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tteokggukk · 3 years

Text

summer heat → jjk

–pairing: twin!jungkook x reader

–genre: fluff, mature (? but no smut), drabble, a minor attempt at humor, best friend’s twin brother type of thing

–words: 2.9k

–warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, tiny bit of humiliation, a hint of jungkook and reader having some sort of “history” if u squint hard enough

–summary: in an attempt to calm you down and prevent your mood from swinging due to the blazing heat, your best friend decides to go out and buy you some ice cream. you’re shocked, however, when he quickly returns and looks different, making you see him in an entirely new light and leaving you trying to resist the urge to give in to your raging hormones and just jump on him.

–a/n: i was thinking of this scenario in the shower but didn’t have the brain power to turn it into a full length story so i might just add this to a pile of drabbles that i may or may not develop heh + ive been in my jungkook feels too lately sigh + also this is unedited

permanent taglist: @100percent-dum-dum @mochisjoon @boraength @rageyoudamnednerd

It was a scorching hot summer’s day. Sweat was beginning to trickle down your temples and your shirt was getting stuck to your skin, causing an irking feeling of discomfort. Looking around, you quickly grabbed an empty long folder from your best friend’s messy desk and began fanning yourself to cool down. The two of you were just there, sitting in his room in a not-so-comfortable silence.

You were currently plopped down onto a chair with your legs resting on the desk in front of you, too lazy to come up with ideas to kill your boredom.

It was a tradition for your family to travel every summer and visit a new country you hadn’t been to, but this year you had to pass the plane tickets and sight-seeing due to your best friend, Junghan, asking begging you to help him out with a month-long film project. You didn’t have the heart to decline, so you told your parents you’d stay behind and help him out which resulted in you having to stay over at Junghan’s place for the rest of the summer.

You had to admit though, a small part of you felt disinclined to stay because the project sounded like it would’ve been a tedious workload, but working with your best friend was so much more fun than you’d imagined and even the project itself turned out to be enjoyable. So far, your summer break has been spent filming and hanging out with Junghan—though hanging out usually meant staying in his room and watching romcoms all day while crying over fictional characters, ranting about how you two would never meet such perfect men in real life. It was great.

Until the air conditioner broke down.

You glanced over at Junghan, who seemed to be just as spiritless as you were while he sat in front of a fan, eyes looking empty and distant.

“I told you the air conditioner needed to be fixed,” You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, completely missing the harsh glare he sent you.

“I said I was gonna get it fixed,” He replies and turns back to the fan, his voice quieting down a little, “But the number for repair wouldn’t answer.”

“Right,” You muttered absent-mindedly, eyes staring at the ceiling while your mind was too busy trying to come up with suggestions to beat the heat, “We could go to the pool?”

“Closed,” Junghan grunts, “The mall?”

“As if we’d both drive in this state,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to get your shirt to stop sticking to your skin. Junghan glances over at you when he hears you grumbling, one of the many cues that you were beginning to feel peevish. Deciding that it was pointless to keep tugging on your shirt, you opt to take it off instead.

“You don’t mind do you?” You asked before completely removing your shirt, only leaving you in your bralette. Though you knew he never did because of the countless times he’s helped you change and pick out different outfits, you always asked out of politeness. Additionally, his zero interest in women made you feel much safer and comfortable enough to undress around him.

“I really don’t care,” He says and stands up. You hear him rumbling for a moment while you were neatly folding your shirt, and seconds later you recognize the jingling sound of keys.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“The nearby grocery. You’re about to get grumpy and I am not going to listen to a rambling bitch for the rest of the day,” He says, rubbing his temples as he makes his way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?” You asked, too exhausted to even glance at him. He probably wasn’t, you only asked for the dramatic effect.

“No, dumbass. I’m just gonna go and buy ice cream. See you in a bit.”

And with that Junghan leaves and closes the door shut. Only a few minutes later after the sound of the engine had gone did you decide to exert a little effort and move over to his previous spot to sit in front of the fan, the air immediately cooling your skin. You sighed in relief and grabbed a few tissues to wipe your temples dry before grabbing your phone and texting Junghan to buy some lemonade, followed by a second text telling him you’d pay him back once he returned.

You were surprised to hear, not even ten minutes later, that the car was already back and pulling up in the driveway. It couldn’t have been Junghan’s parents as they were out working, and it was only you and Junghan around—not like you two had many friends who would come and visit. Instead of rationalizing with yourself on how Junghan came back home in supersonic speed, you decide to drop it and wait for him to come up back to his room.

Someone knocks on the door, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. Since when did Junghan knock?

“Come... in?” You answer, though it came out more as a question. Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and your eyes widen at seeing Junghan standing by the doorframe.

Looking oddly different.

“Dude,” You stood up from your place and stared him up and down, “Is that what you were really wearing when you went out?”

His eyebrows raise in shock and you catch his eyes taking a quick glimpse from your chest before quickly looking back at the perplexed look on your face, a small smirk forming on lips. You decide to ignore it.

“What a warm ‘welcome home’,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t answer me,” you replied, still oblivious to the difference in his tone.

He was wearing an all-black ensemble—a black cap, a black leather jacket, black pants that outlined his toned thighs (how have you never noticed?), and some chunky black boots—a huge contrast to his normally colorful and baggy clothing. You were genuinely curious because you hadn’t noticed what he looked like before he left the house as you were too tired and lazy to even look up and say goodbye.

“Uh, yeah. This is what I was wearing?” He narrows one of his eyes, looking confused, “Why?”

“I don’t know… since when did you wear all black?”

“Since way back then? I don’t know,” He replies, and you now noticed how his voice was unusually low. Junghan steps inside and averts his eyes from you, looking around in his room before scrimmaging through drawers as if in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” You asked, folding your arms and following him around.

“A charger,” He replies, and a chill runs down your spine at the sound of his voice. You thought maybe you’d detect how he was just trying to change his manner of speaking, but it was effortlessly low; like he wasn’t faking it or anything. It was weird because Junghan normally sounded a little more high pitched.

“What charger?”

“A laptop charger, mine broke,” He continues searching and not once does he meet your eyes.

“Oh okay, let me help you then,” You begin to look around and help him search, “Though I don’t know what it looks like, I’ll let you know if I see a charger.”

He looks up at you and smiles, but you don’t catch him watching you as you were already busy searching, “Thanks.”

The two of you continue searching in silence, though occasionally you’d look up and glance at Junghan. What exactly was he doing? Was this for his film? Is he supposed to be in character? This new look and manner of talking that he somehow adopted after a quick trip to the grocery store did things to you. Every time he grunted in annoyance after a failed search, something in your stomach would twist and you found yourself suddenly feeling drawn, or maybe even more than drawn, to your best friend. Your gay best friend.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts.

Only a few minutes later did you find something that looked like a charger hiding underneath a pile of unfolded clothes before presenting it to Junghan, “Is it this?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” He jumps up from crouching over one of the drawers at the bedside and walks over to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know why you took such a long time searching for something in your room, though,” You rolled your eyes.

“My room?” He smiles, voice a little deeper but with a hint of amusement.

God, you could just jump on him right now.

“Yeah?” You knit your brows, “And stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was looking up at you. He leans back a bit a folds his arms, a smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was the summer heat doing things to your head and making you think about all these things that you never thought you’d ever want to do with your gay best friend, but he seemed so in character it was actually beginning to bother you. What store did he go to exactly? And where the hell is the ice cream?

“That! What’s up with your voice? And your outfit? You look so different, it’s weird,” You folded your arms as if to mirror him.

“Weird, huh?” He asks and looks at his clothing before looking back at you.

“Not in a bad way. It looks good, it’s just not you,” You squirmed slightly before shaking your head to snap out of it, “I don’t know what store you went to that made you look like this—and congrats I guess, if you’re trying to switch up your fashion, but you completely missed the ice cream, so good luck trying to handle this rambling bitch.”

He laughs at the words “rambling bitch” and oh god that is not what his laughter sounded like before. When did the sound of his laugh sound so deep and sultry? You subconsciously sucked on and bit your lip at the sound of his laughter, trying your best not to visibly drool in front of him. He catches your subtle action and his brow raises at the sight.

“Despite all the things you said, you think this looks good?” A playful smile rests on his face and your heart beats erratically at his expression.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know,” You mumbled. He shifts on the edge of the bed to move closer to you.

“And because there’s no ice cream, you’re going to turn into some rambling…” He reaches his hand out, the back of his fingers feeling the skin on your exposed waist before resting his hand on your back to pull you in closer.

“…person?” he continues, brows raised and eyes staring intently at yours, not using the vulgar word you had just used to describe yourself (or the word he had just called you before he left to go to the store).

“I...um, we’ll see,” you replied, and he only chuckles deeply. Your voice had transformed into a murmuring mess and it annoyed you, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, right now he reminded you so much of—

“I think you look good too, you know. Maybe I did miss you a lot more than I thought I did,” he whispers, pulling you in even more so you were now standing between his thighs.

Missed you? After an eight minute trip to the grocery store?

You didn’t question it. Your mind was blanking out, malfunctioning, even. Here was your best friend, your gay best friend (as you had to keep reminding yourself), placing his hands on your bare skin in a way that you knew wasn’t going to turn out to be so innocent. Right now you were extremely attracted and possibly even turned on by whatever the fuck he was doing, all you could do to save yourself was blame it on the heat. Was this absolutely weird? Hell yes. Did you want to stop him? Fuck no.

Were you now completely devoid of all reason and logic?

Definitely.

Softly, he tugs on your arm and pulls you into him so you were now sitting on his lap with your hand resting on his chest. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, the other was resting itself on the bed, gripping on a blanket.

Chills run down your spine for the second time now as his mouth moves closer to your ear, “Lucky for you I know the perfect way to handle rambling bitches.”

Your breath hitches for a moment and Junghan moves back to face you, his lips grazing your cheeks a little before you meet each other’s gaze. The summer heat was definitely nothing compared to this, but you didn’t mind. Your faces were only mere centimeters apart now and you could’ve sworn he was beginning to lean in by the look in his eyes, which were now fixated on your lips.

Seriously, you could just grab him by the collar right now and speed things up. He’s the one who pulled you in first, anyway, you just wanted to get things going. Though you haven’t exactly a clue as to where this would end, you wished he would hurry up a little to find out.

But for some strange reason, your senses were enveloped with the distinct smell of a signature fragrance that you knew did not belong to Junghan and it snapped you out of your thoughts. The scent was strong enough to flash some memories back in your mind, making you frown. Did he use this perfume on purpose? Or was your mind just playing tricks on you? In a flash, you could suddenly think straight and you couldn’t help it, the moral side of your brain had turned far stronger than your currently raging hormones (thank goodness). Something was definitely off.

“But, Junghan… aren’t you… gay?” You asked, your voice trailing off a little.

His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. He stares at you for a few seconds before it hits him, and he starts erupting in laughter. You narrowed your eyes at him and got off his lap, moving over to the side and sitting beside him instead.

“Junghan?” He stresses on the name. You’re staring at him blankly now, like you knew he was just messing with you. His laughter eventually dies down and he places a hand on your thigh, though it seemed much more innocent now, “I’m so sorry, ____, you’ve got the wrong person.”

With one hand, he quickly grabs the blanket off the bed. The back of his other free hand endearingly caresses your jaw, and you notice how he lingers for a while as he moves a bit lower down to your neck—before wrapping the fabric around you and covering your whole torso with it. Your face immediately turns pink as you clutched onto the blanket to further cover yourself, feeling slightly humiliated, though you were still confused.

“Wrong person? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering why you had no shirt on, I thought that was just a regular thing for you now. But it’s probably cause you’re more comfortable around my brother, huh?”

“Your brother…?”

“Has it really been that long?” He chuckles, and instantly your mind began connecting the pieces together. Could it actually be him? You haven’t seen him in years, and no one even bothered telling you he was coming back today. No way, surely this was Junghan playing a joke on you.

“I’m not Junghan. I’m his twin brother, Jungkook. Remember?”

You hastily stood up in defense, still clutching the blanket close to your chest, “Shut the fuck up, Junghan. No one said anything about Jungkook coming back today!”

Junghan Jungkook only laughs and stands up, the melodious sound filling the room, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the wide open bedroom door.

“What a shame, but it was a surprise. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home today,” He folds his arms, “And if I am Junghan, then who is that?” He points at the doorframe and true enough, Junghan was standing there holding grocery bags in his arms wearing his usual oversized colorful jacket and khaki colored pants.

You and Junghan both looked at each other with mouths dropped down to the floor before you looked back at Jungkook, who had the same smirk tugged on his lips, clearly amused at the whole situation.

Jungkook bends forward and leans in to your face, his voice in a lower tone but still audible enough for his brother to hear, “Probably shouldn’t take your top off so leisurely around the house anymore, huh?” He grins and winks at you, causing you wince and force an awkward smile, internally cursing yourself at everything that just happened.

“Anyways, I should probably rest up in my room. See you around,” Jungkook flashes you a smile before placing a chaste kiss on your (now dry, because your body had frozen up) forehead before walking away from you, taking the charger and dangling it in his other hand. He taps his confused looking brother on the shoulder before turning his head back to take one last look at you before walking out, leaving you and Junghan staring at each other in shock.

Junghan walks in slowly and sets the bags of grocery on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks you, eyes wide in anticipation.

Your mind replays everything that had happened between you two. Was Jungkook really just about to kiss you minutes before? Heart racing, you clutch on your chest from underneath the blanket he had covered you with. No way was Jungkook back. No way is he back and looking even more attractive than he did the last time you saw him. Not when you had just gotten over your small crush on him a couple of years ago.

The heat returns to your body, but it mainly pools on your cheeks. You look back at your best friend, but no words of explanation come up.

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.”

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

I Think I'm OKAY

genre: Angst, hurt comfort

length: two parter

warning(s): Feelings of abandonment, self-depreciating thoughts, suicidal thoughts (briefly), feelings of not being good enough, feelings of being unneeded and unloved

A/N: its just been a day guys. And Ive been think about this all day so I just wrote to get tge thoughs out of my head.

this takes place a few months after the epilogue of Everything Undesired where Azalea is still coming to grips with the fact that she's not her father's heir like she always thought she had been. Mammon and Arella really did try to make time for her but things just never worked out in their favor and it ended up giving their daughter abandonment issues.

She’s lost. Not physically but mentally- Azalea doesn’t know where to go or what her purpose is. Ever since her older brother returned from where ever the hell he’s been her whole life, she’s felt more alone than ever before. From her parents being busier than ever helping Cyrus readjust to life here in the Devildom to her twin brother being curious enough about their new older brother to spend all his time trying to get to know him, no one has time for Azalea any more.

Whenever she tries to reach out to either her parents or her brother she gets blown off. It’s always ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t make it.’ or ‘I’m sorry, I forgot that was today.’ Forgot? How does one just forget about their child? And Azalea is sorry too. She’s sorry for existing. Maybe everyone is just tired of her. Maybe they didn’t need her anymore? After all, she was just her father’s back up plan. A back up plan. Yeah, it sounded as bad as it hurt- to think that’s the only reason he kept her around all this time. Despite how she might try, all she could ever do is fuck up. Why would her parents ever need a child like that?

She feels abandoned, unneeded. All she ever wanted was to make them proud- she pushed herself to maintain the perfect grades just for their praise. Hell, she’d even forced herself to take advanced placement and honors courses just for their approval but they hadn’t even noticed. And it’s not like she hadn’t tried to show them. The last report card she got in her last year of middle school had a note attached to it stating that when she entered RAD, she’d be welcomed into the advanced courses but of course they had been too busy to even look. Both of her parents assumed nothing had changed so they just didn’t need to see something they had seen hundreds of times already.

Why did they stop loving me? The half-demon thinks to herself, Was it all the fights? Was I not good enough for them? I wish I could make them happy the way my brothers do. I wish I was perfect like them, maybe then they wouldn’t have forgotten about me. Maybe I would still belong. What did I do wrong? Azalea can feel the tears dripping down her face. I’m crying? Again? Pathetic. People like me don’t cry.

She hurriedly wipes them away as she looks up at the stars that dot the night sky of the Devildom. She’s pretty high up on a rooftop. She wonders if a fall from this height might kill her or would it just leave her badly injured- the idea’s tempting. She’d come up here to clear her mind and sort out her feelings with how things had changed- how everything she thought she was meant to be had been ripped away from her, but it had just made things worse. She thought she was okay with all this change but after trying for months to find something new to do with the rest of forever, she found out the only thing she was ever any good at was getting into fights. Sure, she’d taken up sports on her uncle Beel’s suggestion but that led to even more pain when time after time, neither of her parents could be bothered show up.

Her phone lights up with a text from her father.

Dad:

Why weren’t ya at dinner today?

Azalea:

Why weren’t you and Mum at my meet today? Ya know like you promised ya would be?

Dad:

‘Zay c’mon don’t be like that. We said we were sorry but something important came up and we couldn’t make it

Azalea:

Sure whatever you say old man

Its what you always say

It's always something more important ain’t it?

Something more important than me.

Dad:

Azalea

Azalea:

Shove it old man. I don’t wanna hear it right now.

She always gets the short end of the stick. For parents that claim they care about her, they sure had a shitty way of showing it. As the family’s resident trouble maker, she’s not good enough for them. Whatever, she doesn’t even need them anyway. She deserves better than a family that doesn’t care. A family she no longer has a place in. And that was fine by her. Now that she’d finally admitted it to herself, she found it would be easier to ignore her entire family and live life depending on only herself.

With a shuddering huff, the girl shuts her D.D.D off and shoves it in her jacket pocket. She leaves the roof top, still in tears headed for the House of Lamentation.

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“Arella, I have to go and find our daughter.” Mammon sighs as he gets his jacket on.

“She’s still upset about the track meet, isn’t she?” The black-haired human frowns “If you’ll give me a moment, I can ask Aurelius if he’ll watch Mahlon and I’ll go with you. This is something we should address together.”

“I don’t think we got the time to waste, Hon. She stopped respondin’ ta my texts and isn’t answerin’ her phone. If I don’t go now, she might so something to herself. I’ll be able to cover more ground quicker if I fly since she could be anywhere- even up high where we wouldn’t be able to see her that easily.”

“Then go on, I’ll talk to her when she gets home.” Arella nods as her husband leaves.

------------------------------------------------------

She enters her room through the garage door entrance. She really didn’t need to considering Azalea was the only one home currently. She knew Aurelius and Zulima would be gone for the rest of the weekend but still she locked her door to prevent any unwanted visitors- mainly her parents as she knew they’d probably come looking for her after the message she’d sent to her father earlier.

