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rubra-wav · 1 month

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Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Pentious, Alastor, and Lucifer x a concerningly unstable, younger reader

@pandaquick

A/N : reader is still written to be 18ish

I took creative liberties with this, so I'm sorry if I've taken that a bit in the wrong direction w this one!

The song 'Mama's Boy' came on while I was deciding where I'll take this one and kinda made me start feeling some type of way/lh

You didn't really specify what type of unstable they are, so I went with depression type presentations for that

Cw: SFW, very slight references to past self-destructive behaviour, gn!reader, platonic, hurt/comfort, found family-ish (in all these except for Alastor's)

Charlie

- When you show up at the hotel, she's absolutely elated to have a new resident! Especially one who's new to hell and thus hasn't built up sky-high walls to everyone due to the harsh climate.

- When you disclose why you ended up here, she's utterly horrified.

- The idea someone could be condemned to this place which reeks of burning flesh at all times for something so stupid is truly exasperating.

- She almost has doubt creep into her mind about her dream when she hears the truth about your being in hell, but quickly flips it into positivity as it means you're easy to redeem.

- As you become closer and start opening up after feeling more comfortable, Charlie quickly becomes very concerned for your well-being.

- Sweeps you into her arms while trying (and failing) to not cry as she hears about the kinds of horrible thoughts going on often for you.

- From then on, if she ever notices you becoming withdrawn or particularly sensitive/unstable she will try to convince you to talk it out with her.

- If that's not something you're into? She just tries to distract you and sweep you along with her as she discusses possible activities for the hotel and other random stuff.

- At some point she starts becoming a caretaker to you emotionally and doesn't really even notice herself start to step into essentially becoming motherly towards you.

- She's just really afraid for you at times and wants to take care of you!

- You're also a fair bit younger than the people around you (including her), so even with you being an adult technically yourself she still slips into that kind of attitude.

Vaggie

- When you show up she can tell something is up under everything pretty quickly.

- She's dealt with a fair lot of mental anguish over the years so she can see the cracks in your mental state even before you feel comfortable openly discussing it.

- Will not approach it with you, but will do indirect things for you to try help you practically like making extra food for you as she cooks or reminding you to drink water if those are things you seem to struggling.

- Vaggie isn't the emotionally supportive type, so when she tries to be it seems awkward. She is genuine about it, though.

- Openly face palms when she hears that you got sent here for something so little. 'Classic heaven.' She'd grumble under her breath before apologising for you being sent to hell for something so stupid. (Confusing you and making her start sweating a bit because she's meant to be a demon not an angel-)

- As you start opening up more and more, she becomes even more practical in helping you out upon actually knowing what exactly you need.

- Feels incredibly concerned upon hearing the true extent to your instability and probably has some angst over not being emotionally warm as she would like to be.

- You two bond over mutual terrible experiences, and she essentially becomes a mentor-like figure to you.

- This turns more personal, though, as Charlie starts mothering you.

- Eventually you're essentially adopted by Vaggie and Charlie - they both work together to try to help you manage stuff and stay stable.

Angel

- Initially he'd be neutral to you most likely, just making the same sarcastic comments (albeit not suggestive. Even he has limits from what he's comfortable doing with his persona)

- When he hears how you got here, he just squints at you with a humourless laugh.

- The idea of someone being mostly non-sinful outside of ONE tiny, idiotic reason ending up in this shithole around people who are horrid abusers, to murderers, to every horrible thing possible is fucked.

- After discovering this, he'd be slightly inclined to be protective of you. Only slightly though initially. He can hardly support himself with his own baggage.

- This changes, though, after he learns of your history of self destruction and overall fragility as a demon.

- It's hard for him. He sees so much of himself in you - especially after just getting to hell.

- Despite his more logical thoughts of not trying to care for you, he does genuinely become extremely protective.

- You're the exact type of person who would be taken advantage of here, and he just wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he didn't even try to divert that from happening.

- He's not really the emotional support type, but he'd try to take your mind off of things with other activities. (Watch this man stumble trying to figure out age-appropriate activities for someone he sees as a kid in comparison to himself even if you're technically a legal adult.)

- In the streets, you have him armed to the teeth next to you at most times. It's funny to think about Angel trying to be scary dog privilege, but he actually is when he wants to be.

- Doesn't mother you or act as a guidance figure to you - god knows he is no good example - but he is gonna take out everyone in this bitch if anything happens to you.

Husk

- The second he meets you, he can see what's going on under everything, but he doesn't approach it at all.

- He's been a bartender collecting sob stories for years. He knows how to spot someone who is cracking under the surface or itching to tell their story or problems.

- He almost feels a prickle of empathy for your situation. Someone so young falling into hell of all places, clearly troubled, is a terrible situation. It's squashed the second he realises that you surely are sinful enough to have ended up here.

- As you reveal that your 'sin' was actually tiny however he curses as he actually now feels bad for you. I mean, come on, you're barely an adult, and you’ve been condemned for your whole afterlife for something so utterly small? He's losing the no heart impression he puts out.

- It scares him a bit honestly, so he avoids you like the plague. He'd rather ignore the pain someone like you being here brings him.

- Unfortunately, that doesn't work out as you come to him after a long day and break down at the counter of his bar. As he offers you an ear, he truly is annoyed at himself.

- Because oh god, he cannot take care of you, but he wants to help you.

- He tries to keep you at arms length as he eventually gives in to his want to try and help you out. Key word: tries.

- He's very rough around the edges in his approach, but he essentially steps in like a kind of really done, grumpy uncle who's always fretting over your wellbeing.

- He hates that he actually gives a shit but he would be incredibly restless if he didn't try to help or make sure you're okay.

- Ironically, he'd be telling you not to drink your problems away. Would be awkwardly giving examples of other coping mechanisms he'd learnt from Charlie's speeches about addiction.

- He's a hypocrite, but he doesn't care. It makes his bitter heart heavy to think of you getting into the vices he uses to cope.

- Also another one who is incredibly protective. Treats you like you're made of glass honestly.

Pentious

- He finds you strange mostly and is probably the most obviously curious out of everyone here about you and how you came to be here.

- Is asking the most questions even if they are tone deaf as it gets. How did you end up here? How did you die? Why are you moderately normal as compared to the other residents? (A comment which gets him a giant 'fuck you' and 'have you looked at yourself?' From everyone else around)

- He prods you into divulging information and is immediately protective of you from the second he learns that not only are you not really a sinner at all, but you are also quite fragile mentally.

- Someone like you should not be allowed to be tainted by hell's climate. He hides it behind him 'looking out for princess Charlie's dream', but he is truly afraid for you, and it's embarrassing to him.

- Is constantly all up in your business and trying to make sure you are well and okay.

- He's so paranoid that you're not alright that checking in on you almost becomes a compulsion for him. You've gotta end up reassuring him that you're just fine and that he doesn't need to be so worried.

- Absolutely a practical caretaker but is also big on physical touch as comfort.

- If you're ever crying or not feeling good, he will get you stuff and then he just straight up wraps his tail around you and pats your hair while telling you it's going to be okay.

- If you're ever out and he's with you, his immediate instinct is to try throw hands with anyone who looks at you mildly wrong. Due to not having his weapons anymore, he gets his ass beat doing this.

- When he's unable to be around you, he's going to have his eggs with you to help you out if you need anything.

- Really does turn into a worried mother over being like a father more than anything.

Alastor

- Unlike the others, he would see you solely as an opportunity.

- There's no cute found-family part here. He will use you.

- It would be so easy to convince you to enter into a deal with him as someone vulnerable and inexperienced with hell. He can see how fragile you are under the surface the second you get to the hotel more then just about everyone there.

- Everyone else would be pulling you away from him because it's so obvious you are nothing but easy pickings for him that it's not even funny.

- Would be very genuinely interested in how someone like you ended up in hell though.

- He got here by murdering and exploiting people in every way possible for his own entertainment. How could someone so seemingly innocent get here?

- Openly laughs when he hears your story of sin. He truly pities you getting sent down into hell with people him.

- You avoid him because you can see his intentions on your own, just as much as the people around you are telling you to stay away.

- He, of course, doesn't let that happen. He just likes to show up and watch you fumble through hell like you're prime entertainment.

- He may sometimes help you, but it's only because he just thinks the sight of you struggling is that pathetic to him.

- It may slowly become more of a fondness for you and your company, but the underlying reason for his kind behaviours to you is nothing good.

- He just wants to own you like an item, see how long it takes for someone so pure as a demon to break, and become just as bad as the rest of them.

Lucifer

- Unlike everyone else who are concerned for you, he sees you and instantly slips into dadTM mode with you, and this only deepens the more he learns about you.

- You almost remind him of how he is with how different you are from all of the other demons, and he feels genuine guilt that someone like you has ended up here.

- If he had never done what he did, you would be up in heaven and not condemned to this hell-hole. He doesn't think you should be down here at all for such a tiny mistake you made in your life.

- When he realises you are also really unstable and vulnerable he's going to be terrified for you.

- Especially with someone like Alastor looming over you at all times.

- He was already getting his shit back together when he began to mend things with Charlie, but he straightens up even more when he meets you and starts growing attached quickly.

