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rendevousz · 3 years

Text

sick

avengers x gn!teen!reader

platonic!peter parker x reader

requested by @sunflowerbecca : "hey! a request with the whole teen avengers thing you got gotten on haha, anyways something where the reader gets hurt or faints etc etc and then the rest of the avengers are all worried and frantic as they care for them"

summary: there was a consequence of going on a mission while you were sick

warnings: mentions of throwing up and a tiny fight with bestfriend!peter, avengers babying you as usual

word count: roughly 5k words of utter bullshit me thinks but pls do give this a read LMAO

notes: i'm sorry this took longer to write i was unexpectedly busy on the weekends but here i am i hope you enjoy this <3

"stark, you sure about this?"

"of course i'm sure, capsicle. the kids have been bugging us to let them go on a mission together. i know it's because they just want to mess around without being scolded but this is the easiest mission we've ever gotten since the avengers. besides, they've been pretty good lately so i think they deserve it. don't you guys think so?"

his question was met with approving looks all over the room, except from steve. the whole team except the teens —you and peter— were having a meeting about a simple mission that was supposed to happen that night. you and peter weren't in the meeting because you two were still at school.

it had been months since you and peter started asking the team to let you guys go on missions alone without "adult supervision". it was true that you guys wanted that just so you could do missions without feeling like you were being babysat but it was also because you guys thought that you weren't kids anymore; you could handle simple missions.

"c'mon cap, don't you want to see their face light up when we tell them they can go on this mission together, without us?" clint urged. he knew steve loved the kids, especially you, and he especially loved seeing the way your eyes would light up first before you whole face did.

"okay, fine. but if anything happens to them, you guys are to blame for."

–

school had just finished and you were walking back to the tower with peter. you've been having a killer headache all day and you felt nauseous. you even went to the washroom to throw up twice today. of course you didn't tell peter because he was that type of overprotective best friend who would make you get home if you sneezed more than three times that day. all you wanted to do today was get home quick so you could sleep the sickness away.

yes, you knew you were sick. but you didn't want to tell anyone because like peter, the whole team was overprotective over you and they usually did too much when you were sick. so you avoided that by just acting like you were okay. that was going well so far since all you had to do when you get home was go to your room and tell them you stayed up late last night and needed to catch up on sleep.

of course that didn't go well.

"y/n!" you groaned when peter entered your room uninvited, immediately jumping onto your bed. "yes, pete?" you croaked. his joyful expression turned into a frown when he heard you. "what's wrong? are you okay?"

"yes, pete, i'm okay. just super sleep deprived." you lied, cringing when you felt your head throb once again. "oh.. did you..did you want to sleep? am i interrupting?" he asked, feeling bad. "no, no. it's fine, what did you want?"

"i just came to tell you that mr stark and the team are finally gonna let us go on a mission without them! there's one tonight and they're letting us go alone!" he announced excitedly. you couldn't help the small smile that appeared on your lips when he said that. his happiness was just so contagious.

"but if you wanna sleep then i'll just go with any one of them, i guess," he shrugged his shoulders with a nonchalant face but you knew he was internally begging you to come with. after all, you guys have been asking for this for the longest time.

you look at his hopeful face —one that he thought he was concealing very well— and sighed, flashing him a small smile. "fine, it's friday anyways so there's no school tomorrow. but you're buying me food tomorrow for postponing my catchup on beauty sleep," that is, if you can stomach the food, considering how you've thrown up almost anything you had for the past two days.

the thought of this mission going awry because of you being sick was almost immediately forgotten when you saw the huge smile on peter's face. he pulled you into a tight hug before letting go to jump on your bed. "we're finally gonna go on a mission alone!"

you laugh at his excitement though you wished he could lower down his volume because it was making your head hurt.

later that evening, you were in your room, sitting on the bed after having just finished putting on your suit when a knock was heard. after telling the person to come in, you met eyes with a certain blond haired super-soldier.

"hey, y/n." he greets, sitting down beside you. "hey, steve," you responded with a weak voice. he turned to you with a frown and you knew what was coming. "i'm fine, steve. i already had this conversation with pete. i just need sleep but i can get that after this mission. i'm not gonna be fine though if you wake me up at the crack of dawn to train when you know i just had a late night mission." you sassed, causing him to chuckle.

"okay, fine. i'm just worried about you two. you sure you're gonna be fine? don't need me to come along?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

"yes, steve. pete's been wanting a mission without you old folks for the longest time and i'm not gonna disappoint him by making you come along. we'll be fine, stevie. we're not little kids, we're avengers. we can handle finding a random chip in an abandoned building," you reasoned with him.

"it's not a rando— you know what? just be back home safe, okay kiddo?" he ruffled your hair, earning him a playful glare from you.

the swing trip to the mission location had you even more nauseous than you were earlier today and earlier today was worse than yesterday when the symptoms of your fever all started. you almost let go of peter because your body felt weak and now you were getting an earful from the boy.

"y/n, what were you thinking?! you could've gotten hurt!" he scolded you. you only looked down in guilt, biting the inside of your cheeks. "can we not do this now? let's talk about this back at the tower tomorrow," you waved him off, already beginning to feel the pounding headache getting worse. you started to walk ahead but then he gripped your upper arm, effectively halting you in your steps.

"y/n, if i hadn't grabbed onto you tighter the last minute, you could've plummeted 100 feet down to your death! did you know how scared i was?" his voice cracked and you immediately felt bad.

"you know you need to hold on too when i'm swinging us both! why'd you do that?" he yelled at you and you had to press onto your temple because of the headache that was steadily getting worse.

"look, pete, i'm really sorry about that, okay? that was unintentional but if you're gonna berate me over that, can you do that back at the tower?" you sighed, trying to shrug his grip off your arm but he kept it.

"you don't know the true weight of your actions, do you? you could've died, y/n! how do you think i would feel? being the reason my best friend died? having to go on with life without you? i can't lose you, y/n!" at this point, you could tell he was crying under his mask.

you felt bad. you knew you shouldn't have agreed to go on this mission knowing that you had been sick for the past two days. but you couldn't have let the opportunity pass. you couldn't bear to see peter disappointed after waiting for this moment for the longest time ever. but standing here, looking down as peter yelled at you while crying, you were starting to think that it was better to just see his disappointment. anything was better than seeing your best friend cry.

"pete, i truly am sorry. i love you and i would never leave you. but can we please get this mission over and done with so we can get back to the tower as soon as possible? we'll talk about this later," you told him and you immediately felt him let go of your arm.

"okay, fine! since you wanna get the mission done so bad, let's do it! i'll take the east side of the building and you'll take west. we'll split up so can find the goddamn chip quicker. that's what you want right?" and before you could say anything, the boy was already out of your sight.

you tried to keep your tears at bay but when that was the first huge argument you had with your best friend, it was kind of an impossible task.

so with your weak muscles and a breakdown that caused your headache to get even worse, you slowly trudged the west side of the building, looking for that stupid chip that the team wanted you to find.

you were beginning to think that the only reason the team sent you both here was because to find a tiny little chip in a huge abandoned building was like finding a needle in a haystack; definitely not something adults like them could bear to do.

but it obviously wouldn't have mattered to you and peter since you guys could do it peacefully without being pestered every two minutes about your whereabouts during missions. it obviously wouldn't have mattered to you and peter because if that argument hadn't broken out, you two would be enjoying each others company as you looked for the chip together. you could've been singing and joking around like you two wanted to. but of course that couldn't happen because of you.

you stopped in your tracks when a particularly harsh wave of migraine hit you, causing you to lean against the wall. your vision blurred as you tried hard to clear it but it wouldn't. your throat was dry and it made you think; when was the last time you drank water? you barely had energy in you from skipping meals due to your inability to stomach them.

now you were actually regretting coming on this mission. the last thing you saw was the dirty walls decorated with spray painted graffiti.

"oh my god, is this it? KAREN, is this it?" peter asked his built in AI. "yes, peter, this chip matches the picture that mr stark sent you."

"yes!" he cheered, grabbing the chip and storing it safely. "this mission probably would've been a lot more fun if y/n and i weren't fighting. we would've had so much fun. these walls had countless of stuff we could've laughed and joked about." the boy sighed before pressing a finger to his comms.

"hey i uh, i found the chip. where are you? we can go now." he said, waiting for you to respond. but you didn't. "c'mon, y/n, it's been two hours. you can't still be giving me the silent treatment, are you?"

silence.

"look, i'm sorry for lashing out on you but like you said, let's settle this at the tower. tell me where you are. i'll come get you and we can swing back as soon as possible."

silence.

"goddamnit, y/n! answer me!" he huffed out in annoyance. and when he was met with silence once again, he decided to have KAREN do a scan.

"y/n is at the exact same spot you landed on two hours ago." KAREN showed him the scan of the building and highlighted where you guys landed on two hours ago. he felt his heart race when you seemed to be lying on the ground, motionless.

"what's wrong with them, KAREN? why is y/n lying on the floor?" he asked in concern as he sped up to where you were. "y/n seems to have lost consciousness. according to FRIDAY, they have been showing symptoms of a high fever since yesterday."

peter cursed as he ran towards you when he saw you from afar. how could he have not noticed that you were sick? and it wasn't a simple cold but a high fever. now he was the one who felt bad. he should've suspected it from how different you had been acting since yesterday. that must've also been the reason you couldn't hold on to him properly.

he immediately crouched down to you when he reached you, examining your body for any external injuries. he cringed when he saw dried blood on the side of your forehead. you must've scraped it upon impact on the rough concrete.

"how long have they been out?" he asked KAREN as he picked you up. he proceeded to web you onto his body as extra precaution in case he accidentally let go while he swung. "approximately 2 hours, peter. right after you stormed away angrily."

"okay, KAREN, there's no need to make me feel bad. can you call mr stark?" peter asks the AI as he frantically swings you both back to the tower.

"kid? what's up? did you find the chip?" peter could hear the background rock music being lowered down and from the metal on metal clanking, he could tell tony was in his lab.

"i did but can you, uh, please get medic ready?" he was breathless as he kept swinging from building to building all while holding onto your unconscious body. immediately the metal tinkering sounds as well as the music completely stopped.

"what happened, kid? are you alright?"

"i'm okay, mr stark. it's y/n. they fainted." he told the man. "fainted?" the man exclaimed. "what happened? how long were they out?" he urged the boy and peter could hear that he was walking quickly and he assumed it was to get the medic team ready and to inform them of the situation.

"2 hours," he admitted quietly as he landed on the tower's hangar. "i'm here. i'm bringing them down now." he ran down towards the hospital wing with you in his arms.

once he reached down, he was met with the team waiting, worry etched onto their faces. wanda was the first to notice him and peter saw that her eyes were teary. before he could say anything though, the medic team appeared and proceeded to cut off his webs wrapping you to him. they immediately put you onto the stretcher and they wheeled you into the room, peter's gaze lingering on your unconscious self once he took off his mask.

"what happened out there, kid?" sam asked softly when peter slid down against the wall, staring expressionlessly at the wall across of him. "peter."

"we had a fight, okay!" he let out, taking the team by surprise because he was always such a calm and patient boy. they had never seen him this angry or upset since they first met him.

"we were swinging and their grip on me loosened so i got mad at them. but they kept pushing the matter aside like it wasn't a big deal, like it wasn't a life or death situation so i lashed out and decided that we should split up to look for the stupid chip since they wanted to get back to the tower so bad." he explained, eyes red as he had been crying a lot that night.

"i tried apologising like ten minutes after but y/n didn't respond so i assumed they were giving me the silent treatment but i found them unconscious two hours later. i'm so sorry," he apologised, breaking down as he put his face in between his knees to avoid looking at the team. they were probably mad at him for letting this happen to you.

"kid, why are you apologising? it's not your fault,"

he slowly lifted his head up, to meet the kind smiles of the team. "because the only reason y/n probably went on this mission was because they knew how much i wanted this. they put their own well-being aside just to make me happy and all i did was lash out at them."

"how were you supposed to know y/n had a high fever? we all didn't know either. it's not like we spend every waking hour with th—" clint was immediately cut off when nat nudged him with her elbow. peter had an unamused expression on his face. everyone knew you and peter were practically attached at the hip, always having training, and not to mention, school together. you two even spent your free time together.

"what clint means," nat glared at the archer. "is that it doesn't matter how much time or how little time we spend with y/n. that kid is stubborn as a bull. they could literally have been shot and we wouldn't know until we actually see the wound. my point is, y/n's the type that doesn't want to worry us. and you're their best friend, they knew how much you wanted this mission so that's probably why they didn't tell you. you can't blame yourself for this, peter."

"i know but they did this for me and i got mad at them. they're a much better friend to me than i am to them." peter dropped his head back down between his knees.

before any of them could respond, doctor cho approached them. "as you all know, they have a high fever. i suggest you all come visit tomorrow because they most probably won't wake until then."

"okay, will do. thank you, doc." the doctor smiled before excusing herself. peter then got up to go back to his room to wash up after handing tony the chip.

tony could only sigh when he looked at the boy's back that was growing smaller as he walked farther away.

the next day, you woke up with a terrible headache but you had gotten used to it from the past two mornings.

"good, you're awake. how do you feel?"

you squinted to get used to the bright lighting and your gaze settled on the female doctor by your bed with a clipboard. "like shit." you croaked out. she chuckled. "that's expected. your fever has calmed down now, do you feel anything else?"

"this headache makes me want to rip my head out and i feel weak." she nodded, jotting down on her clipboard. "okay. that's all i needed to know. you should come to us if you're ever unwell, y/n." you gave her a guilty smile before nodding.

"there's a glass of water on the table if you want. the team wants to see you so i'll send them in?" you nodded and she left to bring them in. you looked at the bedside table, seeing the glass of water she mentioned and only now you realised how dry your throat had been. how you managed to verbally respond to doctor cho, you didn't know.

you slowly reached out for it, struggling because your whole body felt weak. "y/n! stay in bed, i'll get it for you." you heard a stern voice scold and you immediately fell limp on the bed.

before you knew it, steve was already by your side with the glass of water. he held your face in one hand while the other held the glass near your mouth. you smiled gratefully and took your time drinking the water, having been dehydrated before you passed out.

"you're still burning up," he noted, settling down on the chair beside you. the rest sat down too and you couldn't be bothered to ask how the heck were there so many chairs in the room. "how are you feeling, y/n/n?" bruce asked, sitting down across steve.