She looked over at the stack of unopened akuzon boxes- all gifts sent to her by her parents as ‘apologies’ for various things. Yeah sure, gifts were nice when they were for things like birthdays or Christmas but not when they were used as a way to placate her feelings when her parents missed things like track meets or science fairs or school functions that they promised they would be there for. It felt like a shallow apology so Azalea never opened any of them. They were starting to collect dust now.

Just because greed is her sin doesn’t mean its satisfied by material objects alone. There was more to it than that. Her sin specifically manifests with being greedy for healthy interpersonal relationships- things like money or material objects only did the bare minimum to help keep it under control and satisfied. She wanted her parents’ attention and only that so when they failed to keep their promises, it hurts her deeper than either of them understands- Azalea doesn’t even have the words to describe how it hurts her.

As she plops down on her sectional and flips on the projection of stars and constellations from the human world to calm herself down, she thinks about the way her greed is eating her alive as she turns on some music- a song her friend from the human world showed her called ‘I Think I’m Okay’. It was a song she really related to for some reason. As the song plays on loop, she thinks about how when she was younger- before her youngest brother was born- she was always of healthy weight and body condition. Nowadays with the lack of ability to satisfy her sin, she was just skin and bone. Despite eating constantly, she always feels like she’s starving and she’d be lucky if she weighed in at 90 pounds soaking wet- all of it coming from the weight of her bones and muscle. Her body is just burning through everything too fast and at this point Azalea doesn’t know whether or not she even has the energy to waste to transform into her demon form anymore.

The half-demon hears a faint knock at the door. Maybe if she doesn’t answer then whoever it is will get the hint and go away. As she watches the door open, a scowl appears on her face. Of course her father would pick the lock on her door. She doesn’t know why she’s even surprised right now. He never knows when to leave well enough alone.

“We need to talk...” Mammon says as he sits down on the couch next to her.

“I don’t wanna. Get lost.” the teenager rolls on to her side away from her father.

“Too bad. I’m not leavin’ until we do.”

“Then prepare ta die in here cuz I refuse.” She can’t let him fool her into accepting his apology when she knows full well he doesn’t mean it.

“You really are just like your ma sometimes- stubborn as all get out.” He sighs. “I see ya never opened yer packages. Why?”

She continued to ignore him. How can she get out of this? Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could fool him into thinking she was asleep.

Just get frustrated and leave already. It’s what ya always do when I won’t talk to ya.

She waits an hour, two, three but still he doesn’t leave.

Man is this getting annoying! Why won’t he just give up and go home already?

“Well, since ya won’t talk, I will. Ya know, Mom and I really are sorry we couldn’t be there this afternoon... I know you’re upset about it but we got called to an emergency meeting at the castle and we... kinda... forgot what time it was by time we were done. I know we don’t have a lot of time to spend with ya anymore but things are just so crazy right now... it’s difficult and when ya act like a brat like this it doesn’t make things any easier.” And Mammon realizes too late that he’s said the wrong thing and put his foot in his mouth.

“Right... cuz that’s all I am is a spoiled brat...” Azalea can’t help the way her voice quakes. “I’m a brat because I asked for you and mum to pay attention to me over the boys just this once and you two let me down and now, I’m getting blamed for being as upset as I am. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”

“Azalea, that’s not what I meant and you know that,” Mammon places his hand on her shoulder to turn her over and is shocked when all he feels is bone and muscles that are beginning to atrophy. “What are you doing to yourself? Yer nothin’ but skin an’ bone, Baby.”

“I’M NOT THE ONE WHOSE DOING THIS TO ME!” she roars as she hops up from the couch. “IT’S YOU TWO. YOU’RE THE ONES DOING THIS TO ME!” and then her voice suddenly drops. “But you would notice that if you spent more than five seconds with me. My greed is eating me alive and it’s your fault. I’ve tried for months to get you or Mum to spend time with me and I get forgotten about every time because something ‘more important’ comes up or you also make plans with Aurelius or Cyrus and choose to do that over spending time with me. It’s either that or you both choose Mahlon over me and it’s literally killing me. I get that they all need you guys too and I’m not more important than them but it feels like they’re more important to you than me. And I hate it because...” She lets out a sob as she sinks to her knees, “Because you two are the most important people to me.”

Mammon looks at his daughter with a horrified look on his face. His only daughter feels like she’s not important to them but she was right in a way. Both he and Arella had been choosing her brothers over her- not intentionally but he can see why she would come to that conclusion. This was a very crucial time in her life having had everything she thought she was taken away and she was lost with no clue where to go. He and her mother should have been right by her side, helping her find a new path in life this whole time but instead they got so wrapped up in work and other things that now their daughter was suffering the consequences.

“No, baby that’s not true.” The demon says as he wraps his little girl up in his arms. “You are so important to us too.” He rubs her back as he rocks her back and forth, “We love you so much and I’m so sorry we haven’t made ya feel like that. We’re gonna do better from now on. I promise, okay?”

Azalea is hesitant to nod. How many times had she heard the word promise and then had that promise broken but even now as she’s wrapped up in her father’s arms, she’s starting to feel the overwhelming weight of her sin slowly start to go away. She just rests her head against his chest as her puffy teary blue to gold eyes start to slip closed ever so slowly.

“Sweet dreams, Princess.” He says as he runs he hand through her hair and places a kiss to the top of her head.

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Find more on my masterlist

#obey me next gen #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst #obey me mammon #mammon angst #om! mammon #obey me oc #arella #azalea

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 1

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 2,300ish

Summary: You begin your intern year at Avengers Medical Center

You let out a little groan as you turned around. You immediately knew you were naked as the cold wood floor sent chills down your bare body. Slowly opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were home, in the house you had just inherited, boxes still pilled high around the living room you were laying in. Suddenly, someone else groaned beside you. You teased, clenching your eyes shut. The headache you had been ignoring since you woke finally broke free and you realized that your late night drunkenness must have caused you to bring a guy home.

You let out a long breath as you reopened your eyes and looked over at the hopefully-still-asleep man beside you. He wasn’t bad looking at all. You had really done well. He was blonde with a chiseled body. He had to have been at least six foot, which didn’t hurt. He was naked though, all out in the open on your living room floor. Cringing, you sat up, pulling one blanket from the couch to quickly cover yourself before standing and pulling one over him. You stood up silently, and began making your way out of the room. It was your first day of your intern year as a doctor, you couldn’t afford to be late.

You successfully made it to the doorway of the living room without a sound before the floorboard beneath you creaked. You should there, frozen, closing your eyes in hopes that the man sleeping behind you wouldn’t wake. You could hear him turn over, letting a small moan out of his mouth. Waiting a few more seconds, you started going again.

“You know…” the man started, clearly in his morning voice, “it’s usually rude to disappear on someone after spending a night with them.”

You quickly spun around to see him, still laying on his stomach, looking up at you with a sly grin.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “it’s my house, so it’s not that rude.”

He stood up, not grabbing the blanket as quick as he should have, letting you have another look at him. When you met his eyes again, it was clear that you had been caught staring and that he was enjoying it.

“Why the rush to silently get out of here?” He asked, tucking the blanket around his waist. “Have a husband or a boyfriend you have to hurry and get ready for?”

“Neither,” you responded, tightening your hold on the blanket covering you. “I’m running late for my first day of work. So, if we’re done here, you should go.”

“We don’t have to be done here.”

“I think we do.” You kicked up his shirt, grabbing it, and throwing him at it. “You need to go.” He caught his shirt, slipping it on slowly over his clear cut abs. “So, um, goodbye… um…”

“Steve,” he reached his hand out.

“Steve. Right,” you shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He smiled. It almost took your breath away, but you couldn’t let it show.

“Yeah.”

“Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah. Bye, Steve.”

You fled up the stairs, hoping that by the time you were done getting ready, Steve would be gone.

~~~

You made it to the Avengers Medical Center just in time to meet up with the other interns in your year. The Chief of Surgery, Dr. Nicholas J. Fury, was leading a small tour to the ORs. He started talking as the interns took in the OR.

“Each of you comes here hopeful. Wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors,” Fury stated. “The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play? That's up to you.”

He then told each of the interns which resident they were assigned to. You got Dr. Gamora. All of the interns were then taken to the locker room, where each of you were assigned a locker and given scrubs to change into and start your long day.

“Only ten women out of thirty,” you muttered as you slipped your scrubs on.

“Yeah,” the woman with fiery red hair next to you responded. “I heard that one of them was a model. Seriously, like that’s going to help with the respect thing?”

“You’re Natasha, right?”

She nodded. “You’re Y/N?”

“Mhm,” you hummed.

“Which resident did you get assigned to? I got Gamora.”

“Me too.”

“You got Gamora?” A male intern repeated beside you. “So did I. At least we’ll all be tortured together, right? I’m Clint Barton, uh, we met at the mixer. You had a dress with a slit up the side, those shiny heels…” You and Natasha exchanged looks. “Now you think I’m gay.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha hummed, heading out the door.

“No, I’m not gay! It’s, ah, it’s just that, you know, you were, I mean… You were very unforgettable,” Clint rambled as you both followed after Natasha. You shot him a sympathetic smile before hurrying to catch up with Natasha. “And I’m totally forgettable.”

“Barton, L/N, Romanoff, Valkyrie, Lang,” a doctor called at the door way.

“Gamora?” Natasha questioned that doctor that called you.

“End of the hall.”

The five of you that were called began walking. At the end of the hall, you saw a pretty woman working on paperwork. She didn’t look as threatening as you had heard she was.

“That’s Dr. Gamora?” Natasha wondered.

“From what I heard, I thought she’d look scarier,” the other male in your group of five said. You guessed it was Scott Lang.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “I thought she’d be… well, bigger.”

“Same,” you added.

“Maybe it’s professional jealousy,” a woman in your group suggested, Valkyrie, you presumed. “Maybe she’s brilliant, and they say things about her because they’re jealous. Maybe she’s really nice.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re the model,” Natasha said.

“Wait…” Clint said, looking at Nat. “I thought you were the model.”

Valkyrie shot Natasha a look before turning to Dr. Gamora with an extended hand. “Hi, I’m Valkyrie, but everyone calls me Val.”

Gamora looked her up and down, not even moving to shake Val’s hand. “I have five rules,” Gamora stated, clearly unimpressed already. “Rule number one, don’t bother sucking up, I already hate all of you, that’s not gonna change.” She turned and pointed to things on the counter. “Trauma protocol, phone lists, pagers. Nurses will page you, you answer every page at a run. A run, that's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts forty-eight hours.”

Gamora began walking away with you and the others quickly following, after each of you have grabbed the things off the counter.

“You’re interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain, you run labs, write orders, work every second night till you drop and don’t complain!” She continued. Gamora led you to a door, opening it to reveal a room with bunk beds. “On call rooms. Attendings hog them, sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me, unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, not only would you have killed someone, you would have also woke me for no good reason, we clear?” There was a brief pause before you nervously raised your hand. “Yes.”

“You said five rules,” you tried to hold back a cringe as you spoke up. “That was only four.”

Suddenly, Gamora’s pager beeped. “Rule number five. When I move, you move.” She ran down the corridor, followed by you and the other interns. “Get out of my way!” She yelled at a few doctor’s blocking the hallway.

You had the others followed Gamora to the ER. There was a bustling trauma room that the six of you entered. There was a young female on the stretcher, already being hooked to the machines.

“What’ve we got?” Gamora asked.

“Savannah Chase, fifteen year old female,” the paramedic still in the room stated. “New onset seizures, intermittent for the past week. ID lost en route. Started gran mal seizing when the ambulance pulled up.”

“Alright, get her on her side, Val, ten milligrams Diazepam.” Val started to do as she was directed while the rest of you watched. “No, no, the white lead is on the right, righty whitey, smoke over fire, a large bore IV. Don’t let the blood haemolyse, let’s go!”

Val injected the young woman with the diazepam and she stopped seizing. A new Doctor entered the room.

“So I heard we got a wet fish on dry land?” The man asked.

“Absolutely Dr. Banner,” Gamora responded.

“Dr. Gamora, I’m gonna shotgun her.”

“That means every test in the book, CT, CBC, chem seven, a tox screen,” Gamora clarified for the interns. “Natasha, you’re on labs, Clint, patient workups, Y/N, get Savannah for a CT, she’s your responsibility now.” Gamora began to walk away.

“Wait,” both Val and Lang called out. Gamora turned back around.

“What about us?” Val asked.

“You two—honey, you get to do rectal exams.”

~~~

You were currently in an elevator with Savannah, the patient, trying to find your way to CT. Since it was your first day at the medical center, you didn’t know where anything was and you were too stubborn to ask.

“You’re lost,” Savannah stated.

“I’m not lost,” you defended. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m missing my pageant.”

“You’re missing your pageant.” You wheeled her out of the elevator and around a corner, still not knowing where you were headed.

“The Manhattan Teen Miss? I was in the top ten after the first two rounds. This is my year. I could’ve won.” Savannah sat up as she was wheeled back around the same way. “Hello? You’re so lost. What are you, like, new?”

“I’m— just tell me what happened.”

“I twisted my ankle. I do rhythmic gymnastics, which is like, really cool. Nobody else does it. And I tripped over my ribbon, and I didn't get stuck with someone this clueless. And that was like, a nurse.”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to be over-the-line rude to a patient on your first day. It took you almost another forty five minutes to find CT. You helped her with the scan before taking her back to a room. Before you knew it, it was lunch time. You grabbed some food from the cafeteria, finding your group of interns alone at a table.

“Savannah Chase is a pain in the ass,” you grumbled as you sat down with your tray. “If I hadn't taken the Hippocratic oath, I'd Kevorkian her with my bare hands.” The others around her just stared. “What?”

“Good afternoon interns,” a new doctor came up. “I’m Dr. Maria Hill. It’s posted, but I thought I’d share the good news personally. As you know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I’m running the OR today, I get to make that choice. I’ve been watching you all and I have to say, you’re all something. The intern I’ve chosen is, Scott Lang.”

Scott coughed up the drink he had been taking. “M-me?” He questioned.

“You’ll scrub in for an appendectomy this afternoon. Congratulations.” Then she left.

“Did she say me?”

“I can’t believe you were chosen over me,” Natasha grumbled. “It’s already clear that I’m a better surgeon that you.”

