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dollslayer · 3 years

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Okie I’m not sure if you are taking requests or not, but I’m throwing my towel in the ring. Idk if you watched Scandal or not but the scene where Liv tells Fitz “if you want me earn me” I think would be great for one of CE’s characters, I’m personally leaning towards either SR where it’s an AU and Peggy is still in the picture or Andy where he’s not fully divorced from Laurie but getting there and he’s already started an affair with reader and this is the ultimatum he needed to fully finalize the divorce.

A/N: I've actually never received a request before!! So I'm down! I don't write for Andy bc I haven't seen DJ so I went with Steve and Peggy. I spun it a little bit differently but hopefully you enjoy it! Thank you for the prompt and stopping by my inbox! 💖

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings: Angst, secret relationship, love triangles

You sat in the corner of the pub, simmering behind your bottle of beer. Everyone else was leaning against the bar, laughing and joking. A successful break for the Commandos and SSR called for a night of celebration.

But you were in no mood to celebrate, it was your code breaking that ended up saving the day but no one paid you any thanks. Festivities went on around you but you sat still at a dusty table and picked at the label of your beer. Your thoughts were consumed entirely by the jealousy and hurt you felt watching his hands slip around her waist. Whatever she must’ve said just now had to have been the funniest thing on Earth because that’s how Steve reacted. His eyes crinkled in the corners and his grip on her tightened. He looked warm and comfortable and she looked right at home in his arms.

Peggy Carter was sexy and confident, she was a symbol of hope and ambition and she was the perfect compliment to Steve. Steve had insisted that their relationship was ‘just for show’ and that they needed to keep appearances, people expected a certain image from Steve Rogers and they needed morale to stay high if they wanted to keep defeating Hydra.

He insists time and again that he doesn’t love her, but it’s something he has to do for the good of the group. He insists that you don’t understand, but that he loves you very much and when all this is over you’ll be together in Brooklyn.

That dream feels a million miles away right now as you witness her place a kiss on his cheek. With that you’ve had enough for one night. You’re hurt and humiliated and you can’t even tell anyone why. You leave the pub for your quarters before anyone can see you cry. Steve doesn’t even notice you’ve left.

Your walk back to your quarters is brisk, bitter tears making their way down your cheeks. You had told yourself at the beginning of all this that you could live with it. Steve was yours in private and he did love you, that’s what mattered, right?

The relationship between them feels too real for them to just be putting on airs. He respected Peggy, respected her opinion. He always wanted to hear what she had to say and he listened deeply with intent every time she did. Any time you tried to contribute you were bowled over in an instant and never once had he stood up for you.

It felt like Peggy was everything you’re not in his eyes, afterall she was the ‘image’ he was going for. So what did that make you? Would you ever be enough? If you made it back to Brooklyn would he hold your hand in the street? Would he kiss your cheek and laugh at your jokes? Would he love you like he says he does?

Your mind was trapped in this downward spiral of thoughts and you hadn’t heard Steve enter the room. He came up behind you and kissed your cheek but it felt cold and mechanical. You didn’t turn to face him, you couldn’t.

“Fun night, huh?”

You don’t respond, you feign indifference as you slowly rise from your chair. You realize you hadn’t even removed your jacket or shoes so you shrug off the sleeves slowly. You feel like your heart is in your throat, tight and dry. You can feel yourself working up the nerve to confront him, you just need a little push.

You can’t let yourself back down from this again. Can’t let him talk you down again. It’s you or her. If he loves you like he says he does, why are you consumed by a feeling of imminent dread?

“What’s wrong, doll? You feeling okay? Peggy said you were looking a little tired, figured you’d gone to bed. I hadn’t even realized you dipped out, wanted to check in.”

Your sadness turned to anger at that point. Was he really so daft to have no idea what was going on or was he choosing to? You almost didn’t want the answer.

“Didn’t want to ruin your good time. Not when you were so… cozy” You finish bitterly.

Steve sighs and begins to pace the room.

“Sweetheart, not this conversation again”

“No! I’m sick of this, I’m tired of being treated like a doll, you think you can just pick me up to play with whenever you want and I’ll just be there waiting for you. Meanwhile you don’t even pay me one bit of your attention when we’re out there. You can’t keep stringing me along like this, Steve.”

You’re talking with your hands and getting angrier by the second, you can’t stop yourself now.

“Look, you know if things were different-”

“Things? You mean me? If I was different? If I was her? I’m so sick of never being enough for you. God forbid anyone ever gets the idea that we’re together in any sense. Do you know how humiliating it is? How much it hurts?”

You angrily wipe your tears away with the back of your hand. Your whole head is throbbing but if you don’t say this now you might never.