"like shit." you repeated your answer to doctor cho. before steve could open his mouth to tell you to watch your language, you turned to him with a bored look and a raised eyebrow, causing him to close his mouth immediately. boy, were you scary when you weren't about to take anyone's shit.

"why didn't you tell us you were sick, bubs?" wanda pouted, fixing your hair that you were sure looked like a bird's nest at the moment.

"i didn't want to worry you guys. you're adults who have much more important things to worry about. a kid throwing up and experiencing headaches shouldn't be your priority." you admitted, subconsciously playing with nat's fingers. she had gotten used to you doing that when you were nervous or overwhelmed so she let you.

"what are you talking about, y/n?" she held onto your hand, stoping your movements. "anything related to your safety and well-being is a priority to us. you had us worried sick last night, bub." she looked down at you with soft eyes, releasing her grip on your hands so you could continue playing with her fingers.

"yes, you worried us lots, y/n. wanda would not stop crying last night when she heard what happened." vision said, prompting a smack from said woman and a hushed 'vis!'.

"i'm sorry, guys. i initially was just going to stay in my room until i got better but when peter told me about the mission, i couldn't bear to say no to him. he was so happy about it and i didn't want to disappoint him. and i thought i could take it because it literally was the simplest mission ever. but the breakdown i had after our argument was physically draining and i guess i couldn't take it. i'm sorry. god, i only didn't want to disappoint peter but now i've disappointed you guys too." you bit the inside of your cheek to control your emotions, not wanting to seem even weaker in front of these adult superheroes.

"you didn't disappoint us, y/n/n," bucky started. "you've done so well, you've made us proud and you keep making us proud. we just wish you would tell us when you're sick or you just need someone. you don't have to keep everything to yourself. what are we here for? we love you and we're willing to do anything for you. you're our baby." he ruffled your hair and you give him a tired smile. "i'll keep that in mind."

"do you want anything to eat?" sam asked and you paused, trying to figure out whether you would be able to stomach some food or not. "you know what? i'm gonna go and make you some porridge right now. don't move." he told you, as if you could move with these overprotective heroes surrounding your bed.

almost immediately after, wanda got up too. "i'm going to make sure he doesn't burn the kitchen down." she said, leaving the room after a small peck to the side of your head. vision then left too after wishing you a speedy recovery. only bucky, steve, natasha and bruce were left.

"y/n, you know you can come to us if you're sick, right? i know you and you probably think you're troubling doctor cho if you go to her despite it being her job. but we're family, you can come to us anytime. you always help me when with 'the other guy' and you help everyone with basically anything they could possibly need so why wouldn't we do the same for you? you out of everyone in this tower deserves the most." your eyes watered at his speech. you pouted and looked at him with your doe eyes, making the rest of the team internally coo at how adorable you looked.

"bruce," you lower lip jutted out even more as you opened your arms for a hug which he happily accepted. "hey where's clint, tony and pete?" you asked them once you let go of bruce.

"clint went out to get your favourite smoothie from that place you always talk about even though i told him already that you probably don't want it since you're sick." natasha explained. "aw, i think i'm gonna drink it solely because clint made an effort to get it for me."

"you're too nice, bub. but expect it in an hour or so because i know for sure that idiot somehow got himself lost trying to find that shop." you chuckled at this, leaning back against your propped up pillow. "what about tony and pete?"

"peter feels really bad about this whole situation so tony is trying to cheer him up. wait," steve stopped mid-explanation, turning to the rest. "stark told us to get him when y/n's up..." he trailed off and bucky's eyes widened. "he's gonna kill us for him not being the first person y/n sees when they wake up."

"FRIDAY, inform stark that y/n is awake."

"oh yeah he has an AI why couldn't he just tell the AI to inform him instead of us forgetful humans?" bucky questioned rhetorically and before they knew it, they heard frantic screaming and thudding of footsteps before the door was open.

"my baby! you're awake!" was the first thing you heard when the door slammed open. tony rushed in, pushing bruce away as he immediately pulled you into a hug. "you're still burning up, cupcake. have you had anything to eat yet? drank any water yet? here have some water," he grabbed the glass of water steve helped you drink earlier and did exactly what steve did. you had no choice but to drink.

"sam's making them porridge," nat told tony and he turned to her with an incredulous look. "wanda's helping." she added and he sighed out in relief before turning back to you.

"cupcake, you had us all worried last night. please don't ever do that again, okay?" he said, gently caressing your cheek. you gave him an awkward smile. "where's peter?"

"he's taking a swing. he says it helps clear his mind," tony said. "how are you doing here? nice room? comfy bed?" he pointed to the bed you were on.

"i'd much rather be in my own room, on my own bed." and without a warning, steve already had you in his arms while tony went to go tell doctor cho that you were being moved. the blond super-soldier started walking while natasha walked closely behind, dragging your IV drip along so it doesn't get ripped out of your arm.

when you reached your room, you were gently put down on your bed and steve fixed your blanket so it was covering you. "comfy?" he asked and you nodded with a big smile.

"i have to finish some stuff up down the lab," bruce said and you nodded at him with a pout. "i'll come back sometime later, though. you better be resting up all day." he warned jokingly. he ruffled your hair, planting a kiss on your forehead before leaving your room.

"can you tell pete that i want to see him when he comes back?" you told tony and he immediately sent out a text to your best friend.

after about an hour of just steve, nat and tony entertaining you, sam came back with wanda with the porridge and tony insisted that he feed you or you he wasn't going to let you see peter.

"alright, bub, i think you should really get some rest now. you can barely keep your eyes open," nat says, already getting up with your empty bowl of porridge. "we'll tell spiderboy you're asleep."

"okay," you mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut. you felt every single one of them give you a forehead kiss and then you were out like light.

when you woke up later that day, you felt much better than you did the last time you woke up. you decided that you now had enough energy to take a quick shower so you did. once you were done, you dried your hair while humming to a random song before the door opening interrupted you.

your eyes met with peter's guilty ones. "h–hey, you're awake," he stated and you nodded with a small smile, sitting on your bed and peter doing the same.

"look, y/n/n, i'm really sorry about what happened. i shouldn't have lashed out on you witho—"

"pete," you cut him off. "don't apologise. i'd be mad too if you did something as stupid as that." you reasoned. "yeah but it's not like you did it on purpose! you had a valid reason and i got mad at you for it." he spoke in frustration.

"dude, stop. i'm the one who's supposed to be sorry. i should've just told you i was sick. but i didn't want to upset you because you've been waiting for this for the longest time. but i ruined it for you. i'm sorry, pete." you rested your head on his shoulder and he rested his on top of yours.

"i wanna say that i'm the one at fault but then this conversation won't end until like next week so let's just say we're both at fault, yeah? you need to start telling people what's happening with you and i need to be better at reading you." he said, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a hug. you hugged him back. "okay."

the door then opened, revealing bucky with his stupid shit-eating grin and you knew what was coming. you let go of peter and immediately you were lifted off the bed and over bucky's shoulders as he excitedly chanted about team movie night.

the night was spent watching a movie with the team you considered your family and them pampering you even more than they usually did (which, frankly, was still too much) since you were sick.

and right when the movie ended and everyone was preparing to head in, the door to the common room slammed open and a disheveled clint entered, holding a single cup of smoothie.

"got your smoothie, y/n/n!"

#avengers #avengers x teen!reader #peter parker x reader #tony stark x teen!reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #bruce banner x teen!reader #clint barton x teen!reader #sam wilson x teen!reader #wanda maximoff x teen!reader #avengers fluff #avengers x reader #fluff #bucky barnes x teen!reader

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faeriecap · 2 years

Text

2017, Brooklyn, New York

“Who’s strong and brave here to save the American gaaaaaaaays?”

“So there’s this musical…” Clint starts, one night when they’ve finished dinner. Dani perks up behind her sketch pad, and Steve shrugs from a sinkful of soapy water.

“Pass.” Bucky immediately says. He knew there was an ultimatum to Clint’s proffered mentions of “needing bro-time.”

“Nooo hear me out.” Barton says. Or Bucky thinks he says, because he’s decided to unwrap and continue munching on a mouthful of his leftover pizza. Gross. “It’s that guy, the famous one.”

“That helps so much!” Dani cheerily exclaims. Clint scowls at her.

“The… history… rap dude.”

“Lin Manuel Miranda?” Bucky asks at the same time Steve offers: “Hamilton?”

Clint frowns at them, but snaps his fingers. “Yeah! See you know him!”

“I wish I didn’t.” Bucky mutters, getting up to pass Steve his dish (and then wraps his arms around his suds-stained waist.)

Stepan’s English has been getting worlds better, and fast, but someone (Bucky suspects maybe it was Dr. Cho but he can’t remember now; he’s met with more than enough doctors about his kid for a freaking lifetime) told them learning things like song lyrics might help facilitate the process. Or as Steve calls them (and won’t let anyone else forget it), “mnemonic devices”. It would be annoying if it wasn’t also hot that he’s smart. And, you know, dedicated to helping their son.

So Disney. There’s a lot more variety to work with in the years all three of them have been gone. Hundreds of films. Thousands of songs. An entire television channel. The unfortunate part is… Stepan inherited Steve’s eidetic memory. And it works exceedingly well for things like obnoxiously catchy cartoon songs.

“It’s… Steve themed?” Clint tries. “His assistant emailed me about it this morning.”

Steve doesn’t know if he wants to know why they’re on such communicable terms.

“What?” Bucky scowls into Steve’s shoulder blades. “Hasn’t he done enough, gifting us the curse of fuckin’ Moana?”

Of course, Stepan happens to pick up that last part. Or maybe he’s heard everything so far. (Bucky hopes not; he’d promised Steve to stop cursing so much in earshot. But Steve had promised him the same exact thing and there was no goddamn way in hell Steve was sticking to it.)

“You’re welcome! You’re welcome!” He begins shouting from his spot on the living room floor and Steve grimaces. Bucky groans.

They both turn back to Clint, not so subtly adjusting the dial on his hearing aid before Stepan can start to go on and on explaining every natural phenomenon.

“No. No. No.” Steve protests, waving the dish brush around. He doesn’t care if he was just labeled a “patron of the arts” by TIME magazine. He is not doing this.

“He wants you there.” Barton’s fingers wheedle without an ounce of sympathy for Steve’s will to live. Or his oncoming migraine. “He wants all of us there, y’know…. opening night with the heroes.”

“I’m retired!” Rogers protests frantically with his hands.

“It’s a musical, not a mission!” Clint squawks out loud, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He signs back: “And if you’re ‘retired’ how come Nomad keeps stopping all those bank robberies?”

“Only the ones within a one point five mile radius!”

“Oh, well if it’s only those.” Clint’s eye roll could move mountains. Or flatten them.

Steve, affronted, immediately looks to Bucky but Barnes merely shrugs and smiles at him. But like, an evil smile. One that says you were asking for this when you continued to put yourself in danger to be a hero and you’re being punished now and I am very much enjoying it.

Jerk, Steve thinks, turning away from the heat of his upturned mouth. Let’s see how much you enjoy the concept of punishment later on tonight when I shower and refuse to cuddle up in bed.

“Face it, bud.” Bucky says, gently patting Steve’s back with his metal hand. “You’re going.”

Steve wants to do something to that shite eating grin he’s got on. Smack it off. Or kiss it. Maybe. (Just until it goes away and he can regain the upper hand.)

Clint smiles in a very cat who got the cream way, which is to say, Natasha must be rubbing off on him again. (Ew.)

“The invitation specifies plus ones. But yours specifically mandates the entire Rogers family.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. Oh, no. “Noooo.”

Stepan’s somewhere between killing an eel to bury its guts and the tapestry here on his skin. Not that he’s even listening fully anymore; Bucky’s just familiar enough with the song to time it exactly with their conversation, Mary mother of God protect him.

“Oh yeah, Buck.” Steve smirks. “Better get your suit ready. I mean, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Lin.”

***

Stepan beams the entire night, bouncing in every picture with Manuel Miranda for the reporters. Bucky’s pretty sure he thinks he’s the Rock, but you know, at least someone’s enjoying their evening. Dani’s enjoying it too, but for entirely different reasons. She hasn’t stopped laughing/crying into Peter’s shoulder since the whole thing began. Because, of course, the Spiderling got invited too. Apparently an ensemble member plays him in the finale, to tease the new era of New Yorker heroes. His plus one is an extremely poorly disguised Ned. Steve, for his part at least, once the singing starts, looks mortified to be mocked by his teenaged daughter and her friends. Serves him right. As a consolation, maybe (unless it’s just…his thing), Peter keeps the mask on the whole time. At least Steve can’t see the faces he makes. But he has a sneaking suspicion it’s identical to Dani’s look of absolute mirth, and Leeds’ own expression is looking pretty shady behind his scarf and sunglasses.

“End me.” He murmurs as he leans into Bucky’s ear. “End me now.”

“Hmm, whuzzat?” Bucky’s fingers are silently flying over subtle keys. He hits send, and Dani’s phone vibrates in her purse. Parker glances down at his and snorts. Ned’s already rushing to respond with some kind of goofy GIF.

Oh my god, Steve thinks. They made a fucking groupchat for this? Without me?

“Traitor!” Steve hisses, and bites him.

Bucky swallows an outraged shriek as the song ends (with far too much pelvic thrusting and pirouetting from guys that barely look like the Avengers in shitty tee shirts) and the set piece for the Battle of New York gets wheeled away. Sam shoots both of them A Look. They’ve already offended LMM by hiding out for most of the first act in the Men’s bathroom lounge.

Sue them. It’s not Steve’s fault he didn’t want to watch his mother sing her dying words at him (though Dani says the rendition was actually quite good) or that even when it was exaggeratedly camp, neither he nor Bucky holds a burning desire to witness the spectacular of the-at-tre that is the close of act one, where Barnes falls from a train rendered by a bunch of extras undulating around in retro army bloomers and slips. Genuinely… why did Mr. Miranda think they’d want to be invited to this?

