbed Rio’s hand when they’d started working their way through the dancefloor, and it definitely didn’t escape his notice that the hand holding hadn’t stopped when they’d reached the DJ booth. He watched as they both drunkenly started to dance, a wry smile across his face. It wasn’t the strangest pairing he’d seen. Honestly it sort of made a strange sense. Ricky started to dance with a guy who’d been giving him a meaningful look while he kept an eye on his friends. Nothing wrong with cutting loose and having fun but he didn’t want either of them to end up the meal of some rave-stalking monster. Which in White Crest was a distinct possibility. The song made a smooth transition into the next one in the set, expertly guided by Todd’s skill, and Ricky leaned in to take the sharpie offered by his dance partner, quickly scribbling his number on the back of the man’s hand before moving back to stand near Todd. He was still close enough to keep an eye on Winston and Rio but not so close that he was infringing on whatever moment they were about to have.

The world was spinning. But gently. Winston lumbered around, convinced that they were the most graceful dancer that had ever lived. The music slammed, pulsed and pounded. Todd was so good at this Winston thought as they slipped closer to Orion for a moment before prancing away (okay maybe it was more like a stumble). Their head felt thick and Winston wasn’t sure that they were that drunk. Then the world took a turn and Winston fell into Orion. Their hands coming apart for a moment and Winston couldn’t help but grip Orion’s surprisingly muscular shoulder. It wasn’t that he was Ricky ripped. There were no muscles glistening at obtuse sizes. Rio was just toned. The muscles were there but they weren’t for display or pretention (Ricky). Orion always kept everything covered up, always wore long hoodies or jeans or whatever and Winston wondered why in that moment they weren’t dying from the heat. But they didn’t care, they couldn’t let go, not for a second. Sure they’d used Rio to keep themselves standing, but it was more then that now. Winston’s breath caught in their throat as they looked into deep hazel eyes. Biting their lip, Winston felt the Earth stop spinning for a moment.

Orion had finally relaxed. The music was still too loud. People still crowded around Rio’s personal space. And it felt like Rio may have a heat stroke at any moment. But he had pushed all of that to the back of his mind. Because he was having fun. With Winston, dancing here and definitely drunk. He didn’t even care about how dizzy or lightheaded he felt. Rio was convinced that Winston’s hand holding onto his was the only thing keeping him from floating off into space. When Winston practically fell into Rio, something else finally clicked into place. This was what Rio wanted. Rio knew that things were different with Winston. That the way he felt for them was different than his other friends. But Rio had never looked further into it. Had never wanted to. It made sense. Winston had it all. They were smart and talented. They were passionate about things and had a lot in common with Rio. They were really, really pretty. In spite of the alcohol and music drowning out his senses, Rio’s feelings for Winston were overwhelmingly clear in this moment. And that was terrifying. “Uh- you okay there?” Rio asked, trying to sound concerned but way too busy processing. Plus, he was pretty sure he was also laughing at how clumsy Winston had been.

Giggling, Winston felt someone brush past him. They must’ve been big because Winston was pushed closer to Rio. they basically had their arms drunkenly wrapped around their ‘friend’ at that point and Rio’s lips looked so soft. The world swirled and Winston was having the best time. Despite the odor of sweat and the sticky floor. Not to mention several drinks which had already been spilled on them making them smell of stale beer, Winston couldn’t help but admit to themselves that Rio might be the best smelling thing that they had ever encountered. Their eyes were captivating and Winston couldn’t help themselves. One second they were just looking into Orion’s eyes. Then they weren’t sure what they did. They weren’t sure why they did. They weren’t even completely sure how they managed to do it but they were stood staring at Rio one second and the next Winston was kissing him. Gently at first, their lips just brushing against one another, Winston could feel the other breathing and they couldn’t help but close the gap between them, pulling Rio close as they embraced him.

Orion wasn’t sure who initiated it. Right now, Rio wasn’t sure how he was able to keep himself from toppling over. All he knew was that one minute the two had been dancing and laughing and now they were kissing. Rio fumbled his way through it. Intoxication may actually be working in his favor, helping to make up for the lack of experience and general awkwardness that under normal circumstances may have sent Rio spiraling. This was his first real kiss right? Sure, Winn had kissed him in acting class but that had been during a scene. It was in character. It wasn’t real. This was real. And it didn’t take long for Rio to forget any fears and melt into it. He ignored the added heat and welcomed Winston moving in closer, Rio wrapped their arms around their neck as if letting go would end the moment. Rio was desperate for this moment to not end. Who cared that they were in public and that a million people could see them? Who cared that Rio usually hated PDA. All he cared about right now was this moment with Winston.

Honestly. Winston had never really dated a lot. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested, it was more that other people weren’t necessarily interested in them. Which was fine. Winston had been busy for a long time, working on a million and one different projects. Always too busy to pursue someone who would just reject them anyway. But suddenly, in that moment Winston knew that they had been missing out. If every kiss felt like this then Winston was sure that there was something here that they should’ve been doing way sooner then this. Holding Rio tightly, they kissed them until they couldn’t help but pull back for air. There was a feeling of elation, of intoxication … fuck Winston didn’t know if they were just drunk but they wanted to kiss Rio again and so they did. Why not? What did they have to lose at the end of the world anyway?

If the world truly was ending, this was exactly how Orion wanted things to go. With Winston, exactly like this. And Ricky... speaking of him, where was Ricky? The urge to scope the place out for him was distracted when Winston kissed him again. “Holy... Woah” Was the most poetic thing that Rio could manage to mutter once the two had pulled apart again. Rio was gasping for breath, a mixture of the heat and making up for the oxygen Rio had deprived himself of while making out with Winston. This was exactly what Rio had wanted, and Rio couldn’t help but be... happy. The thought made Rio’s stomach twist. The other shoe has to drop soon right? Something would have to go wrong. It always went wrong. Because the world wasn’t ending. Even if right now, Rio would have been perfectly fine with that. For the longest time, Rio had thought that the kiss had sobered him up. He hadn’t felt more grounded since they had arrived and he hadn’t been thinking this clearly in days. But it all came rushing back to him now. Rio was dizzy, sounds around him were nothing more than a loud buzzing and the contents of his stomach swam, threatening to force themselves back up. “So sorry- I just I have to uh- bathroom. Need bathroom.” Rio tried stating clearly before abandoning the attempt completely and rushing off into the crowding, desperately trying to push his way through before he completely lost his cool. And his dinner.

Winston was convinced that they were in heaven. They couldn’t breath but they didn’t need to breath. They had everything they needed and if they could have made a moment exist and last for a life time then Winston would’ve wished for this moment to span for centuries and millenia because in that second they realised all at once just how strongly they felt for Rio. He was so smart, and so kind and he cared so much about doing the right thing that he had rejected his birth identity and his own family because he couldn’t do what they were asking of him. Winston had never met anyone who was so good and pure and kind and Winston didn’t know how to deal with these feelings. “Oh, of course, sure, no … worries.” With that, Orion was gone and the kiss with it. Winston felt panic crack in their stomach and turned to look for Ricky. But he was gone. Either with someone else or the jet lag was too much. Catching Todd’s eye, Winston made it clear that they were heading out and decided to give Orion some space. Texting them that they were heading home, Winston left the club, much drunker and much more ashamed then they’d been when they came in.

This was terribly macabre, and thus terribly White Crest. Beach balls painted white to look like eyes decorated this distasteful establishment, and even with ear buds in the music pulsed too loudly to be comfortable. Although if the world was ending, who cared about ear health? It was nothing in comparison to a banshee scream, but still unpleasant. Quieter, gentler music appealed to her more, but the talent at play here was undeniable. Her eyes drifted to the stage, as the DJ announced the end of his set, and another began. She squeezed through the crowd, under sweaty arm pits and past leering men, hurrying to meet him. He’d caught her eye last time, too, but she hadn’t been able to get close then. Now, there were no friends to squeeze through. “You’re Todd, the DJ that performed the last set, right? You were incredible.” The artistic potential rolled off him like waves in high tide. She looked him over, a smile curling over her features. Oh yes, he would do ever so nicely. Lydia’s stomach rumbled. “You look like you might like some company.”