“Did she say… I’m sorry. What?”

~~~

After lunch, you went back to Savannah’s room to take care of her. As you did, a man and a woman, not doctors, came in.

“Savannah, honey, mom and dad are here,” the woman said, coming over to Savannah’s bedside.

“They gave her a sedative for the CT scan, so she’s a little groggy,” you informed them.

“Will she be alright?” The mother asked.

“Our doctor at home said she might need an operation, is that true?” The father wondered.

“What kind of operation?”

“She’s, um, well, you know what,” you tried your best to sound professional through your nervous stuttering, “I’m not, I’m not the doctor, uh. I am a doctor, but I’m not Savannah’s doctor, so I’ll go get him for you.”

You quickly left the room to go find Gamora. Thankfully, she was at the nurses desk just outside of the room. You hurried over but were too nervous to start speaking.

“What?” Gamora questioned, not looking up from the paperwork she was doing.

“Savannah’s parent’s have questions,” you responded. “Do you talk to them, or do I ask Banner?”

“No, Banner’s off of the case. Savannah belongs to the new attending now, Dr. Rogers, he’s over there.”

You follow in the direction that Gamora gestured to. You only made it a few steps before freezing. The man Gamora gestured to was talking to another doctor. But that wasn’t the reason you froze. Dr. Rogers was none other than your one night stand, Steve. Your eyes widened and you turned to go, but it was too late. Steve glanced your way, having to do a double take. You quickly left, feeling his eyes on the back of you.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

next chapter >

NOTES: Yes, this has been posted before, but I deleted it. I’m trying again. From now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #nick fury x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #valkyrie x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #gamora x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

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kookdbean · 3 years

Text

unbothered

a/n: another addition to so it goes! just little snippets of acts of service between jungkook and oc. this takes place over the first school year together. also, if you guys have any ideas for more drabbles, pls send them in! enjoy! warnings: mentions of food consumption, coffee consumption, hints at students family life.

series masterlist

It's Friday, the end of the second week of school.

The past three days, Jungkook and you have been arriving at the same time. You'd wait for one another, catching up from the day before since you parted. He'd crack a joke about how he wasn't sure what tires him out more, his roommate's stupid shit or waking up early five days in a row.

Today, you're running twenty minutes behind; twenty-five minutes before school started.

Teeth brushed and face washed were your first two priorities this morning. You were able to throw your hair up into a messy updo; not having enough time for the full routine, only patting moisturizer into your skin. It would be enough to make it seem like you put some effort, right?

It's after you've parked, backpack hanging over your shoulder, tote bag hanging low from your hand, that you spot Jungkook's car and freeze.

Did you leave him waiting?

Clocked in, you make your way to drop off your belongings in your room as fast as you can. No one stops you in the hall, a small sigh of relief leaves you. Who knows how long Ms. Lee Ji-Wan, a second grade teacher who literally beams sunshine, would have kept you if she spotted you.

A moment, just a small moment you allow yourself. A moment where you're not rushing yourself, worried about being somewhere, in the comfort and stillness of your classroom. Hand rubbing your nape, head slowly rolling out to the side. Just a moment.

And it's not ruined, not when you hear three soft knocks on your door before sliding open.

Jungkook's head is poking in, his wide eyes searching the room before settling on you. His eyes quickly look you over before he allows himself in, door closing behind him.

"You didn't wait, did you?" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, your hand moving down to rub your fingers against your collarbone.

"Not long, no," Jungkook reassures you, not staying still.

"Jungkook," you frown, reaching over to your desk for your coffee, that you realize you forgot when your fingers wrap around nothing, balling up into a loose fist.

"Here," Jungkook laughs, moving his hand from behind his back. An iced coffee.

Hands instantly clasping against your chest, big eyes and a hopeful tug of your eyebrows; your facial expression reading, "is that for me?" Jungkook laughs, holding the coffee out to you, shaking it to show you that it's real, and it's for you.

"I got here just before you, actually. I was in the mood for some expensive coffee and figured you'd like one, too," Jungkook explains, that smile never leaving his lips.

ii.

The end of a meeting is always such a relief.

The quiet, exciting buzz that comes with the meeting being called to it's end, almost like an exhale that relieves your body from the weights of the world for just that moment; weightless and carefree.

The chairs being pushed away so teachers could stand, the sound of shuffling paper and occasional crumple, quiet chatter while some people gathered together, others just making their way of the room. Talk of lunch plans, upcoming events (personal and 'professional').

That was feeling is what you look forward to at the start of every meeting.

It's the feeling you relish this moment. Tae-yeon rubs your forearm, telling you she'll see you after the day ends before rushing off to join Jae-eon, physical education teacher. You look after her, standing up, watching as the pair makes their way out of the room.

You turn back towards the center of the room, eyes scanning the room until you spot Jungkook.

Jungkook's not in the spot he deemed as his unassigned assigned seat during meetings, but at the front of the room, talking to the principal. His body language is animated; his papers on the chair closest to him, hands moving regardless of close they are to his body. You could see how his eyes widened and his tone came off as serious, passionate.

You can't help but watch. You can't help but wonder what he was so passionate about, what he was sharing with the principal.

You can't take your eyes away, not until they bow to each other and the principal is turning towards you, to make his way to the exit behind you. Quickly, you duck your head and a quiet wish leaves your lips, "have a good day, sir."

"You waited," Jungkook simply says, your head turning upwards and eyes automatically moving to his face.

"Yeah," you hum.

"You didn't have to," Jungkook reassures with a small smile, folding his small stack of papers in half and tucking it under his arm. He makes his way towards you, hand gesturing towards the door.

"Yeah, but I wanted to. We always go to lunch afterwards," you state.

"Oh," Jungkook falters behind you. He watches you make your way to the door, turning midway when you don't feel his presence.

"You wait for me," you shot back, a teasing look on your face.

"Yeah, because I haven't been sucked into a teacher's clique," Jungkook defends jokingly.

iii.

You're looking over the math worksheets from this morning, red pen in one hand, chopsticks handling japchae in other.

"This is DEAN" playlist on Spotify plays softly from your computer. You hum, in tune to the music and to the taste of the japchae that your roommate, Sana, made last night.

You don't hear the door open, your face down towards the container of noodles. Cheeks full and puffed out, you throw your head back, a quiet moan, eyes closed. God, you loved noodles.

"You okay?" Jungkook laughs, taking you by surprise.

Head lowering to look at him, your eyes are wide and don't bother chewing, just watching as Jungkook gets closer.

"I thought you had lunch plans," you struggled, slowly chewing and swallowing, repeating the process until your mouth becomes empty again.

Jungkook laughs again, reaching over to twist the cap off your bottle of juice open before handing it to you.

"Take it slow."

You wave him off, taking a sip, eyes looking him up and down.

"You didn't met up with your friend... Seokjin?" you ask curiously, hoping you got the name right.

"I did," Jungkook nods and taps his finger against your desk, "but Jin-hyung had something come up."

Your lips pout, brows furrowing, "Sorry. I know you were looking forward to it."

"It's fine, I know where he lives," Jungkook cackles, placing a small container in front of you, "but just as I promised..."

"Is this the cake he made last time?" You gasp hopefully, pulling yourself closer.

There's a glimmer in your eyes, it makes Jungkook laugh quietly, shoulders shaking and nose scrunching up as he nods.

"He gave me some extra after I mentioned that I shared it with a friend from work," Jungkook smiles, popping the lid open.

What you didn't know about Jungkook that his hyung(s) did was that Jungkook only shared food with people he really cared about.

iv.

Since the days Jungkook and you used to just magically show up at the same time to school and wait for each other so that you could enter the building together (neither you or Jungkook know that the other peeked at the time when they realized that arrive at that time, thus the new addition to their daily routines), you've both had the other's phone number.

First, texts were exchanged when one of you decided to go for a coffee run, always asking the other if they wanted something.

Then came the texts to tell the other that you were running late (you showed up ten minutes before the school day started just to find that someone turned on your computer).

Following that were the texts that came in the evening. The "what was the name of the website that you those pens?," "what was the dish you mentioned Namjoon made for dinner?," the "I have roommate cake and coffee tomorrow morning!!!"

You remember the first time Jungkook took a sick day, after the winter break, after you'd deemed yourselves friends and not just coworkers.

You're in the teacher's lounge, lips hovering over your water bottle. You're pretending to pay attention to your phone, thumb scrolling against the screen as if you're on social media, but in reality, you had your conversation with Jungkook opened. Subtly trying to type out everything you were hearing in the teacher's lounge.

"before you call me a child, I just have to say... you chose the wrong day to be absent, mr. jeon."

Jeon Jungkook: what is this? are we fourteen? are you trying to get me to wonder what the day is like without me?

You scoff to yourself, trying to bite back a smile.

Jeon Jungkook: when I woke up again this morning, it was already 10am, and the first thing that popped into my head was that it was two hours into the school day and math is almost over.

A laugh leaves your lips, the noise from the nearby teachers becoming quiet as they looked over at you.

Eventually, your texts ranged throughout the entire day. From the morning texts asking if the other wants coffee, texts swapping recipes in the late afternoon, to just asking about weekend plans and just...talking to one another.

"I'll have you know, Jeon Jungkook, that my Saturdays are sacred," you gushed, waggling your finger jokingly.

Jungkook snorts, pushing the cart past you, leaving you standing there. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder at you, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face.

"No one forced you to tag along," Jungkook points out.

"You're right. But, you also know that I cannot and will not turn down a lunch invitation," you sigh dramatically.

"Ah, so when you see my face, you see a money bag?"

"Didn't you hear? The way to someone's heart is through their stomach," you sigh, hand over your chest, walking closer to where Jungkook's stopped.

Jungkook's looking at things that he can gift the students in the after school art club. You both had already gotten little gifts for your respective classes, but Jungkook had told you that he wanted to give his art kids some supplies so that they'd be encouraged to keep doing art; supplies that parents couldn't afford or in some cases, didn't want to purchase.

"I have three students who go to high school next year," Jungkook murmurs to himself, scratching the back of his neck, "but I don't want the rest of them to think I don't care about them."

"What were you planning on getting for them?" you ask gingerly, hands running over the different sketchbook covers.

"Taehyung was able to get some good quality mixed media sketch books from the art museum. They hold workshops every week and he found some extras," Jungkook turns to look at you, a hint of a soft smile, "so I was thinking a basic watercolor set, some pencils, color pencils?"

"Mmm, maybe leave the water colors for the ones going to high school? Not that you don't trust the younger ones, but water colors seems like some more responsibility," you comment.

Jungkook hums back in acknowledgement, moving to stand next to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at his proximity, your heart racing when you catch his scent.

"You added erasers and sharpeners?"

"Pencil set."

"Hmm," your eyes scanning down the aisle. You spot chalk hanging at the end of the aisle, hand reaching out to pat Jungkook's bicep before quickly moving down the aisle. Adjusting your bag onto your shoulder, you dramatically gesture towards the various packs of chalk.

"Not only can they make art in their sketch books, but out in the neighborhood," you try telling it to him like a salesman at a car dealership, "art that can be remade, reworked. Sidewalks, driveways, whatever!"

Jungkook can't fight off the laugh as he doubles over, his laugh echoing around him.

His laugh is contagious, it might be your favorite sound. It has you breaking character, your laugh joining his; a symphony that could bring crowds together, one that people never wanted to stop hearing.

"What? It's not good?" you defend yourself through giggles.

"Did I say something?" Jungkook chuckles, pushing the cart towards you, carefully placing several packs of chalk in.

"Did I win myself some dessert?" you turn away to peek at the other aisles.

"That already came included with the lunch offer. You, my friend, have won yourself something even better."

You realize Jungkook's movement until you hear his voice right in your ear.

"You get to pick one thing from the store and I'll buy it for you."

You shiver, stepping away from him, overwhelmed. You try to brush off the way the back your neck heats up, your heart beats a little faster, your hands get a little clammy. Just a moment to compose yourself, yet, a moment becomes too long when the hairs on the back of your neck fall back down and his scent is no longer surrounding you.

You look up with wide eyes, watching Jungkook make his way into the aisle that had "acrylic and oil points" written at the top.

"Wait!" You call out, trying to catch up to him, "you can't judge what I pick!"

tagging: @yslkook

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #so it goes

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louisydraws · 2 years

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Ive been very hesitant with sharing this and idk why but here we go anyways! ( an attempt was made to the jojo art style)

Meet my jojo oc Yumi Takahashi, age 17 years old. She appears in part 3

How she joins the crusaders. Yumi, like Kakyoin, loves video games. She tends to stay up trying to beat a level of a game that she is currently playing at the time. The day that Jotaro and Kakyoin met is the same day she overslept and was running late to class. Trying to get on class she stumbles between the two and their fight in the nurses office. Yumi is in disbelief what she is seeing. In shock that other people have stands, let alone people that attend her school. When jotaro comes crashing through the wall Yumi offers to help but jojo being jojo declines and tells here to stay out of his way. After the fight Yumi stops jotaro and ask if she could tag along with him since she really doesn’t want to be blame for the damage that he left. She also wants to learn more about this ability that she shares with the two. Jotaro gives out he famous “yare yare daze” and allows her to tag along

The day Joseph states that they’re going to Egypt, Yumi is set in stone that she wants to join them. Joseph tries to talk her out of it but it’s no use. She wants to. She believes it’s more then coincidence that she meet jojo that day and then leading to the trip the next day. She feels that it’s destined. Joseph gives up on trying to change her mind and allows her to go.

Yumi doesn’t wear her school uniform like the boys. Fun fact she carries a bag with a change of clothes because she doesn’t like walking around in her skirt after class especially if she has to run errands for her mother. Some words I would like to describe her with are chatty, she loves to talk about anything to be honest but of course she understands when she’s annoying someone. Easy-going, clever, and ambitious

I’m still work on her stands design but her stand name is “sweet dreams”. This gives her the ability to create illusions and fake scenarios of people’s hopes, desires and dreams. Depending on the person’s mental stability they can easily break from the illusions/scenarios or not, however Yumi’s mental stability also has affect of how long she can keep the opponent in her illusions, she not going down without a fight.

Her relationships with the crusaders

Jotaro: the two tend to bump heads with one another, they usually provoke one another. However most of the time they’re really chill with each other. They smoke together and talk. Although Yumi does the talking and Jotaro only giving small responds or just nodding his head. They care for each, the two being the first to run up to each if they got hurt. A possible love interest of hers .

Kakyoin: these two together are nerds, constantly talking about video games and whatever they can think of. The two are very similar, not having many/no friends while growing up. The two become best of friends quickly

Polnareff: she wants to choke him half of time. She constantly annoyed of his actions, and he doesn’t help when he’s constantly bothering her. You can always catch these two yelling at one another “ ARE YOU DUMB WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT” “I’m surprise you made it this far in life” . They have a brother and sister like relationship

Avdol: Avdol wants to protect Yumi from enemy stand users, constantly keeping an eye on her. He wants to make sure she makes it out alive on this trip. Very caring towards her, almost like a older brother and younger sister relationship.

Joseph: like Avdol he wants to protect her from danger the best he can. She reminds him of Holly. Yumi is always surprised with the things that Joseph does on this trip. It’s like have a crazy grandfather that she really never asked for, but has him anyways

#oc #original character #jojo oc #jojo original character #jjba oc #stardust crusaders #jjba #my art <3

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drawlfoy · 4 years

Text

Wonders of Ohio - P.7

masterlist (catch up with the series here!)

request guidelines (yes i am taking them!)

pairing: draco x reader

request: no! this is my original idea

summary: american high school senior is in for a surprise when her family takes on a foreign exchange student with a mysterious past.

warnings: teen drinking, mentions of an armed robbery, language, a brief hospital visit, and descriptions of illness

a/n: hey. so. this is definitely where stuff starts to go down. thanks so much for waiting...i have so many more things planned for this series and i’m thrilled to see it come together the way that it is right now. thank you very much for reading and thank you for your patience!

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 6k

song recs:

murders - miracle musical

pink in the night - mitski

always, forever - cults

ice dance - ashton gleckman

enjoy!

Y/N should’ve felt cold when she awoke on the wet pavement. Despite a figure looming over her and blocking out most of the rain, the back of her neck and body was drenched in the cool water from the puddle to her right. It was easily in the mid 40s at this point in the evening, something that would ordinarily make her toes curl and her figure tremble, but it felt...different.

She felt like her insides had been scorched, like she’d downed an entire pitcher of boiling hot water. Every movement she made hurt--right down to wiggling her fingertips and her eyes. Her body was exhausted. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought that she’d just finished running a marathon in hell.

“Can you hear me?” A posh British voice cut through her musings as the figure above her came into focus.

Draco.

“Yeah. Was there a fire?” Her words left her throat painfully, scratching their way up her vocal chords.

“Er...what do you remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The memories of the night slowly began trickling back--she’d done Draco’s tie, told him to watch his drink, argued with Chad about how funny he was, and walked to...Oh, yeah. The antique store. The box. The stars inside of her.

She flinched. “I fainted. I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me.”

“What?” Draco shifted back, the light from the front of the antique store catching his face. There were lines in his forehead that she’d never seen before. “Why?”

“I didn’t eat enough today,” said Y/N. Speaking was starting to feel less and less like lighting her trachea on fire. “I was really nervous and I lost my appetite. I’m an easy fainter.”

He cleared his throat. “Er, okay. Yeah. That was it. Anyways, we have to get home. You need to, uh, eat.”

“Okay.”

Y/N allowed herself to be hauled up onto her feet, swaying slightly once her full weight was on her feet. Her sense of gravity felt like it had been loosened. With every step, she felt pulled to the ground from a different part of her core.

“Steady. Don’t fall.” By some miracle, once Draco’s hands were gently guiding her shoulders, she was able to make her way to the backseat of Heather’s car before she collapsed.

“Where are we going?” asked Y/N. Despite no longer feeling like she was near death, her head was still cloudy.

“Home,” was all Draco said as he slid in on the other side of the car.

She didn’t bother putting on her seatbelt--she still felt like she was about to keel over--and rested her head on the car window. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco open the passenger car door for a moment, pause, shut it, and instead tug open the door across from her and slide in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“My insides feel like they’re on fire.” Y/N winced as she tried to shift and get the weight off of her neck. “I think I’m sick.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Heather from the front, her eyes catching Y/N’s from the mirror. “You were just laying down in the middle of a rainstorm. Go home and take some Zi-cam or something, jesus.”

Y/N tried to chuckle in response, but it came out as a sorry squeak instead. No one made a move to further comment on the evening’s events as Heather pulled onto the freeway and began to gain speed. The sudden lurches and changes of speed in the car set Y/N’s stomach into a churning frenzy, her head growing light again.

“Draco.”

Her voice was so soft it was hardly audible--the syllables jumbled together on her lips in a quiet mess--but he immediately snapped to attention.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“For the love of god, at least try and hold it until we get off the freeway.”