At least the second act is less traumatic, though only just. Bucky’s actor actually gets a very gripping score, and the Smithsonian scenes aren’t terrible. Since most of what happened last year isn’t publicized, it cuts from grey London mornings to an approximation of their secret wedding and the publicized purchase of their brownstone. It’s oddly hilarious that in under three hours, they can sort of sum up a century of life. It legitimately ends with all of them (including every single “Avengers adjacent”) at New York pride, doing an extremely colorful reprise of the “Star Spangled Man” mashed up with Steve’s parts from “Save the City,” which has Dani crying and kicking him in the shins within the dark. He’s disowning her when they get home. Bucky looks like he just won the lottery seeing fake Steve in a rainbow version of the original USO dress. (Because he’s still bitter he never saw a 40s show.) Oh yeah, he’s definitely getting disowned too. Stepan and Sam are his only family now. And Tasha can be his next of kin.

Bucky ducks his head between his suit-clad knees again to eye his phone, blue glow highlighting every crease lining his lips. (Okay, again, sue him. So he noticed. Steve’s mad but not that mad.) Steve’s surprised Buck can tear his eyes away from stage Steve death dropping. Yes, he knows what that is… Dani uses Tony’s Netflix. Bucky snorts, taps out a reply, and Natasha’s whipping out her phone before she literally chuckles. Steve steals a glance at a private text that reads: that’s not the only thing he can do all day :p

“All of you are dead to me.” He hisses as the cast takes their final dancing bow.

Of course, that’s the moment Lin sweeps on stage, misty eyed and with an armful of red, white, and blue roses. And a spotlight clicks on right above their party’s heads. Fuuuck. The heat of it beams on them, and Lin nearly faints when he sees their faces are all tear stained. He must take Steve’s permanent grimace (which is now etched into his visage) as a sign of processing deep emotions because he puts a hand to his heart and thanks them all, encouraging the audience to clap. Steve prays he doesn’t burst into song. Because he looks like he wants to. If he does, Steve might actually discover his version of the serum allows him to Hulk-out too. They all assume poker faces and rediscover their manners, waving and smiling as they gather their things. Some die hard audience members who must have mortgaged their studio or something to afford an opening night ticket on Broadway rush at him with sharpies and playbills before flitting off to stage door, the photographers lingering outside concessions snap a few more shots, Lin insists on about 50 more blurry selfies “for da gram,” and then, blessedly, they’re allowed to pile into the waiting car and leave.

Steve hopes for everyone else’s sake they do not find the inspiration to speak. Bucky pats his knee tenderly, and Peter passes him an Advil, as though it’ll help. That’s sweet. They make it all the way to their street before it happens. Stepan, previously conked out on Uncle Sam’s chest, wakes up. Rubbing at his eyes, he turns around to look at the backseat, opens his mouth, and spouts out a perfectly memorized rendition of “Save the City.” Steve’s brain shatters. Oh. fuck. me. This play has a hero’s origin alright… For Lin. Because after this, Steve might just have to turn to villainy.

- From A Summer in New York (full fic)

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huihuiheart · 3 years

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Spiked - Minho

Part of @clandestine-lixie ‘s Smutmas Collab and a great excuse to get some more Minho on my page!

Summary: It’s pretty much tradition at this point that Changbin spikes the eggnog at the annual Christmas party. What happens though when secrets slip through drunk lips and aren’t forgotten the next morning? At least not forgotten by the very person you confessed to.

Pairing: Minho x F! Reader

Warnings: Drinking (not drunk when having sex), drunken confessions?, cursing, some angst in the beginning, smut, lovemaking, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), oral (f! receiving), lots of petnames, moments where Minho is kinda smug, lots of praise, it’s sugary sweet, mild sir kink for a moment, fingering, some playful teasing.

I sincerely apologize but I haven’t had time to edit this yet, so...please excuse any errors and stuff I’ll be getting to those when I have some time. I wrote over half of this today with a migraine so we’re working on fumes here. Also if something seems off I apologize, I’ve never celebrated the holidays before so I honestly don’t know what Christmas is like....sorry.

Word Count: 4,992

“Awe don’t tell me you’re already finished taking bets? I haven’t even got mine in on how long before Changbin tries to get us all drunk.” You tease the rambunctious group in the living room as you remove your shoes by the door. Christopher joining you a moment later to help you with your coat, hanging it up for you as he often did.

“Hey, don’t look so glum. Felix was just getting to the interesting wagers now anyways. Bets of any kind are in Minho’s care this evening. Gifts for tomorrow morning under the tree as always.” Chris caught you up with where the ever excitable boys had already impatiently gotten up to, before stepping away with your coat so you could join the others.

“So what did I just miss then? You know the topic that had you all in a giggle fit?” You raise a brow as you claim a spot in their circle, between Minho and Hyunjin.

“Oh we were just discussing the last bet. Not that you’d be able to participate anyways seeing how it was about you.” Jisung smirks wickedly until you match his gaze with your own that was just as devious, making him fold in an instant, or so you think, “Just betting on whether we thought you’d stay the night or not this year.”

“That’s not interesting though, I stay practically every year cause I’m too drunk to go home alone and none of you will take me.” You chuckle shaking you head, “ A better bet would be who will get drunk the fastest, my money’s on Hyunjin.”

Minho took your bet money counting it out before the other boys made their wagers too, writing them all down as more and more bets danced through your group. Both those typical for the Christmas party and those unique to this year for whatever reason. Debates starting up over a few of them as they always did.

“No I’m telling you Y/N will be the first one to admit it. She always gets loose lipped when she drinks.” Jisung teases despite the validity of his statement, something you’ve proven true to them at more than just the previous Christmas parties.

“Still who she likes is the secret she guards more than anything else, she’d have to be so shitfaced for that to come out it would be ridiculous!” Changbin counters, “ My money is on Felix, he was practically giving it away unprompted last year. It wouldn’t be too hard to get it out of him if we really tried.”

“Maybe that’s just cause Y/N doesn’t trust some of you to keep your mouths shut.” Christopher shrugs as he takes a seat, though all eyes are on him not because of the motion, but because of his words. Giving away that you had already confessed your crush to at least one person in the room.

“Wait. So you told him, but you didn’t tell me? What do we even gossip for? Let I’m lowkey offended right now.” Hyunjin whines used to being your partner in crime when it came to exchanging secrets about your group, even the things you’d never tell anyone else. Trusting the other to lock it down tighter than even their own secrets, even if you exploited that information at times. Like when Hyunjin conveniently ended up paired with his crush for every game of the spring break party.

“In my defense I was distraught and looking for you when it slipped. Chris was just the only one around, so he’s the one who got that information.” You counter knowing there wasn’t any taking it back at this point anyways, Hyunjin barely accepting your answer with a grumble. You were somewhat glad that it was the case though, he’d surely exploit the information tonight if he had it. In this case you should be safe, or so you thought before you noticed the subtle smirk on Christopher’s face before he glanced between you and the very crush you’d revealed to him....Minho.

“Hey, the boys sent me to see if you needed any help.” Minho steps into the kitchen watching as you moved to pull something out of the oven. Most of the food had already been prepped before you arrived so you offered to be the one to actually cook it. This being the fourth time in an hour and a half that Minho had been sent to check on you, each time he showed up besides you though he announced himself with those same words....the boys sent me. Them digging a little deeper into your heart whenever you’d hear them again. It implying that that he never actually chose to come to you of his own will, only coming to you since the boys told him to.

“I’m fine Minho. You can go back to the others.” Your words were sharper than you intended and it nearly made you wince, even if he didn’t return your feelings he was still your friend and you shouldn’t be so harsh to him. Sometimes your feelings managed to rear their ugly head before you could stop them though, something you’d feel regret for later

“Rose....your thorns are showing again.” Minho’s gentle voice says the familiar phrase as he moves to stand at your side. His nickname for you with a subtle announcement of the fact that your emotions were slipping out quicker than you often registered, something he always managed to stay calm through no matter how snappy you sometimes got, “I don’t know what riled you up, and I don’t have to. You should go take a minute to calm down though. I’ll watch the food.”

The way he spoke to you was enough to calm you down enough to regain your composure, but not wanting to be so close to him and unintentionally get worked up again you conceded. Slipping outside into the frigid air for a few moments to collect yourself before finding the others in the living room again, sitting besides Christopher now.

“The eggnog spiked yet?” You question with a soft sigh as you lean against his shoulder, causing him to chuckle and nod, “Good, cause I’m going to need a drink to make it through the night.”

“You drunk yet Y/N?” Changbin teases as he pours you another glass. Internally cursing him out, he knew damn well he put something stronger in the eggnog this year without any warning. Knowing that you and Felix at least would try to keep up with everyone else despite being two of the light weights of the group. The others in that category smart enough to stop before they could make a fool out of themselves, even accidentally.

“Not drunk enough to lose to Felix or spill any secrets yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” You call him out, brow quirking as if to challenge him to tease you again. The alcohol buzzing through your system making you more confident in challenging them, even if it slowed your wit slightly.

“Nah just wondering if you’re drunk enough to at least confess you’re spending the night? Well officially anyways. We thought of a way to determine who you’re going to stay with tonight.” Changbin brings his own glass to his lips, hiding his smirk knowing that Christopher had come to him and Hyunjin with a plan to rig it so that you’d end up with Minho.

“Fine, I’ll confess to that.” You chuckle not catching onto their schemes, “So how are we figuring it out then? What’s your big, genius plan?”

The sarcastic way you’re carrying yourself makes Hyunjin snicker, leaning towards Christopher, “Oh if only she knew...” He shakes his head slightly before shaping up, to hide any suspicious acts from you, “Simple, you’re just drawing the name out of a hat. You know the deal though, you only get to pick once and that’s who you’re stuck with.”

“Yeah, I know the deal.” You sit up further waiting for them to bring the hat over, the liquid courage running through you making you feel really good about your odds. It was only a 1 in 8 chance that you’d end up picking Minho, you were most likely safe from your crush. Well the possibility of embarrassing yourself while alone with him anyways. Or so you thought until you managed to pull his name out of the hat.

“Well.....I guess I’m rooming with Minho tonight....”

"Alright I think that's enough for one night." Minho takes the glass from you before you can get it refilled yet again. You'd lost count three drinks ago, hoping you'd get passed out drunk instead of having to face him. Luck wasn't on your side this evening though as Minho still had his wits about him and he refused to let you do something dangerous to your health.

"But Minho, if I'm not drinking what am I going to do?" Your whine is only added to by the small subconscious pout adorning your drunk face.

"We've both had enough and are going to bed now. It's 4 fucking 37 in the morning and you know someone's gonna be waking is up too goddamn early hangover or not. So if you wanna drink something it'll be water on the way to bed." Minho insists moving to help your inebriated form up from your seat on the floor and towards his upstairs bedroom.

"You can use the bathroom, I put some clothes in their for you so you can sleep comfortably." Minho sits on th edge of his bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through seeming almost entirely disinterested as you wobble off to the bathroom. Not getting far though before you have to pull the door open with a blush, your shirt wedged half on with only one arm successfully out.

"M-Minho I got stuck, c-can you help me?" Your words held no room for any hidden implications, especially not when panicked tears started to well in your eyes.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I'm gonna help you and you'll be just fine." Minho coos trying to reassure you, not knowing your panic was partly due to having to face him like this. His warm hands gently in the way they helped untangle you from the shirt you'd somehow managed to get trapped in.

"There you go, all better. Now go get those warm clothes on and get in bed before the cold settles in too much." He insists gently wiping away the last of your tears before you returned to the bathroom.

Silence filled the space when you returned, saying nothing as you switched places with Minho. Sliding into the bed while he was in the bathroom. It wasn't like you'd never slept there before, staying with the boys frequently meant that you'd slept in all their beds at some point but never since your feelings for Minho had developed so much had you stayed in his. Never after you'd felt like you'd embarrassed yourself beyond repair in one evening either. Not realizing you were sniffling with a fresh batch of tears until Minho returned.

"Hey what's wrong rose? You've been upset all day. Please talk to me, we don't like when you're upset." Minho's brow furrows as he uses the paw of his sweater to gently wipe away the tears again.

"I-It's just so hard Minho. I don't know if I keep doing this." You feel exhausted from the alcohol, the excitement throughout the evening, and now an emotional breakdown too and yet you needed to get this off your chest or even that might not be enough to let you get rest tonight.

"What is? What's hard? What can't you do?" Minho asks feeling his heart bleed at your distress even if he was able to stay as calm as he was.

"L-Loving you...."

You had passed out nearly the moment those words had left your lips, but Minho couldn’t, not after your confession. It had been the last thing he’d seen coming after trying not to look desperate to you all day. Yet you’d confessed to him of all people and it weighed too heavily on his mind for the next two hours to even consider getting any sleep. Only getting maybe two hours in before an excited Jeongin bound in to try and wake you both up so everyone could come downstairs for Christmas. Though Minho ensured he never got to you before he shoved him out with hushing sound. Slipping down behind him to grab some water, coffee, and pain meds for when you’d wake up. Telling the boys you’d had a rough night, probably drank too much, and should be left alone to sleep as long as you needed. Not expecting you to already be shifting awake when he returned to the room.

“Hey, you can sleep more if you want. It’s alright.” Minho gently brushes the hair out of your face as your eyes slowly blink open, leaning into the warmth of his touch without realizing, “I brought you meds and coffee if you’re felling hungover.”

You accept his help to sit up and take the meds, willing your fuzzy mind to clear enough to recall what happened the night before, “Minho...d-did I do anything last night? I-I can’t remember.”

Minho froze debating how he should answer that, he wanted to be honest with you, but after seeing how upset you were the night before he didn’t want to embarrass you at all, “W-Well, umm....”

“I-I said something didn’t I?” You could read his face for once, the calm demeanor gone and it telling you something had happened. The way his eyes widened at your question was enough to confirm what you thought as panic bubbled up and made your throat feel tight, “W-Whatever I said I didn’t-”

Minho cut you off by pressing his lips to yours quickly, feeling his own panic, “P-Please don’t say that you didn’t mean it. I think I would die if I lost the hope that you actually loved me back.”

The panic stopped almost instantly, feeling it dissipate as you processed his words, “L-Love you back?....Y-You mean you love me too? B-But you were acting like I was such a bother yesterday.”

Minho sits on the bed, pulling you into his arms before you could cry again, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I-I just didn’t want to look desperate when I couldn’t think of a reason for you to love me too.”

“You’re an idiot, I was literally like so obvious.” You whine softly and he chuckles though his focus seems to shift as his gaze falls to your lips, “You can kiss me again you know....a-after all we both just confessed so it would make sense to...”