#wickedswriting #para #p: orion #p: lydia #p: ricky #chatzy #chatzy para #its the end of the world

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rosaetae · 5 years

Text

the chrysanthemum effect | 5

[this chapter is apart of the chrysanthemum effect]

☇ “Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?“

➣ pairing: taehyung x reader

➣ genre: hanahaki!au, model!taehyung, weddingplanner(ish)!au

➣ word count: 3.9k

➣ summary: the hanahaki disease has become a stigma in this world where if you had it, you are looked down upon. her flowers were white chrysanthemums and they have been for the past two years. she was in love with someone who obviously didn’t feel the same way, and this was her way of moving on— along with the people in her life who had to conform around the hanahaki disease.

That morning, you were leaving your apartment after being awoken to Somin being in a heated discussion with her mother, and you knew it had to deal with the fact that Somin wasn't living up to her mom's expectations of finding someone to settle down with when she moved to the city.

It was rather ironic, you may think, that someone like Somin is being pushed to love when she, herself, thinks nothing of it.

She didn't like commitment as much as the others, and yeah, maybe a white lie to get herself into the city was what she did— but being pushed to find someone and settle down with them is especially odd for her and herself. And there was no way Somin was going to talk about Hoseok to her own mother— it would raise her mother's expectations even more to marry soon.

And it's not like Somin and Hoseok have anything serious going on anyways.

You were leaving your apartment complex, ready to dash out of the building when you stop in your tracks as you open the door.

Taehyung was on the other side, hand outstretched for the handle, only to stagger back a bit by your presence. "Hey."

"Hi," you speak, just as stunned, closing the door behind you. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to walk you to Planetarium," he says with a confidence that makes you raise your eyebrows at him.

Blinking at him as you step outside on the steps to face him. "What?"

"You're going to Planetarium Coffee, right?" He asks, checking the watch on his phone. "I thought we could walk together since it's on the way to my work."

"How'd you know I still live here?"

He pauses before he shrugs slightly. "Just a hunch."

Staring at him, you weren't sure as to why he was in front of the same apartment complex you lived in even when you were with him, let alone right in front of you, and without even asking, volunteers to walk you to the coffee shop you study at. And with that, you don't even know why you nodded your head and agreed.

He seemed rather pleasant that you saved him the embarrassment of 'the two awkward exes that broke up under an open-ended note seeing each other again and walking to the coffee shop together pretending that nothing had happened' and you weren't even asking him why he was doing so as you began your walk, him trailing next to you with his long strides.

"How are you?" You inquire, breaking that awkward ice, the sound of both your footsteps no longer being the main focus of your attention.

Taehyung smiles. "I've been doing alright. Work has been work."

"Has it been too busy for you already?"

"What makes you say that?"

You shrug, hugging your coat closer to your body in reaction to the morning autumn breeze. "Don't know. You're walking with me to get coffee and you usually don't drink coffee until you really need it."

Realizing you let that roll out of your tongue, your eyes drift over to him where you notice a smirk on his lips, but his eyes focusing straight ahead of him.

"Well, just like how you learned how to not to drink coffee, I learned how to drink it constantly," he explains. "But none of that French roast coffee shit. God, that is still terrible no matter how many times I try to set my mentality to endure it."

Snorting, you shook your head. "I may not be able to drink coffee anymore, but I know for a fact that French roast is the shit."

"Mm, I don't know about that. Too bitter for my taste."

"This is coming from the same person who didn't like almonds until you've had it with dark chocolate," you retort. "That's like... the epitome of bitter."

"At least I'm not the person who doesn't like strawberries. Strawberries are the godsend of all berries."

"I have to completely disagree. Raspberries are top tier."

Then, remarkably, there was soft laughter in the air. And it was odd. Having a friendly banter and actually having a decent conversation where it felt too familiar, yet too tense— it was strange and nostalgic, and it was something you didn't want to ruin.

You didn't want to ruin it with a question of closure and assurance because this was a moment you've wanted for so long, this moment of where you can probably move on— why on earth would you want to ruin it with a sake of having closure for him leaving?

"Any plans for today?" He questions, fading off from the banter.

"Just class and work," you answer, as you shrug. "Nothing new."

"Well, I'm walking with you to Planetarium Coffee, that's gotta be something new," he cheekily states, hoping to elicit a laugh or a positive reaction from you, but you end up chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"Taehyung, why are you doing this?"

You felt the asphyxiation overwhelm you as you asked the question— the question that you told yourself not to ask. "You purposely decided to pick me up in front of my apartment— which you probably asked Hoseok if I still lived there— just to walk with me to Planetarium Coffee and you're acting as if you didn't drop everything and leave? And now you're back and I'm supposed to what— pretend that it never happened? What's your plan, here?"

Looking at him was the scary part, because though you were able to look at him two minutes ago, you couldn't now after telling him how you felt.

Surely, you must have thought that this might have been the same way he felt too when he left— the feeling of looking you in your pained and confused eyes was really too painstakingly unbearable to look at. And to form words afterwards? To you? Maybe that's why he left so sudden.

And maybe that's why you didn't say that.

You didn't say anything at all until you get to Planetarium Coffee.

Like you said, you didn't want to ruin it— no matter how strange and how unfitting it may be to see and talk to someone you love who doesn't even feel the same way anymore. There's a part of you that makes you believe that nothing in the past had happened, but you know that if you were to bring it up, you'd have to give up this peculiar feeling of being able to talk to him normally and obliviously.

"What tea do you like?" Taehyung asks, pulling you away from your thoughts. You don't miss the sudden scratch coming from your throat.

He's pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and you bring your hands out to stop him, shaking your head. "No, you're not paying for me."

Taehyung laughs, walking over to stand behind someone in line. "And why not?"

"Because I can pay for myself," you rose an eyebrow at him. Why did he want to buy you a drink? Even when you were both together, you wouldn't let him buy you anything without you paying it back.

"Fine," you watch him back off, knowing that if he insisted on paying, it would lead to an argument that he didn't want to get himself into. "Only if you tell me what your favorite drink is here."

"Will you let me order first?"

He narrows his eyes, knowing that you caught him in his act where he was going to pay for you and not let you know. You gave him a look, to which he lets out a defeated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Be my guest."

Smiling victoriously, you move in front of him. "I don't usually order tea from here, if I'm being honest," you say, causing Taehyung to scrunch his eyebrows together. "I buy their scones. Handmade from heaven."

You turn over to see the open register, the welcoming face of the 9 AM Tuesday barista you knew as Woori. She can immediately guess what you were going to buy: a lemon poppyseed scone, and with that, you pay for it and walk over to your designated table next to the window.

Taehyung, after ordering and shoving his card into his wallet, finally sits in front of as you were already in the midst of going over your notes for anatomy.

"What did you order?" You ask, stopping midway.

"I've been trying to broaden my horizons," he smirks at you. "I got their rose latte? But I asked for an extra shot."

You nearly gasp at the sound of that. "And an extra shot, too? You really are a coffee drinker."

"And you seemingly are not," he chuckles lowly. "Tea, neither. What's going on?"

To that, you shrug, as if it was just a weird revelation where caffeine doesn't do much good— realistically, coffee doesn't do much good for you or your flowers.

"Just didn't need it anymore," you reply. "As for you, what made you like coffee so much?"

He lets out a low chuckle. "Unlike you, I started to need it. Like, tonight. I'm heading to Montreal for the weekend for a shoot and my flight leaves at 2 AM."

You raise your eyebrows at that. "Wow, Montreal? You're already traveling."

"Not that big of a deal. I have to come back on Monday for another shoot so I won't be able to see much of Montreal as I'd like to."

"Bummer," you say, meeting his eyes. "Well, I hope you can go there one day and explore much of it as you'd like. I heard it's beautiful there."

"Yeah," he nods in agreement, looking at you in a way where it made you feel uneasy. Uneasy and nostalgic. As if you knew the look he gave you. "Yeah, it is."

Eunmi was already in the midst of planning Annie and Jungkook's super private wedding when she scheduled an appointment for you to meet with them. She said she was going to tend to some venues for another husband and wife to be that day, but she apparently entrusted you enough to execute her own thoughts on behalf to Annie and Jungkook.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, but you generally hated these type of appointments when Eunmi isn't present. And needless to say, you were biased because you were interviewing Jeon Jungkook.

That morning, you were not greeted by the unfaithful presence Taehyung outside of your apartment complex due to his trip in Montreal, meaning you got to go to Planetarium and finish some homework without being distracted.