- He's initially a bit distant despite his want to try care for you because he's already mending things with Charlie, but Charlie actually encourages him to reach out to you.

- She's essentially your unofficial mum in the hotel, but she's far from perfect at that, so she would like it if he would help however he could.

- Very emotionally supportive with you after he gets to be openly caretaking to you.

- He's still a bit awkward as he's essentially there getting his shit together alongside trying to help you out, but he tries to help wherever he can.

- Will absolutely love it if Charlie, Vaggie, you and him could do activities together for fun.

- He's also scary dog privilege 100%. His worry for you would likely come off as him seeming like he's going to absolutely drop demons and scare the living shit out of them.

Masterlist

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r0ttenhearts · 7 months

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Hello I have a request: Scaramouche/Xiao angst that ends with a happy ending that reader ends up w another character (of your choice!)

cherry flavored kiss

scaramouche x reader x xiao

sypnosis: after scaramouches affair , you decide to part ways and find something new for yourself.

warnings: angst, arguments, insults, scara being a dick

“archons, (y/n). why can’t you just listen to me? when have i ever been wrong? whenever you use your own head you get yourself into trouble.”

he followed you around your shared dorm room as you paced around. your mind was a mess. you had caught scaramouche texting another girl things that should have been kept between lovers. photos he sent to you, also being sent to her.

holding his phone in that moment you could have sworn it would have burned you, or you would have broken it. you had a suspicion that he was hiding something. the way he was glued to his phone, the way he wasn’t around as much in your shared space. it all made sense now.

you felt utterly worthless. you had to find out on your third anniversary. your makeup was now smeared, and you felt stupid in your getup. all this before the anniversary dinner. had it ever meant to last if it came out this way?

the worst part was he didn’t seem to care about how you felt about it. not a single apology leaving his lips. only insult after insult about going through his phone.

“you wouldn’t have gotten yourself hurt if you weren’t so damn nosy, (y/n). but now look at you! snotting on yourself.. you look a damn mess.” he grabbed your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.

his hair was damp and clung to his forehead as he had been showering while you discovered his secret. his eyes hid no anger as he grit his teeth. “this is your fucking fault. if you hadn’t been so.. you! i would’ve been satisfied. i would have been here. seeing you cry like this makes me feel sick, and not because i love you. but because it’s so pitiful.”

your tearful eyes spilled more tears as you attempted to shake free from his grasp. “you wonder why you have the issues you do scara, when you’re like this! when you treat someone who has loved and devoted themselves to you for years! you’re fucking sick.. you’re a mon-“

before you could finish your sentence a loud slap echoed across the room. the searing hot pain on your cheek was quickly replaced with the sensation of his nails digging into your cheek, grip on your face. “don’t you fucking call me that.”

no words were exchanged as he let go of your sobbing form. with a slam of the front door, it would be the last time you’d see scaramouche for another half year. hastily stuffing your belongings into bags and disappearing that same august night. and just like that, three years of memories were spent wasted.

while scaramouche spent his time in and out of girls dorm rooms, he never found the feeling he was searching for. he had it with you for a brief moment, before another girl caught his eye. but he knew he didn’t want you. he didn’t want the life he had promised you one hot summer day.

with scaramouche becoming known for his scandals around campus, you had devoted yourself to finishing your degree. you managed to pull through your heartbreak and graduate top of your class. you were all smiles that day, surrounded by your friends. the same friends you shared with scaramouche, but he never showed his face around you since that day.

with your college life coming to a close, you had been presented with an opportunity to work at a nearby aquarium, as your degree was based on marine science. you happily accepted as you held many fond memories at the aquarium. but there were some sour ones in the mix, like your first kiss, being with scaramouche, in front of the turtle and fish tank.

you shook your head at the memory, fingers clutching onto the strap of your bag on your shoulder. it was a new start to your life, a life where you were only surrounded by the things you loved.

you didn’t expect to find xiao in the breakroom as you set your bag down in a locker. his eyes seemed to light up the same way yours did as you recognized each other. “xiao? you work here? you didn’t tell us on graduation night.”

xiao softly hummed as he nodded. “i guess it never came up. i work with the penguins, you?” of course it was penguins. no other aquatic animal seemed to suit him more. you bit on your lip to fight a smile at the thought. “i’m with the otters actually.” xiao gave you a small smile, “it’s in the same area. i guess we’ll be seeing each other often, (y/n.)”

you couldn’t hold back your smile at those words. so then began your work relationship. it started with always taking the same breaks, having lunch together, and buying each other snacks from the vending machine. it gradually grew into hand holding before departing to different doors, waiting on each other to enter the aquarium in the parking lot, and late night dinners when you’d have to stay later than usual.

it was a hot day in may when you finally asked him the question that would make or break your current relationship with him. you both sat outside after a long shift, popsicles in hand as you both enjoyed the break. “hey, xiao?” he hummed in response as his popsicle was still in his mouth. “what are we? i mean.. i like you. like, really like you.” you could see his ears redden at your words as he slowly took the popsicle out of his mouth. his teeth marks on the blue ice.

“i.. i really like you too, (y/n).” you smiled gently before leaning in for a kiss hesitantly. you knew xiao was shy, never one for relationships or even being intimate with hugs. but you knew it felt right when his soft lips pressed against yours. you could taste the blueberry from his popsicle, and he could taste the cherry from yours.

you both came out to your friend group about your newly established relationship that same weekend. everyone but scaramouche was there, but they all knew he wouldn’t show. scaramouche would nerve show up if he knew you’d be there.

but word travels fast in teyvat and he saw the post venti had made to celebrate the new relationship. scaramouche scoffed, gritting his teeth as he blew out smoke from his cigarette. you? with xiao? it was unbelievable. it had only been seven months since he.. ended it with you.

that sinking feeling scara always tried to escape from only felt worse as he kept tapping through venti’s story. the video venti had posted of you shyly covering the camera as xiao kissed your cheek, hands around your waist made scara’s blood boil. xiao was scara’s friend! how could he betray him like this? getting with his lover, no— ex lover.

he had to do something. this wasn’t right. you with someone else wasn’t right. scaramouche dropped his cigarette to the ground, smushing it under his foot. the sparks of red dying out as he hastily called kazuha.

the video had been posted three hours ago so it must have been over by now. “hello? scara?” kazuha’s soft voice spoke through his speaker. “yeah. hi kazu, i have a favor to ask you.”

“what is it old friend?”

“could you give me (y/n)’s address?”

kazuha gave scaramouche your address, already knowing he had seen venti’s and posts. kazuha silently hoped this would help bring closure to you both, knowing the way you’d both go quiet at the mention of one another.

it turned out you didn’t live too far from him, only a 10 minute walk. he wondered how he never bumped into you thus far but chalked it up to him being too busy with his girls for the month to have probably even noticed.

he nervously stood in front of your door after ringing the doorbell. he hadn’t faced you since that day and it was untangling feelings he had repressed and pushed down since that day.

“oh.” your voice broke him from his nervous trance as you were swinging the door closed before he reached out. “wait, (y/n). i just want to talk. just give me five minutes and i’ll leave you alone.” you slowly nodded, opening your door so he could slip inside and close it behind him.

he noticed how much more decorated your apartment was compared to your shared dorm room you once had with him. he internally grimaced as he remembered how your face fell when you both went out shopping for furniture for your dorm room, telling you not to clutter the space with junk. the dejected look on your face was still clearly etched into his memory.

as you sat across from him he remembered why he came. it wasn’t to dwell on old memories, but to demand answers. he deserved that at the very least, didn’t he?

“i heard you’re with xiao now.” scaramouche spoke coldly as you nodded. “what of it, scara?”

he huffed as he shifted on your couch, his shoulders tensing. “why? how could you move on so fast? did we mean that little to you?”

you scoffed at his words. so this is what it was about. “seriously scara? how could i? how could YOU? YOU threw us away. YOU cheated on me. YOU ended our relationship.”

you couldn’t hide the anger that was boiling inside of you as you looked at the dark haired boy seated on your couch. you couldn’t believe you had once planned a future with him.

“you know you’re special to me, (y/n). all you had to do was come back, and we would’ve been happy together.”

“oh i was really special to you wasn’t i? special enough for you to cheat on me.” you spat.

“it wasn’t like that, and you know it. we could’ve been happy together right now. this could’ve been our apartment. we.. we could’ve lived out our promise.”

you laughed loudly at his words. the last thing you wanted to be reminded of was the promises you made. the promises you held near and dear to your heart so long ago. the only reason why you held onto him for as long as you did.

“that’s not true scara, and you know it. we wouldn’t have lasted, you weren’t satisfied. and you hated what we had. i have everything and more than i dreamed of when i was with you, now i have that with xiao. i’ve had enough of you and your lies. get the fuck out.” you spoke angrily as he silently walked to your door. you didn’t look at him but felt his eyes on you as he gave you one last glance. another door closed by him, for good.