Minho’s eyes flick back up to yours as a smirk forms on his face, but he makes no smart comment as he gives in to what both of you are wanting. Leaning in to kiss you again, less panicked this time as his lips softly meld with yours. Though the both of you were pouring too much emotion into it for it to become anything less than desperate. Now that you had each other you needed that more than air itself, it remaining sweet despite the way you both chased after each other as if afraid this would all disappear if you separated for any real stretch of time. You feel the faintest trail as Minho’s hands move from holding you against his chest to cradling your head as he lays you back onto the bed.

“If you want to take things slower then just say so. I-I just don’t want to let you go.” Minho’s voice comes out so light you wonder how you hear it over the beating of your own heart, especially with how it races when his lips press a fleeting trail down your jaw between his words.

“Y-You don’t ever have to slow down Minho, I’ve wanted this.....wanted you for too long to do that now.” You insist with a low moan as his lips press a little firmer against a sweet spot on your neck.

Minho hums against your skin too caught up in you to care about words when he could show you how he felt better anyways. His hands gripping at your sides, thumbs rubbing soft circles as if he’s afraid he’ll break you by being too firm. So you decide to make a larger move, reaching to grip the hem of his sweater and pull it off him, letting your hands and eyes roam his newly exposed skin. The feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips heating you up inside, the flame of desire flaring up faster than you would have thought possible if the person before you had been anyone other than Minho. Minho’s hands gripping yours before looking up at you for permission, hesitating even as you nod.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?” Minho’s fingers peak under the hem to rub gently at your skin beneath it.

“Well if I am then I guess you’ll just have to warm me up.” Your words seem to light the same fire in Minho as he doesn’t hesitate a second longer to his sweater off you. Hands running over your stomach to squeeze your breasts through the bra, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Guess I will.” Minho speaks against your lips, tone deepening as he lowers again moving to rid you of your bra as his lips trail towards your chest. You nipples pebbling slightly from the frigid air and his advances, but noticing the unpleasant chill that runs through you he presses against you more, letting his warmth radiate onto you. His warm mouth closing around your one nipple as his hand toys with and warms the other, switching between them with a new path of kisses to make sure they get equal attention. Until he gets impatient to show his affections elsewhere and his mouth lowers while adding soft nips between kisses to reach the hem of the sweatpants he gave you to wear. His fingers nimble as they work on the tie, though he doesn’t do more than that until he has permission from you to pull them down and leave you in only your panties.

“Oh the thoughts I had while helping you get untangled from your shirt last night my flower, and to think now a few of them are becoming reality.” Minho places a kiss to your hip, as his hands gently spread your legs, loving the way he’s able to fluster you so easily, “I’ve been dying for a taste and you’re not making it any easier for me. May I?”

The way he drags his thumb over the wet patch of your panties makes it hard to respond when you’re moaning and focused on that surge of pleasure, but the thought of getting something more urges you to form words, “Y-Yes please, I’ve been wanting to feel your mouth.”

“All you had to do was ask precious.” Minho gently blows against the wet patch making you squirm before kissing your thigh and slipping off your panties and lowering himself between your legs, placing the gentlest of kisses to your clit. The way you whine impatiently makes him chuckle against your core only making you squirm, his thumbs rubbing softly against your plush thighs as he grips them firmly to keep them open instead of impeding his work. He has no intent on tormenting you with teasing, not this morning anyways, but he still wants to savor the moment. The way he licks through your folds slow yet firm enough to spark delicious waves of pleasure through you, enough so that you can’t complain too much about his pace. Minho’s tongue and lips working everywhere to get every last drop of you that he can, while also focusing on your reactions to find what makes you feel the best. Knowing that his own patience will wear thin soon enough and he wants to know how to throw you over that sweet edge with more intensity than you thought possible, wanting to make all of you feel as amazing as his heart did upon hearing your confession.

“M-Minho please, I want to feel all of you.” Desperation bleeds into your words and actions as you squirm against his grip, hips trying to roll against his mouth and it has his eyes darkening with a new surge of lust. Nearly giving into you pleas, but you’re his first priority and it has him pulling away slightly making you whimper.

“Shh pretty girl, shh.” Minho coos softly, grip loosening as he runs his hands over your thighs and hips trying to get you to relax some, “Calm down, don’t get so worked up. I’ll give you what you want, I promise. You just need to calm down so that I can get you ready for me. We’ve waited a long time I know, but you can be good and wait just a little longer can’t you?”

This time a simple nod isn’t enough for him as he’s a little firmer with you in this moment, pinching your thigh lightly as he demands your words, “Y-Yes sir, I can be good for you.”

Minho has to take a deep, shuttering breath when he hears the word sir fall from your lips so perfectly, now was not the time to lose control, not when he wanted to show you every emotion he’d had trapped inside for so long. Not when he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. Yet, it does have him snap a little as he dives between your legs again with more purpose. Lips suckling and kissing your clit like his survival depended on it, eyes locked on your face as he feels your fingers weave into his hair. The soft tug you give has him moaning against your clit, only adding to that pleasure as he eases a finger in, though it’s not long before he’s able to add another. Curling them with each thrust in search of the spot that would have you trembling against him, thriving off the pleasure he’d able to feed you right now, nothing else in the world mattering more than your cries for him and the way you lose yourself to the sensations. He knows he’s found that spot, when you’re clenching around him, practically sucking his fingers in, thighs shaking as your edge hovers so close and yet just barely out of reach.

“Minho, please I’m close. Please make me cum or give me your cock, I-I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” Your pleas sound magical to Minho, it being enough for him to give you what you want, speeding up his fingers as his tongue flicks against your clit as he brings it between his lips again. Willing to throw your over the edge for the first time, so that he can have you losing his own patience as your nails drag lightly over his shoulders. The was you fall apart beneath him is like a work of art, the most beautiful Minho has ever seen as he slips his fingers from your spasming core to gently lick over you and ride you through the pleasure until you come back to him. Kissing you briefly before licking his fingers clean while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re sweeter than I ever could have imagined my flower.” Minho hums in approval, his smirk almost showing more in his eyes than on his lips. You’re quick to respond though not wanting him to drag it out any longer.

“I bet we’d taste sweeter together, but there’s only one way to find that out now isn’t there?” You purr back as your fingers work to untie his sweatpants, gripping both them and his undergarments to impatiently push both down at once. Freeing his beautiful, hardened length to you finally. Not giving him to to ask for your permission before you rub his tip through your folds, leg locking around his waist to urge his hips closer. Your actions seem to be enough as he places his hands on either side of you, slowly pushing in and leaning in as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

“You were awfully loud earlier flower, if you don’t quiet down then all the boys will know what we’ve been up to. Do you want that?” Minho’s question is somewhat serious, but it also holds a teasing to it as he’s proud of the fact that he can make you feel good enough to be so loud. You getting him back by rolling your hips against him and earning a groan from him. Hands slipping around his neck to tug him down and tease his lips with your own.

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” Your words are almost daring and they have him crashing his lips messily against yours as his own hips start to move against you. The patience between you both is gone as he finds a quick pace and yet he’s not manhandling or overly rough in his treatment, the erotic scene still one of passionate lovers. Baring their emotions to each other in the most desperate of ways despite not being able to handle a slow pace any longer. It being everything you could have asked for and more, right now you didn’t need the soft, slow lovemaking. You need this the desperate lovemaking, the kind that showed that Minho had been longing for you just as much as you’d been longing for him. The kind that showed that you were his now and that he would show you that in every way possible for as long as you would ask it of him. Where every move he made was to find what made you feel best, because you were what he most cared for in this world and where it was so much better than he could have imagined that he wasn’t sure if he could hold off. Though he was intent on your pleasure coming first as he angled himself to perfectly hit the spots he found brought you the most pleasure with each drag of his cock, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit as his other hand tangled into your hair to keep your lips pressed against his. Taking in all of your moans as your pleasure explodes once more, the feeling of you cumming on his cock enough to send him spiraling into his own high as he moans into your mouth in response. Slowing his thrusts as he rides you both through your highs. Hands gently tracing shapes over your heated flesh, finding you glowing in the aftermath of your climax.

“Come on my flower, I’ll help you shower before we join the others.” Minho kisses your forehead softly before scooping you up to take you to the bathroom. Getting you in the steaming shower as quickly as he can so that you won’t have to face the cold while bare for too long and so that you two can be quick enough to be able to get some food in before the others ate everything. Not that he wouldn’t cook you up a good breakfast if it came down to it. Willing to shower you in all affections imaginable after what you both had just done. Though before long Minho had you both cleaned up and in warm fresh clothes, going down the stairs to join the others.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?” Jisung questions Minho slyly as if they hadn’t all heard what you two had been up to earlier. Minho knew what he meant, but still didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah well I took a shower, so I put on something else.” Minho shrugs pulling out a seat for you, before taking his own so you two could eat breakfast as well.

“Oh did Y/N shower too? Her hair is all damp still.” Jisung innocently inquires taking a bite of his pancake trying to hide his smug expression. Minho gently moving your damp hair away from your bare skin so that it wouldn’t get too chilled.

“Well then you obviously know the answer.” Minho rolls his eyes adding his portion of whipped cream and other sweet toppings to your plate instead of his own.

“Hm I just find that interesting considering we only heard one shower running.” Jisung smirks at you both as the others snicker and chuckle, teasing you all through breakfast while exchanging knowing looks.

The teasing had died down some later as you all gathered around to exchange gifts. Feeling your heart stutter as you hold Minho’s in your hands, the man seeming flustered as you go to open it. Finding a small necklace inside one that looked like a lifeline with a heart at the end, flipping it over to find his initials on the back besides yours.

“So if things had been different this would have been when I confessed.” He admits in a soft whisper into your ear, a blush adorning his cheeks so beautifully as you laugh softly.

“It’s alright I liked the way things turned out much better anyways.” Minho admits before the guys pretend to gag and whine at all the pda they were witnessing.

“Alright enough of the mushy stuff, you have to open mine next.” Hyunjin dramatically insists shoving his gift in front of you, a pretty envelope sitting on top and beckoning you to open the card first. Your attention immediately drawn to a special little note at the bottom...

PS. Minho’s name was the only one in that hat.

“Well guess I ruined your little plan huh?” You tease, flustering along with him as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek in front of everyone.

#stray kids #stray kids smut #minho #minho smut #lee know #lee know smut #lee minho #lee minho smut #smutmas

216 notes · View notes

cadiebug · 3 years

Text

Pain in my Head

Migraines.

They should be called a pain in Sam's ass. They could also be called a pain in the ass for anyone that has to deal with them. Sam thinks that would be the scientific statement for it, but it's too long.

It's been happening since he was a kid. But it wasn't as bad.

Then he joined the Airforce and it got so much worse. Then he joined the avengers and suddenly he's running through an exploding building getting shot at.

It's been worse ever since.

He's okay most of the time, but once the battle starts it doesn't stop. The pounding and nausea and the dizziness. It took awhile to stop and it hurt like a bitch.

Sarah used to help him, get him things while he curled up into a ball and wished everything would just stop. But he's an adult now and Sarah is off raising her kids and she can't help him anymore.

Anyways that brings him here. Now. At this moment he wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Instead he just stood on the balcony of a nice hotel.

He and Bucky had just gotten back from some goddamn mission where he had like 10 explosions go off right next to his face.

Bucky was bothered to. He had a whole overstimulation thing going on. Mostly just because of the super hearing thing. Things were dialed up from a 2 to a 7. So he was in the shower trying to drown the sound out. Usually that just left a ringing sound for a few hours but nothing horrible.

But Sam never talked about the aching pain in his head. Didn't want to numb down what Bucky was dealing with. Or maybe it was just easier to not explain to someone that he needed help. Maybe he wasn't ready to talk about it.

Sam was only slightly aware of the shower stopping and light padding of Bucky coming out towards the balcony to stand next to him.

"Sam." And his voice was too loud and Sam involuntarily flinched and then mentally cursed himself for it. Cause Bucky in all his 'more observant than the usual person' glory would definitely notice. So maybe he should just tell him.

"You're voice, it's just really loud." Sam muttered. Then when Bucky's face went in between confusion and concern he decided to explain a little more. "I get migraines, and it's worse because of the explosions I guess."

Bucky's eyes went slightly wide and he nodded. "You should try a bath." Sam could note his voice was considerably lower than it was before. Bucky pulled on the other man's hand slightly and led him into the room. "You should sit or lay down too."

Sam plopped on the bed and settled down, watching Bucky move across the room and shuffle through his bag before pulling out a small pill bottle and water. He walked back over to were Sam was and held out the things he was holding. Sam took them, raising an eyebrow. "Where'd you learn how to take care of someone with a migraine?"

Bucky blinked and smiled lightly. "My man used to get them. So did Steve I think, before the serum and everything." He paused to think for a second. "And I have to know a couple things for myself since meds don't work." Then he walked away again towards the bathroom, muttering something about running a bath for the other man.

The thought dawned on Sam. The beautiful sad thought. Medication doesn't usually work on Bucky, but he had it in his bag. Probably-and Sam was just assuming here- for Sam himself. It's not like he has another partner to give the pills to. Damn. Wow.

Bucky poked his head back out of the bathroom and nodded towards the bathtub.

Sam smiled at him lightly and slowly ambled over towards the bathroom.

He didn't even notice his surroundings as he slowly shuffled out his clothes and slowly slid down into the warm water. He only snapped out of his own painful head when Bucky plopped down next to him on the other side of the tub. He was holding a book. Sam eyed the cover trying to see what he was reading now. Last night it was the 'Great Gastby' and tonight apparently it was 'Jurassic Park'

Sam hummed quietly enough so it didn't hurt his own head, letting the water swallow him. "So you're staying huh."

Bucky nodded like it was obvious. "So you don't have to yell if you need anything. Besides, the humidity helps with the hearing overstimulation."

Sam nodded, some form a smug smile taking over his face. "C'mere." He let his hand drag bucky gelty by the back of neck over towards him. Sam kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You're sweet, you know that."

Bucky laughed quietly, a light pink dusting his cheeks. "I like taking care of you, that's all." Bucky blinks like a thought hit him. "Not just when you're in pain, I swear. Just in general. It's nice."

Sam shook his head fondly. "You know I'm not good at asking for help."

"I noticed."