As you enter the general building of your work, Yuna smiles. "Oh, ___! Mr. Jeon Jungkook is outside the office."

Throwing her a thumbs up in acknowledgement, you take the usual route up the office, passing by the many desks before you stop in your tracks to see who was in the waiting room outside Eunmi's office. Jungkook sits outside the office, arm propped on the arm chair as he observes the cloudy weather outside the big window next to him.

You nearly did a double take as it was strange to see someone that you barely know but almost know entirely of. Someone who's known by every teenage girl through his platform and someone who's been loved by a single girl through the sporadic whirlwind of the universe that brought them together.

Taking in a deep breath, you approach him slowly, clearing your throat in which he looks up, a subtle baffled look before giving a small stranger-friendly smile in return.

"Hi, Mr. Jeon Jungkook, right?" You ask as he nods. "I'm ___, Eunmi's assistant and on behalf of us, I'm sorry that she can't make it to this appointment—"

"Oh, no worries," he chuckles softly as he stands up, holding out his hand for you to shake. "I apologize, too. Annie's supposed to be here with me, but I guess I'm going solo on this whole wedding ordeal," he laughs, and admittedly, it pains you.

Maybe you're weak for feeling hurt for someone else, but the image of Minji in your head made it hard for you to even spare a smile at Jungkook.

"I guess we both are going solo today," you state before you open the door. "Come in."

You stroll over to your desk, sitting down and Jungkook following suit and sitting in front of you.

"So, Eunmi gave me a list of things she wanted me to discuss with you, and working with her for awhile, I'm going to try my best to express her thoughts on certain things," you say, gathering your files and clearing your throat. "So, I noticed that you've got the venue set up," you state. "You called them and booked them and everything, right?"

He nods as you highlight the check point on the document. "Do we know where the reception will be held at?"

"From what I know, Annie just wants it at the same venue."

"Okay," you type, putting a note to call the venue to follow that up. "Do we know if they cater?"

"They don't, but Annie has these list of caterers that she gave me, but I kind of lost them," Jungkook says with a tinge of embarrassment at how disorganized he was making himself out to be.

"That's fine," you say with a nod, reaching over to your side and grabbing a pamphlet. "These are some of Eunmi's recommended caterers for such venues that don't cater themselves. You can look over at them with Annie when you get the chance and then when you make another appointment, you guys can tell Eunmi which caterer you'd like to have at your wedding." Jungkook takes the pamphlet from you as you begin to type on your laptop. "How about any decorations for the reception? Do we know if we're doing a huge long table for the guests or individual tables with designated seating...?"

Jungkook blankly stares at you with a look of uncertainty, causing you to laugh as you realize that you were going on and on about something he was probably solely lost on and your words just sounded like jumbled gibberish through his ears.

"Sorry," you chuckle lightly, leaning back into your chair. "Here, about this. Eunmi wrote down here that Annie wanted... blue poppies."

You don't miss the way his eyes flicker from your laptop to your eyes at almost the rate of light.

"Yeah, blue poppies," he agrees, interlocking his hands over his lap. "They're her favorites."

In the corner of your eyes, you see him spacing out, and you wonder if he was thinking about Minji— the same girl that ended up throwing up the same flowers that happened to be Annie's favorites.

"They're beautiful," you note, looking at him before he winces slightly and looks at you. "I hope you don't mind if I ask why blue poppies?"

Jungkook, being courteous and shaking his head, sits up in his chair. "Blue poppies was a song I originally wrote, but it never really got released. She listened to it and ever since then, blue poppies were her favorites."

You bite your bottom your lip, trying desperately to push back the thought of asking what the song was about— or rather, who. It was instance that would break this conversation entirely.

Feigning a smile, you nod your head slowly.

"Well, they're lovely," you tell him as he nods.

"Yeah," he agrees after a mere pause. "They are. Sorry, my mind's not in the game, right now."

"Pre-wedding stress?"

He scoffs lightly. "You could say that."

You nod, your lips curling up in amusement.

"Actually," Jungkook speaks up, causing your ears to perk up. "I've been meaning to ask... aren't you friends with Taehyung?"

Your heart stops for a mere second. "You could say that."

He smiles at your response. "Taehyung and I used to go to high school together," he explains.

"Oh, really?" Eyebrows raising, you let out a tight laugh. "What a small world."

"You dated him, didn't you?" He asks suddenly, you looking at him from your lashes.

Pausing, you nod once again, a sheepish laugh eliciting from your mouth. "I did, yeah," you tell him truthfully.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright."

"I didn't recognize you until the name matched your face. You're the one that bites your ice cream, right?" He laughs in a friendly matter. You were almost taken aback by that sudden fact he knew about you that you smile at him.

"I do, yeah," your lips curl upwards. "I'm guessing he talked about me?"

"All the time," he nods, laughing lightheartedly. "All good things."

"Until they stopped?"

He doesn't say anything. Realizing what you said, you let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Sorry," you mutter. "That was a debby-downer. Are you making the list for the guests, or is Annie?"

"Annie," he answers, fiddling with his thumbs. You nod, moving on to create a new guest list and labeling it for Jungkook and Annie's wedding, the sound of clicking and typing being the only thing you focused on. That was until he spoke up again.

"He didn't want to leave you, you know."

You fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. Meeting his eyes slowly, there was this look in his eyes that you couldn't quite touch upon. It was almost sympathetic.

"All of the things that I've heard from him about you were only ever good things," he continues, trying to reassure you before you could even react. "I didn't think you guys would ever reach an end until one night he calls me at an airport and tells me about the hardest decision he had to make."

Speechless was an understatement. Really, you were at a total loss for words. What do you say to someone that you barely knew but knows you from afar?

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, sincerely. "I just believe that... you deserve at least some sort of explanation, you know and...."

You almost had to laugh. How hypocritical of him to say that when perhaps he should have said that to the girl who, now, lost all memory of him— all the unconditional, painful love and wonderful memories of him.

"And I know, he's back and everything which might be the most chaotic thing in your life right now—"

"It's fine," you immediately cut him off. You didn't want to hear anymore of it. "With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, my relationship with Taehyung is none of your business and I'm entirely sure you're paying my boss and I by the hour to talk about your relationship, not mine."

Jungkook chews on the inside of his cheek, knowing that you were presumably irked. "You're right. Can I ask you one more thing?" He asks instead. You rose an eyebrow, only to give in, giving him a slight upwards nod of your chin. "Do you still have your flowers?"

Instant regret. "Excuse me?"

"Hanahaki?" He asks before he swipes his thumb across his nose, knowing very well that he was treading dangerous waters.

"What even made you think I had Hanahaki?" You shake your head, immediately growing defensive.

"My intention wasn't meant to be rude," he begins, rather calmly. "You probably don't remember, but two years ago, at Hoseok's after party, I found you in the bathroom, and you threw up flowers."

You stare, your heart beating too loudly. That night was already blurry enough— you just remember yelling, blaming, screaming at yourself for being so utterly foolish for being in love with someone who doesn't feel the same anymore, and now there you were— here you are— paying the price.

"Don't worry, I haven't told a soul," he speaks up. "Since it's not my story to tell— but after all these years, I didn't think I'd run into you again, planning my wedding. Bizarre is an understatement," he chuckles with an odd warmth, as if he was an old friend reminiscing of the good times when really, his first impression of you was at your weakest.

"You were at that party?" You question, pursing your lips together. "That night?"

"Surely you know that I'm also friends with Hoseok. But unfortunately, yes, I was at that party and I did happen to come across you that night. Someone was already holding your hair back." Jungkook stares at you intently. "Do you still have them?"

Staring at him, you thought of all the ways you could avoid answering. From moving on with the wedding to mentioning Minji, you were creating fabricated scenarios that you wished would help you disappear from the atmosphere that became too suffocating.

Instead, you shake your head, looking down at your keyboard, creating a new format on the document. "No," you answer blandly. "You must have saw something different. The breakup was mutual."

It wasn't because you're ashamed that you couldn't tell him that you still had your flowers— even after two long fucking years, you still had it. It wasn't that you couldn't admit to him that you had it in the first place— of course not.

It was because you didn't owe him that story of your flowers. Call yourself selfish and irrational, but it wasn't like you were asking about Minji and how you found her that night throwing up the same flowers that will be on his wedding centerpiece, his aisle decorations, and his fiancé's bouquet.

After all, the story of your chrysanthemums was yours to tell.