“Shut up, Heather,” said Draco. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of satisfaction as he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back on her. “Is it the motion? Are you sick from that?”

“I don’t know,” she managed.

He sighed. “Helpful.”

“Dick.”

Draco frowned at her, but she could see the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Can you move into the middle seat for me? Do you need help?”

Once Y/N had scooted over from her side, he leaned away from her and pointed up to the sunroof above them. “Go ahead and count all the lights that you can see in the sky. I promise it’ll make you feel better. Just keep your head pointed up.”

She tilted her head back. The night sky was largely gloomy, but the flickering lights of the planes that dove in and out of clouds provided some glowing dots. As she counted, Heather hit the fog strips and nearly threw her back into her original seat. She felt a warm hand wrap around her wrist and gently grip, the long fingers completely encircling it.

Y/N blinked. The nausea was gone. “What are you, a sorcerer or something?” she joked, not expecting to see Draco so frozen at the comment. “Kidding. I just feel better already. Thank you.”

He nodded and turned away to look out the window. His soft grip on her hand was long gone, and Y/N took Heather’s slightly uncoordinated driving as a cue to slide back into her seat and buckle up.

“If you really need to puke,” said Heather, “I have a Target bag back somewhere under the passenger seat. Please avoid the seats. They’re authentic vegan leather.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Just don’t throw up, okay?”

Y/N was in Art History when it happened. The chills began, so intense and teeth-chattering that her teacher took one look at her and sent her immediately to the nurse. Sylvia offered to walk her, but she was only allowed to under the condition that she avoid all physical contact with her and sanitized each surface that Y/N touched. It was a wonder she made it to the first floor office--each step felt heavier than the last, and from the beginning she felt moments from simply passing out.

A temperature check revealed that she had a mild fever--100.3 F, to be exact--and a call home resulted in her mother’s full voicemail box and the remembrance that her parents were out for the week.

“Can someone else drive you?” Nurse Hazelwood asked as she stepped away to douse her hands in hand sanitizer. “I don’t think you should get yourself home in this state.”

After some deliberation, it was decided that Sylvia would take her home and call someone for a ride back. It was a bit overkill--but she didn’t know what else to do.

“And can you make sure Draco has a ride home today?” Y/N asked as they pulled into the driveway of the Y/L/N home.

“Stop stressing so much, dude.” Sylvia took the keys out of the ignition to give her an expectant look. “You’re sick. Go inside and make some soup or something. I’m sure your boyfriend will figure it out.”

“Now I really am gonna be sick,” said Y/N as she rolled her eyes.

The rest of her afternoon was a blur. Y/N tried to force down some chicken soup, but it took all her might to keep it from coming right back up. It was safe to say her appetite was gone.

After a failed attempt at walking up the stairs to crawl into bed, she collapsed onto the couch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of footsteps outside the front door.

Y/N hadn’t been to the hospital since she had to get stitches in middle school. Then, all she did was lie back in the chair and try to shut her eyes as the needle wove in and out of her torn thigh (bad bike accident, in case anyone was curious). But now was different.

Her eyes hurt to open, like someone had thrown soap in them and the very line where her two lids met were lined with knives. Everything inside of her was on fire--a manic, all-consuming fire that made it impossible for her to keep anything down.

The nurses and doctors were no help--not like Y/N actually had her eyes long enough to see any of them--but their voices were enough to let her know what was going on.

“Fever of 104--”

“Can’t keep anything down--”

“Severely dehydrated--”

“Tested negative for everything we tried--”

“Never seen anything like this before--”

“No viruses were detected--”

“Not mono--”

As she wove in and out of consciousness, one fact stuck in her mind: I think I might die here. Something is very wrong.

When she did dream, images of the box she picked up plagued her mind. The symbol, etched lightly into the black top, glowed menacingly in her hands. Open it, open it something around her urged, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t.

It was during one of these dreams that her world suddenly shifted back to her hospital room. She was suspended above her body, looking down at the tangle of IVs and various other wires that imprisoned her...but she wasn’t alone.

The dim lighting and darkness outside confirmed her suspicion that it was indeed late at night. A figure, tall and slim, was sitting to her left. It was whispering something unintelligible as it gently took her hand and squeezed.

If Y/N could scream, she would’ve. The sudden pull back to her body was so strong that she was yanked across the room so she just barely hovered over her corporeal form. She could feel a grip, steady and firm, wrapped around her hand as a rush of cool ran through her. Each breath, each pulse, each heartbeat pulled her back to herself. It felt like a bucket of water had been poured over--into--her, extinguishing the flames that were eating away the inside of her.

The figure’s whispering finally came to an end as she settled back into her physical body. Before she drifted off to a peaceful slumber, a familiar voice rose above the quiet whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N!”

Her eyes shot open to see her mother, heavy eye bags and all, standing over her bed. “Hi Mo-”

“You scared me half to death!” Mrs. Y/L/N interrupted, placing her hand on her forehead. “No fever. Thank god. You know, when you were a baby, you were horribly ill with…”

Y/N sat and pretended she was listening as she relinquished in the fact that she was awake, she was here. The fire inside of her was long gone, replaced with the familiar...whatever was there before. Nothing? Maybe. Nothing was good, or at least better than the painful fire. It struck her with a sudden urgency that she had no idea what day it was, much less time. What about her homework? What about her UChicago application? Her counselor was supposed to submit her letter of rec a week ago...or a week ago from whenever she was brought to the hospital.

“Honey, are you even listening?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said.

“That’s what I thought. The food here is horrendous--of course you’re excited to go home.” Mrs. Y/L/N took her glasses off to wipe at the lens in a gesture that seemed more habitual and less effective. “You poor thing. Your father is still in New York--John simply couldn’t have him leave--but he’ll be back as soon as he can. Let’s get you out of here.”

The next few hours were a strange blur of paperwork, changes of clothes, and a bag of medication. The nurses and doctors were bewildered at her miraculous recovery and expressed this at every chance they had on her way out, reminding her to immediately seek attention if she feels anything similar again.

“What day is it?” Y/N finally asked once they were on the way home.

“Wow, you really were out of it.” Mrs. Y/L/N flicked her blinker on as she merged onto the freeway. “Sunday. You were there almost a whole week.”

“Huh? What about school? Do my teachers know? How did Draco get to school? Is he ok?”

“Of course your teachers know, hun. They’re all being very forgiving with their late work policies. As long as you’re putting effort into learning the material you missed, they have no problem letting you skip out on the homework. As for Draco...I think he’s fine. Sylvia’s family took him under their wing for the week. He’s still alive.”

And such a statement was proven when Y/N walked through the front door. Draco shot up from his seat at the living room couch the moment they locked eyes, his hands wringing back and forth.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re okay too,” she responded airily. “When I wasn’t dying I was worrying myself about how you’d do without me. I see my fears of you walking into moving traffic didn’t come true, thank God.”

His lips, tight, offered her the slightest upturn.

“Y/N, dearie, no need to harass the boy,” her mother said. “Up to your room. I’ll bring you some soup in a moment. You need to rest, young lady.”

She sent one last teasing grin at Draco before she was ushered up the steps, her mother fussing over her the entire way.

“So,” Sylvia said, crossing her legs over the other and giving Y/N a wicked look, “Consider this your last formal invitation to my Halloween party. It’s this Friday. It’s not even the night before the ED deadline. You should go.”

“I don’t know, Vy,” said Y/N. Her art history notes lay untouched in front of her as the teacher droned on about something related to how mannerism as an art style came to fame during the...Reformation? She didn’t know. “I’m kind of tired. I feel bad about leaving Draco alone, too.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Will you just do us all a favor and admit that you like him? It’s getting exhausting. Just ask him to come with you.”

“You’re absolutely off your rocker if you think I’m gonna do that,” Y/N said.

“I’m just saying, you’ve done weirder things. Like almost dying from...literally nothing.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be rude. I’ll think about it but no guarantees. I don’t really think Draco is the partying type, though.”

“I’d be careful about making such a wild assumption. You never know what goes on in those posh private British schools for rich kids or wherever he went.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Her friend laughed. “No. Just an optimist.”

Y/N swung the sleeve of her cardigan at her, whacking her pretty good on the bicep. If Sylvia was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “Fine. I’ll ask him as a friend.”

“Pansy.”

Y/N was never the type to enjoy background noise as she worked, but there was something nostalgic about hearing the identical voices of her local news anchors in the room over as she sat at the kitchen table and worked on a last minute Physics review set.

“Hey loser,” she called out as she saw a head of blond hair pass by her to get to the kettle. “Care to join me?”

Draco turned, his mouth open and ready to issue a retort before he appeared to change his mind. He’d been oddly distant lately, avoiding her in the common spaces they often saw each other and choosing to get breakfast and his evening tea at times that he knew she wouldn’t be down in the kitchen for. Perhaps that was the reason why she was sitting at the kitchen table at present, but of course she’d never admit that. Not even to herself.

“Can’t. I’m a bit busy with work.”

“Draco,” she chided. “What work is it? I can help you, you know.”

He paused for a few seconds, taking in the scatter of papers on the table and the nearly complete review sheet. “The Physics review is taking me a bit of time,” he said, his tone forced and resigned.

“Go grab it!” She grinned as his scowl deepened. “If you’re nice I’ll let you copy.”

She lost track of time as they went over his work, his pencil marks filling the page with symbols that were unfamiliar to her.

“Your handwriting is really nice,” she noted. “Like, so nice that I feel like you could really make it as a study youtuber or a study blogger or whatever. You have that potential if you want to tap into it, dude.”

“I have no idea what that is,” he said neatly as he punched an equation into her calculator.

“Fair.”

She sat still for a few more moments, watching as her study partner’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Sylvia’s Halloween party was just a few days away, and she needed to ask him at some point. Every time she mustered up the courage to open her mouth and hitch her breath, the words would die on her tongue.

The silence weighed heavy in the air as the words of the news anchors floated over…”multiple reports of an armed robbery….suburbs surrounding Cincinnati...cautioned to lock doors...potential link to the missing persons case…”

“Draco,” she said finally. He jolted up from his work to gaze at her. His eyes were probably the prettiest things she’d ever seen--all pale and metallic and silvery. “Uh, I’m going to this Halloween party this Friday. You should come with me, it sounds like it’ll be fun. I think that Heather will be there.”

Y/N mentally groaned at her admission to Heather’s attendance but didn’t know what else to say. She wanted him to come--even if it was so he could spend the whole time being woo-ed over by her.

“Er,” he began, twirling his pencil around his fingers. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Homework, you know.”

“Just finish it before--That’s what I’m doing.”

“I think I’m go--”

The slam of the front door made both of them jump, scattering Y/N’s long forgotten work and threatening to knock Draco’s mug over.

“Hi kids,” Mrs. Y/L/N greeted as she entered the kitchen, an armful of grocery bags in tow. “Studying?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered. “By the way, Mom, Sylvia invited me over to her house on Friday for a sort of Halloween get together. Can I go?”

Her mother was silent for a few moments as she methodically unpacked the paper bags on the counter.

“I don’t see why not. Is Draco coming too?”

“No,” he replied before Y/N even had the chance to open her mouth.

“I don’t think you should be home alone at night, my dear,” said her mother. “Have you seen the news? There’s someone on the loose. I’d feel much better if you were with Y/N--Robert and I are going to an auction that night. We won’t be around.”

“I’ll be fi--”

“If Y/N is going, you’re going,” Mrs. Y/L/N said as she finished unloading and brushed her hands off on her thighs. Her no nonsense demeanor rarely showed itself, but when it did, she was difficult to argue with.

Y/N shrunk down in her seat as Draco sent her a sour look.

Sorry she mouthed. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Remind me again why we’re walking?”

Draco’s snotty tone carried through the crisp fall air as they neared the street that Sylvia lived on.

“Because,” said Y/N, “Quite frankly, I don’t think I can get through being in an enclosed space with Heather for an entire night without being at least a little buzzed. And I’m not gonna have you drive us home.”

“Hmph.” His dress shoes, odd pointed tips and all, kicked at the fall leaves below them. His costume was literally nothing different than what he wore when he arrived--a crisp white dress shirt, an oddly cut blazer, and a weird looking green and silver pin attached to his lapel.

“If anyone asks,” she had told him from the hallway as they were getting ready to go that afternoon, “Just say you’re a corporate rat or something.”

He’d snorted at her choice of clothing--a completely dark brown set up with a picture of a shoe taped to her chest.

“I’m the shoe that that Iraqi reporter threw at Bush,” she had explained.

He just stared.

“If you aren’t having fun, please just let me know,” Y/N said as they turned one of the last corners. “We can tell her our fish died or something. Sylvia would totally understand.”

“We don’t have a fish.”

“I know, genius,” she teased, giving him a little punch. Instead of balking, he just crinkled his nose. “But she doesn’t.”

“I think she does.”

“You’re missing the point. You’ll tell me if you want to go back home, promise?”

“I want to go home.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

He grinned as they waited for Sylvia to open the door.

The next few hours were a bit of a blur. Y/N didn’t drink much at first--maybe the equivalent of 2 or 3 shots, spaced out in between a couple of sips of water--but the energy in Sylvia’s home definitely had her more buzzed than usual. There was something about her home that always felt twice as spooky, a type of underlying energy that pulsed at the seams.

To her surprise, Draco actually took a cup of whatever Sylvia offered him and downed it. She laughed when she saw him finally lower the cup as he furrowed his brow at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His features looked softer in the dim lighting of Sylvia’s living room--all the tension that he carried in his shoulders and face seemed to be gone. When he smiled at her, it was all she could do to keep herself from disintegrating into the couch.

As the night wore on, Y/N felt herself getting progressively more tipsy, and, in her haze, she could see that Draco was going down a similar path. He was touchier than she would have expected--hanging onto her elbow or sleeve whenever Sylvia or Y/N said anything funny, not moving his leg when her thigh was pressed against his, stretching his arm out behind her and resting it on the back of the couch--and she found herself wishing she was sober enough for it to feel real. Maybe she was so drunk that she was imagining it all. Maybe she was actually asleep next to her toilet at home after throwing it all up and was just dreaming.

“Fuck!” Someone exclaimed, prompting her to look up. Abby, a girl she kind of knew from her grade, had spilled the entirety of her drink on the coffee table.

“Y/N,” Sylvia whined, “I’m too tired to get the paper towels. Will you and Draco go?”

Despite the half-hearted protests from Draco, she managed to haul him up by his arm as she pushed back the pleasure that Sylvia saw them as a sort of team, a sort of unit.

“I think she keeps the extra paper towels in her pantry,” she told him as they made their way over to the quiet part of the house. The light hanging over the kitchen island was on, but the rest of the room was bathed in darkness.

“Right he--”

Y/N froze as she saw it--or, as she would come to discover, them.

Heather and Chad stared back at them, looking much more disheveled than one is permitted simply sitting on the kitchen counter. It was hard to make it out clearly, but Heather’s cheeks looked flushed. Chad’s matched.

“In a fucking kitchen? Chad, I thought you were better than this,” Y/N said, turning and grabbing the paper towels from the cabinet behind them. “Get a room, you weirdos.”

Chad laughed, a short lived and awkward sound.

Once they were back out in the living room, Y/N tossed the paper towels to Sylvia. “I think we’re gonna head back. We have to walk, you know.”

Sylvia dramatically threw herself back onto the couch. “I suppose. Thanks for coming guys, it was nice to see you outside of class again.”

“Likewise!” Y/N called over her shoulder as she walked out of the door with Draco by her side.

The walk home was silent for the first few moments. Despite the fact that it was late October, the night was pleasantly crisp and not too cold. The only sources of illumination were the scattered street lights, casting a soft orange hue on the two.

As they turn the corner onto the main street, Y/N’s shoe caught on a crack in the pavement in a movement that would’ve sent her sprawling face-first into the cold concrete if it hadn’t been for Draco’s hand grabbing her own and yanking her back up.

“Thanks,” she said. His hands were warmer than usual despite the coolness of the air.

He just sent her a small smile as he untangled their fingers and placed his hand back into his pants pockets.

“Weird to see Chad and Heather, right?” Y/N nudged him with her shoulder. To her surprise, he nudged back.

“I guess. I thought it was obvious, though.”

“What?! No way.”

“Are you blind? Heather’s been all over Chad,” he said.

“Are you? I thought she was obsessed with you!”

“No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, turning to look at him. The dim glow of the streetlights made his hair look almost like a halo. “She wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Dunno.” Draco shrugged. It was then that Y/N remembered how much he’d had that night.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably not in the right mindset to be analyzing other people right now,” said Y/N.

His lips twitched upwards. “No, no, it’s ok. I’m fine. I just couldn’t be bothered over the whole ordeal. Entirely uninspiring, I think.”

“You’re such a nerd, even when you’re drunk,” teased Y/N. “It’s honestly a wonder that you spent the first month near failing physics.”

“Sod off.” He nudged her again, hard enough to make her sway. “You’re the one who’s still an insufferable smartass. I figured drinking would make you more tolerable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she muttered as she shoved him back. “You know you love me.”

He froze in the middle of his retaliatory shove, his hand rested on her forearm.

“Sarcasm, king,” said Y/N. “I don’t mean it. I wouldn’t blame you if I were right, though. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m quite the commodity.”

“Oh, yes, most certainly.” His tone was dripping in faux genuity as he gave her a gentle push.

As he was doing this, Y/N grabbed the offending arm and took him down with her, landing in the soft garden bush in poor Ms. McCoyle’s front yard.

“Gotcha!” she cheered as he frowned from his spot on top of her. It took all her might to ignore the fact that his face was inches away. “It’s just my smart physics brain at work.”

“Your neighbor is gonna kill us.”

“She can try.”

Draco sat up, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet. She took the opportunity to hang onto the sleeve of his coat as a sneaking suspicion overtook her that things wouldn’t be like this again without the clever excuse of intoxication.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Y/N let go of his sleeve to look up at his face in confusion. She followed his eyes, suddenly hardened with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, to their house at the end of the street.

“You shut the door behind us, right?” Draco asked.

“And locked it.”

Their front door, hanging wide open and swinging in the breeze, told a different story.

Sobering up was easy once the police sirens showed up and searched their house. Y/N could tell the responding sheriff knew they’d been drinking, but since they weren’t driving and were speaking clearly, he didn’t mention anything.

“We’ve searched the house,” he told them as they sat together outside on the curb. “It looks like it fits the profile of the other armed burglaries in the area, but nothing was taken this time. The bedroom that looks out into the garden is completely trashed--it seems like the suspect was looking through your things for something. The bedroom across the hall was displaced a bit, but nothing compared to the first.” He took another look at his notes, adjusting the thick rimmed glasses that were perched on his nose. “You kids are lucky. Whoever this is means business. There’s unfortunately not much we can do except set up a patrol to watch over the street for now. Please give us a call if you see anything or hear anything.”

They nodded. Y/N had placed a call to their parents while they waited a safe distance from the home for the police to arrive. She’d been shaking as she pressed their number into her phone, and Draco, to his credit, rested his hand on her thigh.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said before retracting it. “Don’t worry.”

Draco seemed considerably calm for someone experiencing a home break in in a foreign country as they made their way into the house. The first responders had left the lights on, and the wash of LED bulbs did nothing to hide the disturbance of her bedroom. Everything of hers was thrown into the middle of the room from her drawers, closet, and dresser. Her laptop, open and plugged in, was left completely untouched.