"You notice everything Buck." Sam was still smiling, playing with Bucky's fingers, running his fingers over the smooth metal. "Especially when someone needs help." He paused taking in a breath. "You're just like that. Like I said you're sweet."

Bucky nodded. "I will take care of you for as long as I need to."

"That might be a pretty long time."

"Then I would stay with you for a pretty long time."

Sam stared and smiled. "Look at us, making lifelong promises." He continued to mess with Bucky's metal fingers. "I think I'm okay with that."

And Sam's migraine still made the rest of the night a living hell but at least he had someone to pull him through it. Someone that was more than willing to trudge through fire and Sam's stubbornness to help him. And Bucky had someone willing to do the same thing right back.

Bucky just smiled, like a fool. A fool in love.

Sam's smile mirrored the others.

#sambucky #sam wilson #sambucky headcanons #sambucky fic #bucky barnes #sam needs a hug #and maybe a calming bath #bucky's got that covered #Sam needs love and comfort too you know #winterfalcon

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aww-canon-no · 2 years

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The Little Lies We Tell Ourselves

Bucky/Clint

Chapter Five on Ao3

Bucky disappears for five days. It’s not on purpose or anything, it’s because the after-effects of being repeatedly brain-washed and frozen for almost a hundred years has given him brain damage. It makes him more prone to emotional outbursts, depression spirals, aphasia.

And the migraines. The goddamn migraines.

They’re so bad he chokes down enough pain killers to knock out a rhino and even then it only takes the edge off. The only thing that gets him by is curling up in a pitch dark room, forcing himself to guzzle water, and sleep as much as the pain will allow.

They usually only last a day, but sometimes that time stretches out for days and days. He eventually comes out of it aware that Steve has been in and out, making sure he’s eaten and stayed hydrated. He thinks at some point Steve urged him into a shower which must have been a chore because he freaks out at unexpected water.

He doesn’t really remember, but somewhere deep in his bones his body recalls a frigid spray of a hose—the only way Hydra ever let him get clean.

It’s why, in his cognizant moments, he lingers in long baths and never quite feels like he’s gotten all the grime off his skin or the blood from under his nails.

The lingering effects of the migraine, once it’s over, keep him in his place for days. JARVIS likely tells Steve he’s up and about on his own because he doesn’t show up at Bucky’s door and he’s grateful for it. Mostly. He appreciates that Steve has finally and fully embraced living in this century, having fallen in love and mourned his past but let it go.

Bucky isn’t really sure he has, but he doesn’t feel the connection the way Steve does because Hydra took everything from him and what he got back feels more like pictures in a magazine than someone’s lived life.

He’ll never tell that to Steve, of course. He won’t break his best friend’s heart.

He’s halfway into his coffee and a little jumpy though when there’s a knock at the door. JARVIS doesn’t alert him to who it is so either they asked not to be identified or there’s some sinister reason for it. Bucky’s still to groggy and low to care much. Plus he’s a walking weapon, not including the knife he has strapped to his side.

He opens the door and something in his chest leaps like it’s tumbling off a cliff when he sees Clint standing there wavering on his feet.

The archer lists forward and almost falls, and Bucky drops his coffee to catch him because he’s only got the one arm at the moment. Clint doesn’t seem to notice, and Bucky ignores the pain of hot liquid on his bare feet as he helps Clint inside and to the couch.

Clint more collapses than he sits really, and his eyes are moving back and forth. It takes Bucky a second to realize that it’s involuntary, but Clint manages to hone in on the stains now setting into Bucky’s sweats.

“Aww. Coffee,” Clint murmurs. Then his eyes shut.

He’s got his hearing aids on, the one with the little thing that presses to his skull which means he can probably hear some of what Bucky’s saying, but he doubts it’s enough. Clint doesn’t seem very inclined to move and while Bucky wants to know why he made his way there instead of to his own apartments, now isn’t the time to ask.

And Bucky is a master at self-denial, but even he’s not good enough to manage ignoring the warmth in his chest at the thought that Clint came to him. Because no one comes to him. Not even Steve these days. Steve shows up out of obligation or nostalgia, but Bucky’s hardly the person who can cheer anyone up or bring any sense of comfort.

He and Natalia have a shared past and with that a connection that most people won’t share, but she has the uglier memories of him.

And Tony. Well.

That’s a bridge that will remain burnt to cinders. Tony tolerates him because of Steve and Bucky can live with that because he’s not looking for absolution.

There’s nothing he can do to earn it.

Clint is something else though. He’s something different. He tugs at Bucky in ways no one ever has, not even in his past…he thinks. And somehow Clint makes it easy to do things like reach over and pull the heavy quilt from the back of the cushion and wrap Clint up like a little burrito.

Alpine appears out of nowhere and gives a soft meow before assessing the situation and then curling up in the space along Clint’s neck which is at a weird angle from how he fell asleep. Clint murmurs something too soft to be heard and he settles.

Alpine begins to purr and Bucky watches Clint as he sinks deeper into sleep.

A few minutes later, Bucky’s brave enough to grab some paper towels and mop up the coffee. The handle on the mug is broken, so he throws it in the trash, then rinses his hand before pulling out his phone and calling up Steve.

“Any idea where Lucky is?” Bucky asks when Steve picks up.

“With Clint?” Steve offers like a question.

Bucky shakes his head, then remembers he’s on the phone. “No. Clint’s here with me.”

Steve makes a noise. To any outsider it’s just a quiet hum of acknowledgement. To Bucky, it speaks an entire novel and he panics for a second because he knows that Steve wants him to feel worthy of people and love and…other things. And Bucky isn’t ready for that yet.

It’s too close to forgiveness.

“Want me to go look for him?”

Bucky sighs, then looks back over at Clint. “Probably. I don’t know why he showed up here…”

“Hawkeye had an appointment with the SHIELD docs today,” Tony’s voice says over the speaker. “He got in about ten minutes ago. I can confirm with Coulson about why…”

“No,” Bucky barks, then reigns it in when he hears Tony take a sharp breath. “That’s not our business. I just want to make sure that mutt is okay.”

“We’ll take him to the dog park and you can ask Clint if he wants us to bring him over.”

He will, Bucky thinks. Lucky isn’t just some dog. “He’s asleep. I’ll let you know when he’s up.”

***

Clint doesn’t wake up until there’s pizza. Bucky doesn’t even call out for it—he’s pretty sure it’s either Steve or Nat’s doing. But he smiles when he opens his door and it’s sitting right there on the floor hot and fresh.

He brings it inside and suddenly there’s a disgruntled meow. Bucky hears Alpine’s little paws hit the floor and then he glances over to find Clint on his feet, the quilt draped around him like a cape. He takes shuffling steps toward Bucky like he’s being led by his nose like a damn cartoon and Bucky’s heart somehow manages to beat harder.

Dropping the pizza on the table, he steps aside as Clint manages to hold the quilt with one hand and dig into the pizza with another. He’s seen the man drink straight from a hot coffee pot so it’s no surprise Clint just dives in mouth first, and he wonders how the man can taste anything through those burns.

“Do you want a plate?” he asks.

Clint blinks up at him, squinting and most people would think he was myopic but Bucky knows better. “Did you say plate?”

Bucky nods his fist and wishes he knew the sign for plate—or for most things, but he’s had exactly two classes and he’s managed to master about two-thirds of the alphabet and some basic greetings. Right now they’re working on facial expressions and the teacher said something about classifiers which is a stark reminder that ASL is a language.

It’s not just signs, it’s got all this other stuff that goes with it and he’s a little bit terrified because his brain really is damaged and he struggles to hold on to things—both old and new.

But he came out of both classes feeling like he was doing something right.

Even if it’s entirely unhelpful right now.

“…eat?”

Bucky realizes he’s missed almost all of what Clint has said, so he lifts his hand and signs, ‘Repeat.’

Clint’s brows go up the way they always do when Bucky shows off his current skill level which is not impressive, but it seems like maybe it’s better than most people in Clint’s life. Except that Coulson guy but Bucky doesn’t want to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“Are you gonna eat?” Clint’s arm has dropped and Alpine is there ready to seize some of the cheese that’s starting to fall off. “Aww. Pizza,” Clint moans.

Bucky sighs and grabs the box, balancing it on his palm as he jerks his head toward the living room. Clint follows and makes grabby hands and Bucky sets the box between them which makes him feel very alone suddenly with all that space.

It’s nice to watch Clint do this though. It’s like a strange self-care ritual which Steve has been trying to beat into Bucky. They didn’t have self-care back when they were…different, more human, whatever. They had surviving day to day, and him making sure Steve didn’t get himself killed.

Then making sure he didn’t get himself killed while also trying to actually kill Nazis.

And then. Well.

He almost laughs at the thought of Hydra proving a safe space for self-care. His warped sense of humor wants to ask Steve to draw a comic scene about it.

“How long was I out?” Clint asks when he’s satisfied. Most of the pizza is gone and Bucky stares down at the last two pieces but he’s not really hungry. He sets the box aside and Clint lets out a happy hum that Bucky thinks might be involuntary. He shimmies his body around and tucks his feet under Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky melts.

He just hopes it’s not that obvious.

He remembers Clint asked him a question. “About four hours,” he says.

Clint’s eyes flicker off to the side which means JARVIS is providing translation. “Shit.”

Bucky shrugs. “Feeling better?”

Clint rubs the back of his neck, then he flops dramatically backward and sighs as he shoves his feet even further under Bucky. It’s both the best and most uncomfortable thing he’s ever felt. “They put all this gunk in my ears, trying to take molds but the ear canals are all thick with scar tissue and there’s nothing left in there. My ear drums are gone, and the cochlea is damaged but apparently there’s enough left to make me dizzy. I puked on the way back to the Tower.”

Bucky doesn’t understand half of what Clint’s saying. It sounds like an anatomy class he didn’t pay attention to back when he was in High School. But he gets the more important parts.

“Not dizzy anymore?”

Clint shrugs, then tugs at his earlobe. “He said my vertigo is acting up so badly because one of my ears still has some residual hearing and it’s making me off balance. They want me to consider cochlear implants.”

Bucky already knows that’s a hard no. Clint was firm about that when Tony tried to bring it up the last time they decided to try and eat together. Clint had stormed off and Tony sat under the weight of Bucky’s glare the rest of the meal.

“I’m going to go with the other surgery. Phil says I can probably go in next week once they make sure my concussion’s totally cleared up.”

Bucky nods. He’s been there and done that, but he usually doesn’t have to be put under. It scares the bejeezus out of him, voluntarily losing consciousness. After coming out of cryo in Wakanda, he had nightly panic attacks when he was on the verge of sleep because it was just too…

Familiar.

Clint’s trauma is different, but he relates.

“I can go with you,” Bucky blurts.

Clint’s eyes snap over to him—sharp and absolutely Hawkeye in that moment. Like he’s reading every single minute twitch in Bucky’s body. “Why?”

Bucky decides not to lie because Clint is sitting there using him as a foot warmer and he doesn’t seem to want to leave. Bucky’s become something like a safe space and he doesn’t think that means nothing. Especially to a man like Clint Barton.

“Because I want to be.”

Clint’s eyes immediately soften and he drapes his arm across the back of the couch. He makes a pathetic little whining noise so Bucky reaches over and takes his hand. He rubs his thumb over Clint’s palm, over his wrist, his knuckles. They’re tense and calloused. Archer’s hands.

He wants to feel them more.

Clint makes a happy hum, then cracks one eye open again. “Where’s Lucky?”

“Steve and Tony.”

“They’re not keeping my dog,” Clint says fiercely. Then he shudders. “They should. I’m shit. I just left him there, and…”

“They’ll bring him back when you’re ready. You’re allowed to need help,” Bucky says. He’s just repeating a lot of what Steve and his SHIELD therapist kept telling him. It’s easier to let himself feed that advice to someone else. But he means it. “Lucky loves you no matter what.”

Clint’s face is kind of torn, but he twists his hand around so he can thread his fingers through Bucky’s. “Is this okay.”

His eyes are closed, so Bucky just squeezes gently and Clint seems to correctly interpret that yes. It’s okay. It’s more than okay.

It’s everything.

#bucky barnes #clint barton #the winter soldier #hawkeye #the winter soldier x hawkeye #bucky x clint #clint x bucky #fanfic #winterhawk

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fumingspice · 3 years

Text

All The Things She Said

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Part | 1 2

Thank you for all the love! Requests are open :D

Lana dropped her head in her hand and rubbed her temples and you felt your face go red. Your group of friends on the other side of the room, who you thankfully had not informed of the night before, laughed at your embarrassment.

Attempting to diffuse the tension, Lana approached the three of you with textbooks. "Take these," she said, her glare went straight through you. "And please don't be late to my class again."

You could feel the skin under your necklace burn as your hands made contact while she passed you the books. You could tell she felt something too when her face flinched slightly. There was something different about her.

She was wearing her wedding ring.

Lana noticed that you had seen it. "Stay behind after class."

The three of you took your seat at the back row, and you did your best not to look up during as much of the lesson as possible, resorting to taking notes from the book. Your face burned with the anticipation of Lana's confrontation. You had borderline lied to her about something that could risk the integrity of her career and her reputation. The guilt almost sickened you to your stomach and your friends could sense it.

"You gotta keep calm," Emmett whispered to you, knocking his knee against yours to tell you to stop bounding your leg. You peaked up for the first time in the lesson while the others were taking notes. Lana averted her glance as soon as you did so. "She's been looking up at you every time she gets a moment."

You rubbed your forehead with two fingers and peeled your necklace from under your shirt. It was white-hot. "What the fuck?" You muttered to yourself, getting Emmett's attention.

"I didn't know you had one of those," he said. "Maybe it means that its pair is close by-" Emmett stopped himself and looked from you to Lana.

The bell rang before he had a chance to finish himself. "We'll wait for you in the cafeteria."

The class filed themselves out as you remained in your chair, Heather gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as she left.

You watched Lana smile at your classmates as she crossed the room back to her desk. The suspense was killing you.

Finally, Lana stood up again and sat on her desk, folding her arms, and staring right at you. "Come over here, please," she said, darting her eyes to the floor.

You followed her instructions and sat at the desk opposite.

Lana played with a pendant on her necklace as she seemed to gather the words to use.

"Do you understand the severity of what happened last night, and why we can't go through with tonight's plan?" she asked after a moment of silence, her whiskey brown eyes finally meeting yours.