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cuubism · 1 year

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unhinged dreamling modern au #409430950

the bachelor

dream is bribed, threatened, and/or physically dragged by his ankle into being on a dating show by death and desire (for very different reasons, death just wants him to be happy and is very very desperate at this point, desire's just fucking with him again), and needless to say dream is not the target candidate for this. at all. sure he's pretty and rich but he's also a complete asshole. this is destined to go poorly.

(unless you're the show's producers who just want an unhinged television trainwreck that keeps people in their seats, in which case it's fucking fantastic)

hob is also there as a contestant because he's bored, single, and always willing to do something stupid. everybody on the show is taking it seriously except for dream, who'd rather jump off a cliff than be here right now, and hob, who's just entertaining himself.

dream: this is stupid (hateful) hob: this is stupid (having the time of his life)

needless to say this whole thing is a disaster. normally contestants are clamoring for the 'bachelor's' attention but dream just keeps being an utter jerk to everyone, making them cry, and causing them to actually drop out of the show. contestants: "i'd rather die than be with you." dream: "glad we're finally on the same page." like. dream doesn't even have to actively eliminate people. they just eliminate themselves because he's so insufferable.

hob isn't put off, though, this whole thing is hilarious to him. dream tries scaring him off and hob just laughs like "oh you're so cute, this is great"

dream: i hope you die hob: you want me so bad it makes you look stupid

the more people drop out of the show the more time dream and hob end up spending together, by necessity. unfortunately for dream's sanity hob is actually very charming and fun and inexplicably good at getting dream to smile. they have at least one proper heart-to-heart and hob is so kind to him, and dream hates him soooo much for it.

(of course he actually likes him, and it's the worst thing that's happened to him, maybe ever. he's in agony. he wants off this ride, please. maybe he wants on a different ride ahem.)

so now hob's properly invested in this stupid game, he's like oh that wretched stick of a man is mine (literally nobody is challenging him but he's being super competitive about it anyway). all it really results in is dream being MORE of an asshole both to hob and to everybody else. (dream: one time i had a crush on this guy and i didn't know how to handle it so i just wrote him a letter saying get out of my tv show). and yet every week dream could eliminate hob from the show but he never does...

anyway soon enough literally every other contestant has dropped out of the show and it's JUST hob remaining and he basically wins by default. dream absolutely will not be beaten or outdone and is like fine hob i'll call your bluff. marry me if you're so committed to winning. hob's like, bet :) (see: always willing to do something stupid).

they do in fact get married because they're both incapable of conceding defeat. then they're like well. what do we do now...

dream: going to divorce me now and take half of my money? run with your spoils? hob: idk, are you going to divorce me and finally 'free yourself from the torment of my presence'? dream: *sniff* then you would win hob: then i bet i can stay in this relationship longer than you :) dream, gritting his teeth: bet

anyway they manage about two months before dream, perpetually in agony over how aggressively he's into hob, is like fine, i concede, i can't take it anymore. leave me if you want, take my money, i do not care, only free me from this pain. hob: so... i win? i get to choose the prize? dream, utterly defeated: whatever you want hob: okay! and he kisses him

#today i bring more nonsense #tomorrow the same #dreamling #also i've never watched the bachelor in my life

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mellowsadistic · 2 months

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The Magician's Game - Chapter 2

There was a horrible silence following the Magician’s words. Even though it had barely been ten minutes since they’d finished their lunch, all five ladies were beginning to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their bladder and bowels.

Abby was terrified. If she lost, she’d be made incontinent?! After what she’d seen, she had no doubt the Magician was capable of doing that. She glanced at the other girls. They looked utterly absurd with their bulky adult nappies pushing their thighs apart. She looked down at the bulging disposable diaper between her own legs, imagining what it would be like having to wear one all the time, to be so helpless that she couldn’t even control her most basic bodily functions, forced to pee and poop in her pants like some oversized infant! She felt sick. She couldn’t let that happen to her. She just couldn’t! Her life would be ruined! How would anyone find her attractive if she had to waddle around in stinky nappies wherever she went?! She’d just eaten a big lunch, and now, according to the Magician, her bladder and bowel control was the same as it had been when she was three years old. Had she been potty-trained at three? She must have been. Surely!

Becky was panicking. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t been fully trained until she was four years old. She thought about the disgusting little brats at her daycare, stopping in the middle of their play to squat down and poop their pants without any control at all. If she lost, she’d be just like them. No! That wouldn’t happen to her. It couldn’t! She hated changing messy nappies more than anything in the world. The idea that she might have her own dirty diapers to deal with was just too horrible to contemplate! She clenched her bum cheeks as hard as she could and focused on staying clean.

Madelyn knew she couldn’t let herself lose. There was no way she could show up at any of her women’s rights groups as a diaper-dependent thumbsucker. She’d be a joke! A cause of second-hand embarrassment for women everywhere! What kind of message would it be sending if an icon of the feminist movement was some kind of big baby? She sucked her thumb and concentrated as hard as she could on not pooping herself.

Katherine was trembling in fear. She couldn’t keep her job as a model if she had to wear stupid diapers under her clothes all the time! She imagined trying to walk down the catwalk, waddling awkwardly, maybe even pausing halfway down to bend her knees, scrunch up her face, and fill her pants with a yucky mess. She’d probably be stuck doing diaper commercials for the rest of her career! Her outfits were so important to her – how she dressed was an expression of her identity, of her beauty and elegance. All diapers would do would show off how immature and helpless she was. If she ended up incontinent she might as well start wearing bonnets and baby dresses too!

Susie still had horrible memories from when she’d been potty trained. Her mother managed to combine a ruthless severity with a nauseatingly patronising tone. Whoopsie-daisy! Susie did a wee-wee in her pants instead of using the potty like a big girl! I think someone just earned herself some smacky bum-bum time and a week with nothing to cover her nappy when her friends come over! Yes she did! The idea of ending up back in nappies forever was unthinkable. Even now the prospect of wetting her nappy, let alone messing it, sent a terrible shiver down her spine. She couldn’t let this happen to her!

Becky was beginning to struggle. She knew she’d only lose if she messed herself, but she didn’t want to be the first to pee her diaper either. Her fidgeting became squirming, and her squirming became a full-on potty dance. She wasn’t the only one; pretty soon all five women were wiggling ludicrously on the spot, hands clutching between their legs. With a sudden, uncontrollable rush, Becky started pissing herself. She squealed in dismay, regretting it a moment later when she realised she might as well have just announced to everyone that she’d wet her nappy.

The Magician walked forwards with a knowing smile. “Has Becky had a little accident?” he asked. Ignoring her whines of displeasure, he brushed her hands aside and cupped the front of her diaper. “Oh yes,” he said happily. “I think I know a certain little girl who’s done lots of wee-wees in her pants.” He spun her around suddenly and pulled out the waistband of her nappy to peek inside. “But no poo-poos yet. What a big girl!”

Abby felt her own bladder give way shortly afterwards. It was disgusting! She hadn’t wet her pants since she’d been a very little girl, and it made her feel so small and pathetic, her nappy flooding with pee, the soggy padding pressed up against her nether regions. And she couldn’t even relax her stupid potty dance, because even though the pressure in her bladder had been relieved, there was a new pressure growing in her bottom, becoming stronger and stronger by the second. She pressed her hands to the back of her diaper, her brow furrowed in concentration.

The Magician looked on gleefully at the five grown women he’d reduced to potty-dancing toddlers. Madelyn whined around her thumb, wiggling in place and making her nappy crinkle noisily. Katherine whimpered, all her dignity and poise forgotten as she hopped from foot to foot in a ridiculous potty dance, both hands pressed against the seat of her Pampers, her breasts bouncing around on her chest, barely contained by her bra. Susie squirmed in place, her face set, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she concentrated with all her might on not messing her pants. Abby and Becky were looking the most desperate. There was real panic on their faces as they felt themselves on the edge of losing control, facing a future where stinky diapers would be their regular underwear.

Then, with a sudden loud fart, Becky helplessly bent her knees and stuck out her padded bottom. “Nooooo….” she whimpered, but it was too late. The beautiful, eighteen-year-old woman screwed up her face and started going to the potty in her own pants, just like those disgusting brats she had to change every day at work. She burst into tears as she pushed out a yucky mess uncontrollably into her nappy, too repulsed by what was happening in that moment to think about anything else.

Abby started crying too as, only a moment or two later, she also started messing her nappy like a giant baby. But when she looked up through her blurry eyes, she saw that Becky had pooped her pants first. Despite how disgusting she felt, how thoroughly she’d degraded herself in front of an audience, one of them a very attractive man, a faint smile of relief appeared on her face. She hadn’t lost.

The moment they saw Becky fill her pants, and Abby a few seconds later, Madelyn, Katherine, and Susie hurriedly toddled over to the plastic potties, tugged their sopping wet nappies off urgently, and planted their bare bottoms down on the tiny little things. They knew they must look totally ridiculous, three adult women perched on training potties sized for toddlers, but at least they didn’t look as absurd as Abby and Becky, standing bow-legged in their dirty diapers. They let go with immense relief, not even caring that they were doing number two in full view of everyone else in the room.