“Draco,” she said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends, what is it?”

Y/N noted that he was getting considerably paler as they stood in her doorway. “I don’t think I can sleep here. Knowing what happened. Especially when it’s still a disaster.”

“Understandable.”

His features looked hardened again, like he’d gone through a filter of seriousness. She decided that this was probably her last chance to ask for any act of intimacy before the effects of alcohol dissipated in his system. “And I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Er...Oh.” He stared at her. “What?”

“I know that this is really awkward, but can I, like, sleep on your floor or something? Just for tonight.” When she swallowed her throat felt painfully dry. “I don’t snore or anything. It’ll be like I’m not even there.”

Draco sucked in a long breath, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. Y/N wished she knew what he was thinking about. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she sang, darting into her room to grab a blanket and a pillow as he watched wordlessly by the doorframe.

The walk to his room was dead silent except for their sounds of shock when they saw the broken glass in the middle of the floor.

“I think that was from the picture frame,” Y/N said as she carefully walked into the middle of the room. Sure enough, a framed photo of her and their late dog that had been left on the wall was face down on the carpet.

“Is this when you ask me to sleep in my bed, too?” quipped Draco as he sidestepped the wreckage and sat on the opposite side of the queen mattress.

“Um...we can make a pillow barrier so we don’t touch.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed his blazer over his chair as he took off his shoes and buttonup, leaving nothing but his undershirt and dress pants. “I’m going to get changed. If you’re asleep before I get back, this is me saying goodnight.”

With that, he grabbed something from his dresser and walked into his bathroom, Y/N ripped off the picture of the shoe and placed her phone on the bedside table. Before she knew it, she was completely passed out.

It was barely dawn when she next woke up. Her head was heavy--no doubt the beginnings of a hangover--but she’d never felt more electrified.

A small huff prompted her to look to her left where Draco was just a few movements away from her. He was very clearly still sleeping, each breath leaving his lips with a whisper. His hand, draped over the covers, was millimeters away from touching her. The pink of the sunrise made his hair, now ruffled and sticking up in the side, glitter in the light. She resisted the urge to reach out and brush it away from his face.

Y/N lay there, admiring the boy sleeping next to her, until the urgency of her situation struck her. She was absolutely parched, and if she wanted to mitigate the damage she’d already done, it was in her best interest to drink a glass of water and take 4 Ibuprofen.

With a sigh, she quietly slid out from under Draco’s covers and made her way to her room, careful to avoid the glass scattered all about. She knew she had a packet of Ibuprofen somewhere in one of her dresser drawers.

The pile in her room was bigger than she remembered. She began by just throwing her clothes that had been on the ground onto her bed, sorting through everything in rough categories. When this proved unhelpful, she turned to the mini pile by her door which, to her surprise, had a few sweatshirts that definitely weren’t hers.

Draco she thought absentmindedly as she combed through the pile. Aha. A small green pouch, just like the one she kept her over the counter medications in.

Her hands struggled to undo the tie--Did she normally knot it like that?--as she admired the lining. She never noticed that the edges had silver thread stitched in.

Once she finally opened it up, she grabbed her water bottle and prepared to be faced with a variety of pill bottles as she tipped it over; however, what came out was very different.

A collection of letters. Namely, Draco’s. She knew it was wrong, but he was sleeping, and every letter looked official, stamped with a seal and etched with some sort of crest. They couldn’t have been that personal.

After a bit of bargaining, she decided to open one. If it was personal, she made the deal with herself to put it away and never speak of it again.

The parchment was heavy and clearly expensive. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded the first one, feeling guilty the whole way.

Foreign words flooded her vision. It wasn’t like the letter was written in a foreign language--but there were so many terms she didn’t understand.

Death eater...Voldemort...Crimes against the ministry...Conspiracy against Dumbledore...Hogwarts-sanctioned punishment...

She read on until a word popped out that made sense--Magic. And there it was again--Magic. Wizard. Magic.

Swallowing hard, she shoved the letter back into the envelope and opened one more. This one was much more coherent.

“Dear Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy:

It has been made apparent to us that, while serving the punishment of your accused crimes, you have unlawfully used magic (namely, a Glamour spell) in front of a muggle. Consider this to be your first strong warning. One more slip up and the Ministry will be forced to reconsider your dropped sentence of Azkaban.

Sincerely and warmly,

The Ministry of Magic -- Justice Sector”

What. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Her racing mind was put to a screeching halt at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy

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fangirl-everythang · 3 years

Text

Happy Father's Day Part 3

Summary: 3/3 Well, its the last part.

Warning: Sad, Mentions Death.

Word Count: 2269

"Harry? " I answer the phone.

"It's not Harry but glad you know your numbers." that high pitch annoying ass voice squeals. Rubbing my stomach, the baby's in go position and any day now my oven will be done baking. And of course, this bitch is answering his phone.

"Well bye-bye just thought you should know where he was at. " In the background, I hear Harry's voice going on about something so it must be true. Hanging up I sigh letting the hot tears roll down my cheeks. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I blame myself really, I let him back into my life and this doesn't surprise me. I gotta pee.

Waddling over to the bathroom door a gasp leaves my mouth feeling the surge of liquids fall between my legs. Holy shit. My water broke! Fuck gotta go. Thankful my bag was already in the car. Harry had insisted once I hit the 36-week mark claiming Styles's are either early or fashionably late.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My knuckles turning white as I grasp the wheel. Nope, I'm not pushing anything out of my vagina. Can't do it. I refuse.

The contraction going away after a few brief moments of completely unreasonable pain. Dialing the numbers, I know by second nature, thankfully she picks up on the fourth ring.

"I don't think you should drive y/n"

" Just call 911. I'm almost there! " Gemma ecstatically shouts. She's just like her brother, "Where's Harrold? "

I put the seatbelt on and wince. It's just 28 minutes I can do this. "He's with his whore."

I can hear an audible gasp, "he wouldn't he's so excited for Athena"

"Well I just called him and she answered. " I grunt keeping my eyes on the two lanes ahead of me. Fuck I hate merging lanes people don't know how to drive.

"I'll be at the hospital as soon as possible but my phones gonna-" the line went dead. She did say she was on like 10% oh well.

I can do this just focus y/n. "Hear that baby girl we're almost there, hang on okay Hunny. " I say as a reminder to myself that soon I'll be leaving with another human with me.

6 miles to go that's what I'm talking about, another sharp pain spreads throughout my abdomen while waiting for the light to turn green. "OH COME ON. FOR FUCKS SAKE!" they're getting closer by the minute. Shit. Arriving at a four-way intersection. I'm relieved to be at a red light, the contractions are longer and much more frequent. "Almost there Athena, this is the last light and a straight shot from there."

Abruptly my car is jerked forward with a sharp impact pushing to the oncoming lights. All I see are lights from both directions colliding with my 3,000-pound piece of metal. Sounds of shattering glass and sirens are the last thing I hear before it all fades to black.

||||||||||||||||

Harry's POV

"Has anyone seen Mr. Style's phone?" The helpful aid asked around the dressing room. I could've sworn I put it down for a moment. Y/n could go into labor any minute now and how I am supposed to know. Fuck. I'm stupid.

I was supposed to be here to perform and list nominees and then go back home to y/n. I can't wait to propose to her, she's all I could ever want and she's giving me the most wonderful gift I could ever ask for. Running a hand through my damp hair, the lights really build a sweat, I hear a familiar voice. "Looking for this lover? " she asks slipping my phone into my pocket.

"Good luck at home. " she smiles and winks. Before I could question it she walks away.

Looking down at the device my heart skips a beat, I have 146 missed calls. And I've been gone for 5 hours. Seeing Gemma's name on the screen again I swipe to answer.

"Hell-"

"Harry," she says sniffling.

"Gemma what's wrong? did I miss it? Oh my god I hope not"

"I think it would be best if you came now Harry." she breaks her voice cracking.

"Gem what?"

"Listen Harry, she needs you right now so please." she cries. Not needing another word, I tell Jackson the address and that I need to be there as fast as possible, 45 minutes later we're pulling into the Labor and Delivery section of the hospital.

"Congrats Harry!" Jackson says letting me out at the door. "Thank you!" I beam back at him.

Seeing Gemma, her eyes are puffy with tears still flowing. "Gem what's wro-," a sharp pain to my right cheek stings. Never has Gemma hit me like that, well not since I cut her prom dress. "How could you Harry? Cheat on her again WITH TAYLOR for Christ sakes!" She yells.

"I didn't cheat," I explain to my sister as calm as I can.

She looks at me with wild eyes pulling me into a hallway with fewer people, "Then what happened Harrold?" I clench my jaw instead of speaking, how dare she accuse me of cheating on my pregnant soon-to-be fiancé. Y/n Styles has a great catch don't you think?

"Is she here yet? Gem where are they?" I ask ready to see my new family.

She begins crying again "Harry there was an accident." Those five words make my breathing come to a halt. My heart shatters in a million pieces "Is Y/n okay? What happened?" She begins walking me to a door. "This one," she points. Looking through the glass I see y/n with bruises and cuts to her beautiful face, her stomach nearly deflated from when I last saw her this morning, a cast on a swollen leg of hers, and a sling holding a very damaged arm. Tears brim at my eyes looking at my love on that hospital bed. "She's awake." Gemma walks past me running to the outside.

I gently knock on the door, waiting for a response which I don't get. "Y/n?" I approach her almost as If I were going to help an injured puppy. "Hey love" I smile at her which she glares at me and then turns wincing in pain. "You wanted this didn't you Harry?" I look at her confused. "This is probably great for you, a way out. Well leave." She states using whatever energy she can find.

"Baby I didn't want- I want you and Athena" She breaks down in uncontrollable tears.

"You were with that her and couldn't even bother to pick up your phone!" she screams. "Y/n I wasn-" a knock at the door interrupts my sentence, "Come in" She says glaring at me as a nurse opens the door.

"Hey there Mama, we have a visitor." the nurse wheel in a tiny cart that has a bunch of equipment coming from it. She looks at me and asks Y/n, "Is this dad?" she nods and rolls her eyes. "About time you made it!" She smiles my way. Placing the beautiful baby in front of us. She's so small and fragile. "The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you." She states picking up the tiny child and putting her in Y/n's arm.

"Hi pumpkin," Y/n coos into her ear. "Guess who decided to show?" She smiles, a tear falling from the corner of her eye. She nods her head towards me as I go to hold her. She's so soft and precious. Her small eyes have a gorgeous mix of both mine and Y/n's. She has such a cute round face, I couldn't imagine her looking any different.

"Hi there angel, I'm so sorry I was late." I see a spot dampen on her blanket that surrounds her, knowing that I'm crying. Her small eyes shining like twinkling stars. So small I can feel her fragile body between my large hands.

Another knock before the door opens when several doctors walk in. "Mrs. Y/ln, unfortunately, we have some bad news,"

"Oh, hello there Mr. Styles." They state acknowledging my existence. One of the female doctors places a black and white image on the lighted board illuminating the small figure.

"Unfortunately, due to the accident, Athena has suffered from what we call a fetomaternal hemorrhage."

"What exactly are you saying?" Y/n ask looking at the child still in my arms.

The slightly shorter male doctor points to the image. "This is an abscess of blood in the brain. Unfortunately, the risk is too large to operate. I'd give her another day at most."

"You m-mean," Tears start pouring down her face" I was so scared she was hurt. I-I promise I saw the light it was red, and I-I stopped but," She began heaving losing more air with each word. I gently rub her back as I cradle Athena with one arm.

"She's still being monitored but I'm afraid she won't have much longer." The first doctor breaks the silence. "According to the police report the car that struck you from behind happened to be a drunk driver, Gage Joyce." I can feel the anger surging through me. "I remember the clashing of metal, glass breaking, the sirens but it all went b-black." She mumbles, seemingly remembering the awful experience. I grab her hand in hopes of comforting her but it doesn't seem to work.

"After striking your car at 72 mph it had ample force to push your vehicle into the opposite traffic. Your vehicle took the most impact and was hit by four other cars. On scene, EMT's said you were in and out of consciousness mumbling about a baby. Taken and brought to the L&D." he finishes.

"Fetomaternal hemorrhages are often caused by trauma and sometimes can be revered but in this case, we've done all we can do." They all frown looking at the small girl still in my arms.

"No, there's got to be more you can bloody do! We're in a hospital for Christ sakes!" I exclaim, passing my daughter to the love of my life. She gently caresses her soft skin. She's literally a perfect combination of us. I cannot lose my family.

"You can leave, thank you all for your help." y/n says quietly, they oblige by her wishes and leave us with our daughter.

"Harry," she wipes a tear from her face cautious of the IV placed on her hand, "If what they say is true, I just want to spend time with her." She sniffles. I nod understanding. She looks back at the small being in her arms, "Hi pretty girl, Mommy's so happy to meet you," she unfolds the blanket from her. I sit next to her on the small bed in the room that smells of sterilization. Placing my finger near hers' she wraps her small hand around my thumb, her grip so tight for someone so small. Y/n kisses her forehead, "Harry," she runs her finger along her small legs.

"Can you sing the song?" nodding and softly singing Isn't she Lovely by Stevie Wonder, in the small hospital bed as our new life falls asleep. All night I watch her little chest rise and fall allowing y/n to get some rest soon following my two loves.

By the early morning, nurses are rushing in because of the loud beeping from the monitor, waking y/n and I. It feels like everything is happening so fast but in slow motion right in front of me. Those three words are the ones I didn't want to hear. "No! no. I have to take her home. She's gotta go home..." Y/n screams, not being able to see her face due to the tears in my eyes falling and rebuilding themselves faster than the speed of light. "Call it." One of the nurses shouts.

"Time of Death 6:18 am March 7th, 2019"

As they cleared out the room, I see her small lifeless body curled into a blanket, almost as if she were sleeping, but no longer do breaths fall from her small heart-shaped lips.

//////////////////////////

Y/n hasn't said a word since we got in the car. It's been four days since we lost Athena. She slowly climbs into the car, still sore from the accident and birth. I go to the backseat holding back my emotions and putting the empty car-seat in the trunk of the car that should have been holding three of us.

Starting the silent journey back home she continues to look out of the window, a frown etched on her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks as she instinctively touches her somewhat deflated stomach. What kind of sick joke is this?

"Harry why were you with her?" she asks me looking down at what used to be her baby bump.

"I wasn't love, she took my phone while I was on stage." She just nods and remains silent until we pull up to the flat. She begins walking up the stairs as best she can. "Y/n wait, let me help."

"No Harry!" She yells. Pain evident in her voice, ignoring her I open the door and help her inside. "Harry I can't do this." I stare at her confused, "What can't you do y/n?"

"Us Harry. I can't look at you and not think of her." She sobs.

"Y/n we can-" I try to reason with her.

"No Harry, please just go." She whispers.

"I'm not losing both of you," I state holding back my own sobs. I feel like everything feels like it's getting smaller around me, suffocating in grief.

"You already have."

A/N: What can I say I have a thing for dark endings. Anyways I really appreciate the support loves. I hope you enjoy these! Right now I've been working on a Loki piece, I'm so excited for it. I changed the writing style tho, so it's not 1st person per usual. I think it's going pretty well so far.

xoxo Janelle

#harry #harry styles #harryx reader #y/n #harry styles and y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #writing #imagine #oneshot #smut #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb

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sirowsky · 4 years

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, angst, physical injury.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Reader continues to struggle with her abilities, but with some help, she finally begins to understand them better. Though, no good news without bad ones too...

(Is this GIF yours? Let me know, and I’ll credit you!)

Chapter 21

The next morning you woke up in a secure room. They didn’t trust you with med-chambers anymore. That was probably about time. Tuesday. Today was Tuesday. You sighed as you wondered just how long it would take before you’d inevitably mess up the days again. You already missed waking up to Amaire’s brisk and energetic ‘Good morning, champ’. They were so good at using just the right level of enthusiasm to give you a boost, without stepping over into overly energetic, or annoyingly chipper. Here, there were no lovable nurses, no doctors checking on you every hour, just sensors in the walls that continuously scanned you for changes in energy-levels. Unfortunately, though, the science division had been kept up to date on your move, and within five minutes of you waking up, the door opened and another fucking piece of cardboard was shoved in your face.

“Seriously? Do you people even sleep? It’s not even 6am yet…”

“We sleep in shifts, miss. This is important, we want to get you that assessment as soon as possible.”

Oh, great, now you felt bad for being snarky, on top of your usual less than stellar morning mood.

“How thoughtful of you. And what about making this shit actually edible? Any idea how soon that might become a priority?”

“Uh… sorry, miss. It’s a process.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. Does the recipe actually change at all? Because it still tastes like something between paper and dirt, no matter how many times I eat it.”

“It does, but they actually remove as much flavour as they can, since it’s so full of synthetic materials.”

You raised your eyebrows at him before swallowing the synthetic piece of crap.

“Sorry I fucking asked.”

He squirmed a little where he stood, clearly uncomfortable with your language. But you were pretty sure he’d actually been waiting outside the door for you to wake up, and then not even had the decency to wait until you’d been to the bathroom before barging in. So, you didn’t really give a fuck about his feelings right then.

“What?”

“Sorry, I just have to ask if you feel any sense of fullness?”

“I’ve barely swallowed it…”

“I know, it’s just that the effect should be pretty instantaneous.”

“Well, then – it isn’t. Can I go and do my morning bathroom now, or do you have another annoying and useless point?”

He all but ran from the room and you felt a tiny little bit bad for him. But they really should know better than to bother you first thing in the morning, by now. Especially with nervous tweens.

You missed the relative warmth of the med-chambers. These rooms were literally just empty squares of powers-proof materials, or, as close to it as you could get. There wasn’t actually any material that was 100% proof against powers, but some metals combined with force-fields could withstand incredible amounts of supernatural forces. There was a simple bed, and two chairs and a table, all of it made with the same power-resistant metal. That was it. And while you did see the wisdom of keeping you in there, it also felt more like a prison than anything else, and it made you anxious. Especially since Marcus was still on single supervised visits. He’d been verbally reprimanded for taking you to the in-house restaurant, and sitting you down among dozens of other guests yesterday, but in these circumstances that was like getting a slap on the wrist. You hadn’t really been in any state to be able to harm anyone, since he practically had to carry you there. And he’d made the judgement call that getting nutrition into you was more important than keeping you isolated, at that particular moment. He’d sat with you while you’d gone through the equivalent of about six dinners, continually refilling your plate as you emptied it, until you’d finally had enough, and damned near fallen asleep over your plate. You didn’t expect him to visit until school was out for the day, so you prepared yourself for a long and dull morning, probably accompanied by nothing but the fucking science division. Oh, joy.

It was just before lunch that the door opened for the fourth time that morning. You were just completing your eight set of push-ups, burpees and hand-stands, and you were in no mood for more synthetic foods. Today was the kind of day where your morning mood just lingered, and became your overall mood. You were pushing yourself physically in an effort to keep yourself calm and balanced, despite the boredom and interjecting annoyances, but it wasn’t quite working.

“Did some idiot give you coffee?”

You actually warmed at the sound of Anita’s sharp voice behind you, and you let your legs fall down from your last hand-stand and stood up to see her magnificent scowl.

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well, sit down before you pass out.”

“I’d rather stand. I have a little too much energy at the moment.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I generally do. So, what brings you to my dungeon on this unremarkable Tuesday?”