"Because you're married?" You replied, slightly meaner than you intended to sound. Lana's eyes look inflicted by your comment.

She took off her ring and laid it on the desk. "You lied to me. You told me you weren't younger than twenty-one and Jesus Christ, why did I want to believe you so bad?" She put her head in her hand and for a moment you were unaware if she was talking to you or herself.

"No, I didn't," you replied. Technically. "I told you that a lot of people think I'm younger than twenty-one. I'm eighteen."

Lana took a minute to regain her composure. "Y/N, I think you're an amazing, beautiful, incredibly funny and smart young lady and I would love to have gone on with whatever we had started. Though, at the end I am still your teacher and you're still my student. That's like fifty shades of illegal," she said. Her eyes were trained on the ground now as she straightened her back.

Your necklace was beginning to burn your fingers now and you could see Lana was rubbing her chest. You stepped closer to her as she backed against her table and put your hand under hers.

But I thought she didn't wear her necklace?

Her necklace was hot too. You pulled her necklace from under her blouse and inspected it. In that moment you finally felt like you were able to one-up even Aria Montgomery.

"Does that mean-?"

You rubbed your temples. "Good golly, this is going to cause the worst migraine ever."

Lana looked visibly stressed too. "Surely there's a mistake, right?"

You stared at her hard. "Soul necklaces have never made a mistake in the history of their goddamn existence, Lana!"

The teacher groaned. "The only reason I put this on was because last night you reminded me that I actually had one and I wanted to throw it in my husband's face that there's someone else better than him-" she stopped herself in her rant to inhale hard "-even though that's not too fucking hard. I did not. In a million years. Put this on to match with one of my students."

"How about the chick who tried to pick you up in a bar, then. Would you have wanted to match with her?"

Lana looked like she was about to strangle you, and you weren't necessarily opposed to that. "Y/N, please for the love of God don't make this harder for me. I've been thinking about you since I got home last night." You could see tears in her eyes and a pang of guilt hit you hard.

You walked to the door, peered down the hallway to make sure it was empty and closed the door.

"Lana-"

"Ms. Winters."

"Way to remove the power dynamic," you muttered sarcastically. Lana tried to hide a blushing smile. "I have six months left. I can pretend you're just my teacher and you can pretend I'm just your favourite student of all time."

Lana bit her lip. "You're still flirting with me? You looked like a deer in headlights when you walked in."

You felt your face glow red in embarrassment. "I thought I was gonna pass out."

That much was true. When it had finally hit you that Lana was your new French teacher you had felt a weight on your heart like never before.

"So, sixth months of pretending. I think I can cope with that," Lana said. She was less stressed now. Well, from whatever relief the conversation had provided.

You nodded and peeked through the window by the door. The hallway was clear. You turned back to face Lana and took a step towards her. The teacher could sense her apprehension as you laid a hand on her cheek and pulled her close to you.

You looked up into her eyes and waited for her cue. She nodded, her eyes locked with yours before they shut and lent in. Her lips pressed against yours and her hands curled in your hair as you worked to deepen the kiss. Lana backed right onto the desk until she was sitting right on it, one of your hands reached down to grab her thigh and pull it to your waist.

Her hands dropped to the back of your neck. You were bewildered. How could something be so wrong yet feel so right? This went against almost every moral code you had with your teachers. You were a model student and now here you between a teacher's legs.

Lana pulled away abruptly. "I don't want to go further than kissing while you're still in school," she whispered.

You smirked. "Please. You didn't even plan on kissing back, did you?"

Lana shook her head as she shuffled off the desk and grabbed her bag from the chair.

You had never seen anyone jump as high as Lana Winters did when Emmett banged the door open.

"Mother of Jesus in a tank. Can't either of you be gentle with the doors in this school?!" She exclaimed. "You'll give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Sorry, Ms. Winters," Emmett muttered. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I won't stay for long. I also just wanted to say that you don't need to worry about Heather and I saying anything, because we won't. But Heather is also getting impatient and wants to know if you need a lift home."

You shook your head. "I'll be a few minutes. I can walk home but tell her I said thank you."

Emmett gave a thumbs up and left.

"It's raining cats and dogs outside," Lana said. "You'll catch your death of cold."

"I'm a fast runner, Ms. Winters."

Lana shook her head. "What kind of person would I be if I let my favourite student walk home in the rain, hm?" She held up her keys and headed to the door.

You walked behind her while she informed a superior that she was driving you home. Child protection policy and whatnot. Ironic.

Lana sat in the driver's seat and blasted the heat.

"What's your address?" She asked, booting up the sat nav. You recalled her saying that she had only recently moved to this city.

"Sixteen Eli Boulevard," you replied, checking a message from your mom. She was making Carbonara for dinner.

Lana stopped. "You're kidding, right?"

"Are you being serious right now? Why would I kid about where I live?"

Lana pursed her lips and laughed. "I just moved into that neighbourhood yesterday."

Well, that was convenient.

"So, I can be expecting a lot more car rides with you, Ms. Winters?"

Lana cocked her head at you and frowned as she began driving. "Can we establish some ground rules? Like no flirting on school grounds? We can't afford for that to happen again."

You nodded in slightly disappointed agreement.

"In school, at least."

You paused, turning to take in the view of the mountain that sat beside your small town. You never seized to be amazed at that view.

“Can we reschedule our date? I know a place outside of town,” you say. Lana squeezed her eyebrows hard in thought.

“How far out of town are we talking?”

“An hour or so on the train. Give or take.”

Lana stopped the car outside your drive. “I can do Saturday.”

Perfect.

You heaved yourself out of her car and gave her hand a squeeze. It was the closest thing to a kiss you could manage.

What on Earth am I doing to myself.

taglist: @its-soph-xx @delias-bitch-craft @sarahpaulsonsoftie @jumpoffabridge-t @coffee-is-below-my-standards @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia

#lana winters #lana winters x reader #ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #foxxay #ahs murder house #ahs coven #ahs asylum

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

Text

Not without my pillow

Jiang Cheng feels like he‘s dying. There’s a steadily pounding pain behind his eyes and it’s overwhelming him, drowning out everything else.

Jiang Cheng already took more pain killers than is probably advisable, but they don’t seem to help at all and at this point Jiang Cheng would really prefer it if he could just die.

Certainly that would be easier and less painful than whatever he’s living through right now.

Logically, Jiang Cheng knows that it’s a migraine; something that will pass with time, but it doesn’t help in that moment.

In that moment Jiang Cheng feels like death and he’s very well going to wallow in it. Not that there’s much else he can do, seeing as every single movement hurts.

Which is really bad, because even with closed eyes, the tiniest movements send new waves of pain through him and Jiang Cheng groans pitifully into his pillow.

He thought sleeping it off might help, but sleep won’t come to him and by now Jiang Cheng also feels really damn nauseous. He figures he probably should have brought a bucket with him to bed, but the thought of getting up now to retrieve one almost makes him weep.

Jiang Cheng will simply die in his bed and then Wei Wuxian will find him here once his quarantine ends and he remembers that he even has a brother. It’s what he deserves anyway for abandoning him for Lan Wangji and getting quarantined with him and Lan Xichen instead of with his own brother.

Jiang Cheng frowns at his own thoughts, distantly aware that he’s not making all that much sense, but the frowning spikes a new wave of pain and Jiang Cheng quickly smoothes his face out as best as he can.

He knows he has a cool pack in the fridge, could probably put that over his eyes and alleviate some of the pain but that too is far away and Jiang Cheng is in no condition to move.

Which is the only reason he stays in bed when he hears a key turning and then the door opening. If it’s a burglar, he’s welcome to anything Jiang Cheng owns as long as he makes this suffering stop and if it’s Wei Wuxian who broke his quarantine Jiang Cheng is going to recover instantly out of sheer spite just to kill him.

“Wanyin?” Nie Mingjue calls out and Jiang Cheng actually opens his eyes at that, because that he did not expect.

He groans in response, can’t manage to form any kind of words at all, but Nie Mingjue must have heard him, because he enters Jiang Cheng’s room mere seconds later.

“Oh boy,” Nie Mingjue mutters and then he’s kneeling besides the bed in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he asks and he puts a blessedly cold hand on Jiang Cheng’s forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng reaches up to take Nie Mingjue’s wrist in his hand and pulls his hand low, until it’s resting over his eyes.

It’s not a cool pack but it’s working for now.

“Migraine,” Jiang Cheng gets out when the pain briefly lessens and Nie Mingjue makes an understanding sound.

“What do you need?” he asks and Jiang Cheng has several things he would like to have right now, but the only thing that makes it out of his mouth is “New head”.

“Yeah, no can do, I like your head like it is,” Nie Mingjue says, his voice coloured by amusement and Jiang Cheng thinks that highly unfair, given that he’s bound to die every second now.

“You need something cold for your head?” Nie Mingjue asks eventually when Jiang Cheng makes an unhappy noise as he realizes that Nie Mingjue’s hand is rapidly warming up.

“Please,” Jiang Cheng whispers and when a new wave of nausea hits him he also presses out “And a bucket.”

“Alright,” Nie Mingjue says and then he leaves Jiang Cheng alone.

Jiang Cheng can still hear him in the apartment but keeping track of Nie Mingjue makes the pain worse so he stops and simply trusts that Nie Mingjue will find the things he needs and will bring them back to him.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t get migraines often but he does know that it will all pass eventually. He just has to make it there, and that seems unreasonably hard right now.

The nausea is getting worse by the second and Jiang Cheng is so busy swallowing and not vomiting all over himself that he briefly forgets about the pain behind his eyes, but he thinks he’d rather have the pain back.

When Nie Mingjue comes back, cool pack and bucket in hand, Jiang Cheng cracks an eye open and then immediately makes grabby hands for the bucket.

Nie Mingjue hands it to him just in time, and then Jiang Cheng is losing against his upset stomach. He heaves into the bucket, tears pricking at his eyes and his head feeling like it could shatter into a million pieces any time now, but thankfully it doesn’t last long.

“There you go,” Nie Mingjue whispers as he holds the bucket steady with one hand and keeps Jiang Cheng’s hair out of his face with the other.

Jiang Cheng didn’t eat anything today, so there’s not much coming out of him anyway, but it leaves the worst taste behind.

“Drink a small sip,” Nie Mingjue urges him once Jiang Cheng stopped heaving and Nie Mingjue takes the bucket to the side, replacing it with a glass of water. “And then you’ll lie back down.”

“Doesn’t help,” Jiang Cheng argues, because he’s been laying down for most of the day now and it hasn’t helped one bit.

“We’ll see,” Nie Mingjue says as if he could personally wrangle Jiang Cheng’s migraine into behaving and knowing Nie Mingjue, he probably can.

Once Jiang Cheng drank a few sips, Nie Mingjue pushes him back down again and puts the cool pack over his eyes.

Jiang Cheng sighs, because it helps almost instantly, but he already dreads the moment when it turns too warm to bring him any kind of relief.

“You need some painkillers?” Nie Mingjue lowly asks him and Jiang Cheng wishes there was anything left that he could take.

“Took some,” he gets out when Nie Mingjue expectantly waits him out and Nie Mingjue hums at that.

“Alright, try to get some sleep then,” he whispers and cards his fingers through Jiang Cheng’s hair.

“Can’t,” Jiang Cheng groans out, because no position is comfortable, and his head is still pounding and nothing helps.

“Give me your pillow,” Nie Mingjue suddenly says and Jiang Cheng frowns under his cool pack.

“No,” he says, because he will not give up his pillow.

It’s one of the last few comforts he still has.

“Just for five minutes,” Nie Mingjue cajoles. “If it doesn’t work, you can have it back,” promises and Jiang Cheng is in too much pain and he trusts Nie Mingjue too much to argue with him.

“Fine,” he gets out and lightly lifts his head so that Nie Mingjue can take the pillow from him. “I want it back in five minutes.”

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue says and his tone implies that he’s not giving Jiang Cheng his pillow back but then Jiang Cheng’s head hits the bare mattress and he’s too busy thinking about how uncomfortable this is, to argue with Nie Mingjue.

When Jiang Cheng wakes up, he still doesn’t have a pillow, but his migraine is mostly gone, only the last remnants of pain lingering and he blinks up at the ceiling.

He turns his head, only to find Nie Mingjue sitting next to his bed on the ground, a book open in his hands and Jiang Cheng turns on his side, curling towards Nie Mingjue.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, because Jiang Cheng realizes that he forgot to ask that before and Nie Mingjue closes his book.

“Do you feel better?” he asks instead of answering him and Jiang Cheng nods, because he does.

“It’s mostly good now,” he tells Nie Mingjue and then raises an expectant eyebrow at him, because he still didn’t answer Jiang Cheng’s question.

“Wei Wuxian was worried,” Nie Mingjue explains. “He called me because you didn’t write him all day and he wanted someone to check up on you. But he and Xichen and Wangji are still in quarantine and so he couldn’t come himself.”

Jiang Cheng is going to kill him. Wei Wuxian could have asked anyone to come check up on Jiang Cheng but of course the gremlin opted to send Nie Mingjue. Jiang Cheng doesn’t allow the fluttery feeling in his chest to take root because Nie Mingjue didn’t come quite willingly and Jiang Cheng prefers to concentrate on his anger for Wei Wuxian.

There was no damn reason to send Jiang Cheng’s crush after all.

“Thank you, but I’m good now,” Jiang Cheng mutters, desperately not thinking about how Nie Mingjue saw him at his worst and even cleaned up after he threw up.

Jiang Cheng’s face burns with humiliation at that memory and he wishes he still had his pillow so that he could smother himself with it.

“How did you know about the pillow?” Jiang Cheng asks when Nie Mingjue makes no move to leave him and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“Huaisang tends to get migraines, too. I just did what I usually do for my little brother,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng has to hide the bitter twist of his mouth in his mattress.

Of course. Nie Mingjue only ever sees another little brother in Jiang Cheng and he is so goddamn stupid for ever hoping for anything else.

“Can you leave now?” Jiang Cheng asks, because for all that he can usually deal with his feelings for Nie Mingjue better than that, he feels kind of raw right now, and he doesn’t want to see him for longer than absolutely necessary.

“Nope,” Nie Mingjue says and when Jiang Cheng turns his head to glare at him, Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

“Mo Xuanyu is over at our place right now and you know he has a weak immune system and so when I offered to check on you, they practically kicked me out. I’m not allowed back for a few days, just to make sure you or I don’t have the virus.”