“It’s me or her, your image be damned.” You grab your jacket and head for the door. “I’m worth so much more than you think I am. If you want me then earn me, Steve.”

With that you close the door behind you and leave Steve to mull over your words. The streets are damp and cold but you don’t care. A part of you can’t believe you finally said it but another part reassures you it was the right thing to do. You are worth more than being someone’s backup plan. It’s up to Steve to realize that.

#anon ask #request #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x peggy carter #steve rogers angst #love triangle #secret relationship

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hello-everyfandom · 3 years

Text

"The day I hurt you is the day I no longer want to exist."

Warnings: Mentions of heartbreak and hurting

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Words: 1.5

Summary: You’ve felt the hurt of heart break and George would do anything to make you smile.

(Missed you guys!)

The first heart break you’ve ever had, you swore that death would come, striking, upon your shoulders. The feeling was everlasting, an emotion you’ve never experienced. A cocktail of painstaking sadness, fueled anger and undeniable hurt decided to place itself in your chest. But, just as every heart break, you mended. It took time for the pieces of your old self to shed into a newly made, stronger person. You had begun to get used to this new self and focused yourself on the comfort of your friends and the distraction of the laughs you shared.

Approximately eight months since your first break up, you were approached by a boy. George Wealsey, to be specific. You enjoyed his presence. He was renowned for his witty jokes and tended to pull the funniest, sly comments during class where he knew you would laugh. And there he was. After class, hands tucked in the pockets of his robe and asking if you’d like to accompany him to Hogsmeade that following week. George was known by his entire family for being the “emotional” twin. It was true. Fred was cool and collected and tended to think more with his brain rather than his heart. George differed. He knew the emotions of a break up from seeing his sister, Ginny, go through the same hurt. He consoled her in the private corridors, holding her hand when she needed to break her strong exterior for a minute.

The first time he saw you, he saw your hunched shoulders. Your eyes were swollen and dry with the tears you had slept through. Your breath was shaky and he noticed that you did not wear the smile you used to. From then on, George made it his mission, you could say, to search for that smile. And so he did. He searched everyday for your smile. And when you finally did smile, it was not like how you used to. No. It was different. It was better, better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. He noticed the crinkle by your eyes and the way your cheeks flushed as you became suddenly hot when you had a good laugh. Oh, from that instant, George Weasley knew he was screwed.

“I don’t know,”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Hermione peeked up from her book, her eyebrows raised.

“I mean. I suppose,” you sighed, “I’m a little wary for tonight.”

“Go on,” she motioned with her hand, placing her book down in front of her.

“It’s just... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m nervous, that’s all.”

“Of what?”You sat up from lying on your dorm bed to look at her,

“I’m scared.”

Hermione slowly nodded, “It’s a first date, I’m sure everyone is at least a little bit scared on their first date.”

“No,” you shook your head, “It’s not that type of scared. I feel that nervousness, the excitement but I feel the terror as well.”

Hermione pursed her lips and arose to sit on your bed. “I know that last time-”

“Last time it was a nightmare.”

“Yes.”

“And the idea of... the idea of... the idea of being hurt like that again? ‘Mione you saw first hand how awful it was for me last time.”

“I know.”

“So what if I’m left hurting?” you paused and swallowed, “What if it happens again?”

Hermione peered at you, her best friend, and as seriously as she could replied, “What if it doesn’t?”

And so you went. Hermione helped you pick your outfit and sent you a wink before closing the door. It was a date unlike any other. The nervousness you had felt before, sitting in the dorm, faded the minute George made you smile. He spent the entire date being both respectful whilst making the funniest, crude jokes you had ever heard. At one point, you were nearly doubled over, begging him to stop making jokes as your stomach hurt. At the end, as he began to bid you goodbye, he asked you if you’d be interested in another date. Surprising yourself, you blushed and agreed. Each date the two of you had after was nothing short of perfection. Oh, had he filled you full of affection and caring words. He held your hand as if it were a gentle pillow and stroked your hand with the pad of his thumb. He sat with you while he studied, and though he complained that he was “dying of boredom” he still sat and even read to you when your eyes grew tired. The only thing you two hadn’t done was kiss. As much as George wanted to kiss your lips and your cheeks and everywhere he could, he knew, somehow, that you weren’t ready. You were so thankful for that, for him.

It was late. In the astronomy tower, George had pulled a reluctant and hesitant you to the Astronomy tower after hours. You agreed but only with the condition that you would bring your Transfiguration book in order to study for your upcoming exam. The stars highlighted the words of your textbook, George’s red hair tickled your thighs as he laid his head in your lap. He listened to your steady breathing and the sound of the pages turning and studied the curves of your face and the way you looked when you caught him staring. As you began to finish the chapter you needed to read, George huffed a breath of air and stood up abruptly.