“Just checking on you for Marcus. He’s a bit worried after yesterday.”

“Yeah… that wasn’t a very good day, either. I don’t seem to have a lot of those lately.”

“Mm. It’ll get better. All supers struggle after discovering their powers, it’s just that, usually, they’re kids or teenagers which means they don’t have the grown-up problems to worry about too. You’re juggling a lot, loco. Give yourself a break.”

“Wow. Marcus must be really worried if you’re actually being nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you.”

You looked at her with a mockingly shocked expression.

“Incredible. You’re lucky I kinda love you.”

She squirmed and got up to leave, and you couldn’t help but grin widely behind her back.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what? The privilege of your visit?”

“No, niña. For the smile on your face right now.”

She didn’t even look back as she said it, somehow still knowing the smile was there. It lingered on your face for a good few minutes after she left.

You gave up on trying to exercise your stress away, after your arms gave out and you fell on your face, during your fifteenth set of hand-stands. You did have an actual bathroom, with a shower. But it was an adjoining room that could be detached from the actual cell, if anyone feared you might try to use the toilet as a battering-ram for some reason. You took a long and soothing shower, letting the soap wash away the sweat and grime, but also some of the nervousness that seemed to live in your skin. You took some time to take care of your nails and put on creams and blow-dry your hair. You hadn’t taken the time to really groom yourself in weeks, and it somehow made you feel better. Less chaotic and messy. When you stepped out of the bathroom, the errand-boy from science was back, and whatever good mood you’d managed to accumulate, evaporated in an instant.

“Oh, for the love of fucking Hades, will you just leave me alone, already!”

A puff of energy escaped you, and it was enough to fling the scrawny little boy across the room and into the wall, head-first. All the anger inside you morphed into a lump of ice in your heart, as you watched him collapse into a pile on the floor. You ran over to him and picked him up into your arms, holding him tightly as you pushed your energy around him, and felt that thing leave you. That thing that wanted to make it right, to make him whole again, and in the next moment; he was. You felt him twitch back to life, and your own energy drain, but you kept holding him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

“Uh… it’s okay, miss. I’m fine.”

You let him go just enough that you could grab his face and look into his eyes to make sure.

“Nothing hurts? Nothing feels bad, or weird?”

“I feel… great. My shoulder’s been killing me after a baseball accident last week, but it’s all better now. How’d you do that?”

Suddenly terrified of how easily and effortlessly, you’d hurt this boy, for no reason, you crawled away from him.

“Go. Get out of here. Don’t come back, don’t let anyone come back in. Stay away from me.”

You crawled all the way to the opposite wall, before the fatigue overpowered you, and you passed out.

When you came to, you’d been moved. You were on a hard bed of some sort, in what looked like a lab, and there was an elliptic-shaped, transparent dome covering most of your torso, as well as two thin tubes leading into each one of your arms, and another two into each leg. IV-tubes. And the banana-bags they were attached to where in the gallons- not ounces -category.

“What… what are you doing? It’s not safe… you have to put me back, it’s not safe…”

“Calm down, miss. Everything’s fine, these instruments have been calibrated to absorb your energy, you can’t hurt us here.”

Her voice was soothing, comfortable without feeling forced.

“My name is Doctor Emily Kane, and you’re in the Research division right now. We’ve decided to go ahead and do your assessment. For the moment, it seems more urgent to understand your abilities, than keeping your energy up. That said, we’re not going to push you until you’re completely drained, don’t worry. We’ve taken as much precaution as we can.”

“I… I think I killed that boy…”

“And then you saved him. It was an accident, and I understand that it frightens you, but the key to controlling your powers in the future, is precisely by not being afraid of them. And the best way to reach that point, is to understand as much about them as you can.”

She met your eyes and held your gaze until you nodded.

“Okay. Then let’s get started. This machine on top of you is going to absorb and measure and categorise your energy, so I want you to try and activate your power right now.”

You took a few deep breaths, and tried to push your energy out, but it wouldn’t come. Your fear had locked it down, and you wanted it to stay down. Forever. After twenty minutes of failed attempts, no matter how much the good doctor tried to either soothe your worries, or antagonise you, she finally had to admit defeat and was forced to change tactics.

“Okay, this isn’t gonna work. Bring him in.”

The door opened and Marcus stepped in, and came towards you, and every piece of equipment in there that was attached to you, started beeping and moving.

“Marcus… you shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You won’t hurt me.”

“I don’t know that.”

“But I do.”

He kissed you, really kissed you, and the machines went crazy as you heated up for him. You wanted to touch him so badly, but your arms were trapped by the elliptic dome on top of you. Your ghost hands found him, curling into his hair and holding him to you, and all the while the room got louder and louder. The frustration of not being able to feel his skin against your body, eventually made you angry. Angry enough that your energy flared, and the dome really did absorb it. Somehow, that was a big enough surprise to you to break through your lust, and make you pull away from Marcus to stare at the dome while you shot another burst of energy through it. It just disappeared from you as the machine sucked it up, and for reasons you couldn’t understand; it all seemed like a challenge to you. Like it was baiting you to try harder.

Challenge accepted, Data.

In your periphery, you saw Marcus back away, as you held back and gathered your energy under your skin. You had broken an entire med-chamber by filling the room with an invisible density, you’d certainly be able to break one little machine. When the energy was so thick under your skin that you feared you might burst from the pressure, you released it. The whole room shook, but only for a moment, and then the dome had swallowed it all up.

“Amazing…”

Dr. Kane’s voice broke into your concentration, and you forgot your challenge.

“I’ve never seen this type of energy before. It seems to exist in several dimensions simultaneously. Fascinating.”

“Dimensions? Wait, it really is ghost energy?”

She chuckled slightly at that.

“I guess you could call it that.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“Well, we’ll have to perform more tests, obviously. But, basically, it means that you have the ability to tap into one or more alternate dimensions, and draw energy from them, into this one, using your own body as a conduit. It also means that there’s theoretically no limit to how much power you could wield, with the exception that acting as a conduit is seriously draining on your own body. So, let me be clear: your power absolutely can kill you.”

You took a minute to absorb that, not that you actually could yet, and you felt, more than saw, Marcus shift nervously at your side.

“And the healing?”

“That one I can’t answer with any definity until we’ve had a chance to observe it through these instruments.”

“But… your best guess?”

“My best guess would be that that power actually comes from you, not some other dimension. It seems to be a clean transference, your energy and life-force is transferred to the injured person, instantly weakening yourself, much more than acting as a conduit does – but also instantly healing the recipient. It’s interesting that you’d develop these two powers specifically, though. It seems to indicate that you have a naturally self-sacrificial tendency.”

Marcus flinched.

“Self-sacrificial?”

“Yes. A willingness and capability to take on difficult or even impossible tasks and burdens in order to protect others, regardless of personal pain or even the possibility of death.”

That was a little too true for comfort.

“And… while we’re on the subject of things that are less than fun to talk about, I feel obligated to inform you about something we’ve discovered about healing abilities in general.”

“Okay.”

There was something in her tone that made you feel like running out of the room.

“We don’t know why, exactly, but it seems that women with healing abilities of any kind have an increased difficulty in conceiving children. We think that it might have to do with the fact that women bleed during their cycles and that their abilities instinctively try to prevent it, thereby messing with the natural order of the female body.”

“But… I can’t heal myself.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter. Have your cycles been regular?”

“…No… not since the experiment. I figured it was because of the coma, since nothing at all worked during the time I was under, and for a while afterwards.”

“Irregularity is one of the tell-tale signs, I’m afraid. But, listen, this is not an exact science. Couples that have been medically declared infertile or sterile have managed to get pregnant anyway. Nature’s amazing, and there’s so much we still don’t know about supers. So, if this is something you want, don’t let the science get in your way.”

You had no idea what you wanted, only that you were suddenly glad that you’d at least started this conversation with Marcus a while back. It felt like it would’ve been a more difficult subject to broach now, if you hadn’t. But this wasn’t the time to have it. There were more tests that needed to be done, and for the first time, you really wanted to know what more the science actually could tell you.

You glanced at Marcus, hoping not see him crushed by the news, and were relieved to find him looking calmly determined. You’d talk about it later.

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

Tom x You

Summery: Tom and his brothers have a pub. You, trying to avoid working on your new album, spend most of your time in there. Lots of flirting and bickering ensues.

Themes: Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both to dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters.

PART I of IV

***

At 8 years of age your father hands you a worn guitar and with the patience of a saint teaches you how to make it play the holiest of sounds. Every day you practise, until your fingertips has hardened and they move effortlessly over the strings.

At 10 years of age you write your first song. It’s a puerile little tune about a sweet boy with hair like honey and an opportunity lost. It’s repetitive and nonsensical but your mother hums the chorus for weeks after hearing it.

At 14 years of age you meet up with a record label and when signing the dotted line on the contract you feel a chill down your spine and your grandmother’s stories about the crossroad demon comes back to you verbatim. With determination you still put your name on the paper in a signature you’ve spent hours practising. Only days later you hear your voice on the radio for the very first time.

At 17 years of age there are headlines in magazines about you, photos of men they claim you’ve dated and interviews with people who claim to be a ‘close source’ to you, even though you’ve never met them, spilling lies on every page. You find out your closest friend has sold information about you to the tabloids for over a year.

At 19 years of age you go on a world tour, though the only parts of the world you see are airports, hotels and playing venues and then later at night: nightclubs. You travel the world, but you learn nothing about it.

At 22 years of age and your boyfriend breaks up with you for an actress. There isn’t a day that year that tabloids don’t ‘report’ on it. He spends most of the time telling the world how much happier he is in his new relationship, and you spend most of your time staring down into a bottle.

At 24 years of age you feel drained, dog-tired and worn out. On a regular basis there’s photos of you stumbling out of pubs, bars and restaurants all over the internet. Your record label is threatening a lawsuit and you haven’t talked to your manager in weeks. You have no friends and your family doesn’t know what to do with you.

Okay, so maybe being a successful singer isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. Especially not when the entirety of the internet is making fun of you.

And yes, maybe you’re in a flunk and haven’t written anything decent in months. And okay, maybe you haven’t even picked up a guitar in weeks. And maybe throwing away your phone in order not to have to face the record label was a bad idea. And maybe, hand on heart, the right solution to your problems is not to waste your days away in a well-hidden pub in a backstreet in London with the cutest pub owner you’ve ever seen, with biceps that makes you want to drool. A pub owner who has no interest in you and finds you annoying beyond belief.

Yet here you are,

again.

***

“It’s Tuesday” Tom informs you as he hands you cherry coke and a straw.

So, it goes like this. Tom is obsessed with time. He’s always informing you of either what day of the week it is, or the time of day. As if he’s trying to shame you into realising that 10 am on a Tuesday is not an acceptable time to order a dry martini.

“So?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you open the can. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is a coke and in fact completely free of alcohol. I mean in the good ol’ day they at least had the cutesy to put cocaine in there.”.

“Don’t worry” he says, scrubbing the surface of the already clean counter-top “there’s a shit load of other stuff that’ll destroy your insides in there”.

You try not to roll your eyes, honestly you do. You fail. “Oh no, is it sugar? Please, doctor say it isn’t sugar!” you wail dramatically.

“No, not just sugar” and you can tell he’s also trying not to roll his eyes at your exaggerated play acting. “You know, I saw this documentary once about what they put in coca cola and –”

“No, nope, no, no. Absolutely not” You shake your head vehemently as if that will stop his words. "I would literally rather hear you talk about goddamn golf for an hour than put me of one of life’s few great pleasures”.

This time he doesn’t manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you. “Oh, I think we both know you find more pleasures in life than coca cola”.

Before you can answer him something insanely witty the door to the office behind the bar opens and an anxious looking Harrison step out. “Tom, Sam says the fish delivery didn’t show up again so we’re out of cod and therefore fish ‘n chips.”

Tom rubs his face, looking worried. “Alright, I’ll call him up and see what happened.”

But Harrison still looks tense. “Also…” he trails off, losing courage.

“Also, what?” And Tom too sounds tense now.

“Well, Downey from the bank called, he says the invoice is way over due and he wants a meeting. I told him you’d call today”.

Tom keeps rubbing his forehead, as if to literally fight of a migraine, and his shoulders tense. “Yeah, yeah I’ll call him this afternoon”. Harrison nods and walks back into the kitchen

“You know, I cou –” but you don’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “Don’t” he says, voice sharp as a whip.

“But, it would just be a loan, honestly I – ”

“No, and I mean it.” And you judging by the tone of voice he uses and the stern look he gives you you’re well aware that he isn’t joking. It’s like his usually warm and kind eyes are nailing you down into your seat. “I’m not gonna borrow money from a customer, as you well know.”

The problem is that really wouldn’t be a big deal for you to offer him a loan or give it as a gift really. You love this pub. You love the people working here and the patrons and coming in for a drink or a meal or simply a chat and a laugh. It’s your safe haven. No one ever hardly ever bothers you here. No one asks you for a selfie or asks you about when more music is coming out. No one tugs at your sleeve or try to sneakily take a photo of you. Here, you are normal. And it would devastate you to see the Holland boys lose it all when you know you can help. You have more money than you know what to do with.

However, you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s got that look on his face so you don’t, just keep sipping on your cherry coke as your foot taps along to the song on the radio. From inside the kitchen you can hear the faint sound of the Holland twin's laughter.

Tom turns away from you to sort out the whiskey glasses on the counter behind him. But when picking up a glass he fumbles, and it falls out of his hand and lands right on his foot, though it fortunately doesn’t break.

“Ah, fucking bastard!” he shouts, grabbing hold of his injured foot.

“You shouldn’t swear in church, you know” ¨you say, as you finish your coke.

He looks at you indignantly, pouting like a child, “well, lucky for me, this is a pub.”

“You say potato, I say tomato, now make me a real drink.”

“For fucks sake, darlin’, you gotta eat something.”

***

So, it’s either late or early, depending how you look on it. On tube stations all across London early worker are already gathering on the platforms to take their commute to work. Not you. Not Tom either.

Now, Tom is an early riser and has been since childhood. His nanna used to say that he had energy enough for three children. Despite regular closing shifts at the pub he likes to be up at dawn. Says he likes to get an hour at the gym and a walk with Tessa in before he heads to the pub to make sure everything is in order. After having checked with Sam that everything is stocked for the day, he has his protein loaded breakfast while ordering supplies or read through whatever paper work he need to be on top off before opening up the pub for the day.

Tom hates having this routine disturbed.

So, it goes like this. Harry had been the bartender most of that night, since Tom had ‘other business to take care of’. Whenever Harry was bartender he’d usually spent more time drinking with you than he did serving up the other costumers. When Tom came back and saw the state of you, he’d sent you home, telling you that you’d had enough for one night and asking Harrison to walk you home. Then he’d giving Harry a proper telling off. You had dutifully walked with Harrison to your apartment, thanked him sweetly, and then as soon as you saw that he had passed the corner walked into another pub just across the street for more. It wasn’t as charming a place as The Hollands and their bartender sure wasn’t as handsome or as fun to annoy as the regular one at Hollands. But in a pinch, anything will do.

Upon closing hour however, as you made your way home, you’d discovered that your keys were missing. Being absolutely wasted this did not worry you in the slightest. You just strolled back on unsteady legs to The Hollands to see if you’d dropped them there. Tom, who had closed the pub for the night, was still in. From the windows you could see him going through stacks of paperwork in front of him, a frown on his face. Upon hearing you knocking on the window at 2 am he’d jumped out his chair to see what was going on. When seeing you three sheets to the wind, dressed in a thin dress on a cold summer’s night the frown on his face had gotten worse.

Now here you are, in his apartment, in the dead of the night, and he’s offering you a plate of tortellini. Tessa had been overjoyed to see you and after having been allowed to greet you she had then been sent to her place and out of the way of your drunk, stumbling feet.

“But I hate tortellini” you whine.

“Christ sake, Popstar, just eat the damn food”

“No, I hate it, Tom, I hate it so much, it makes me think of- of- ” you hiccup.

“Are you actually crying right now?”

“It makes me think of- of - cheese sauce and -”

“Sorry, but what now?”

“And – I – I – I hate cheese sauce”. You’re full on sobbing and he just stares at you in disbelief.

Then, somehow the world seems fall the wrong way around. It takes you a second to realize that you’ve slid down on the floor and that you’re staring up at the ceiling. Tom’s strong arm take a hold of you and he guides you to a sitting position, leaned up against the wall. With your face in his hands he stares at you in indignation but there’s something else there too. You’re drunk enough to dare to call it tenderness.

Suddenly you’re aware that you’re sobbing, but you can’t remember why that is.

“Fuck who knows” he responds and when you give out a sound that’s something halfway between a sob and a laugh he starts laughing too. “If I make you something else to eat, will you eat it then? You’ll feel better in the morning if you do”.

Your head feels heavy, so you lean it against his hand and nod. “No cheese sauce, please”.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Sure, no cheese sauce for Pop Princess.”

“Oi!” You call out “You promised to never to call me that!” Pop Princess was the title the tabloids had given you early on in your career. He keeps smiling, but it’s a gentle smile, and trace the frown between your eyebrows with his finger, as if he’s trying to erase it.

“Will you please just sit here while I cook?”

You nod again, too tired to say anything. He gets up, and you can hear some pouring water and then he places a glass of water in your hand. “Drink” he orders, then he’s gone again, and you can hear the clattering of pots and pans as he starts cooking. You’re just staring into the wall, trying to make it stop spinning; limbs heavy with sleep and whiskey, a nice buzzing numbness in your head.

Then he’s in front of you again, looking at you with a frown “I thought I told you to drink that” and you look at the full glass clasped in your hands. “Seriously, you’ll feel better if you do”.

You roll your eyes “oh, please, Tommy. Remember who you’re speaking to. I’m the local drunk, there’s no need to lecture me in hangovers”. But you do as you’re told and chug down your drink and hand him the empty glass. “Good girl” he says and gets back to his cooking. Before long the delicious scent of food is spreading through the tiny, cramped kitchen.

You start humming a song you wrote years ago but never released, low enough so you think Tom won’t hear you over the sizzling pan. But he does.

“What’s that?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Oh” you say, leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes in the hope that the world will stop spinning. “Just a song.”

Everything goes quiet for a while and you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. But then you hear his voice. “Keep singing, please”.

It surprises you, the amount of tenderness in his words; such a gentle bequest. So, you do as you’re told. In a voice raspy from the whiskey but sweet from his kindness you sing.

“I’ve been holding my breath, I’ve been counting to ten,

Over something you said, I’ve been holding back tears

While you’re throwing back beers, I’m alone in bed

You know I, I’m afraid of change, Guess that’s why we stay the same,

So tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags, get on the road,

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know,

'Cause you remind me every day, I’m not enough, but I still stay”

You trial off and he keeps quiet too and goes silent again. Then he slides down beside you, a plate of pasta carbonara in his hands which he offers you along with a fork. “Eat” he orders gently. You do, and it tastes delicious.