Jiang Cheng blinks at that, too stuck on the fact that Nie Mingjue apparently offered to check on him and Nie Mingjue’s look turns gentle.

“Wei Wuxian didn’t have to ask me. He said he was worried about you and I offered,” Nie Mingjue confirms and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“Why the hell would you do that? You’re stuck with me now,” he bitterly says, because not even Wei Wuxian wanted to be stuck with him.

He rather decided to stay with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen who—seeing as they are teachers—are much more likely to go into a full quarantine than just being mostly at home due to a lockdown like Jiang Cheng is.

“You really think I want to see Huaisang and Xuanyu be all lovey-dovey with each other?” Nie Mingjue teasingly asks but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

He knows that Nie Mingjue is happy for them, likes that they are together, so this really shouldn’t be reason enough to make him flee his own home.

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue sighs out when Jiang Cheng so very clearly doesn’t believe him. “Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng mutters and finally sits up. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

“Good thing that I’m not, then,” Nie Mingjue gives back and gets up to sit on the edge of Jiang Cheng’s bed. “Wei Wuxian didn’t choose to stay with Wangji because he can’t stand you; he chose to stay with him, because he’s madly in love and they are still at the stage where he can’t bear to not see him for too long,” Nie Mingjue explains, as if he could look directly into Jiang Cheng’s brain, who flushes when he realizes that Nie Mingjue can read him so easily.

“And maybe that’s the reason I’m here, too,” Nie Mingjue then tacks on and puts his hand to Jiang Cheng’s cheek.

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks, rather dumbly, but his heart is going into overdrive in his chest and his stomach is fluttering and Jiang Cheng fears he might be sick again, before he realizes that it’s kind of a good feeling.

“Maybe I can’t bear to not see you for too long, either,” Nie Mingjue says and lightly tucks Jiang Cheng closer, who very willingly follows his motion until Nie Mingjue can rest their foreheads together.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng whispers, because he can’t quite understand this, his brain is not working correctly and he needs to hear him say it.

“I’m in love with you,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly knowing what Jiang Cheng needs from him. “And I know you think I have never looked with anything but brotherly love at you, but believe me when I say that you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Jiang Cheng shudders at that, because it is what he has been thinking all this time; that Nie Mingjue looks at him like he looks at Nie Huaisang, only sees him as a younger brother, someone to dote upon but out of a familiar feeling and nothing more.

To think that Jiang Cheng has been wrong all this time—

“I’m in love with you, too,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and then stops himself at the last second from leaning forward, because he remembers that he had nothing but one sip of water after he threw up and then slept the whole night and he really does not want to subject Nie Mingjue to that.

Nie Mingjue huffs out a laugh and leans forward himself, gently pressing their lips together.

“Anything else will have to wait until after you brushed your teeth,” he says when they part again and Jiang Cheng flushes at his words.

“You’re really going to stay?” he then asks and Nie Mingjue shrugs, slightly pulling away from Jiang Cheng.

“I brought a bag and everything,” he says and Jiang Cheng smiles at him, feeling very warm and content, especially when he sees the slight flush on Nie Mingjue’s face.

Maybe he does not have to kill Wei Wuxian after all.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #mingcheng #modern au #migraines #caretaking #fluff #hurt/comfort #getting together #love confessions #first kiss

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Note

Hey there! I have a cold and it got me thinking, how do Hotch and Reader deal with sickness? How do they help each other and how do they help Jack?

Oof, I am so sorry. I hope you feel better soon!!! Sending lots of good wishes for a quick recovery.

Also...this is almost 2K words of an answer. I got a tad carried away.

*SPOILER ALERT for Irreverent*

Hotch

Aaron will not admit that he is sick. Ever. The man would literally rather collapse on the job than admit that he's sick and get some rest.

She didn't know this about him until she sees him sick for the first time during her first couple of years with the team. He'd gone and caught a cold and was nursing a cough and sniffles that he was trying to hide in vain during a case. His nose is all red and worn dry from the hotel tissues he's using that are stuffed into his jacket pockets and the man is running purely on coffee. It wouldn't occur to him to go and get medicine for himself. That's time away from the case.

Everyone on the team noticed - it was hard not to. However, they're all trying not to say anything because he's Hotch and it would likely be wasted breath. Rossi tells him to go rest once and is ignored so he lets it go because Aaron is a grown man.

She makes Morgan stop at a pharmacy on the way back to the precinct from witness interviews, saying she needs some girl items and buys the Day Time and Night Time cough syrup, cough drops, the nice tissues with the lotion so his nose won't be all dried out, and some cans of soup because they're in the middle of nowhere on this case and she wouldn't trust the local restaurants much.

They get back to the precinct and its late so the team is wrapping up for the night and they all head back to the hotel. Hotch is a little surprised to see her following him to his room instead of going to hers and asks what she's doing. She just says she needs to talk to him about something, knowing he'd protest at her trying to take care of him, especially in front of other people.

They get into his room and he'd really just been looking forward to a hot shower and going to bed, so he's actually a little annoyed that she wants to talk about something right now, especially as he can feel a migraine coming on.

She tosses everything out onto the bed and practically orders him to go shower and tells him if he wants her to leave, he's going to have to do it himself, because she won't leave on her own until she's seen him take the meds and have some soup that she's already pouring out into a bowl and heating up for him.

Hotch isn't quite used to this level of aggressively being taken care of and is ready to tell her off but she's looking at him so entirely defiantly, as though daring him to even try, and she's doing it because she cares and it's nice. She's doing something nice. Also like yeah, soup sounds kind of good…

So he goes and showers and comes back to a hot bowl of soup that she watches him finish, while pretending not to be and acting like she's just looking at something on her phone. She knows he doesn't really want to talk right then and the silence with Hotch isn't really awkward silence so they just sit there while he drinks soup and she sits on top of the desk and pretends she's ignoring him with the TV on in the background. He's letting the soup warm him up and tuning out the news anchor while wondering why she can't sit on normal surfaces - like what is that even about? Would it kill her to use a chair or just sit on the bed like why is it on top of the goddamn desk? He has half a mind to ask her about that but that sounds like it's going to turn into some sort of argument and he hasn't the energy for it.

"I'm done," he'd say, showing off his empty bowl of soup for her inspection. She tells him good job and it gives him an odd fuzzy feeling inside even though he tells himself she was only saying it jokingly. Except her tone wasn't joking and why did it feel good to have her say that to him? He didn't need her approval. She worked for him, not the other way around. He's a little too out of it to really think more about that particular thing though.

She pours out the Night Time cough syrup for him, way past the line on the little plastic cup and hands it to him to take. He's too tired to question it and allows himself to be essentially roofied into a deep sleep. The last thing he hears before he knocks out is her whispered "Good night Hotch" before she slips out the door. He ends up having a bit of a lie in the next morning and wakes up to a blueberry muffin on his nightstand and a poured out dosage of the orange colored Day Time syrup along with a note telling him that the team went ahead and when he's ready, to give her a call so she can come pick him up.

After that, he knows better than to try hiding that he's sick from her, but he'll pretty much only let her baby him a bit, while still being scary boss man around everyone else. He also will now only buy the tissues she got because wow the lotion really did make a difference and there's a couple of the travel pack versions that sit in his go bag always, just in case.

Babying him became a whole lot easier once they were actually together and after that Aaron really does openly just tell her that he's sick because she'll brush her fingers through his hair and just make him all comfy and cozy as much as possible and yeah he doesn't like other people doing stuff for him, but she does it so well and she really truly enjoys taking care of it and will get mad at him if he tries to hide it from her, so really its just easier to be upfront about it. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

Reader

She hardly ever does get sick, but when she does it's awful. She's miserable and she'll be the whiniest little baby about it, falling asleep on just about anyone. She doesn't want to be coddled and she doesn't want soup. She just wants to sleep the sickness away.

Before they were together, she was sick during a case once - it has literally only happened one time that she's been sick while actively on a case and it was after their fight and subsequent resolution but prior to them getting together.

Unlike Hotch, she's not resistant to medication and is more than willing to just drug herself and knock out and she recovers much faster than he does because she'll start taking the medications immediately.

Hotch was seriously concerned that she had narcolepsy, from the number of times he found her simply passed out when she didn't actively have something to do. He kept her with him at the precinct the entire time, deciding (wisely) that maybe handling a firearm in the field wasn't the best thing for her or anyone else at the moment.

She's a lot more touchy than he is, even prior to them dating and especially after they make up, they were so far along in their relationship as just friends that her simply sleeping leaned against him just does not phase him anymore (mind you, this is after they basically spent a night on his couch together - after that nothing much could phase him).

The team comes back to the conference room with Hotch sitting on the couch that's there, and her laying down with her head in his lap and his one hand playing with her hair as his other is holding one of the case files. He's painfully aware of how intimate it all looks and she's asleep so only he has to deal with everyone's reactions, so before they can say anything, he quickly shushes all of them and tells them to only talk if they have something important to share. He suffers through all of their little whispers and snide comments and side glances while she sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware.

The team as a whole has this odd agreement to not mention any of this to her. They all know - they can tell how easy it is for her and Hotch around one another. However, they all think she needs to come to the realization herself. Hotch wouldn't appreciate the meddling and she's still the baby of the group so they're all just a little protective - Hotch is great and they all trust him but she's also young and they're careful to not push her towards something that maybe wouldn't occur to her otherwise. She's not the kind of person to pine and sit on information of that nature if she's aware of it, so they all know that she doesn't even know yet. This is evident by how quickly she initiates after the realization does hit her. She definitely goes after what she wants.

Jack

Jack loves sick days because that means one of them will stay home with him and coddle him and he's a kid that loves to cuddle so he'll easily climb into either of their laps and just snuggle because that feels safest when he's not feeling great.

Aaron is the exact opposite with Jack than he is for himself. He's very much like her taking care of him - all the meds and tissue and soup. Aaron handles it all wonderfully and makes sure that Jack is comfy and recovering well.

If Jack is lucky, he gets them both in which case Aaron runs logistics and she cuddles him and they'll read together or watch movies. If it's just Aaron on his own, Jack is a little clingier and will want to go with him to the kitchen and stuff while the soup is made and when he was younger, Aaron would balance him on one hip while handling everything else with the other hand. Once he's older, he's set on the island and watched carefully to make sure he finishes his food and if his symptoms show any signs of changing.

Much like her, Jack doesn't need much while he's sick, content to just doze off to something gentle while sprawled across either his father's chest or her lap.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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whumpmatsus · 3 years

Text

hush. [ Wakabamatsu ]

In which Jyushimatsu wakes up with a migraine, but his big brother is going to take good care of him, so... it’s okay.

Jyushimatsu doesn’t usually wake up easily, unless he hears Ichimatsu’s voice or all the rest of his brothers are arguing.

He’s so full of energy for most of the day, it’s like he recharges at night by sleeping so deeply. Even going to bed with the lights on doesn’t bother him like it might for, say, Ichimatsu. He’s also typically asleep before everyone else… though that doesn’t necessarily translate into being awake earlier.

Tonight, or maybe it’s really early in the morning, he’s woken up by the most excruciating physical pain he’s ever felt.

It feels like someone’s jabbing an ice pick into the left side of his head, right above his eye. The pain isn’t repetitive; rather, it doesn’t seem to actually stop at all. It’s just constant and there and awful.

Worse yet is the fact that it feels like the world is spinning. The sensation makes him panicky, his heart pounding against his ribs, because he knows he isn’t moving. He’s still as can be and it’s everything else that’s moving. Isn’t it?

He exerts what he thinks is an enormous amount of willpower into closing his eyes and clenching his fists. Maybe he’s dreaming? That’s it. He’s just dreaming about being on a boat or something.

It only takes a few seconds for him to decide that is not what’s going on. The rocking sensation is getting worse, and he’s not waking up, so this can’t be a dream.

He takes a breath and throws his hand to the side, frantically searching for his older brother beside him. “Ch… Choromatsu-nii-san…!” He tries to keep his eyes shut. If he opens them again, the pain in his head is going to intensify.

There’s a tired groan from beside him, and the sounds of Choromatsu trying to get his bearings. “Huhm… mmh… Jyushimatsu? Aaah…” He yawns. “Is everything okay?”

“No… no, I don’t feel good…” He wishes he could feel prideful about complaining or guilty for waking his big brother up. Normally, he would at least try to suffer on his own for a bit before going to one of his brothers. Instead, the pain overtakes everything else.

“Aaaah… it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry, I’m right here to take care of you, alright?” Choromatsu is careful as always when he knows one of the others is feeling poorly, and he scoots closer. “Come here. Will it make you feel better if I hold you for a little bit?”

Jyushimatsu isn’t sure. However, as with most other situations, a hug certainly can’t hurt when he isn’t feeling well. “Ahahah… y-yeah, maybe… my head really hurts.” He turns over into his brother’s embrace, expecting to have an easier time calming down once he’s nestled against Choromatsu’s chest.

Choromatsu’s arms reach out to pull Jyushimatsu closer. “Ah, no… I’m sorry, Jyushi. It’s okay… I’ll rub it and maybe you can get back to sleep.”

That sounds nice, but it doesn’t get a chance to happen. Any possibility of peace evaporates as soon as Jyushimatsu rolls onto his side. He opens his eyes briefly only for his vision to wobble and darken. The spinning he’s been feeling takes half a second to blossom into full-on nausea, then he practically chokes on a gag.

It’s all the warning either of them get before suddenly he’s vomited into the space between them ― and, more embarrassingly, he’s pretty sure it splashed Choromatsu in the process.

“Ah! J-Jyushimatsu!” Despite what just happened, Choromatsu moves to pull Jyushimatsu closer to him in an attempt to comfort him, particularly when it becomes clear that his poor little brother has started to wail. “Oh, my God… Jyushi… h-hey, hey, it’s okay! D-don’t cry, please!”

The sound of someone, or maybe the entire rest of their brood, moaning awake on the other side of Choromatsu serves to do nothing except make the pounding in Jyushimatsu’s head louder. His own sobbing makes pressure against his skull and it’s sharp and why can’t he stop?

“Hey, what gives? Are you two assclowns trying to wake the whole fucking neighborhood?” Osomatsu’s voice is groggy and irritated, and it’s just one more thing driving that ice pick deeper into Jyushimatsu’s head.