“‘right then, get up.” he said.

You looked at him startled, “What?”

“I said to get up,” he stretched his hand out to you and motioned for you to take it.

“I’m almost done with the-”

“Darling, please,” he grinned, “come and take my hand.”

You stood, hand in hand, as he guided you to the open window of the tower. He stood next to you, placing his hand, gingerly, on your hip. “Look at the stars with me,”

“You romantic fool,” you teased, “you’ve pulled me away from my oh so interesting book to look at the plain stars?”

“Plain?” he scoffed jokingly, “I beg to differ. The stars are beautiful.” He gazed at the blinking lights and then turned to you, “Just as beautiful as you.”

You were not used to the compliments or the words of affection that George had given you, you hadn’t experienced it before and he loved the way you feverishly blushed. The redness of your shy reaction reached from your cheeks to the curve of your neck and he swore he’d give up the world to see your blush everyday.

“Is that so?” you asked, looking away from him and to the sky, “They are quite magnificent,”

“Not as magnificent or as breath-taking as you.” he answered honestly.

Your hands began to sweat and your heart could be closely compared to the speeding beat of a drum. His hand pulled your hips gently and you let yourself fall into him. You rested your hands on his chest, your palm against the thump of his own heart. It was, just as yours, beating. Beating. A melody the two of you made was enough to raise a symphony full of beautiful string instruments and the vibrations of a symbol.

His hand raised to cup your cheek but immediately stopped a breath away when he saw you flinch. His eyes immediately moved from the plumpness of your lips to your eyes.

“Please let me,” he whispered. Your fingers clutched onto his shirt, rolling the feeling of the fabric between them. You looked back up from where you hand rested on his chest and nodded. He placed his hand softly on the skin of your cheek. He was smitten.

“I would,” he exhaled shakily, “Never hurt you.”

You couldn’t breath. For a moment, you could only focus on his words through the echoes of your ears.

“I’m scared,” your voice quiet.

George Weasley clenched his jaw, a hurt in his own chest at the mere thought of you being scared of the relationship between you two, being scared of him. The pad of his stroking thumb sent shivers of comfort down your spine. You had, never in your young life, felt as connected with someone as you had with George.

“The day I hurt you,” his voice low and serious, “is the day I no longer want to exist.”

Your eyes began to tear, overwhelmed with the love George outpoured in those simple words. And, with as much courage as you could muster, you peaked up on the ends of your toes and placed a kiss on his lips. The joy you felt feeling George’s smile against yours was indescribable. His hand on your cheek and the hand on your hip pulled you closer. It was slow. George could feel himself implode with happiness.

As you pulled away, your eyes remained closed, basking and memorizing the softness of his lips. George lovingly watched your smile and your blush and swore up and down that you would never be hurt again.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley oneshot #george weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter oneshot

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #spider man #peter parker #fic #dragonbabbles

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sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

Love songs

Paring: George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Y/N and George realise they have feelings for each other, feelings you probably shouldn’t have for your best friend.

Warning: light swearing, Georgie plays the guitar in this so be ready

Heres the link to the song George sings, this is how i imagine him to sound https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7oewo__fbQY&ab_channel=SantiagoRD

This was requested by the lovely @inglourious-imagines

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines message me if you would like to be added!

Y/N has known the Weasley family basically her whole life, her parents have been close with Molly and Arthur since their years at Hogwarts. The four of them would always reminisce on the crazy things they use to get up to. Catch ups between the two families usually ended in all of them squeezed into the living room and the children begging for more funny stories from their parents’ teenage years, which they would gladly share.

Y/N is the same age as Fred and George so naturally the three of them became quite close. When they were younger their play dates normally consisted of the twins playing harmless pranks on Y/N and Y/N chasing them around the backyard of the Burrow trying to get revenge. Although the twins loved getting under Y/N’s skin, she loved them with her whole heart and considered the two redheads her best friends and they thought the same of her. They’d share everything with one another. The three of them knew everything about each other, from their most embarrassing story to their deepest darkest secret, absolutely everything, well almost everything.

Y/N has always seen the two boys as her best friends, nothing more. That was until their 6th year at Hogwarts. The twins were sitting in the common room on one of the lounges when Y/N bursts through the doors and squeezed herself between the two tall boys, something she has always done. Y/N was itching to tell the twins about how her and a numerous amount of other students had just witnessed Draco Malfoy fall over in the middle of the court yard after she planted a trip wire.

“Boys, I just witness the funniest thing,” she glanced between Fred and George, about to continue when the boy on her left spoke up.