“God, Tom, you could rival Sam in the kitchen”.

He snorts but you persist. “Seriously Tommy, I’d hire you as a private chef if I didn’t know you’d be an insufferable employee”.

He snorts again, but you can tell he’s amused. “Wow, thanks a lot”

“Seriously, you’d always complain about my lack of organization, or the fact that I keep all of my face masks in the refrigerator, or that I never have any food at home or that I don’t eat at regular hours or that I sometimes just forget to eat and just have a Red bull for dinner instead or that I – ”

“Jesus Christ” he interrupts you “who the fuck let you be an adult? What’s wrong with you!?”

You’re wolfing down your food, so it takes you a moment to answer. “Someone said my problem was ‘a mind-boggling lack of general discipline and a staggeringly low ability to organise’” you finally say.

“Who said that? I mean they’re not wrong”.

“You said that” you point out as you finish your plate of carbonara. “Also, this was scrumptious, and also, may I sleep here tonight?”

He looks at you in disbelief “Yeah, duh, I’m not kicking you out? I mean, I thought that was the general idea of this”.

He grabs a hold of your plate and takes your hand in his other as he guides you both up to a standing position. He places the plate among the other dirty pans in the sink and then lead you to his bathroom. Giving you a new toothbrush, he orders you to brush your teeth while he changes his sheets. He hands you a shirt to sleep in and when you’ve changed you argue for a good 10 minutes while about who’s to sleep on the couch before he puts his foot down and say he’ll ban you from his pub unless you take the bed instead of him. So, you do.

His bed soft and comfortable and smell of his detergent. From the living room you can hear Tessa’s deep breaths and the sound of Tom tossing around on the sofa. You wonder how uncomfortable he is.

“Tommy just come in here instead” you call out, voice drowsy.

“No, I told you, you take the bed”

You snort. As if you were going to give this bed up, no chance. Not now that you know how comfortable it is.

“Yeah, duh” you answer. “Wasn’t planning on taking the sofa, but the bed’s big enough for the two of us, innit?”

Dead silence from the living room. Even Tessa seems to have been struck silent.

“You sure?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I'm sure, for fuck’s sake Tommy, just come in here”.

You hear the sound of footsteps slowly making their way across the floor, then he’s in the doorway. Clad in a pair of black boxers and a black t-shirt, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he avoids looking at you.

You pull down the covers and he lay down beside you, keeping his distance in the bed. You have your backs against each other, staring into separate walls and even through the whiskey you can tell this is awkward. You want to ask him to hold you, but you’re scared he doesn’t want it. Scared he doesn’t even want to lay beside you. You are after all just a costumer in his bar. A costumer you know he can’t afford to lose.

You don’t know how long you lay there in silence, his scent surrounding you, the soft sound of his breath lulling you into further relaxation but eventually you drift off to sleep.

When you wake, he’s gone. A note on his pillow tells you he’s gone to the gym, telling you to take anything you want for breakfast and just leave the keys at the pub later.

When you close the door behind you you can’t help but feel that something tender happened in there, something important; but you know he doesn’t feel the same.

***

It’s Monday night, as Tom has been so kind to remind you off, and you’re plastered.

Earlier the pub had been full to rim of football supporters shouting and singing and sharing pints before a big game, filling the entire place with an excited buzz. Now they’ve all gone off to cheer for their heroes on the field and only the patrons remain.

Harry is bartender tonight, and Tom has placed himself in the back of the pub, a stack of paper in front of him that he keeps leering at. With a drink in your hand and a happy-go-lucky attitude you seat yourself on the opposite side of his table, determent to cheer him up.

“’m gonna write a song about you.” You inform him, voice only somewhat slurry.

“Go on then.” He doesn’t look up at you, just jots something down on the form in front of him. He’s wearing glasses tonight and they make him look so handsome you want to scream in frustration.

“Well, what rhymes with Tom? Rum!”

“Oh, Christ, no. No, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tom, he serves rum and tequila.” You sing. “Wait, what rhymes with tequila?”

“Please don’t”

“Heliophilia!”

“Okay, ’m literally begging you not to do this.” He’s looking at you now, his caramel eyes filled with both amusement and genuine dread. You don’t listen, no, you sing.

“Tom, he serves Rum and tequila,

he loves the sun, it’s called heliophilia

his pub needs fundin’, he lives in London”

“Wow. That is a hell of a forced rhyme, pop princess.”

“No, no wait!”

“Wait? I will literally pay you to stop”.

But then you start singing for real, in a voice so sultry that it makes him freeze mid motion, hand just about to turn the page over.

“Have you’ve seen my bartender

he’ll serve you whiskey, he’ll pour you rum

so sweet it’ll make you tender

but all the whiskey in Tennessee

couldn’t have that man agree

to ever share a drink with thee

no, all that sweetness’s just for me

cause babe, he’s my bartender

Yes, have you’ve seen my bartender

He’ll hand you wine, he’ll sell you gin

I think it’s a sign when he hands me my wine

When hand’s touching hand, skin touches skin”

Tom seem to be frozen in place when you stop, and over at the bar you hear Harry give a loud whistle. “Fucking hell, popstar” he cheers.

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just observes you, seemingly speechless. And maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s cheeks seem pinker than usual.

"Well, at least I didn’t rhyme rum with cum” you say, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then “I did think about doing it though” and you lift your glass to him as if in a toast before you down it.

He snorts, back to his normal self and stare down at the paper again.

“Now, honestly, Tom. What did that piece of paper ever do to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at it like you want to set fire to it. You’d like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, reckon he’d sue”.

“Who is he?” you lean over the table and closer to him and you swear you can practically see him ordering himself not to look down at your cleavage. “Is he god?” you whisper in mock horror. “Cause, I wouldn’t worry too much, Tommy. You see, God can’t sue. Well, someone in America tried to sue Satan once and they couldn’t cause they couldn’t hand him the papers. Turns out Satan hasn’t got an address. Reckon the same goes with God”

He rolls his eyes “oh, this guy definitely has got an address. He lives in Knightsbridge.” And then, in a voice unusually bitter he adds “posh twat”.

“Oy” you warn, jokingly, “those are my neighbourhoods'”.

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escapes him “Oh please” he laughs “please, you might live in Primrose Hill now, but you’re not Knightsbridge posh. Sorry to disappoint, Pop Princess”.

You glare, but it’s all in good humour. “So, who is this not-God-but-rich-as-God man sending you paper?”

The humour disappears from his face. “Downey, from the bank”. Then he turns to the bar and shouts, “Harry, hand me a pint, ye?”

“And a whiskey for me, please” you request sweetly.

“No way, Harry, she’s cut off for the night. Tell Sam to make her something to eat” he orders his younger brother who rolls his eyes but obediently begin to head into to the kitchen.

“Not tort -” you begin shouting as an instruction.

“Not tortellini” he shouts at the same time. “And no cheese sauce either” he then adds.

You smile at him and this time you swear he’s blushing.

“Who’s Downey? You ask. And you know you’re prying, but you also know that Tom needs help with something and if there’s anything you can do to help, you will.

“A bank man who wants me to pay my loans back”. He answers eventually after a long silence, when he figures you’re not going to give up and talk about something else. Harry comes back and hands Tom a pint and then leaves to take care of a costumer at the bar.

“A bank man, who lives in Knightsbridge?” You ask, bemused.

Tom smiles “oh, believe you me, Downey’s not your average bank clerk.” Then, in a serious tone, “look, I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do, ye? So drop it”.

“But I-”

“Drop it. Seriously, pop princess, there’s nothing you can do, I’ll figure something out”. He doesn’t sound harsh and the way he looks at you is positively adoring. Then he does something unexcepted. He reaches over the table and pulls a loose string of hair behind your ear. It’s a soft and sweet gesture and you want to reach over and kiss him but before you can he removes his hand and seconds later Harry places a dish of steaming pasta carbonara in front of you. You smile and thank him and he makes his way back to the bar.

You eat in silence for a while as he continues to read through stashes of papers. You decide to leave the subject, for now at least.

“Yours is better, by the way”. He looks up at you, confused. “Your carbonara” you clarify. “I mean, Sam is an incredible chef and you’re lucky to have him, but yours is my favourite”.

His cheeks heat up, again.

***

R E A D P A R T T W O H E R E

#tom holland #tom holland headcanon #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x oc #tom holland x fem #tom holland x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//the second spring. miya atsumu//

Warnings: there’s two little sex jokes

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: atsumu is so cute b y e

PART I. II. III. IV.

The poor boy was completely and utterly miserable. He had been couch ridden for days, shuffling around his tiny apartment in sweatpants, a redness reminiscent of Rudolph from the amount of times he had blown his nose in a tissue. His voice was nasally and his words were interrupted by chains of sneezes as he battled through the one thing that made early spring unbearable: flu season.

You had seen the setter taken down a peg or two during your time together over the past year. You had watched the defeat sink into his eyes everytime he lost an argument with his brother or with Sakusa. You knew that sulking posture that accompanied him whenever a serve didn’t go how he planned. But, never had you seen him like this.

His 4 a.m. text message simply asking you to come over was met with teasing remarks, telling him that if he wanted to get off so bad, he just had to say so. Yet, when you arrived, rather than being greeted with hungry kisses, your boyfriend opened the door looking like the human incarnation of death itself. A woeful expression that had his mouth tugging down into a deeply set frown and tissue bunched up in his hand that he used to wipe the snot running from his nose every few seconds pulled together his entire ensemble.

Atsumu really did try to hug you upon your arrival, but a string of coughs washed over him, leaving him to just whine in misery as he laid his head against your shoulder, taking comfort in the way that your hands rubbed soothing circles against his back. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbled, lacing his arms around your waist.

You laugh lightly, letting one of your hands reach up into his hair. “I can tell, ‘mu. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Can’t sleep.”

You hum, gently pulling his away from you so you can lay your hand against his forehead, feeling the heat radiate from his skin. “Come on, why don’t we go lay down? You’re pretty hot.”

He scoffs, letting you pull him back down the hallway towards his bedroom. “If you wanted to get off that bad, all you had to do was ask,” he teases, using your previous words against you. Even overcome with a fever, he still had the energy to put on that gentle smirk that carried that tiny glint of mischief up into his eyes, but whatever suave sense of seduction he thought he was oozing was completely ruined as a second round of coughs took hold of him.

Atsumu let you help him slowly shuffle the rest of the way to his bed, gingerly laying down on top of the sheets. You pull one of his blankets up around his body, leaning over him to brush your thumb across his cheek, a gentle kiss being placed on his forehead. “Do you need anything or do you just want to try and get some sleep?”

He just looked up at you tired brown eyes, reaching out towards your body to pull you into his arms. “Will you just stay here?” He muttered, pushing a piece of hair from your face.

“Of course, ‘mu. I can stay as long as you need me to, but you need to try to sleep. You’re going to feel better if you rest.”

“What if you never left,” he continued, his arms tightening their hold around you, scared that his questions might scare you away, because, in truth, a 4 a.m. text message that begged you to come over and help him feel less miserable was not the start to this conversation that he had ever anticipated. But, you’re light teasing that had only been followed with a, “i’ll see you in 10 mu” had made his chest swell and all of the tension seemed to leave his body at the affirmation that you were coming, that you were going to be there for him all because he asked you to be. He wasn’t sure why it had taken him by such surprise or why it had made him so happy to know that you were going to be right by his side in only a matter of short minutes, but there was no denying the tiny smile that pulled at his mouth.

You had been there through everything with him over the last year, from the first spring to the second, you had been right by his side, his number one fan in the stands, his biggest supporter on and off the court. The one person who could bring a smile to his face over the silliest things and the one who could have him clutching his sides in laughter during late night conversations where the only light illuminating you was the television playing reruns of some sitcom that you both had seen too many times. Miya Atsumu was completely and hopelessly in love with you. He might’ve been sick and he might not have been thinking perfectly clearly, but there was one thing that he knew and one thing that he was never going to forget. “I love you and I don’t want you to leave ever again,” Atsumu stated simply, staring into your face, barely visible in the darkness of the night.

“Baby, I already told you that I would stay as long as you needed me to, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He took a deep breath, pausing only to release a few heavy coughs into his arm. “What if you lived here? With me?”

You smiled down at him, pushing his hair away from his forehead that had started to bead with little droplets of sweat as his fever continued to set in. “Atsumu, I think your fever is getting to you. You’re not thinking straight right now.”

His brows furrowed together and a cute pout settled onto his lips. “You don’t want to live with me?”

“No, that’s not it, ‘mu. I do want to live with you but-”

“Then do it. Come live with me.” His voice was hoarse, worn and sore from all of his never-ending coughing fits. “And when you get sick, you won’t have to text me to come over, because I’ll already be here.”

You hum a little, cupping his face in your hands. “Atsumu, I just don’t want you to ask something that you’re going to regret, but if you really want me to move in then I-”

“I really want you to move in. Please, Y/N. I’ve never been more sure of anything. The fact that you’re here right now, in the middle of the night, is the only reassurance I could need.”

And it was true too. Atsumu had been in relationships before, but none of them had this same level of careful and attentive energy being passed between two people. It was you coming over in the middle of the night to check on him. It was him leaving volleyball practice early because you called him panicking because there was a massive spider crawling around your kitchen. It was you knowing that he always does his laundry on Thursdays and bringing him some post-laundry snacks. It was him remembering your drink of choice at the coffee shop downtown. Everything that you did for him and everything that he did for you made it so painfully obvious that this was something that he wanted to pursue further. He wanted to take one step further into the madness that came with being in love.

Springs come with first kisses and they come with warm embraces as a young couple finally takes the plunge into a new chapter of their relationship. It’s accompanied by coughing and runny noses, bodies aching and chills being too much to ignore. There are soft kisses shared in the darkness of bedrooms, moonlight barely casting glows on a pair of flames that flickered beautifully on their own, but are now burning more intensely as they merge together, lips pressed into one other, not even bothering to worry about the germs and the now unavoidable flu. All because of one simple answer that was whispered so beautifully and tantalizingly in his ear.

“Yes.”

{Taglist: @nicka-nell @moncymonce @cherryonigiri (since you like my atsumu pieces ;-;}

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu #miya #atsumu x reader #miya x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu imagines #atsumu imagines #x reader #imagines #msby #msby black jackals #fake fics by shitty #but i make them a reality #god i can't wait for the new season just so i can see atsumu again

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pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter IV: Plan B and Other Messes

a/n: this is my favorite so far, but it’s only gonna get better from here!

taglist is open if you’d like to be added. sorry if you asked and i missed it or forgot. please just ask again if you aren’t on there and would like to be. :’)

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

If this plan was foolproof, you were all worse than fools.

It had started fine. It had been more than a week since the disastrous failure that was Plan A, and you spent the week doing some reconnaissance to keep Wendy’s brief interaction with Adrian on the top of her mind.

On Tuesday, you had asked her again about the elevator incident, stating: “Wow, that must’ve been scary. Did you have someone with you? I don’t think I remember.” She responded that there had been and that he was “nice.”

On Wednesday, you had asked her if she had caught the name of the “mystery man” in the elevator. Did he work in the building? What department? Was he cute? She had said that she “Didn’t catch his name or his department, but… Yeah, he was alright, I guess.” Not a lot to work from, you lamented, but it was a start. You told her you’d see what you could find out and she groaned, telling you not to get into it, that she was fine. If only she knew how late she was on that sentiment.

On Thursday, you had taken the day off from bothering her about it. After all, you couldn’t make it seem like you found out everything about him in a day. Because that would have just been absurd.

Today-- Friday-- you spilled all of your “research” to her: name, age, department, and the information that he’d been “asking about her too”-- ignoring the fact that that was only true because Marcus had been giving him the same treatment you were giving Wendy this week. Her eyes lit up a little at hearing she’d been asked about too, and you knew you had her hook, line, and sinker.

You met Marcus outside on your lunch break to debrief and discuss the finale of Plan B, sitting on a wooden-slatted bench with him underneath the slowly changing leaves of the trees in the courtyard. While an uncharacteristically cool breeze blew by, you were starting to decide that if you could just get Wendy and Adrian to this point right here, that would be enough to bring them together. It was a quiet and secluded place, a blessed change from the chaos of work on the other side of those glass double doors in the distance. There was something undeniably romantic about it all.

With the right person to share it with, of course.

This wasn’t a romantic exchange. It was planning, organizing, talking about another’s romance, and never your own. There was absolutely nothing inherently romantic about this, certainly nothing in the way he smiled at you from the corner of his eye as you talked about how the week had gone with Wendy. There was nothing in the way you admired the light in his eyes when he grinned and how they crinkled when he laughed and nothing in the way you wanted to make sure he laughed every single day.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

This whole thing was about Wendy, not you. And certainly not Marcus.

“So, what’s the plan for this evening?” His question brought you out of your daze.

“Umm,” you cleared your throat, re-gathering yourself as you poked at your lunch with your fork. “We’re gonna text them both separately to meet us at Copper Coin for coffee. We won’t be there when they arrive. We’ll be twenty minutes late and hope that they’ve decided to sit together in that time. If they haven’t, we’ll make sure they do,” you shrugged.

“Right,” he nodded, and you returned it. Silence overtook the moment, but not in the serene way it had previously. This was decidedly more awkward. You were back in your head, doing the mental calculations of why and how there was nothing at all romantic about your friendship with Art Squad over here. That’s all it was; that’s all he was. You vaguely heard him call your name-- your real name.

“Hm?” you blinked, looking back to him.

“Where’d you go?” he murmured quizzically, his eyes searched your face in a way that undid all of the mental calculation you just went through.

“What? Nowhere. Anyway,” you stood quickly, gathering your stuff, “See you later.” You couldn’t ignore the feeling of his curious eyes still on you as you walked away.

This was not happening.

You’d be lying if you said that lunchtime exchange wasn’t at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the work day... And as you drove to the coffee shop… And now that you were sitting across from Marcus yet again, waiting on Wendy and Adrian, who still had yet to show up after the predetermined twenty minutes you were giving them before sitting inside the mahogany-saturated, hipster’s paradise yourselves.

Plan B was most certainly not foolproof, and the four of you were the grandest of fools. Where could they be?

“They’re gonna walk in and think we’re the ones on a date,” Marcus quipped as he took a sip of his drink. You almost spit yours out from the surprise of the comment, but couldn’t help the huff of laughter.

“Oh, if Wendy walked in and thought I was on a date with a guy like you, she would probably cry tears of joy.”

“What does that mean?” You missed the warm pink take over the skin of his neck at what he was hoping was a compliment.

A guy like him?

How did you see him?

“My recent track record is not great,” you stated, running a finger around the rim of your drink, “I would go on a couple of dates with someone. Never let it go anywhere. Decline any attempt to make it exclusive. Get the hell out of there. Rinse and repeat.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You were making him nervous. It was pretty obvious to him now that he was starting to be interested in you beyond just being a work friend helping him with a “project”. But hearing your hesitance to commit in the past made his heart sink. He knew too well the feeling of being the one more invested in the relationship, of scaring someone off by going all in. He couldn’t let himself fall into that again with you. He’d have to force himself away, push down what was threatening to blossom.