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dented-nado · 4 years

Note

96. “You’re too nice.” with bruce & clark? :'D xx

[[LYDS thank you for sending this in!!! This ended up being a series of three sort of vignettes of Clark being a sweetheart that all kind of tie together because this prompt had me going. I hope you like it, and thank you!!!]] ------

Clark Kent wasn’t cute. Nope, nuh-uh, not even slightly. Bruce refused to let him think such a thing any more than the few seconds the notion slipped through his mind.

But then again he had just brought him coffee from their mutual favorite place to gain some caffeinated.

“How much do I owe you?” He tried to offer as he pulled off his cowl and turned his chair away from the bat-computer to look up at the giant behemoth of a man. Clearly he wasn’t called Superman for nothing. He only got a perplexed look in return. “Huh? No, don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

“But…” Bruce began before being silenced by Clark poking his forehead.

“It’s coffee Bruce, I won’t go broke and end up homeless over it. I promise.” Clark teased. “Don’t worry your little bat-head about it.”

Bruce shooed Clark’s hand away with a grunt and took a long sip from the to-go coffee cup, hoping his warm face didn’t mean he was turning red visibly.

“Sorry it’s just… odd to let someone buy things for me when I’m… you know…” Bruce grumbled trying to turn his head back to his previously abandoned task.

“Richest man alive?” Clark offered. “Prince of Gotham?”

Bruce grunted in response.

“Why do they call you a prince, anyway? Are you actually descended from royalty?”

“Clark, just because I said you could ‘hang out’ today doesn’t mean you can bombard me with questions while I’m trying to work.”

Clark chuckled and floated into a cross legged position so he was “sitting” next to Bruce despite the fact he was hovering in the air. “Sorry B, guess its the investigative journalist in me.”“Hrrmm.” Bruce responded.

As they sat together Bruce found himself being productive, sure, but occasionally he would glance over and find himself endeared by certain things. How Clark placed his coffee on his knee when he was pausing drinking it. How he would tilt his head to one side like a puppy dog when he was thinking or interested in something Bruce was working on or investigating. Bruce also found himself staring at one moment, realizing for the first time Clark had dimples when he smiled.

He still wasn’t going to admit Clark was cute though. Not even to himself.

—-

Bruce was an incredibly difficult sick person. Bruce knew it himself and did feel bad that sometimes Alfred had to argue with him and put up his own sort of fight just to get Bruce to get back into bed and rest so he wouldn’t develop something worse. Though this time, as Bruce sat grumpily with his arms crossed, Alfred had finally gotten weary and called in the cavalry.

“Is he super sick?” Clark asked, carrying a thermos, a possibly hand made quilt, and a bag filled with what seemed like games and puzzles.

“Just a cold, however he’s being exceptionally difficult and has tried to get up and go down to the cave multiple times today. He seems to forget he develops strep easily when its convenient for him.” Alfred said with a huff before rubbing his temple, trying to will away the stress and worry over his boy. “Thank you for agreeing to keep him company Master Kent.”

“Of course Alfred, and please, just Clark.”

Alfred chuckled “Very well Master Clark” He replied cheekily as he went off to do his other duties.

Clark huffed a laugh in response. So that was where Bruce got his occasional cheekiness from.

He was fully prepared as he entered to receive the infamous glare right into his soul, luckily for Clark, and unluckily for Bruce, it didn’t affect him anymore. He greeted the glare with a bright smile as he closed the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sunshine.” Clark teased as he crossed the room, setting his bag down beside the bed and the thermos on the bedside table, watching in amusement as Bruce’s curiosity and investigative nature got the better of him as his eyes ran over each item Clark had brought him.

“Alfred has brought me in to ensure you chill and get better as soon as possible.” Clark explained despite knowing Bruce knowing full well why he was there, he unfolded the quilt he had brought and put it around Bruce’s shoulders before the man could say anything else.

“…What’s this?” Bruce asked, voice sounding a little horse.

“Its called a blanket.” Clark replied with a grin as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Bruce glared at him mid-cough. “You know what I mean.”

Clark laughed heartily. “Sorry B, I couldn’t resist. It’s a quilt Ma made, she used to bring it out when I got sick.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You got sick?”

“When I was really little, yeah, my powers hadn’t really come in yet.” Clark explained before picking up his bag, seemingly excited to show Bruce what he brought. “I got you some puzzles like sedoku and some crosswords so you can feel like you're doing something and still relax, I also brough chess and checkers if you want to play later… oh! I also saved a bunch of movies I thought you might like if you want to watch them together.” Bruce stared at the several items that were placed on the bed next to him and looked back at Clark with a slightly stunned gaze and watched Clark then pick up the thermos. “Oh, and I made some chicken soup, Ma sent me the recipe.” He beamed so bright Bruce had to rub his watering eyes slightly that were already sensitive to the light.

“You…” Bruce looked again at each item and subtlety pulled the quilt around himself a little tighter. “Thought of everything didn’t you?”

Clark put his hand on top of Bruce’s. “That’s one thing you taught me how to do pretty well.”

Bruce snorted slightly, partially out of amusement, and partially because his nose was stuffy. “I always thought that annoyed people.”

“Not always.” Clark said with a wink. “Sometimes its appreciated, even we don’t always say it.”

Bruce looked over all of Clark’s supplies and care items one more time before letting himself lay back into the quit slightly. “Fine, as long as you're here…” He reached for the warm thermos to open and enjoy the soothing, delicious soup “I might as well judge for myself what you think my movie taste would be.” He emphasized by patting the empty side of his bed.

Clark was all too happy to fly up and over Bruce, cuddle up beside him and pull up Netflix on his phone.

—-

Batman really hated patrolling in the rain, it was harder to see and wet concrete always made it easier for missteps and slips to happen and someone to end up flying off a roof in the middle of a fight. There also weren’t many good tall buildings for him to perch on that also had some sort of overhang so he could escape the rain for at least a second.

Then, suddenly, he found himself looking at a pair of red boots, and realized the rain was no longer pouring directly on his head, He glanced up to look at Clark looking at him with a tilted head and a sweet smile, holding an oversized umbrella in one hand over both of them.

“Need an umbrella?”

“Hmmmmm…thank you…” Batman grumbled.

Damn this cute as hell man and his insistence on being a constant positive presence.

“You’re going to make yourself sick again if you keep making yourself go out when its pouring out you know.” Clark said as he settled to sit down next to Bruce. He was also soaking wet, which made Bruce think he had only just gotten this umbrella.

“I can’t let Gotham suffer just because of some rain. Besides, there’s people that like to take advantage of ‘dark and stormy nights’. Scarecrow once waited purposefully for it to be night and the weather like this to launch an attack.” Batman explained. Usually he was a little more sharp with Clark for saying such a thing, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood to jab at the boy scout.

“I know.” Clark said, causing Batman’s head to turn back to him in slight surprise. “It's hard isn’t it? To decide when your own needs need to be met or when the needs of the many outweigh your own. I get it.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment, the sound of the rain on the umbrella starting to sound more soothing than anything. “Yes… it is hard.”

Clark took a deep breath and put a hand on Batman’s back. “I know you have Gotham under control, and you have for a long time, and you know what you're doing, and your good at it. I was just… I was just thinking… maybe if I came and helped sometimes…”

“Why do you want to help me so bad Clark? Bringing me coffee, visiting me when I’m sick… the umbrella?” Batman asked, he tried not be be yelling, or accusing, or sound annoyed, because he wasn’t. He genuinely wanted to know.

Clark looked down at his feet. “I want to be a good friend. I think… I think you deserve it.”

“I really don’t deserve your attention.”

“Maybe from your point of view. But that’s not how I see it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, watching two Gothamites yell at each other from their cars on the street below.

“You’re too nice, Clark.” Batman finally stated.

“No such thing as *too* nice. Besides… Some of why I want to help is a little selfish too.” Clark admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How so?”

“I guess… I thought maybe if I could help you, you’d have more time to spend with you know… people… like… me kind of people.”

Batman laughed and for a moment Clark looked startled and somewhat wounded until Bruce continued.

“I’m not really that fun to be around, so I don’t know why.” Batman smiled calmy as he noticed the bat-signal light up the clouds above. “But for what its worth… when your with me…”

Batman stood, aiming his grappling gun.

“I’m happy.”