As Becky finished loading her nappy, she looked up to see the Magician smiling down at her sinisterly. “Well, it looks like we have our loser,” he said. “Although you probably won’t be able to tell just at the moment, sweetheart, you should know that you are now totally incontinent.”

“No!” Becky shrieked, her eyes wide and terrified. “I can’t! I can’t be incontinent! Please give me another chance!”

“Awww, sorry stinky-pants,” the Magician said in mock-pity, “but it’s back to nappies full-time for baby Becky.”

“Oh God no!” Becky wailed piteously, staggering backwards and staring down at the stinky diaper drooping heavily between her legs. She started breathing very fast. “This isn’t happening… This isn’t happening…”

Abby felt a little bit sorry for her, but she was glad it was Becky, and not her, who would be making big smelly messes in her pants for the rest of her life. Her own nappy felt disgusting, and although she was relieved she hadn’t lost, she still felt a shiver of fear at how close she’d come to being turned into some gross, pants-pooping baby-woman forever.

The Magician turned to the three women who’d made it to the potty. A pack of baby wipes materialised in his hand, and Madelyn, Katherine, and Susie suddenly realised they’d been provided with nothing to wipe their own bottoms with.

“No, wait!” Susie said desperately as the Magician approached her first. “Can’t we just do it ourselves? We didn’t even lose the challenge!”

“Come on now, sweetie. Get up and turn around. Daddy needs to wipe your bottom.”

Cringing in shame, but too scared of further punishment to resist, Susie got up, turned around, and presented her bottom to the Magician to clean. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that none of the other girls were watching while the Magician worked at her messy bum with one cool wet wipe after the other. It reminded her once again of the days when she’d still been under her mother’s control. She’d made the mistake of smoking a cigarette in the bathroom once during her teens, and from that moment on she’d never been allowed privacy in the toilet – the bathroom door had to stay open at all times, and her mother would make sure to check on her regularly. But even worse had been when her mother had found a pair of her stained underwear in the clothes hamper. It had been hardly anything, but from then on, even though she’d been eighteen years old, her mother had insisted on wiping Susie’s bottom for her. With the threat of spankings, and many other punishments to keep her in line, Susie had had no choice but to give in. She blushed furiously as the Magician wiped her clean, feeling like the last three years of independence she’d experienced had suddenly been undone, and she was back in her mother’s house as nothing but an overgrown child.

“There we go!” the Magician announced when he was done. “All clean! Now onto the next little lady.” He moved on to repeat the process with Katherine and Madelyn. Like Susie, the two of them wanted to fight and argue, but they were too humiliated and broken down by what had just happened. They just wanted to get clean again, so they submitted meekly to getting their bottoms wiped like little girls who were still being potty trained.

Smiling in satisfaction, the Magician turned back to Becky, who was now looking dazed and confused.

“I had to go potty…” she whispered, as if she didn’t really believe what had just happened.

“You certainly did!” the Magician laughed delightedly. “But I’m afraid there won’t be any potties in your future from now on, sweetie. Just thick, crinkly diapers.”

Becky broke down into hysterical sobs, the full weight of what had been done to her finally hitting.

“Unless you win the competition, of course,” the Magician added, “in which case you can use one of your wishes to get back to normal.”

He turned to the other girls. “Your rooms are down the corridor on the left. You’ll see your names on the doors. But I expect you back in the dining room in half an hour or so, understand? You’ll be voting on which of you gets removed from the game this evening, so you’ll need some time to talk to each other. You can all go and change first. Except for Becky here.” He turned back to her, smiling maliciously. “Having a messy bottom is going to be an everyday part of your life from now on, sweetie, so you need to get used to toddling around in poopy pants.”

Becky started crying even more forcefully while the other girls hurried off to their rooms, their bare bottoms jiggling, and Abby waddled after them as quickly as she could in her messy nappy, desperate to get changed.

#mellowsadistic

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b1rds3ye · 8 months

Text

Task Force 141 but it's Battlefield's Bad Company - a unit of disgraced soldiers who are valued no higher than cannon fodder but who are also too skilled to simply get the boot. Despite being thrown at the most devastating threats, they are low on resources and lack respect from the rest of the military. No one bothers learning their names, they're not expected to last more than a week. But a small unit of them always manage to pull through.

Captain John Price says he only took up Bad Company because he was given an offer of early retirement if he survived leading the dredges of the military. In truth, he's gone off the books one too many times, his last mission had him temporarily A.W.O.L. as he pursued what he believed was right. If the military can't silence him with retirement, they'll silence him with Bad Company where they'll throw every mission under the sun at him until he inevitably falls. He doesn't comment on how his last official mission went, but if you ever bring up General Shepherd he says he has a special bullet reserved for that bastard.

No one knows exactly why Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley got into Bad Company, he doesn't say. In fact, no one knows shit about him. All anyone knows is that he's a damn good soldier, the longest lasting in Bad Company - he transferred even earlier than Price. Simon says he willingly transferred here because he thrives with the freedom and informality compared to the standard military and no one dares comment on how utterly unhinged that sounds. Still, his personality seems to fit the story; he's not afraid to go off the beaten path to reach the mission objective which seems to have taken out everyone but him.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish is just a menace, but a crafty one which is a problem for the military. He enjoys being demolitions expert and one day got too bored and a little too curious. Destroying physical objects would be too obvious but he may or may not have infected the military system with a virus to see what sort of information he could extract. He learnt the hard and very expensive way that he has a knack for hacking. Perhaps that's why they transferred him to Bad Company, with trash-quality guns, outdated tech and precisely negative ammo, there's not much destruction he can wreak. Well, that was likely the thought process but Johnny's always loved a challenge.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was framed - he presumes. He excels in all the drills, his performance is promising, he follows all the orders, and yet he's here. What he doesn't know is that he doesn't have the personality superiors desire. He questions too much, he's far too open minded, he can't be molded like other soldiers. He's stubborn - they transferred him because he filed one too many complaints of inefficient directives that could be boiled down into polite military speak of "screw you and your orders, I have a better way (P.S. may your tea always be lukewarm)". He's annoyed the big bad men at the round-table and now he's paying the price. Fortunately, those are the traits that thrive in Bad Company and the exact traits that prompted Price to take him under his wing.

And that just leaves you, the newest member on the brink of promotion to sergeant until you were transferred into Bad Company. You're jittery, you've heard of the nightmare that is Bad Company, how it contains the worst of the worst (and yes you are aware that it apparently includes you now). When you step off the helicopter, you repeat your simple goal - to survive this one mission with Bad Company so that you can go back to your squadron and get your damn promotion.

But as the mission progresses you find yourself getting closer to all the members of Bad Company. You look back fondly at the memory of Price forcing the rest of you to run back into gunfire to retrieve his stupid bucket hat, the same hat he plops on your head if you're ever too on edge. You can only feel thankful for Ghost's unconventional medical advice - you have to give it to him, this discount Bear Grylls has saved your life more times than you can count. You look forward to the new creative ways Soap will blow up an enemy cache, or watch as Gaz hilariously tries to mimic your direct superiors with an overly high-pitched voice as Price begrudgingly talks to them over comms.

And that's when you realise that there will be a day where the mission is inevitably over. And instead of looking forward to your transfer back, you find yourself wanting to risk your life every day with your beloved bunch of military misfits, the group of you against the rest of the world, than whatever stuffy perks come with being sergeant.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#battlefield bad company 3 WHEN???#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #call of duty #john price x reader #captain price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #/*avery actually writes*/

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hanyjar · 5 months

Text

rain sucks. (i'll make you love it.)

isagi yoichi x reader

summary: your story with isagi yoichi, told through five moments, a bus stop, and rain.

notes: [6.25k words.] idk if isagi lovers still exist, but in the wise words of taylor swift: this is me trying ;)

disclaimers: cursing, reader hates the rain and likes to talk, break up with an ex (not isagi) in part one, loneliness in 'one' and four', self doubt in 'five' but isagi is quick to comfort, fluff -> angst -> fluff, rain kisses, romantic gestures, strangers -> friends -> lovers.

edit: isagi likes rain here (as opposed to the info given in the light novel T_T so very sorry ahh)

masterlist.

ONE.

It has been a bad day.

No. That’s putting it too lightly. Today, June 20th, is the very epitome of shit.

The heated argument you had with your now ex-partner continues to linger in your mind. “I think we’ve been wasting our time” plays on loop like a broken record, and you wonder if you look as lifeless as you feel.

It’s quite a silly thing: how a single person can make you feel as if the whole world is ending. It’s even sillier how you devoted all this effort into a relationship that is nothing but a waste of time to them.

Waste of time.

Even after they crushed your already tattered heart and left it for dead, you can’t help but think how much easier it would be if you feel that way about them too.

Love is a stupid, stupid thing.

You appreciate mother nature for taking pity on you, at least. Rain in the midst of summer has never been your favourite thing - the air always being a little too hard to breathe and the dreary sky a tell-tale sign that the bus is going to be late that day. But today, you feel okay towards rain. The tears from the heavens above do well to cover up your own; the droplets become friends, accompanying you in your forlorn state. For once, you don’t complain about the broken roof at the bus stop letting rain in. For once, you find comfort in the very thing you hate.