Jyushimatsu can feel the vibration from the growl Choromatsu gives toward their eldest. “God, would you calm your tits? Jyushimatsu threw up.”

“In the futon?!”

“Are you kidding me right now? He couldn’t help it!”

Osomatsu whines for a second, which is exactly no help to Jyushimatsu’s headache, but then he just yawns. “Geez… what happened??”

“I don’t know…” Choromatsu’s hand combs lightly through his brother’s hair, though it’s not any significant relief. Mostly it makes Jyushimatsu feel less self-conscious; if Choromatsu isn’t freaking out and moving away, he’s probably more worried about Jyushimatsu’s wellbeing than with the fact that he and the futon just got puked on. “He woke me up and said he didn’t feel good, that his head hurt. Then he rolled over so I could hold him, and… threw up.”

Jyushimatsu whimpers pitifully, trying to wipe at his mouth. “I f-feel seasick… my eyes are all blurry… my head hurts really bad…”

Choromatsu lets out a quiet, “Oh…” like he’s had some big moment of realization about what’s going on. “Jyushi… did you feel sick to your stomach before you moved?”

“Mnh-mnh. It just felt like… the world was spinning… still feels like that. I thought I was d-dreaming about being on a boat… then when I moved… my stomach went all flip-floppy… feels a little better now.”

“Okay, okay… that’s good, at least. What about your head? Is the pain mostly on one side?”

“Uh-huh. Like someone’s… trying to drill into my brain right above my left eye…”

“Aw. Gosh. Well, in that case…” He leans down to press a kiss to Jyushimatsu’s head, and pats his back in reassurance. “Sounds like a migraine to me. Like a headache times a thousand, complete with a side of vertigo and aura. I’m sorry Osomatsu is such a dick that he yelled at us.”

“WHAT?! I’m not a dick! I’m just tired!”

Choromatsu hisses as the noise makes Jyushimatsu flinch. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, you jackass. And would you show some Goddamn concern for your baby brother over here? You’re talking loud and making him more miserable.”

“You just―” Osomatsu stops dead as he seems to realize that he’s literally just proving Choromatsu’s point. “― Ah, shit, sorry, Jyushi. Uhhh. What are we supposed to do for this? Besides get out of the futon and go set up camp in the living room for the night?”

“Yeah,” comes a low, sleep-husky voice Jyushimatsu recognizes as Ichimatsu’s. “Is there anything we can do? The last time I had a headache that made me blow chunks, I was out of it for the rest of the day and still felt all hazy once it was gone.”

Jyushimatsu almost starts crying again at the thought of feeling so bad for an entire day. He settles for sniffling and tucking his painful head under Choromatsu’s chin.

The action gets the third eldest’s attention, as he’s immediately pulled in closer and gets another kiss on the head. “Aah, well… most of the time, a migraine kind of has to go away on its own. We can try giving him painkillers and making it as dark as possible in here and keeping things quiet…”

Totty snorts. “So keep Osomatsu-nii-san away from him, then.”

“Oh, you two-faced little―”

“Osomatsu-nii-san! Where are your manners? Jyushimatsu-nii-san’s head!”

“I don’t have manners at 5 in the morning on a Monday!”

“Dear brothers, why are we all sniping at each other? Should we not instead be trying to help our little Jyushimatsu?”

“Like you could be any help. Just being around you has to be causing him more pain, Shittymatsu.”

“Cut it the fuck out, all of you!” Choromatsu’s voice comes out in a vicious whisper as he continues to cradle Jyushimatsu. “None of you are helping right now. You guys just… get your pillows, get some extra blankets, and head into the living room. I’ll get Jyushimatsu and I changed, we’ll move over to a clean part of the futon, and I’ll spend the rest of the night in here with him.”

There’s a distinct pause, which almost sounds louder than if anyone had said anything. Finally Ichimatsu speaks up again. “Are you sure? I can stay.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Ichimatsu. I’ve got it. You know I’ll take good care of him.”

Ichimatsu lets out a soft sigh. “… Yeah, I know. Let us know if we can help.”

“I will. You guys go try to get some sleep, okay?”

The other four murmur some well wishes, probably trying not to make things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open is sort of like a knife cutting through Jyushimatsu’s mind. He curls up tighter against Choromatsu, looking for protection.

Though, unfortunately, based on what his big brother said a minute ago, there’s nothing that can really be done to take away the pain. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sniffling again. “I didn’t m-mean to throw up on you…”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Jyushimatsu, it’s okay. You don’t feel well. It’s not like you wanted to do it.” Choromatsu rubs Jyushimatsu’s back a few times, giving a cautious squeeze to his whole body. “You don’t need to be sorry. Now, listen. I’m gonna close the curtains and blinds and go change my clothes real fast, then I’m gonna try to see if I can get you cleaned up and change your shirt, too. You’re a little dirty… I don’t want you getting nauseous again from the smell. After that I’m gonna carry you to the other side of the futon, and… we’ll make sure the other side gets cleaned up later when you feel better.”

Okay. Okay, that sounds like not too bad of a plan. He can do that, right? It sounds like Choromatsu is going to be the one doing most of the work, so Jyushimatsu shouldn’t have to move too much. That would be ideal; he feels like if he moves to roll onto his back or anything, he might be sick again. “Okay.”

“Okay? Okay. Good, uh… hm… if we can get some painkillers in you, it might help take the edge off the migraine. Do you think maybe you could get some medicine down with a few sips of water?”

“I… I dunno… maybe.” The thought of swallowing anything isn’t pleasant. But if it could potentially take a little bit of the pain away, he can try. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He might hurl again? At least he’ll have given it a shot.

He feels Choromatsu pull away from him. “Alright, we’ll try it, then. I’ll bring a trashcan in here just in case you throw up again. And, ah, let’s see… sometimes an ice pack against your head helps. Want me to bring one?”

He barely resists the urge to nod, because he knows that would be a terrible idea right now. “Mhm.”

“Alright. You just… lie still and don’t move, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me see if I can get it a little darker in here…”

There’s a brief rattling sound that comes along with Choromatsu trying to shut the blinds, then a fabric-shifting noise from the curtains.

Instantly the soft sunlight which was trying to filter in is blocked. Despite the fact that it’s not totally pitch black, it feels like shadows have descended on the room. Cool, greyish shadows that are protecting him from the agony of anything bright.

A few minutes seems kind of like an eternity to Jyushimatsu at the moment. He’s still a little dizzy even with his eyes clamped shut, although the nausea has faded into almost nothing, thank goodness. The sharp pain in his head continues, and he’s partially convinced that it’s going to split him in half.

Everything is awful. He’s used to being the one who can tolerate the most extreme things and often is fully involved in those things. Yet, right now, everything is too much. Even his own thoughts are too loud.

The only movement he makes is to reach up a trembling hand and touch his head in some childish hope that holding it will make the hurt stop. Unlike Choromatsu’s gentle kisses, however, just touching the epicenter of the migraine sends a horrible shockwave of pain through his whole body.

When Choromatsu returns, he returns to his little brother curled up in a ball, breathing deeply and still mewling in intense discomfort.

“Hey, Jyushi… I’m back.” He keeps his voice low as he kneels down, giving another couple of rubs to Jyushimatsu’s back. “You doing okay?”

Ugh, why would he ask that?? Jyushimatsu wants to be angry, he is a little annoyed… but Choromatsu is trying to take care of him. He can’t be too pissed when all his big brother wants is to make him as comfortable as possible. “No… it hurts.”

“Aah, I know, I know… I’m sorry. Is it okay if I try to change your shirt now? I can probably do it without making you sit up, if I’m careful… you’ll have to raise your arms, though.”

“Uh-huh… okay.”

“I will have to sit you up to take the medicine in a minute.” His hand pulls at the bottom of Jyushimatsu’s shirt, starting to roll it up. “I’ve got a trashcan here if you think you’re gonna be sick again. Just give a big squeeze to any part of me you can reach if you need to throw up, okay?”

“Mmh, okay…”

It’s a slow process as Choromatsu gradually manages to get Jyushimatsu’s shirt up off him. Jyushimatsu raises his arms when prompted, and that little motion makes him feel like he’s swaying even more than he already felt like. He’s able to keep them up until his brother gets his arms and head through the new shirt, thank goodness.

How he doesn’t accidentally roll into the mess he made in the futon is beyond him. He mostly credits that to Choromatsu, though. It feels like his big brother is holding him pretty steady, from what he can tell.

“There we go,” Choromatsu sighs, with a sound like he’s dusting his hands off. “Do you think you’ll be okay to sit up and take the medicine?”

Before he can stop himself, a small whine comes out. “I… I changed my mind, Choromatsu-nii-san. I think I’ll puke if I sit up and try to swallow anything…”

Choromatsu’s hand kneads gingerly at the base of Jyushimatsu’s neck. Even among everything else, it’s a comforting gesture. “Hey, hey, that’s fine. The water and medicine will still be here when you feel like you’re okay to take it. I’m just gonna carry you over to the other side of the futon now, okay? I’m gonna pick you up, and I’ll go really slow. You gonna be alright?”

“Mmm… y-yeah, I think so. Not too fast… right?”

“Right. And just tell me if you need me to stop for a second. Here we go, okay?”

Jyushimatsu braces himself for the movement, and true to Choromatsu’s word, he’s lifted up very gingerly, in a series of tiny moves rather than one swift one. He keeps his eyes shut as his brother makes a little adjustment, with one arm under Jyushimatsu’s legs and one supporting his back, and his head cradled against Choromatsu’s chest.

Despite his pain, Jyushimatsu finds the energy to give a weak laugh. “Haha… upsy-daisy…”

Choromatsu chuckles along, a barely-there breath of amusement. “Yeah, upsy-daisy. You remember… that one day when we were all kids, and Mom took us to the beach ― that day it was sunny in the morning but started raining when we’d only been in the water for like half an hour?”

“Oh, yeah… hehe… and then we made a beach in the living room when we got home… because I put a bucketful of sand in our tote bag before we started swimming, hehe.”

“Yeah, that’s right! I remember Osomatsu, Karamatsu, and I each grabbed one of you younger guys… Osomatsu grabbed Totty, and Karamatsu grabbed Ichimatsu, and I grabbed you. We carried you out of the water and into the car, haha… running to get out of the rain as fast as we could.”

After a second, Jyushimatsu is laid down in that same careful way Choromatsu picked him up, and having a clean part of the futon under him feels a lot better. Soon enough his older brother is lying next to him, gingerly guiding him into a hug to comfort him. “I remember holding you in my arms way back then just like I did a minute ago. I held you really close and tried to keep you from getting wet, haha.”

“Mmm.” Jyushimatsu snuggles in closer and buries his face in Choromatsu’s chest to try and shut out whatever light might be left. “I think I remember that, too. Hahah… you’re a good big brother. Trying to keep me safe.”

Choromatsu’s hand strokes through Jyushimatsu’s hair; long, syrupy strokes that feel much better than when he tried to hold his head himself. The ice pack must have been set down close, because something cold and soothing is held against the left side of his head. “W-well, you know… you’re a good little brother… worthy of being kept safe.”

“Haha. All the rest of your little brothers… they can suck it, right?”

He snorts, and thank God, it doesn’t disrupt the peace they’ve both been trying to cultivate. “Aah, no… all my brothers are worthy of being kept safe. Even the jackass eldest and the hollow monster baby. But, I mean… don’t tell them I said that.”

Jyushimatsu breathes in and out a few times as he settles in to hopefully get some sleep. “No, no, no… it’d go to their heads.”

“Heh, good. Speaking of dreaming… let’s try to get some rest, okay? Fingers crossed you’ll be feeling better after a little more sleep. If not, at least you won’t be totally conscious for some of the pain. I’ll take the ice pack off in a few minutes here, and all you have to do is let me know if you need anything. Sound like a plan?”

“Mhm. Nighty night, Choromatsu-nii-san.”

A warm breath of a sigh hits the top of his head. In a way, just having his big brother close like this is more comforting than any other remedy he could have suggested. “Night, Jyushi. Feel better soon or else I’m just gonna have to keep taking care of you.”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Wakabamatsu #Jyushimatsu #Choromatsu #illness #migraine #vomiting #I!!! wanted to finish this before I started anything else but holy moly it turned out longer than I thought it'd be XD #I'm trying to get better at writing Jyushi so hopefully this is good ;w;#I love Choro taking care of his brothers aaaaaaa

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad.

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really.

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself.

-----

Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4 who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

-----

“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her.

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault.

For deciding that they were going to have a party.

On New Year’s Eve.

Like complete cliches.

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine.

Her phone made another noise.

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was.

Whatever, honestly.

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over.

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird.

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special.

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly.

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home.

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps.

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were.

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor.

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad.

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing.

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed.

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend.

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?”

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

She’d give them five stars.

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?”

Her face was very warm.

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work.

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly.

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame.

“I don’t care.”

All things considered.

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it.

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went.

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet.

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat.

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download.

She should have waited until she was on wifi.

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship.

He was her friend.

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent.

Or any of the utilities.

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago.

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.

At least the end of her love life.

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door.

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already.

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though.

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least.

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure.

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged.

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on.

That didn’t make her feel any better.

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry.

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable.

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed.

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly.

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important.

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway.

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list.

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked.

She couldn’t cook.

She tried.

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music.

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven.

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded.

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so.

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help.

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector.

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice.

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music.

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything.

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least.

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor.

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway.

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen.

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot.

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?”

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later.

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called.

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly.

Distractingly.

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it.

Or there had been.

She’d eaten them.

Her mouth felt a little numb.

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter.

Killian’s. Not Graham’s.

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did.

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded.

He shrugged.

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over.

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar.

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular.

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious.

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever.

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark.

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now.

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now.

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk.

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart.

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually.

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham.

She was the worst.

David played hockey when he was a kid.

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous.

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex.

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays.

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then.

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so.

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over.

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon.

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them.

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer.

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about.

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could.

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive.

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt.

He didn’t move his hands.

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer.

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers.

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate.

She never did find out where her pancreas was.

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt.

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier.

“How did you figure it out?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive fic a thon 2k20 #this ended up much longer than i thought #so really the perfect way to end the year #thanks for reading internet #i think you're all swell

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