Clark watched in stunned silence as Batman glided away onto the rooftops below, heading to the signal light’s source to check in with the commissioner, that was until he clearly heard Bruce state, knowing Clark was the only one who could hear.

“You coming along to help or not?”

Clark was gliding at his side within the blink of an eye.

#superbat #superbats #batman #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #my writing #prompt fill #prompt fills #lyds

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writer-k-pop · 4 years

Text

Partner (Prt. 3)

늦는게 안하는 것보다 낫지, 파트너. Better late than never, partner.

Description: (y/n) works as a special consultant for the federal government. Specifically the special operations unit that handles some of the worst crimes the country sees. Working multiple cases with Hongjoong’s team, this case seems like any other case but it’s not only personal connection to that case that rocks (y/n)’s demeanor. Her old partner from the exact case shows up in life again. Can she catch the suspect she’s been chasing for 2 and a half years? Warnings: Guns, stabbing, serial killing, swearing Genre: Crime, Mystery, Angst Word Count: 2k

Ateez Masterlist | Masterlists

The door swings open and Wooyoung comes stomping into the room, "I have brought the caffeinated bean juice. Wake up and taste the bitter life liquid that will bring this S.O.B. down!"

San and Mingi jerk awake, poor Yunho falls out of his chair, and Jongho simply rolls onto his other side and throws his hands over his ears.

I take the coffee cup Wooyoung hands me and breathe in the smell. As I take a cautious sip, Hongjoong walks out of the conference room, shoving his phone into his pocket.

"What did the wife say?" Seonghwa asks, adding three packets of sugar to his coffee.

"To be safe, to be alert, and to come back home." Hongjoong states, "But that phone call ended 15 minutes ago. The phone call I just had was from our medical examiner."

"What'd he say?" Mingi asks, yawning. Yunho drags Jongho up and sits him at the table.

"It's small, might not be helpful to us but something he didn't notice until he read through (y/n)'s file." Hongjoong explains, "He starts at the thighs and works his way up. The depths of the wounds suggest that he loses strength as he works his way up."

"Sick psycho." San mutters.

"It just adds to his profile." I state, "He wants to be the strong finisher type but his body physically won't let him."

"And targeting women could be the source of the anger he has for his weak finisher trait." Mingi finishes for me.

"So maybe he's not as fit as we think." Jongho says, finally waking up some more, "Bursts of energy could explain it but what would cause sudden bursts of energy so extreme that he could abduct a woman and stab her fourteen times?"

"You know," Yunho starts, pulling his book smart knowledge out into the open, "There's rare disease that is known to cause super human bouts of strength that occur during flares of emotion. Some are linked to anger, grief, even joy." His book smarts still constantly amaze me. “It’s rare, so I’ll compile a list of known cases.”

San's computer dings and he quickly jumps for it.

"I think I got something." San says after he clicks around. "I ran a program to try and find similarities between any of the security footage where each of the victims were seen. The program just spit out a similarity."

"Show us." Hongjoong instructs him.

San sends his screen up to the big one and continues talking. "Before (y/n)’s case was added, our victims frequented similar places as each so we couldn’t narrow down a possible connection. But now, each of the victims stopped at this ATM machine right before they were taken from their, uh, last known places." Seven different videos play simultaneously, the same viewing window, on the same street.

"I remember that ATM." I remember, "I was on my way towards a lead outside of the cities and had to stop for some cash because I was completely empty and I owed the forensic tech for a bet I lost."

“You lost a bet?” Jongho wonders incredulously and I shrug in response.

"But why that ATM?" Seonghwa asks, "What that particular ATM? It's outside of town, it’s hardly ever used."

"Well, it looks like 13 years ago, there was a murder right next to that specific ATM." San says, typing away at his desk.

"You're kidding." Mingi says.

San shakes his head, "A brother and sister were walking down the street when the brother's girlfriend showed up and attacked and killed the sister. Claiming she thought the sister was a secret girlfriend he never told her about. Spewed out some things about how he'd always been secretive and lying, and how he wasn't even confident enough to man up to his choices."

"What happened to the girlfriend?" Hongjoong asks.

"Was tried and, oh god," San nearly bangs his head onto his desk, "Found not guilty. Then disappeared two weeks after and has never been heard from again."

“Guys, look.” Yeosang stares at the screens, “The sister was a blonde.”

“Gives reason for the blonde hairs he leaves.” I mention, rubbing the base of my neck.

"Name?" Wooyoung slinks over to his computer.

"Of the brother or the girlfriend?" San looks over at Wooyoung.

"Give me the brother." Mingi calls as he moves to his desk.

"Guess I'll take the girlfriend." Wooyoung shrugs.

"The girlfriend walking gives us the source of his anger." Seonghwa nods, "But why wait so long to start releasing the anger."

"Hey... hey..." Wooyoung's voice shrinks, "The girlfriend is our first victim."

"That explains that." Seonghwa snaps his fingers.

"Spent thirteen years trying to track her down and then finds he loves the feeling and keeps going." Jongho nods along. "There's the motive."

"Hey," San mutters, "Scanning through that specific ATM footage, nobody used that ATM except for our victims."

"He must be protecting that ATM because of his sister. And whenever someone uses the sacred ATM, he loses it." Yeosang deduces.

"How does he know when someone uses it?" I wonder.

"Mingi, anything on the brother?" Hongjoong asks while Mingi's forehead crease deepens.

"Seo Jino." Mingi reads off the online files, "Graduated from the top university with a degree in computer science with an emphasis in computer hacking."

"Explains the ATM footage." Yunho comments, "He can hack and he did hack the footage to watch who uses it and when."

"After the trial, this guy disappeared too. Emptied out his bank accounts and cancelled all his cards and moved out of his home." Mingi continues.

"He had to have reappeared somewhere, at sometime." I suggest.

"He did." Mingi answers, "Right after the first victim's trail went cold."

Seonghwa scrolls through his records, “Looks like this guy keeps to a pattern. Goes to the same places on the same days.”

"His closely held patterns might be what hangs him." Jongho nods his head to the side.

"Mingi, does he have a home address?" Hongjoong asks.

"Here in the city. Apartment on 43rd." Mingi informs us.

"Go." A deeper male voice says from the landing. We turn and there stands the director of the agency, Kim. "Seonghwa and (y/n) will stay here and command center with me."

I open my mouth to protest but Director Kim raises a hand, silencing me, "The rest of the team goes, but you and Seonghwa stay here."

"Can't compete with that." Seonghwa raises his hands in defeat.

"Let's go, grab your gear." Hongjoong says, reaching into his drawer for his gun.

Mingi walks over to me and I stand to meet him. He grabs my shoulders firmly and looks me straight in the eyes.

"I swear to you, we'll grab him." Mingi promises.

I smile at my old partner, "Don't promise me that just yet. He may not even be there."

"He has a pattern. A pattern he sticks to so religiously that it's his only fault." Mingi nods in confidence.

I give his hands a squeeze, "Go, your team is waiting for you."

Mingi nods and quickly walks towards where the other members are waiting for him.

Once the sure ring of the elevator echoes down the hallway, Director Kim makes his way over to the table while I retake my seat and Seonghwa rolls back over to his desk to set up communications.

"I apologize for having to leave you out of this one." Director Kim leans back into his chair.

"I understand, sir." I fold my hands on the table. "Can't risk him trying to finish what he couldn't before."

Director Kim nods, "Let's talk."

"About what sir?" I ask.

"Do you like your position?" Director Kim asks, out of the blue.

"I, I mean, it's a lot of traveling." I answer him honestly.

"Would you like a home office?" He keeps asking.

"Would I- I mean, yes I would like to have a home office." I nod, "It'd be nice to not travel so much."

"And what about this office, and this team?" Director Kim looks around the room. "It fits this team quite well, don't you think? You," He looks directly at me, "are a good fit for this team."

"Sir, what are you suggesting?" I ask, leaning forward.

"What I am suggesting is that you accept your next orders to be permanently assigned to this team." Director Kim smiles, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his inner jacket. "Will be affective as soon as this case is over if you accept it." He slides the piece of paper in front of me, "Think about it."

"They're at the apartment." Seonghwa announces, unable to hide the smile that grows on his features.

"Put it up." Director Kim instructs, "I want this son of a bitch." He mutters with distaste, placing the headphone in his ear.

The video feed from Yunho's chest camera streams loud and clear into the office space.