And you cry a little bit inside, knowing that your ex has managed to break that part of you as well.

“...Bad day?” A voice breaks you free from your stupor.

You turn to your left, and you feel your breath being taken away.

There, a stranger stands. From first glance, the boy is nothing but ordinary. His navy - almost black - hair did little to set him apart from the rest of the crowd, and he dons the same Ichinan uniform that you (and the multitude of students in the area) wear. But there is something within his cerulean eyes. A fervour of sorts, one that is begging to be unleashed for the whole world to see. To the untrained eye, he is the very essence of average; to a trained eye, the stranger is utterly beautiful.

…Or, that’s what you would say, if he didn’t look like a wet cat. Not the ones featured in those animal shampoo commercials, but one of the sad, pathetically cute, on the verge of tears, literally sopping wet ones. Your breath is taken away, simply because the boy is a mess.

You can’t help but think that this stranger has had a shit day, too.

“Like you have no idea.” You say, voice drenched in exasperation. “Though… You look like you’ve been through a nightmare yourself.”

“A nightmare is an understatement,” he cradles his left temple with his palm. You laugh at his antics.

“Try me, then. Nothing can be worse than getting dumped, right?”

The smile on his face immediately falls, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for dropping a bomb like that to a stranger. “My god.” He exhales, “I am so sorry.” His crestfallen expression makes you feel as if he truly means those words.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know.” Your eyes look down to the soiled concrete. “I’ll be fine, time will pass, after all.” (You say that more to yourself than him, if anything.)

The bus stop is silent for a while, and you feel as if you’ve ruined everything - for the second time today. It’s almost as if the bus stop boy knows, and is eager to change that.

“Well. My name is Isagi Yoichi,” he begins. “And my soccer coach told me that I am mediocre at best; that I don’t have what it takes to do what I love professionally.”

You look into his eyes once more, and the fervour that was once there is now shrouded in a sense of agony you know all too well. The same agony that is, without a doubt, present in your eyes too. Words fail you. And for the years you have shrugged as the therapist friend, you find yourself at a genuine loss.

“...I guess we’re in the same boat then.” You muster out, lamely. “But are you seriously going to let some old geezer tell you what to do with your life? I mean, he’s literally the coach of a no-name highschool team.” Your hands make their way onto Isagi’s, clasping his in-between yours. “Your coach has no right to tell you that when he’s failed at that dream already. Don’t let your coach dictate your worth; don’t let him stop you from shining. Ever.”

He stares at your hands for a second, eyes widened and mouth agape. You are quick to detach yourself from him. “Forgive me,” a sheepish smile grows on your face.” “I speak too much sometimes.”

“No need,” Isagi’s hand moves to rest on the nape of his neck. “Thank you. I needed to hear that today, I think.”

Isagi smiles boyishly. It suits him.

“It’s no problem.” You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, suddenly feeling bashful at his gratitude. “Adults like that? They think they rule the world, but in reality—”

The squeaking of tires interrupts you, and the bus arrives exactly eleven minutes late.

“That’s my cue,” you say, and for a second, you could swear that Isagi seems disappointed. You make your way towards the bus, head turning towards his way before you get on board. “Thanks for the chat, stranger. I’ll see you around.”

You make your way through the barren bus, the driver eyeing you up-and-down for your soaked figure. And just like that, uncertainty and dejection return in waves. Talking to Isagi was a good distraction and all, but you can’t forget that your partner of two years just fucking broke up with you. You are alone now.

You want nothing more than to sleep it all off. This feeling of loneliness is a type that you would not wish on anyone - even your worst enemy. (Well, maybe someone. Your ex, being the said someone. But you like to think that is just the anger talking.)

“Hey!” Isagi’s voice echoes out. Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the grey skies of your mind, it is his turn to make your eyes widen; his voice bypassing the sheet of glass separating you two and reaching the storm that surrounds your heart. “Don’t let that past relationship stop you from shining too, okay?”

…Perhaps, you aren’t so alone after all.

The bus sets off, and Isagi sees you smile at him through the rain-stricken window. The boy hopes that his sentiments have reached you; he hopes that you’ll follow the same advice that you’ve given him.

But above all else, he hopes that he will see you again.

TWO.

“I hate this bus stop and its stupid roof.”

Isagi stops typing away on his phone. “You say that like, all the time nowadays.”

You’ve definitely sucked the life out of that phrase recently, but you take it as a good sign. An indication that you’ve healed.

The relationship that you once held dear is nothing but a mere memory of the past. The countless sleepless nights and time spent wallowing in your own self-doubt have all but ceased to exist. You realised that it simply was not worth your while to cry about a lost love, and to instead surround yourself with the love that remains from those around you. If anything, you are grateful for it: you have grown from that experience tremendously. By no means would you ever consider it to be a waste of time. And in the process?

You garnered a friend. A confidant. That break up led to the beginning of something magical. It led to a friendship with Isagi Yoichi, or, who you like to call, your bus-stop boy.

After the fateful day, you started to notice his presence around more. At first it was in the halls of Ichinan, a mere wave shared between you two here and there. Then the new school year began, and Isagi was shuffled into your homeroom. You began seeing him from once in a while, to literally everyday.

His presence began to bleed more and more into yours, and your lives ended up intertwining together until there was nothing you could do to untangle them. Eventually? Isagi was your deskmate. He was cooking lunch for you, you two eating his homemade lunches together in comfortable silence. You began waiting for his soccer practice to finish, and Isagi would wait by your side at the station until the bus came. A rhythm that you two fell into, almost as easy as breathing.

In your chapter of new beginnings, there is no Isagi Yoichi without you, and there is no you without Isagi Yoichi. An inseparable duo, you two are dubbed as.

You like to think you know a lot about him now. Maybe even go as far as to say you know everything about him, as he knows everything about you.

“It lets the rain in, Isagi.” You whine. “And besides, why is it even raining in Spring? Tsuyu* season isn’t for like, another month or two. There’s no way anyone could like this weather. No way.”

“I don’t know… I don’t mind it every now and then,” he says. “I like rain. I think it’s nice.”

Pause.

Well, maybe you don’t know everything about him.

“What? Since when?” You put your hand on your heart, gasping in mock-offence. “I didn’t know that I’m friends with a traitor.”

He rolls his eyes at you. The audacity. “A traitor, really? Just because I like a bit of rain here and there?”

“It goes deeper than that, Isagi!” You say. (It really doesn’t. You just want an excuse to complain a little, and a sassy Isagi Yoichi is always a fun sight.) “What’s there to like anyways? I don’t get it.”

“I can try to explain it for you, if you’d like.”

“Please do.”

“Have you ever seen what it looks like after it has rained?” He asks. You shake your head in response. You’ve never been the type to stick around long enough to see the sky stop crying. “You should. It’s wonderful, y’know: the glow it leaves afterwards. The streets look like they’ve been reborn - you can literally see the dirt on the concrete being washed away and given another life. If you’re lucky? A rainbow might come and say hi.” Isagi smiles at the little comment he makes.” That sight alone is worth getting your books wet and missing the bus every now and then. And it is just one of many reasons I have, honestly.”

You find yourself smiling at his enthusiasm. It’s cute, when he’s like this. You’re glad that he’s comfortable enough around you to show this side of himself. “I like it when you infodump, Isagi.”

“Did my infodump manage to change your mind?” A tinge of hope emerges in his voice and eyes. You shake your head. The hope is gone just as fast as it came. “Well, maybe the main reason will.”

He gives you a mysterious smile, and proceeds to say nothing.

“Aren’t you going to finish that sentence?”

“Nope, I don’t think I will.” Isagi says. You shoot him an incredulous look. “I’ll tell you… If you don’t fail your social studies paper.”

“Wha— Hey! Now that’s just being mean!”

He laughs. “So then… Why do you hate rain so much, anyways?”

“Changing the subject, really?” You say.

He merely shrugs in response, giving you a teasing grin. “Just roll with it. I promise I’ll tell you,” he pauses. “One day.”

You kick his foot in response, making an impromptu game of footsies ensue.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Isagi lifts his hands up to the side of his head, surrendering in a fit of boyish laughter. “No but really, I’m curious. Why do you hate it so much?”

“I don’t really know. It’s just—“ You stick your leg out precariously, as if the rain is going to melt your foot. “I hate the rain. I always have, and probably always will.”

A lull of silence passes by - not dissimilar to the one that happened on your first meeting with him. It’s different this time, though, as it is not a silence that is born out of two strangers not quite knowing what to say. It went deeper than that, more intimate, more comforting. Isagi puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “Well,” he begins. “One day, I hope I can show you how beautiful rain can be.”

Isagi smiles - a pretty, pretty thing.

There, amongst the dreary skies and wet cherry blossom leaves, is sunlight. Sunlight, in the form of him. Him, the Ichinan forward. Isagi, a boy who has nestled his way into your life almost too easily.

Yoichi, who leaves your heart hammering a bit too fast for comfort.

“Come on, you’re going to miss your bus.” Isagi’s hand finds its way to yours, locking into place like they were made for eachother. “It’s darker than usual. I’ll walk you home today, okay?”