“Afraid of getting hurt, I guess. I’ve seen a lot of committed relationships around me fail. People falling out of love. I don’t want that.” You shrugged.

“That’s a very reasonable fear.”

“Exactly. So I’m just… Waiting I guess. Wendy sees it as me just having commitment issues. I don’t have commitment issues per se. I just haven’t really found anyone worth committing to yet.”

“I’m afraid I have the opposite problem.” You tilted your head, questioning, and he continued, “I haven’t found anyone worth committing to, but I don’t realize it until it’s too late.” he sighed, “I was that one teenager who had one steady girlfriend from eighth grade all the way through high school and never looked at anyone else-- probably for the best, I was kind of a dork,” he laughed despite himself and you joined. It fizzled sadly, “But anyway. Everyone thought we were gonna be together forever. And I started to think so too after, you know, five years. I had it all planned out by the time we got to senior year. We wanted to go to the same college. We’d date through college, I’d propose on our graduation day... We didn’t make it past senior prom. She had disappeared for a while, and I found her in a supply closet with another guy.” You couldn’t help but gasp a little. He continued “Then I still got married pretty young, not long out of college,” he shook his head, seemingly to clear out the emotions that reared their ugly heads for what was obviously the first time in a while. You wanted him to know he didn’t have to explain himself to you.

“Marcus, don’t--” you tried to stop him.

“I was ‘too much’ for her.” You froze at the admission. His mouth contorted into a frown that didn’t suit him at all. “I’m still not sure I know what she meant by that,” he laughed humorlessly, “Guess I cared too much? Who knows. She divorced me, and that was that.” You both looked down to find that you’d put your hand on his. There was a part of you-- maybe more than a part, really-- that decided that what he was saying sounded nice. That he would be a blessed change from relationships that never lasted longer than a month and whose conversations never reached the level of depth that you were already experiencing with Marcus after just the couple of weeks you’d known him. You breathed, letting your hand stay resting on his as you spoke truly.

“What you said was right. Neither of them were worth your commitment. I’ve seen your commitment to someone who’s just a work friend, and I can’t imagine anyone not wanting that in their life. They couldn’t have been worth your time.” His thumb reached up to brush against the side of your hand. “I would--” You stopped yourself mid-sentence upon looking at the cafe door to find Wendy finally walking in.

If only you knew that Marcus was holding his breath waiting for the end of the statement, hoping to hear you say that he might be worth that commitment.

“There’s Wendy now.” Your hand left his as you got up to meet her, and Marcus found himself immediately missing the contact and entirely unsure of what just happened.

“An hour late? Where have you been?” you laughed as Wendy met your eyes excitedly.

“You’ll never guess what just happened,” she practically squealed in response, yet not answering your question.

“Probably not. Go for it.”

“I got my rebound!” You blinked.

“You-- What?”

“So right before you left the office, I received a tip on a case from the Elisabet Ney Museum. They had some priceless jewelry of hers on display. Only supposed to be up for a week. Family heirloom. It’s on display for two days before it turns up stolen. But get this: the bust of hers it was on was also stolen. Meaning this case also falls under the jurisdiction of the Art Squad. I figured ‘Hey, the more, the merrier,’ so I hopped on down to the 6th floor to talk to them about a team-up and guess who I ran into?” Your eyes widened, finally getting the point of the story.

“Adrian.”

“Adrian!” she nearly squealed again, talking a mile a minute. “So anyway, we’re gonna be teamed up on that next week.” You subconsciously shot a glance over to Marcus. Having to work a case with him? After the day you just had? “But the crazy part is that I started talking to Adrian and he’s so great, you know, now that I’m not freaking out in an elevator. Turns out he’s a recent dumpee too, and we’re gonna go out tomorrow night. Oh, and we might’ve made out in the supply closet.” The words of that last part all ran together as she tried to play it off nonchalantly. You let your mouth hang open in the flurry of words and admissions that came far too quickly for you to process fully.

“Wow. That’ s-- That’s great! I told you he was worth looking into,” you smiled weakly, trying to get over the newest developments in this absolutely ridiculous story. “So, this case? Starting next week?”

“Monday morning, bright and early. Hey, didn’t you say you had a friend on Art Squad? The one who gave you a ride that one day? That’ll be fun, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure.” You caught Marcus’s eye, and your face must have betrayed just how exasperated and confused-- and… relieved?-- you felt because the look he shot back to you was full of concern. Everything was somehow simplified and complicated in one fell swoop.

Plan B: Success? You guess?

forever taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @dindjarindiaries @absurdthirst @roxypeanut @fioccodineveautunnale @dirty-dancefl00r5 @starryeyedstories @buckysalefty @wickedfrsgrl @the-feckless-wonder

#marcus pike x reader #bri writes #iyewbil

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leniinero · 3 years

Text

November 4th 2021 4:49am

Throwback posts//

December 1st 2020

There have been times in my life especially lately where I've needed someone to talk to because I feel so down and lonely and have reached out and those very people either straight up said "no, not here for all of that" or "i try to keep positive so I'd rather not listen to sad stuff" or "not this again!....just cheer up! Think happy thoughts!"

Okay. Great. That's so easy. 😒

Um okay. So next time people wonder why I'm so quiet and keep to myself. This is why.

I dont want to bother anyone.

No one looks out for Lenii. Am I supposed to have this figured out by 31? Like is that there blueprint?

I scream but nobody listens.

Clinical depression is real and it brings a mess of friends. There's a block party in our heads that we weren't invited to.

The demons ain't the only ones up at night.

January 14, 2020

People dont understand how severe depression can be and how it affects everyone differently.

People really think you just dont care about the way you look, how clean your area, your schooling, your health is etc. You do care, you always care, you're just sucked so deep in your head that doing anything else seems impossible. You cant get over depression or even work on it when people around you, those that claim to love/care for you, give you shit. And say "it's a phase"; "get over it, pull yourself out of it!" Dont you think if it were that easy mental illness would be a thing? Ever?

It's like those 80s movies or that episode of Supernatural where you're running from the monster you cant see....or hear but you know it's there because you sense it. It's there! So you run into your room, block the doors and windows, sit on your bed. And try to breathe, you think you're safe so you start to calm down so you can focus on what to do next. How to stay alive.

And right when all starts to seem well, the monster you thought you left on the other side of the door.....grabs you by the ankles and starts to pull you under the bed. You cry, you scream, you knock shit over. And all that left is a mess. A mess and your nail Marks on the floor.

We do know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, we just don't think we deserve to see it.

Instead of at least trying to understand or be there for this person or even just listening; you're judging and assuming.

Hey, how about you just ask? Or even a "hang in there buddy!" Would do just fine.

I'm over it. ✌

October 17, 2020

#TMI

I dont just think people don't understand the severity of depression. If you couple it with anxiety, its even worse. I've had a clear plan in my head since my mom died in 2014, a plan of what I've wanted to do with my life. I've seen a post of about how they take months to do something that would only take 30 minutes because that's what depression does to you. Its more than a quick moment of sadness or uncertainty;its more than a funk. Its a serious thing that a lof of people just brush off when someone else has it. I think that's why "Glass House" is such an important song to me. Because its therapeutic even if it is sad. Because even if it increases the pain, it makes me feel understood. Even if it is by complete strangers like Kells & Naomi.

I spent all of my 20s in waste. I moved to another state to start over..Im almost 31 and I've done little to nothing to make these plans happen.

And what's worse is that people keep reminding me of how much of a fuck up I am. So when I over post about stuff that makes me happy, that's just me, trying to make myself happy. I dont mean to be annoying.

Ive tried to reach out to people that I thought cared about me, people I've known forever as a last ditch effort. But nothing. They've literally told me no. Don't wanna hear it. Id rather not listen to you talk about sad things..etc. This is why I just keep things to myself. (With the exception of this post)

So, lets talk about you....show me a picture or lyric or quote or link that helps you get through hard times.

I'm gonna have to do a separate post on these songs.

#leniineropersonal #depression #suicide #mental illness #mental health #Spotify

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theoriquewitherseld · 4 years

Note

Heck I DO wanna know more! I'm super interested in thia fic 👀

OK I am SUPER happy receiving this ask, but alas all I can offer is a lot of excerpts,, more under the cut

When Jacques arrives at Stain'd, he finds the records to be VERY accurate: it's a deadzone. That would likely explain the weird look the conductor gave him when he requested to get off. There's no longer anybody here

Back then there must have been some, perhaps, in order to enact Lem's apprenticeship. But he still regards the situation with an air of apprehension. Large chunk of reports were missing, reports that were leading up to his disappearance. It could be that VFD hid it, of course, but intentional or not, its denominator remains the same: something monumentally terrible occured for that to happen.

And he will have to walk straight to it. Or at least, its aftermath.

The rattle of the train leaving startles him, and he shakes off his nerves. He wants so badly to get back on the train, jump on the railings perhaps but the rear has gotten quite a distance away. He's already alone.

(Oh God I just realized I have no idea what people do after they get off trains. Should there be like people taking ur tickets or something?? Ive been on a train only once and that was super long ago)

The Stain'd Station was utterly deprived of life. Everything was cracked and looked in the danger of falling apart. Litter and dirt was strewn all around. There was no place that Jacques just wanted more to bail out of immediately (except, perhaps, that one wasp-infested area but that is besides the point). It unnerves him, to listen to the echoes of his footsteps in the abandoned station, with its business nothing more than a ghost of its past. It rattles him more than the rattle of train wheels on the tracks. But he trudges on, hoping to find some clue.

Out on the street was no better. All buildings were boarded up, some windows smashed. Brown grass was growing out of the sidewalks. There was few vehicles on the side of the road: a brown rusty one with its hood popped up and its insides gone, a yellow cab so terribly dented, and a black one with its paint job scratched and all four of its tires missing. It was a miserable place, not fit for any human life, much less an apprenticeship. He grimaces in dismay. This is where they dumped his brother? Even as a containment procedure, it was a bit much. No person should be in this place.

But that wasn't the most pressing issue. The most pressing issue is where to start. He does not have the faintest idea where he is in this desolate town, much less where his brother stayed for the duration in the past — except for the address of The Lost Arms. But that information was useless without a map, and every other map he scoured to know about the town has vehemently insisted that Stain'd-By-The-Sea does not exist. Whether VFD has already tampered with those maps, he can not tell.

He had hoped there may be a clue in there, some forgotten item, a thing accidentally left behind. But with no map, his best course of action is to simply search every establishment and hope for serendipity. Not all of the best things are necessarily good things.

He hears a rumble of an engine.

His gaze snaps upwards, puzzled if whether or not he had imagined it. Then he can see the yellow dented cab making its way towards him at a snail's pace. Jacques's heart stops, and gripped his suitcase until his knuckles turned white. It was a trusty little suitcase, filled with tools and files that are of great use of him, but he's not so sure if it were of any use against a damned ghost cab. If it were really a ghost. If Kit was here, she would've scoffed at him. But he's not really feeling up to an argument, not when his feet was stuck to the pavement, body frozen into place. He stares, heart pounding like there was no tomorrow as the taxi pulls up to its side, exactly right in front of him, and stops.

But then the window rolls down, and Jacques felt very, very foolish, but immensely relieved, as it reveals a worn and much younger face of a boy with a busted blue cap.

"Well, hello there friend," he says, with a voice just as tired. "Another visitor was the last thing we expected, but —" he gives a small shrug, "— here we are. Need a taxi?"

It took him a moment to realize how stupid he looked with his mouth gaping open. "I-I'm sorry," Jacques stammered, once he found his voice. "We?"

Another younger face pops up from below the young driver, and Jacques nearly jumps in surprise. "That would be us, the Bellerophon brothers," he reveals with a squeaky but cracked voice. "I'm Pecuchet, and this—" he points upward, and his brother tipped his hat at him, " — is Bouvard, but that makes people's tongue tired, so you can call him Pip, and me, Squeak."

The driver known as "Pip" frowned. "Are you alright though? You've looked like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes fluttered. "Er — Yes, yes, I... I am afraid I also didn't expect anyone to come here either." He tips his white hat at them in turn. "Greetings to you, I am Ja— James Moore."

Internally, he cringed. It was a sloppy pseudonym, but he can't risk revealing who he is in the potential situation VFD managed to track his trail, they wouldn't be able to hold incriminating evidence against him. Curiously, it didn't arouse much suspicion from the odd duo, except for a slight tilt of the head.

"Well, nice to meet you Mr. Moore. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Jacques is not quite sure what to think of climbing into a cab with kids of odd names in an abandoned town. However, his relief in discovering that there is fellow life, inexplicable as it is, and a likelier possibility of gaining information triumphed over whatever reservations he had at the moment. In the pursuit of his search, with its very nonexistent lead, he'd take anything.

"I'd like to go to the Lost Arms please."

"Sure," Pip reached out behind him and opened the door. "Hop in."

He pauses, and then climbs in and closes it shut, and soon enough, the two brothers drive away from the Station with startlingly expert hands on both wheel and brakes. Jacques is fairly impressed at their coordination.

"Say," Pip starts, once they got a quite the distance away. "Apologies if it sounds prying, friend, but out of curiosity, what business does a stranger have with Stain'd-By-The-Sea?"

That shook him out of his stupor. Idiotically, he hasn't prepared for that, he was ascertain there won't be anyone here, he even got business cards and all but it's not in his suitcase (which he wants to smack himself on). His mind blanks for a moment, but he manages to scramble an answer that isn’t necessarily a lie nor a truth. "I am private investigator hired to search for someone last seen in this town."

Pip looked at him through the rearview mirror, which was a bit dirty and cracked. "Oh? That certainly does explain why someone wants to be in this town."

Jacques didn't bother to clarify he does NOT want to be here at all, but he nods his head instead.

He expertly steered the wheel. "You wouldn't happen to be allowed the details no? Sorry, but interesting things have rarely happened here since..."

"I'm afraid not, no," Jacques blinks. That felt off. "Speaking of visitors, you haven't happened to have driven someone around lately no?"

"Until you came along? Not one for the past year. No outsiders at the very least."

He deflates a little, but he's unsurprised. So he really wasn't here recently. He was about ask more, when the taxi came to a stop in front of a shabby and derelict building he would presume to be the Lost Arms.

Once again, Pip reached out to open the door for him. "Here we are then, Mr. Moore."

"Thank you," he says, retrieving his wallet. "How much is the fare?"

Pip blinked in surprise. Then his eyes flickered towards the wallet, and his eyes widened further. "Huh, I never expected a paying customer today either."

It puzzles him so much that he tilts his head. Did they just let him ride as a charity? "Well, it's only natural to pay for a service, no?"

He just shrugged. "It's alright. Keep the money, it's not gonna be much use anyways, with the state of the town. You may wanna give that to the proprietor though —" he nods to the building, "— Prosper Lost."

"Well, I shan't dare to think of leaving this taxi without giving something in return," Jacques insisted.

"How about a tip then?"

"A tip?" he frowns. "A tip what?"

"Anything really, s'long as its useful."

That got him thinking. He thought of giving them a tip of accepting money when they get it and leave this terrifying place, but decided against. He then looks up.

"Here's a tip, there's this book that..." he trails off, feeling a painful lump form in his throat. "That my associate enjoys. Champion of the World, heard of it?"

Ellington feels the bitter sweetness on her tongue. The air was damp and cold after the shower, having ceased into droplets. Everything reminded her the cool greens and blues of a watercolor painting. At the distance, the light of the morning sun peaks through. She's glad she's getting some pieces of her back, but some of the damage will be permanent, and some things are just lost forever. Seeing the Association and strangers and natives to Killdeer fields all work together to set things right was amazing, but also drove home on the tragedy of Armstrong Feint, whose pursuit of vengeance blinded him, destroyed himself and set back hopes of recovery for years. The pain he inflicted was an unnecessary cruelty, that if he had bothered to spare, even the tinniest bit of mercy and offered his help, he would've witnessed the return of the sea and the recovery of the environment, and they could've been together.

But he had made a decision. All of their parents did — the Mallahans, the Hixes, the Knights, the Bellerophons, the Losts. What's done is done.

She remembers a line that her father read her once, many years ago. It was the book where Snicket claimed a wizard was not so very helpful, and that her father loved because of its elaborate descriptions of trees. Many elaborate description of trees.

"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo." Ellington murmurs to herself.

"'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"

She stares at the sky.

But there was a knock at the door

They both froze. Moxie is still on the phone — with who, Kellar didn't hear.

It could be anyone, Kellar thought, perhaps some coworkers who forgot their stuff, or has the intention to work overtime. It may even be some neighbor, asking for help or providing assistance. It could even be a fellow Associate. There's no reason really, to think there could be enemies on the other side.

But he walked anyway. His breathing far too loud and uneven, yet his pace cautious and fearful. He calls out, "Who's there?"

No answer.

"I'm warning you," he says slowly, attempting to keep the tremble out of his voice, "that I'm armed."

Silence. It's a blatant lie of course, but no matter how he strained his ears, he still can't hear anyone walking away. They’re not fooled.

He motions to Moxie to get ready to run. A few seconds, he could buy that. Enough seconds to scramble whatever data they need and bolt like hell. Kellar doesn't see if she saw it.

The door is inches away from him now. His heart pounded in his chest. His hands carefully placed on the dark wood, and he looked into the peephole.

Kellar had barely moved his head in time just to dodge the blast shot that would've blown away bits of his brain, but had blown off half of his right ear instead.

He screamed, it hurt, hurt worse than anything he'd known and he's sure he's lost his hearing there, but he let the wound bleed and instead ducked and braced himself against the door to keep them from opening it. "Moxie run!"

"Look at him. Look. At. Him." Pip hissed, and Squeak looked at them with an air of innocence. "You think that's an angel?? A beacon of innocence?? Wrong. That's bastard incarnate. The single source of maliciousness on this earthly realm. Look. Look how evil he looks. He's a little prick."

"Frankly, I'd love to have a sibling," Cleo said.

Kellar looked at her as if she said something deranged and jabs a thumb towards Lizzie. "No, you don't. I love my sister, but you think she won't sell me off to the circus first chance she gets?" He shook his head. "Think again."

"Dibs."

"What the—" Moxie then scowled. "That was too fast."

Snicket just shrugged. "I have two older siblings, Moxie. The true nature of siblings... Is natural selection."

"Are you certain you should be using big boy words like that?" Ellington asked, bemused. "I'm fairly certain you can't even differentiate a crocodile and an alligator."

"If I may introduce you to my family," Jacques says.

He points to Kit emerging from his side. "— Parasite number one—".

And he points to Snicket as he emerges from the other. "— and Parasite number two."

"Alright, does anyone have any questions?" Jacques asks tiredly.

They all raise their hands.

"That isn’t sarcastic," he snaps.

They all lowered their hands, disappointed.

Jacques sighs. "Lizzie, you've got the stage."

"Just what time is it?" Ellington inquires, exhausted.

"Hang on," Kit smiled, and instead of whipping out a clock, she instead produces a clarinet. She took a deep breath, and blew. Before she could even make it to the second note, they look up at the ceiling— startled— suddenly hearing a very muffled but very clear yell from Jacques, Kit, are you seriously playing the clarinet at 2 IN THE DAMN MORNING.

They look down. Kit still has a devilish smile plastered.

"It's 2 am," she announces.

#ask #asks #atwq #all the wrong questions #the association au #snicket snippets #my writing

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mordoriscalling · 4 years

Text

Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #The Sailor and the Singer AU

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