"Seo Jino!" Hongjoong's voice rings with static, "Federal agents, open up!"

After a few seconds of silence, Mingi quickly kicks open the door.

Shuffling into the apartment with guns drawn, they clear the rooms before making their way to the living room in the back.

"Seo Jino. Drop the weapon." Hongjoong shouts. "Drop it!"

Through the screen, the pixelated picture of Jino's face appears. The smug look on his face nearly flips my stomach. His right hand is locked around a hand fun and a drink in the other.

"Drop the weapon." Hongjoong repeats himself. "Drop it or we shoot."

When Jino still doesn't let the weapon go, Mingi speaks up.

"If we shoot, and you die, you won't be able to see your five minutes of fame." Mingi attempts to convince him to drop the gun. "You die, and no one will say your name."

Jino smirks and chuckles, "No. They will say my name. They already have. And I will be constantly here." He slowly rises from his chair, "In the scars of the torn families, in the case files that will be studied for years to come..."

Sitting in the office, I watch as his eyes seem to catch the video camera and it seems as though he knows I'm watching.

"And they'll live in the scars of the one who chased me till the end." He finishes, points his gun at the camera, and fires a single shot before he is gunned down with the team's bullets.

Yunho’s camera shows only the ceiling and in a couple seconds, San’s face appears.

“Yunho! You okay?” San asks, his eyes scanning Yunho’s body.

“What’s going on?” Director Kim asks, looking intently at the screen.

“I’m okay.” Yunho grunts, sitting up. “The vest caught it.” He groans, “Oh, that’s going to leave a bruise tomorrow.”

San helps Yunho to his feet and they make their way over towards the body.

"Is he?" Yunho asks.

Hongjoong's kneeling next to the body and he checks for a pulse.

"No pulse." Hongjoong says with a flat voice. "Call the crime scene unit."

"Got it." Jongho nods and leaves the frame.

Hongjoong pulls out his phone and Director Kim's phone rings.

"We got him, sir." Hongjoong stares into the camera. "It's done."

Director Kim nods. "When the crime scene unit arrives, come home. You guys did well."

"Yes, sir." Hongjoong nods and Director Kim tells Seonghwa to cut the video feed.

The screens blink back to their abstracted background and I finally release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Director Kim taps the reassignment orders in front of me before standing and buttoning his suit jacket, "We got him, (y/n). Think about it."

I nod in thanks and Seonghwa follows as Director Kim walks out of the office.

Once he's out of the office, Seonghwa envelopes me in a bear hug.

"Is there a reason getting this guy seems sweeter than the others?" He wonders as I wrap my arms around him, welcoming the comfort he always provided.

"It's a more personal case." I reason.

Seonghwa pulls back and holds me at arms length, "Are you going to accept that?" He asks, nodding towards the paper still on the table.

I look down towards it and pick it up, holding it gingerly in my hands as if it could disappear at any moment. "I guess I'll have to think about it." I respond, fold the paper, and tuck it into my back pocket.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The night air sits cooly around me. A breeze passes by and the sounds of the traffic below echos up between the buildings.

I have been thinking about the reassignment order for two days and I want to take the assignment but am teetering on the fence.

The roof access door creaks open and slams shut a few seconds later.

A peek over my shoulder confirms my suspicions of who appeared on the roof.

"The door gave me away, didn't it?" Mingi chuckles, leaning against the rail.

"Indeed it did." I laugh.

"Damn door, hated it since I first got here. Too loud." Mingi explains, "It would ruin my train of thought whenever someone tried to find me."

"Don't they know it's better to call you?" I ask.

"They know now." He states. "They don't learn as quick as I do."

I laugh with my entire chest, "Nobody can learn as quick as you, Mingi. It's what makes you good."

I pull out the folded reassignment order from my pocket and hand it over to him.

"What's this?" Mingi asks.

"Reassignment orders." I explain while he opens the paper and scans over it. "If I accept, I'll be apart of this team. For good."

"Why haven't you signed it?" Mingi wonders turning towards me.

"Waiting for the right person to encourage me." I nudge his shoulder.

Mingi smiles widely and pulls out a pen, "Better late than never, partner."

I take the pen with a smile, "Better late than never, partner."

Mingi puts an arm around my shoulders and brings me closer to him.

“We have more to talk about, don’t we?” He asks.

I sigh, “Oh Mingi, we have much much more to talk about.”

Mingi presses a kiss to the top of my head, "Well then, let's get going, partner."

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez mingi #ateez mingi imagine #mingi imagine #song mingi imagine #song mingi

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master-sass-blast · 4 years

Text

The Reception Fic

(Look, I know the title sucks. Let’s just ignore that, okay? Okay.)

Summary: Yours and Piotr’s wedding reception.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G. Ignore the swear words. Thank you.

Set after “Price Well Worth Paying.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

The concept of a “magical” wedding had always seemed laughable to you, even after you’d met Piotr. First, the people using the phrase were often Pintrest-style bloggers and wedding planners trying to sell their websites that probably drank too much caffeine, and second, you’d been up close to enough real magic by now that you knew all too well that magic usually contained more blood and death than seemed appropriate for the average wedding.

But now you’re married to Piotr –married, til death do us part and everything—and you finally get what everyone’s been saying. It’s absolutely magical.

And, honestly, it isn’t the decorations, even though they do make everything look beautiful. It isn’t your dress, either, though you love it and love wearing it and love the way Piotr teared up when he saw you in it for the first time. It isn’t the location, or the weather, or the food either, though they all help contribute to making the day absolutely perfect.

It’s Piotr and that you love him and he loves you –and, to a slightly lesser degree, the people who are standing as witnesses and helping the two of you celebrate your love for each other.

You grin up at Piotr when your two’s first married kiss as a couple ends and mouth the words “I love you” at him.

He smiles, blue eyes sparkling, and mouths them back to you.

Yeah, it’s magical, alright.

***

There’s a short break between the ceremony and the reception so the necessary tables and chairs can be set up and so that Aiden and his team can take pictures of you and Piotr, your wedding party, and your families. They take advantage of the gardens and grounds attached to Xavier’s property, and have the lot of you in various positions and pairings to get a full spread of pictures to remember the day with.

(Most of them focus on you and Piotr, though some notable highlights include one of you and Wade messing around with sparklers, one where you and Piotr make goofy faces at the camera, and one of Nikolai adjusting Piotr’s tie.)

You grin up at Piotr as you head back towards the house for the reception. “Ready to party, baby?”

He grins back down at you and squeezes your hand in his. “With you? Always.”

***

The reception is kicked off with a toast to you and Piotr, accompanied with a shot of extremely bitter vodka for each of you as per the Russian tradition.

Piotr knocks his like a champ while everyone else chants “Gorko!” (or “Bitter!” for those who can’t get a hang of Russian.)

You, however, get maybe half a sip in your mouth before you gag and spit it out. You let out a scream of disgust while several people laugh and quickly set your shot glass aside. “Oh, hell no! Ew!”

Piotr chuckles as he sets his glass down. “Myshka, you have to drink—”

“No! Shut up and kiss me so I can eat something to get that taste out of my mouth!”

Everyone laughs, then claps, when Piotr dips his head to press his lips against yours.

***

Speeches and other toasts are given while everyone eats –courtesy of the open mic, which you managed to sneak in under Piotr’s radar for “things that might cause trouble.”

Wade and Ellie give their “man of honor” and “best lady” speeches; they both wind up taking the route to talk about how long it got took for the two of you to get together in the first place and how nauseatingly in love the two of you are on a day-to-day basis –and Wade manages to keep his speech mostly clean, to boot. All in all, it’s easily classified as a win.

And then they open the mic up to anyone who wants to tell funny anecdotes about the two of you, and you laugh as you watch Piotr drop his face into his hands.

Several people have a go of it, including Russell, Kitty, and Kurt, one of Piotr’s closer friends. Between your propensity for mischief and the occasional dichotomy between Piotr’s mannerisms and his willingness to entertain your ideas, there’s no shortage of funny stories that leave everyone in stitches from laughing so hard by the time it’s all sudden done.

The surprising highlight of the night, though, is Mikhail. You swear you see Piotr’s eyelid twitch when his older brother takes the microphone in hand, but then he launches into a speech about a time Piotr had saved a nearly drowned litter of kittens on their family farm as a kid, transitions that into his brother’s evident dedication to the things he cares about and loves and how he’s seen that same dedication in his commitment to you, and clinches it with a joke about “for all that you love cats, I am not certain how you wind up with mouse” before congratulation the two of you on your marriage and wishing you both well.