He drags you towards your usual window seat, tapping the two matching keycards you share while entering. Isagi whispers a quick goodnight as he sits on the seat next to yours.

A smile makes its way towards your lips. Warmth filling up your entire body, entire soul.

You adore his sleeping face; you adore him.

Wait. Adore? Uh oh, you think. I might be falling in love.

*Tsuyu: The rainy period in Japan, generally spanning from May to July. The direct translation is ‘plum rain’, because it coincides with the season that plums ripen in Japan.

THREE.

Isagi is the first one to break the silence.

It’s weird, how he called you out to the bus stop out of the blue. Meeting together here in the past was always out of necessity: one born from a desire to go home and to have a chat with your best friend to end the day on a high note. Never, is the meeting at your sanctuary intentional, like it is now.

You couldn’t help but rush to get here. Not when he texted you like that: frantic and brimming with urgency.

“Sorry for making you come all this way, especially at this time of the night.” He says, carefully. As if he is tiptoeing around eggshells. Like you are strangers again. Isagi is never this careful around you, and hasn’t been for a while now. The change of pace perpetuates fear into the depths of your soul like no other.

“It’s fine.” You tentatively look up from your lap, preferring to look at the night sky instead of his face. I’d do anything for you, when you text me like that. “It’s just… Your message; the tone you’re speaking to me in right now. You’re seriously worrying me, Isagi.”

Isagi lets out a sigh, one quivering with nerves and worry. He places a hand onto your clenched ones, rubbing comforting circles onto the dorsal side. That’s weird. You didn’t even realise you were shaking. “You know that letter from the Japan Football Association I got a few days ago? The one we were so excited about?”

“The one I forced you to accept, right?”

“That’s the one.” He smiles fondly at the memory. The one of the two of you in his room, him being at an absolute mental blank, while you - the ever-so lovely you - was crying tears of joy - a stark contrast to the tears you shed earlier that day, watching him lose the qualifiers. You egged him to accept it, because ‘nothing would make you happier than to see him pursue his dreams’, you said. Words that sent an elation of joy to flood across his body, for he didn’t think that he could love you more. “…Well, I went to that address they gave us today. And that letter didn’t exactly tell the whole story. Of what it is, what their goal is.” Isagi continues; you feel a lump beginning to form at the back of your throat. “Yes, it’s a player improvement project. But I have to stay at this camp, I think. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying there, and I can’t contact anyone that’s not a part of it either. All I know is that it starts tomorrow. Officially.”

“What…” You muster out, at a complete loss for words.

“It’s called Blue Lock, and I’m going for it.” He places his unoccupied hand onto his chest, eyes igniting with a kindred spirit like no other. “I think this is my best shot at becoming the best. To play beyond a national level, and make you proud. But…” He pauses, pinching your chin with his index finger and thumb, forcing you to look him in the eyes for the first time in this conversation. “I won't go if you don’t want me to. I won’t, and will never do anything that you don’t like. So just say the word, and I’ll stay. Right here, right by your side.”

It hurts so damn bad. All of this, how it is so out of the blue, how there’s a possibility you may never see the boy, who has been such a pivotal aspect of your life for the last year or so, ever again. You want to be supportive - heck, you’d go to war just to see Isagi shine. But it hurts. You love him, for goodness sake. Every bone in your body wants him to stay, to not break the sacred normalcy that you have shared with the man that makes you smile brighter than anyone else can.

But the skies are clear. And the right answer, the solution to all of this, is even clearer.

“You’d have to be stupid to not go.” You say, voice unwavering with confidence. However, your eyes are anything but. “You have to go, Isagi. I don’t want to destroy your dreams like that and ruin the potential you have. I could never live with myself if I made you stay.”

Isagi kisses you on the forehead, once. “Thank you,” Twice. “Thank you, so much.” He leans his forehead against yours, and his teary ones meet your equally watery ones. “I’m going to miss you more than anything. I promise, I’m going to become number one. Just for you.”

“You better.” You chuckle, choking on a sob. “Shine brighter than anyone else, Isagi. I’ll be watching you every step of the way.”

He nods in response, and you stay like that for a while. For minutes, hours, even. Foreheads kissing each other, and staring into his cerulean eyes like it’s the last time you’ll ever see them.

“I never told you the reason, didn’t I?” Isagi breathes out.

“What?”

“The reason why I love rain as much as I do.” He says. You let out a careful no, wondering if he did tell you, and you just weren’t listening.

“It’s because,” Isagi begins, reaching for your right hand and opening it, palm facing up. “It was raining when I met you.” You feel him reach for his back pocket, and Isagi pulls out a pristine white envelope, placing it into your hand. It is sealed with red wax and decorated with golden swirls. Beautiful. Like it came right out of a fairytale. “…And you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your body quivers, and you feel the tears threatening to return again. “You’re so corny,” you say, half-flustered and half-shy. “And I still hate the rain.” You reach a hand up to his cheek, looking at his lips in a way that just friends don’t. “But Isagi, you. You are the best thing that’s happened to me too.”

He looks at your lips too, and you anticipate for something more - to go beyond what you two have built so beautifully. To go beyond friends, and transform into lovers.

Isagi pulls you in for a tight hug instead. You reciprocate. Those thoughts disappear as fast as they came.

“So..” You clench the letter tight within your hands, and you cringe at the feeling of droplets meeting your shoulder. (Truth is, you didn’t know if you were cringing at the fact you wished he had kissed you, or if it is the impending sky-fall. You choose to believe the latter.) “Do I open it now?”

He pulls away from the hug first, and smiles, embarrassment painting his features. “I’d prefer it if you read it later.”

The droplets fasten, quicker and quicker, and Isagi pulls you closer to him, putting you out of the rain’s way. “Oh come on! It has to rain now, out of all times?” You heave a great sigh, burying your head into the nape of his neck.

“It gives us an excuse to stay here for a little while longer, doesn’t it?” He gives you puppy dog eyes.

“As much as I’d love to stay with you all night, it’s getting late,” you say, laughing inwardly. “I don’t want to worry your parents. Actually— have you even told your parents about Blue Lock yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, I wanted you to be the first one to know.”

How sweet. “Then you should hurry home,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t hold you up.”

“You sure?” Isagi holds your hands tighter than before. I don’t want to leave you yet, his eyes scream.

“I’m sure.” You squeeze his hands in response. I don’t want to let you go either, your eyes say.

Isagi leans in once more, bumping your noses together, eyes meeting in a silent agreement. But we have to. And we’ll be okay.

“Promise that you won’t forget me?”

“I could never.”

And so he goes. But you stay. You remain seated, sheltered beneath the shoddy bus-stop. A sense of déjà vu passes, it’s just like all those times before. But it’s almost painful this time. Your bus-stop boy is walking away from you, instead of seeking shelter alongside you. You laugh at yourself, bitterly. You don’t know if you’ll ever move on from him, or if you even want to. Not when your forever-person has pried his way into your heart like this, not when Isagi feels like home.

You pry the wax seal off the letter, unfolding the paper that is encased inside in a hurry, a tinge of excitement coursing through your veins.

‘I still haven’t shown you the beauty of rain. Will you wait for me? Love, Isagi.’

A laugh escapes your lips. Of course you would. You’d wait forever, and forevermore for him. He didn't even have to ask. It’s something that you would’ve done as one would breathe air. And in a way, you realise that there’s a certain calamity to your circumstance.

You love him so much that you’d willingly let Isagi tear down everything you’ve ever known. Whether it may be something silly like your animosity towards rain, or the idea of letting someone love you again. You’d let him do it all.

And that is terrifying. But exquisitely so.

A barrage of steps sounds itself out in the quiet of the night, a figure making its way to you - closer, closer, and closer. Oh god, someones not trying to kill me, are they?

Then you see a familiar sight. A boy with his hair in disarray, black outerwear soaking wet, looking just like the wet cat from your first meeting but this time more mature and more determined, and suddenly he’s pulling you into the rain with him, grasping onto your shoulders, locking his eyes onto yours and oh. He’s kissing you on the lips now.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t leave without kissing you first. I think I’d go crazy if I didn't.”

“I think I’d go crazy too,” you chuckle, resting your head against his chest. “And yeah. Of course I’ll wait for you, dummy.”

“You opened it already?”

“I can’t wait to see how you’ll make me love rain.”

…You should’ve known he would’ve given you that kiss first.

Isagi is not the type to leave you disappointed for too long, after all.

FOUR.

The days seem to blur together in Isagi’s absence.

The last year or so was, for a lack of a better word, lonely. Filled with rumours that you drove your best friend mad and he ran away, or that you murdered Isagi and the police have yet to discover his body, you felt as if the only people in your life for the last few months were your family and Isagi’s parents.

The sudden isolation is getting to you. And you know it. It shows in the dreariness of your demeanour; bears its teeth in the darkening eye bags that have crept their way onto your face. You’re not certain that he will be able to recall your face anymore. Heck, you can’t recognise yourself anymore either. Gosh, who would’ve thought that being Isagi-less for a little while would do this to you?

But today brings something new to the table: hope. Confirmation that all of this waiting has been worth it after all. You’ll get to see him in an hour or two come morning, and it will be enough.

Or, at least, that's the timeframe you predicted last night.

“There have been reports of mass delays in the Saitama Public Transport Network due to heavy storms and rainfall. Civilians can expect their regularly scheduled buses and trains to be postponed for up to two hours or more—“

You throw a pancake at your TV and scream.

The what-would-be one hour trip to Tokyo is now possibly three, and since your butter fingers slipped and set the wrong alarm last night, you are already running late.

You just hope that Isagi’s parents are still waiting for you outside.

Ding!

You reach into your pocket for your phone, and a message from Isagi’s mother illuminates the screen.

‘Sorry, Honey. We left already. Issei is worried that the traffic is going to hold us up from getting to Tokyo in time.’

Great. Just great.

It seems as if the universe is practically begging for you to not see Isagi today. But after not seeing him for months - not even a hi, hello, or a single sign that your Isagi is safe and sound - you only have one thing on your mind.

Screw the universe. I need to see him. Screw it all.

You chuck on a pair of navy converses, making your way towards the bus stop that started it all. The streets are busier nowadays. With various roadworks and several shops getting renovations left and right. However, the one location that you know like the back of your hand remains abandoned, frozen in time, almost. Still on its last leg, with a leaky roof and ivy adorning the wooden frame.

The seats have grown moss on them from the increase in rainfall nowadays. And so you choose to stand instead - quietly observing the pouring downfall, thoughts running amok.

It’s almost scary, how time has simultaneously been impetuous and sluggish lately. And you know it ties back to Isagi. It always does. You haven’t seen the boy in ages, actually. And that, in itself, is an understatement. It isn’t in the 'two weeks off school’, or the ‘we haven’t talked since summer break’ way, but in an ‘I’m honestly forgetting your face since it is now a new spring without you’ way.

…You don’t think you’ll have the heart to ever tell him that.

There is one thing that scares you more, though. And that's in the way that you’re forgetting how Isagi looks when he wears his smile. Does his lips curve upwards or downwards? Do his eyes turn into half-moons when he’s happy or does he bear his cerulean eyes for everyone to see? All of these are questions that invade your mind during sleepless midnights. Questions, that you never thought you would ask at all.

You can only hope that his smile is better than you can imagine. That he glows radiantly like he does in the fragments that appear in your memory every once in a while. Will happiness look good on him? Will it feel like a shame that you’ve been missing out on it all this time?

Maybe that’s the real reason why you’re worried that Isagi won't remember you: because you can hardly recall his face yourself. As in, truly, know what he looks like. You know Isagi from the blurry photos on your phone taken at 3AM sleepovers, and the display frames lined around his family’s home. The big picture itself is easy to see. The little things - the quirks of his that made you fall - have been much harder to recall.

But you do remember a few things. Arguably, the most important ones.

Your love for him; Isagi’s promise. The way he kissed you like he needed you to live; the way you cried for him amongst the skyfall.

The way Isagi taught you that it’s okay to love.

And it’s okay to be loved back.

For now, that is enough.

Droplets continue to batter against your woollen jumper, the rain drenching your entire being. It soaks your hair, makes the knuckles on your clenched fists a light violet, disguises the tears falling down from your face. The rain is ever so violent, leaving a mess of you in its wake. For the second time in your life, you let the rain do as it pleases. You let it destroy the outfit you meticulously planned, wreak havoc on the converses Isagi gave to you on your birthday. All in hopes that it will eventually cleanse your soul. Cleanse the pain, the happiness. Wipe the slate clean, as the rain does with the pavement, until you are reborn from the ashes and live a life where you aren’t so, irrecoverably in love with your best friend.

But you know, deep down, it will never save you from your calamitous love. That even if you are reborn, one word will remain in your heart. One, sacred word that you keep like an oath.

Promise.

You wonder if Isagi remembers his promise in the same way that you do.

It’s the only reason why you are going to the game today, after all.

Your hands loosen from the fist you’ve been keeping this whole time, deep crescent moons adorning the insides of your palm. A slip of paper flurries out from your hand - swishing with the wind in a way that a feather would. It dances around, until it lands in the puddle that has formed beneath your feet.

Shit. The ticket.

You bend down and clutch a now-soaked sheet of paper in your palm, tiny inscriptions that adorned the sheet now bleeding together. The only thing now visibly readable being: ‘JAPAN’S U20 VS BLUE LOCK’.

Rain really, really sucks.

(You’ve never hated it more.)

The bus finally arrives amidst the downpour.

(Yet, for some reason, a small part of you is excited to see the rainbow that comes after the storm.)

FIVE.

Isagi has always loved the rain.

Ever since he was a young boy, the rain has always had a certain allure that captivated him more than most. In his eyes, puddles held miniature worlds within them, with pebbles acting as land formations and stray twigs imitating people. Enchanting. Raindrops race each other down window panes, with him as an eager viewer. Simply spellbinding. However, nothing has ever beat the feeling of playing soccer amongst the rainfall. The feeling of watching the opponents around you struggle to run in the mud, as you calculate the best direction to head in; pieces of grass decorating your cleats in the aftermath like a badge of honour. Getting sick afterwards is a simple price to pay if it means transforming the pitch into a battlefield. Rain makes the game something to remember.

It’s the duality of rain that makes Isagi treasure the phenomenon dearly; rain can be simultaneously beautiful and destructive at the same time. Which, shockingly to him, is the very same fact that makes you despise it so much.

Your face appears within his mind. Isagi smiles.

Ah yes, you.

The person who despises rain more than anything else in the world. Who groans at the slightest hint of darkening clouds, and acts as if drizzle is akin to acid rain that will obliterate everyone in an instant.

Nowadays, media outlets constantly poke and prod into your relationship with one another as Isagi’s reputation grows - at a speed only fathomable in his wildest dreams - wondering how he can love you so much when the two of you are so different in every sense.

“…They just don’t understand,” he said to you on a day where it was all too much. “They’ll never understand how you’ve changed my life, is all.”

“Me? The person who nearly forgot you? Who doubted you and thought that you would’ve forgotten about them too?” You angrily clenched your head. “I don’t see how you’ve forgiven me so easily for that.”

“I told you already,” he began. “When I was gone I had the same thoughts as you. I forgot you for a bit, too. I doubted you, as well. I could never hold that against you, because I did the same, and– and… I regret it everyday; I know you regret it too.” Isagi inhaled sharply. “But at the end of the day, we both remembered the promise. And that’s enough.”

“…Right. I’m sorry, Yoichi.” Your eyes locked with his through the gaps between your fingers. “I love you so much, y’know that?”

“I know.” He grabbed your left hand, giving it a swift kiss. “I love you more, infinitely.”

Isagi cherishes you like he is a marauder and you are the finest jewel; he looks at you like you’re the only person who ever matters. And that’s true. Because to him, you are. With the countless sacrifices you’ve made for him; sticking by his side every step of the way; waiting and waiting for years; being the brunt of scrutiny from the media - heck - even your peers in high-school prior to his Blue Lock debut, Isagi is unsure if he will ever be able to repay you for all that you’ve done.

…But he does have an idea on where to begin.

Isagi averts his attention to the sights outside the bus window. He wonders why the rain is extra pretty today. The beauty of the raindrops seem otherworldly currently - a cascade of water flowing down overflowing gutters, iridescent hues lining the streets that he grew up on, children jumping into puddles with no care in the world. The rainy downpour from the heavens above seems unfaltering - even against the brilliance of Saitama’s lights. And amidst the hustle and bustle - adults finding their way into comforting warmth - there is you. Waiting in the rain for him underneath the bus stop, face twisted in discomfort, twirling the umbrella in your hand round and round.

It is no coincidence that the rain is so charming today.

No.

It’s prettier, because of you.

Always, you.

His sweetheart of many years.

“Hey, stranger.” You greet him as Isagi steps outside of the vehicle he practically grew up on, ushering him underneath the umbrella you brought with you.

You, who he loves more and more everyday.

“Hey yourself.” His eyes twinkle with mirth as he takes the umbrella from your hands. “It’s been a long time since we were both here, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Your face lightens up with the smile that he loves so much. “To think the last time we were here together was when…”

He looks into your eyes, face erupting with a mix of his boyish smile and laughter. “...When I kissed you. Yeah. I don’t think I could ever forget that night.”

The look on your face tells Isagi that neither could you.

“Even though we’ve had countless other kisses since then, that one is still my favourite, y’know?” Your hands move up to cup his face within your palms. “Yoichi, you don’t do romantic things like that anymore.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” You stick your tongue out at him.

Isagi lets go of the source of shelter you are sharing, and lets it drift away with the wind. “Hey! We’re gonna get soaked!” You turn your back towards him, hands desperately trying to catch the stray umbrella that seems to be more than happy to escape. “C’mon Yoichi! What was that for?”

“Turn around for me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” He says, a smile evident in his words.

Isagi sees you gasp, the sight of him knocking the wind from your chest.

There he is, kneeling with his right knee down to the floor - pants getting soaked from the wet concrete below. And in his outstretched hands, lays a small, black velvet box, a diamond ring embedded within its centre.