You find yourself wiping away a few tears while Piotr gets up and hugs his brother.

Yeah, it’s magical.

***

Piotr’s lips press against the top of your head as the two of you sway back and forth. “Your dancing skills have improved immensely, moya lyubov’.”

You beam up at him. “I know! I haven’t even stepped on your toes once—”

Piotr winces as you catch his foot with the heel of your shoe and jerks his foot out of the way.

“Dammit!” You press your forehead against his chest as he chuckles and rubs his hand up and down your back. “Sorry!”

“It is alright, myshka,” he reassures you. “It would not be us if there was not at least one mishap.”

You giggle and nod. “Yeah, that’s true. I love you.”

He grins and dips his head to kiss you. “And I love you, myshka.”

***

The reception, all in all, is a lot of fun. Everyone enjoys the food, swapping stories and conversation, and just about everyone joins in for a rousing group dance rendition of the “Cha Cha Slide” that is –as the kids say—absolutely lit.

There is also more than enough cake for everyone, which makes you happy beyond compare.

You also toss your bouquet during the reception, which is subsequently caught by an elated Kitty.

(The garter toss goes far less smoothly. You’re not sure who’s face is redder through the whole process, yours or Piotr’s, and Mikhail and Wade don’t stop making various inappropriate comments through the whole things –but what really tops it off is that, somehow, the garter winds up getting tossed straight into Alex’s face.

Fortunately, she –and everyone else—laugh about it, even if Piotr does bury his face against your legs at having accidentally launched your garter at his mother’s face.)

But, eventually, the festivities do come to a close. Grant and his servers pack up, as do Aiden and his team, and the guests head back into the mansion while you and Piotr stroll towards your new home, hand in hand.

“Hey,” you say as the two of you walk along the path that cuts through the trees to your new home in the early evening light. “We’re married.”

Piotr giggles and smiles down at you. “We are.”

“And we have our own home.”

“That we do.”

“So… when do you want to start the ‘marital consummation’ bit of all this?”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

“I mean…” You make a small show of looking all around you. “There’s no one else here right now.”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly and shakes his head. “Nyet.”

“I thought you liked having sex with me.”

He sighs, longsuffering, and tugs your hand. “Come on, myshka.”

You giggle to yourself and resume walking again.

Waiting for you on the front porch of your house, though, is your uncle. He looks a little tired –if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, at least—but he still smiles when he sees the two of you.

“I didn’t think I would see you today!” you exclaim as you break away from Piotr to give your uncle a hug.

“I wasn’t sure if I was gonna see you, either. I’m glad I did, though.” He gives you a misty-eyed grin when he steps back. “You look beautiful, punk.” He pulls a few envelopes out of his inner jacket pocket and hands them to Piotr. “I can’t stay long, but –honeymoon information and plane tickets. Figured you two would want them.”

Piotr accepts them with a nod and a quiet “thank you.”

“I know you can’t stay, but I think there’s still some cake and stuff left,” you offer, gesturing in the direction of the mansion. “Everyone’s pretty well cleared out to do their own thing, so I don’t think anyone would see you.”

Your uncle smiles sadly. “I actually have to clear out now, punk. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it. I just… wanted to see you. Today’s important.”

“Yeah,” you say, equally as sad. “Okay.”

He pulls you into another hug and kisses the top of your head. “Love you, punk.”

“Love you, too.”

Piotr puts an arm around you as your uncle gets a running start and takes off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reassure your husband –husband, he’s your husband now—as you carefully dab at a few tears. “Just emotional.” You take a deep breath and steady yourself emotionally, then smile up at him. “Ready to go inside?”

Piotr smiles back. “Konechno.”

And then he sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, bridal-style.

How appropriate.

You laugh and loop your arms around his neck as he carries you up the front porch steps—

And then the front door swings open and Mikhail steps out of your house.

“Ublyudok!” Piotr hisses, tightening his grip on you so he doesn’t wind up accidentally dropping you. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, malen'kiy brat,” Mikhail says nonchalantly. “I just came to give this.” He hands you a plastic coffee grounds container with a label that says “motorcycle repair fund” taped to the front of it. “You’re welcome.”

Piotr eyes his brother suspiciously. “What about bike?”

Mikhail shrugs, grinning smugly. “Not broken.”

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “Well, thank you.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you screw off the top and peek in. “Whoa, that’s a lot of cash!”

Piotr frowns as he peers down at the jar. “I did not give that much.”

“Community fund,” Mikhail explains with a wink. He nods towards you. “Get lady something nice on honeymoon, da?”

Piotr’s expression finally softens as he smiles at you. “That sounds like plan.”

“Thought you would agree. Now, if you two will excuse, I hear cake calling my name.”

You shake your head as he teleports out of view. “Still not used to that.”

“You are not only one.”

You chuckle, then look up at your husband. “Shall we, Mr. Rasputin?”

Piotr grins and resumes carrying you inside your new home. “We shall, Mrs. Rasputin.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #next fic is a little filler fic #and then the fic after that is the honeymoon #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

57 notes · View notes

girls-scenarios · 5 years

Text

Sweetener

Idol: Handong (Dreamcatcher)

Prompt: Handong doesn’t even like coffee. But she still finds herself coming back to that tiny little coffee shop in the corner.

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: This wasn’t requested but I’ve had this idea for a while (based on something I saw while writing the other day) and I wanted to write a scenario for it. I hope you all enjoy, support Deja Vu, and stan Dreamcatcher.

♡ Tip Jar♡

Handong had never understood the craze around iced americano’s. She’d tried them, plenty of times, because ever since she’d gotten to Korea all of her classmates and friends had recommended them. But the americano was too bitter, too strong, and no amount of creamer and sugar could make it easy for her to choke one down. So it hadn’t taken Handong long to decide that the iced Americano wasn’t the drink for her.

But it also hadn’t taken her long to discover that she needed the extra caffeine.

University work had quickly caught up to her, leaving her with no choice but to seek out much-needed coffee. With midterms right around the corner and what seemed like an endless mountain of essays and homework to do, she found herself at the small coffee shop right off campus, only a few blocks away from her dorm.

She knew from her roommate, Sua, that the coffee shop at the library was both always packed and always loud, so she’d decided to try this place instead. As soon as she stepped inside, she was glad she’d made this choice.

The shop was quiet, a few tables filled with students studying, but plenty of open seats and no noise but the espresso machine and soft instrumental jazz playing overhead. In short, it was the perfect place to study. Smiling to herself, she looked around as she walked up to the counter. Behind the counter were two baristas who looked like they were also college students, one girl with short brown hair making coffee and then you, who stood behind the counter with a smile on your lips.

“Hello, welcome to Dream Coffee! What can I get for you today?” You sounded cheerful as you greeted her, but she couldn’t help the dread that came over her body as she thought about the terrible fate awaiting her taste buds.

“What all do you guys have?” She asked, glancing up at the menu. There were plenty of things that she didn’t really recognize, fancy names and syrups of all types. At the bottom, she saw her foe: the iced americano.

“Well, we have a bit of everything! Of course, we have americano’s. We’ve also got lattes, hot and cold brew coffee, blended drinks, and teas! Here on the menu, you can see our specialty drinks as well.”

As nice as you were, the menu was intimidating. She didn’t know what she’d like, and even though she knew she didn’t like the iced Americano, it was still familiar. She was tempted just to get it and suffer through it. But then she looked up at your friendly smile, and bit her lip. Well, it wouldn’t hurt.... “Um, what would you recommend to someone who doesn’t like the bitter taste of an americano?” She was half expecting you to give her a weird look, like everyone else seemed to give her when she admitted that she didn’t like the drink. But you didn’t.

“Oh, we have plenty of drinks that are great if you don’t like bitter tastes! I always recommend the caramel macchiato, it’s sweet but not overwhelmingly so. I think it would be a good choice if you want to try something new as well.”

With the threat of the americano gone, Handong found herself smiling again. “Okay, then I’ll get one of those! Large and iced please.”

“You’ve got it, coming right up!”

After paying, Handong found herself a cozy little table in the corner and sat down, ready to dive in. It was you who delivered her coffee, and as you sat it down on her table, you gave her a sweet smile.