“Will you marry me?” Isagi asks, starry-eyed. Voice soft and vulnerable.

One day came, and now you know Isagi is right.

Rain can be beautiful.

EXTRA.

“Hey, Isagi. What’s the date today?”

“June 20th. Why?”

“No reason,” a small grin makes its way to your face. “Just curious.”

#blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi #blue lock #yoichi isagi x reader #blue lock isagi #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #isagi yoichi bllk #bllk #blue lock imagines #blue lock fanfic #isagi yoichi x you #isagi yoichi x y/n

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justauthoring · 1 year

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BLUE LOCK - is he a good boyfriend?

the answer is yes, obviously.

includes: bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, mikage reo all fem!reader

warnings: just bllk boys being the absolute best boys.

boyfriend!bachira who constantly makes you laugh - he’s always making funny faces at you, or telling you some stupid joke he read on twitter. no matter how dumb they are, it always manages to make you smile and that cute little giggle of yours to slip out and thus, bachira continues to do it.

boyfriend!bachira whose incredibly clingy. he always wants to be holding your hand, or is draped off of you. he likes having you close and he likes the warmth of you next to him. it makes him feel calm knowing you're there - feeling you're there - and that you're not going anywhere either. (it's also a plus that it usually wards off any potential flirts).

boyfriend!bachira who gets a little insecure sometimes. it throws you off the first time it ever happens. bachira's always confident, a beaming presence no matter where he is and seeing him quiet and shy is something that you definitely didn't expect. when you learn why, it feels like your heart'll break. almost instantly you're at his side reassuring him of every one of his silly words.

boyfriend!bachira who constantly making little gifts for you out of whatever scrap of something he can find. most of the time, his gifts look a little wonky, a little child-like, but it came from him all the same and you know he poured his heart into it so you don't really care if it's not the prettiest looking gift.

boyfriend!bachira whose so excited the first time you meet his mom. he'd known from the first moment he'd met you you were the one, but he'd waited as long as he possibly could before asking you to make that step. you were more than willing, if not a little nervous. you knew how close bachira and his mom were and you wanted to impress her so bad you practically made yourself sick the day of. (spoiler alert, she loved you.)

boyfriend!bachira who can literally never shut about you. it doesn't matter whether you're there or not - though it's usually worse when you're not because he misses you. he's constantly talking about you; "oh, yeah, y/n loves that show" or "y/n looked so pretty this morning when she woke up". honestly, his friends want to kill him but he's so happy they usually just let him.

boyfriend!nagi who basically asks you out through reo. it was a mixture of both being too lazy and too shy (really though, he was just too shy) and it takes a lot of work from reo for the two of you to finally go on a date but it works out perfectly because the second he drops you off that night, you already want to go on another.

boyfriend!nagi who likes when you sit with him while he games. you don't always have to be talking, though he'll gladly let you chat his ear off, mostly listening but sometimes zoning out as you happily chat away about your day. sometimes it's just quiet, both in your own worlds but comforted by each others company. and sometimes you'll even play with him if nagi begs enough.

boyfriend!nagi whose the best damn cuddler. he's a huge man child that practically sinks into any couch or bed he can find, too lazy to even stand half the time. but he never hesitates to pull you into his lap, letting your head rest on his chest while the both of you bask in each others warmth. you fall asleep most nights like that, his arm securely wrapped around your waist while you lazily run your fingers through his hair.

boyfriend!nagi who prefers to stay home, order in and watch movies all night then go out to some fancy dinner. but he makes it the best date nonetheless, never failing to make you feel utterly beautiful and loved. some stupid movie playing in the background that's dumb enough to make the both of you cackle, while you eat greasy junk food, bundled up in pillows and blankets -- and you wouldn't have it any other way.

boyfriend!nagi whose constantly lending you his hoodies and shirts simply because he likes seeing you wear them. he's not an easily jealous man by nature, but there's something about the sight of seeing you in his clothing, telling everyone who you're with without him having to do a damn thing that just makes him so happy.

boyfriend!nagi who becomes ten times more motivated when he knows you're in the stands watching him. he can hear you screaming his name even from the field, voice probably going raw but you never falter, and it flutters his heart in a way he's never felt. he scores double as much as he usually does when you're there.

boyfriend!isagi whose incredibly shy and awkward when you first start dating. he's not very good with people, girls even more so, and he's constantly blown away by how pretty you are that the first few weeks of your relationship is spent with his cheeks constantly flushed and his words stammering. he looks incredibly cute though, so you don't mind all that much.

boyfriend!isagi whose insanely chivalrous. he'll make sure he's always opening doors for you, pulling chairs out for you to sit in, he tucks you on the other side of him when walking down the street. it's small, subtle things that hardly anyone would notice, but it makes your heart aflutter all the same.

boyfriend!isagi who loves soccer more than anything but always makes sure to make time for you. he's got a busy schedule and it requires him to be away from home a lot, but he's always willing to facetime, even after a long day of practice when his body screams at him for sleep. and when he is home, his free time is always, without a doubt, devoted to you.

boyfriend!isagi who can barely form coherent sentences when he sees you in his jersey for the first time. he feels as if he could combust on the spot at the sight of you in the stands, proudly supporting him with his name and number on your back. it lets everyone know who you're there for and isagi feels immense pride at the thought.

boyfriend!isagi who buys you a necklace a year into dating you. a small little 'Y' pendant with the date you guys met engraved on the back. its such a small gift, but incredibly thoughtful and you refuse to take it off the second you receive it. every time isagi catches a glance at the silver, he blushes.

boyfriend!isagi who is an amazing kisser once he gets past his nerves - his lips are just so soft and plump and he knows exactly where to kiss that it never fails to send a shiver down the back of your spine. whether it's on the lips or on the curve of your jaw, the feeling is something you'll never be able to get over.

boyfriend!reo who spoils you any opportunity he possibly can. he has more money then he knows what to do with, so he simply spends it all on you. anything you want, he'll get it for you simply because he thinks you deserve it and he wants to spoil you.

boyfriend!reo who never flaunts his money in your face though. he never uses it against you or makes you feel like you're any less for not having the kind of money does. he's kind and generous with his money, more than his parents ever had been and he uses it to help whenever he can. you never have to worry, but he also knows when not to spend it. overall, he's incredibly understanding and always seems to know what's meaningful and what isn't.

boyfriend!reo who loves to take you out on the most luxurious dates. at first he did it to impress you and then was worried he maybe seemed like he was showing off. but the bright beaming smile on your lips when you got to dress up all pretty was enough for him. none of it mattered other than just being able to dress up for him in your eyes, and that's enough for reo. he loves when you feel beautiful.

boyfriend!reo whose really good with his hands. whether sexually or not, he just... always knows where to put them. his touch sends shivers down your spine and always causes a flush to run hot through your body. a simple touch to the small of your back, or his arm hooked around your waist, tight and reassuring. it's something so small, but it makes you swoon every time.

boyfriend!reo who loves calling you by 'love' or 'darling'. it could be for the most mundane things; "did you have a good day, love?" or "have you eaten yet, darling?" and yet, it sends you into a puddle of goo every damn time. the way the pet names leave his lips is so incredibly intoxicating.

boyfriend!reo who supports you undeniably with whatever you want to do. you support him in his dream one hundred percent so he wants to make sure he gives you that same sort of passion and support back. he's always willing to let you do whatever you need to succeed and never makes you feel bad for it either way.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagine #bllk #bllk x reader #mikage reo #mikage reo x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi

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ltbarnes · 4 months

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‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

#stark u #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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riaarivic · 5 months

Text

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗 Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗 Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts suga #bts #bts imagines #bts au #bts rm #bts romance #bts idol #namjoon #run bts #bts fic #bts scenarios

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jamiesfootball · 1 month

Note

”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.

Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.

So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"

Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.

The match was a disaster from first touch.

The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.

Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.

The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.

By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.

Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.

Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.

Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.

So many red flags.

Roy had plenty of chances.

A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.

The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.

The ref finally blew his whistle.

Jamie didn't get back up.

After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.

"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.

Fair enough.

Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.

All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.

Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.

The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.

Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"

Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"

"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."

Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.

"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."

Roy saw red.

"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."

"Roy," Sam objected.

His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"

"Roy!"

Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.

He'd crossed a line.

Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.

He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"

"Shut up."

When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.

"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.

"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."

Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.

A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."

"But you are also in the wrong."

Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"

"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.

"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."

Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"

"Jamie-"

Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.

Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.

"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."

As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.

"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.

Sam left the room.

In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.

"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."

He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.

"Sorry," he finished lamely.

Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.

Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.

"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"

"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."

He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.

"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."

"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."

"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."

Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.

He didn't argue.

He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.

Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.

Roy turned to leave.

You couldn't help someone who didn't want-

"Coach?"

Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.

"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"

He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.

When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."

A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.

Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"

Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."

In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.

Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.

(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)

"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."

An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.

"Thanks, Coach."

Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.

He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"

"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."

On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.

"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'

"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.

"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."

#whoops this got long #roy kent #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #writing prompt #ted lasso fic #this is less a comfort prompt and more a whump prompt #cw implied abuse #(need to edit this in the morning)

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