“I hope you enjoy this one! Good luck with your homework!”

Something in her heart jumped as she accepted the coffee and gave you a polite nod. “Thank you.” As you walked away, she took a sip of the coffee and watched you go, a smile slipping onto her lips as the sweetness hit her tongue. She loved it.

Handong still didn’t really like coffee. She could still taste the bitter espresso behind the sweetness of the caramel and milk, and it wasn’t something that she’d drink for fun. Still, she found herself in front of that small coffee shop once again, her backpack perched on her shoulder. Midterms were still going on, after all. She needed the caffeine, that’s why she’d come back.

(It had nothing to do with your smile. At least that was what she told herself.)

The shop smelled like a mix of pumpkin and freshly-brewed coffee as she stepped in, and she found herself liking the smell as she approached the counter. Once again, you were there to greet her, smiling brightly. This time, she looked down at your name tag. (Y/N). It was a nice name.

“Welcome back! Did you like the caramel macchiato?”

Her heart skipped a beat. You remembered her? “Oh, yeah! It was good. Thank you for the recommendation.”

“No problem. Are we going to be having the same thing today?”

“Actually....” She trailed off, looking at the menu. The words still didn’t mean much to her. Plus, she wanted to talk to you some more “Do you have anything else sweet? Besides the caramel macchiato? I’m wanting to branch out a bit and try new things.”

You nodded your head, reaching down to point at something on the menu. “We just released our new fall special drinks, and I personally love the apple crisp latte! I can’t even taste the espresso, it’s so sweet.”

“I’ll go with that then!”

“Good choice!” You rang in the drink, then looked back up at her. “Oh, I didn’t get your name last time. Can I get a name for your order?”

“Handong.”

“Handong, I’ll be right out with your drink!”

Somehow, having you call her by her name made her feel flustered, and as she paid and went to find a table, she hoped the blush on her cheeks wasn’t obvious. At her seat, she peered out the window, watching as people milled past. She felt cozy and warm as she listened to the soft jazz, nerves calming down after a long day of classes. Finally, it felt like she’d found her go-to spot for homework.

“Here’s this apple crisp latte for you, Handong. I hope you enjoy it!”

She turned towards you with a smile, happily taking the warm coffee from your hands. She knew she was going to be coming back again and again. “Thank you, I’m sure I will.”

It became habit. Every few days, whenever homework got overwhelming and she needed coffee and maybe a little chat with you to cheer her up, she’d head down the street to the little coffee shop on the corner. Somehow, it seemed like every time she went in, you were working, and you’d greet her with a familiar smile, welcoming her back as you recommended sweeter and sweeter drinks.

After a while, the two of you started to have regular conversations. The coffee shop was rarely busy in the evening when she came in, so you had time to chat with her, with her either staying at the counter until her coffee was ready or you standing by her table, chatting a little longer than necessary to drop of a coffee.

She learned that you were also a university student, going to the same university down the street. She learned that you tried every drink on the menu and didn’t like some of them because they were too strong. She learned your work schedule, even, and started timing her visits to match it. You learned about her, as well, as she told you about her classes and what she was studying, and how she didn’t really like coffee but needed it to survive school. Although the two of you weren’t super close, as the short conversations the two of you had didn’t lead to anything, it was still a push in the right direction. Handong was sure the two of you were at least friends at this point. And she was happy with that, at least for now.

The day it happened was the day Handong walked in to see the normally-quiet shop packed with customers. It took her by surprise, and she blinked, wondering if she’d come to the wrong shop by accident. But no, of course it was the right shop. She’d just stopped by earlier than usual, and apparently caught the rush. You and two other workers were behind the counter, rushing to make coffees and take orders as fast as possible. Through it all, you still had on a cheerful smile, and it made Handong like you even more. Being cheerful when this many people were swarming the shop had to be hard.

Eventually, it was her turn, and you looked up from the register with your normal cheerful smile only for your eyebrows to raise and for the smile to get wider, more genuine. “Oh, Handong! You’re early today!”

“I am. I guess I caught you in a rush.”

“It’s almost as bad as morning rush today,” you said, letting out a little laugh. “It’s not usually like this.”

“You’re handling it great, though.”

“Oh, thank you!” Was that a blush on your cheeks, or was she imagining things. “What are we thinking today?”

“I want to go back to the beginning. The iced caramel macchiato, please.”

“We’ve come full circle today.” With a smile, you punched in her order. “It might take a little longer than usual, but I’ll be right out with your coffee!”

“Take your time, seriously,” Handong said as she paid, shaking her head and giving you what she hoped was a sweet smile. “I can wait, no rush.” Even though she’d assured you that she was okay with waiting, she knew as she walked to find a table that you’d rush anyway. It was just the type of person that you were: you always did your job well. And she admired you for that. As she pulled out her things, she found herself staring at you, watching you work. You turned around, letting out a little sigh and making a playful face at your coworker after giving them someone’s order, and it made her smile. Then she caught herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to drag her eyes away. When had she started to like you this much?

It was after her drink had been dropped off that it happened. She was sitting near the doors today, and to her left was a tall standing shelf that both showed off the shop’s t-shirts and mugs and showed the guests where to line up. She hadn’t really taken much notice to it, just getting used to its existence there. But today, she looked up at it just in time.

You’d been rushing back to the counter after cleaning off a table, calling to the guests that you’d be right there, when a child ran right towards your legs. You jumped back and turned your body to avoid getting plowed over, holding the tray in your hands in the air. As you laughed, assuring the mother that you were okay, you stepped a few steps backwards, and Handong barely had the time to open her mouth before your back collided with the shelf.

A few of the t-shirts and a coaster fell from the shelf and the small box of packaged sugars fell from your tray as you spun around, grabbing at the shelf to steady it. Thankfully, the mugs rocked but stayed in place, sparing you from having to clean up broken ceramic. Still, there was a mess on the floor, and your face bloomed bright red as everyone turned to look at the commotion.

Handong wasn’t even thinking as she got up, helping you out of instinct. Your eyes widened when she bent down to pick up a t-shirt, and you seemed flustered for the first time since she’d met you.

“Oh, you don’t have to help me! It’s my fault anyway!”

“But I want to help you,” she said with a smile, placing the shirt back in its place before turning her attention to the sugars. For a second, you stuttered, still surprised, before cleared your throat and bending down to help her.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, cheeks still flushed red, and she nodded, quickly looking away as her stomach twisted. How were you so cute?

“Of course.”

The packets of sweetener, sugars and fake sugars, took the longest to pick up, but it wasn’t long before both of you were back on your feet, and she was placing the box of sweeteners back on your tray. The shelf was back in place, and the customers had gone back to their own business, your coworkers taking care of the counter while you cleaned up. You gripped the tray tightly and bit your lip, glancing down at the sugar and then back at her.

“Thank you for your help. Sorry for making such a mess.”

“It was hardly your fault,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and running her hand through her hair. Why was she so nervous? “I was happy to help.”

“Um.” You seemed to contemplate something, glancing back at the counter to make sure they were doing okay before taking out one of the packets and grabbing a pen from your apron. On the sweetener, you scribbled out something before handing it to her, your cheeks flushed again but a smile on your lips. A smile she hadn’t seen of yet. “Here. I’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while, but I never got around to it.”

She took the packet from your hand, and then her eyes widened. On the white packaging was a phone number. “Really?”

“Really. Text me soon, okay Handong?”

She grinned, closing her hand around the sweetener and holding the little packet close to her heart. “I will.”

Later, after she got home, she finally got the confidence to key the number into her contacts and open up a text chat. After a few minutes of writing and deleting messages, she finally hit send, her heart pounding in her chest.

-Hey (Y/N), this is Handong! I’ve actually been meaning to do something for a while too. Would you like to go out with me sometime?

Your response was quick.

-Hey! I’d love to go out with you, I was hoping you’d ask!

After a few seconds of squealing, she sent her response.

-Is there anywhere you’d like to go?

-Anywhere other than coffee is fine with me! I drink a little too much coffee on the daily for that lol.

-I get that! How about dinner then? I know a really good Chinese place not too far from the campus.

Your response made her heart flutter, and she smiled widely, holding the phone to her heart. She was so glad that she’d learned to like coffee.

-It’s a date!

#dreamcatcher #handong #femifics #dreamcatcher scenarios #handong scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #girl groups #kpop girl groups #t:collegeau

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