“Hang on love,” George interrupted “you have a little something in your hair.” Y/N breath hitches in her throat as George’s fingers softly brush against her face as he goes to remove whatever was in her hair. Y/N stares at his face, up close like this she notices the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. She breaths in and her nostrils are engulfed with a scent that Y/N can only describe as heavenly. Y/N gulps her eyes wide as George retracts his hand from her hair, throwing away the piece of lint. “Okay, go on.”

Y/N clears her throat and retells the prank she had pulled on the blond Slytherin, her heart pounding harder in her chest when George tells her how proud he is.

Shit, she thought. This isn’t good.

~~~

Since her recent realisation of the huge crush she harbours for George, Y/N has found it incredibly hard act normal around him. She is hyper aware of everything he does, every movement he makes or word he says causes Y/N palms go sweaty and her heart rate speeds up. She hasn’t told anyone about her feelings, this being the first time she’s kept a secret from the twins and its eating her inside each day she keeps it to herself.

She enters the Great Hall and looks for the pair of gingers at the Gryffindor table, once she spots them, she bounces over about to squeeze her body in between the boys like she normally does but falters. Y/N doesn’t think her heart could physically take being pressed up against George so she sits on Fred’s other side. Fred and George are surprised with Y/N choice of seat but decide not to mention it.

Fred wraps his lanky arm around Y/N shoulder and yanks her into his side, “hello little one.”

George pipes up, his head peaking around Fred, “Fred and I are planning on pranking Snape later day, we could really use your help?”

Y/N looks up at George, momentarily forgetting what he had asked. “Um actually, I don’t think I can. Gotta work on an essay that I’ve neglected” She lies, to be honestly she feels so awkward and nervous around George she finds he hard to be around him.

Fred holds his free hand to his chest and gasps dramatically “you’re choosing an essay over your best friends. You wound us Y/N.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and shoves Fred’s chest, “you’re an idiot.”

~~~

It’s been a few week and Y/N has slowly distanced herself from George, not that she really wanted to. It’s just she honestly doesn’t know how to act around him anymore without being worried that she’ll let slip of her feelings.

George has noticed Y/N’s weird behaviour and how she’s been distancing herself from him. He has noticed they haven’t been alone just the two of them for a while and she always seems to find an excuse to leave the room when George enters and to be honest, it’s kind of hurting his feelings.

George has just come back from a detention he served by himself for a prank him and Fred had done the night before. Fred had managed to get away just in time leaving poor George by himself standing in front of a very angry and very drenched Snape.

George enters the common room planning on complaining to Fred and Y/N about his boring detention when he sees them sitting on the couch backs facing him. They look deep on conversation and George finds himself just standing there watching them.

Y/N is looking at Fred with a worried expression before Fred flings his arm around her pulling her into his side and whispering in her ear.

George’s heart sinks at this gesture. George was feeling confused because of the way Y/N had been behaving but what confused him even more was that Y/N hadn’t been acting any different around Fred actually the two becoming closer which made George insanely jealous. And not the type of jealously a person should feel for their best friend.

George remembers the exact moment he started seeing Y/N differently, it had been a cold winter night at the Burrow in 5th year. Y/N was spending a few days with the Weasleys because her parents had gone away on a last-minute work trip.

Everyone else had gone off to bed but George and Y/N had stayed up chatting by the fire. They were both sitting on the couch under a blanket they were sharing. George was retelling a joke he had heard and when he finished, expecting Y/N to burst out laughing he was met with silence. He’d glanced down at her, noticing at some point she’d laid her head on his shoulder, she was curled into his side fast asleep.

George admired her peaceful sleeping face, noticing the way her lashes fell across her cheeks, how there was a slight wrinkle in between her brows as she dreamt. He glanced down at her lips, her bottom lip jutted out slightly in a pout. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to press a gentle kiss against her lips, wondering how they’ll feel against his own.

George sighed, realising in that moment he had a massive crush on his best friend.

So, given his feelings seeing Y/N and Fred be so close made his heart ache and he quietly walked off to his room.

~~~

Y/N was lying in bed later that night thinking about the conversation she had with Fred early. She finally confessed her feelings about George even if it was too the wrong twin.

Fred had instantly started teasing her about it, saying she should go see a healer because she must be sick if she has a crush on George. He tried to convince her to tell George about her feelings to which she had begged Fred not to mention anything to George. Fred had flung his arm around her shoulder and whispered that her secret was safe with him as he mimicked locking his lips shut.

It was past midnight and Y/N couldn’t fall asleep, deciding a late-night stroll around the castle was a good idea to settle her thoughts.

Y/N was walking up to the astronomy tower hoping watching the stars might tire her mind. She stopped in her tracks just before she made it to the top of the stairs when she heard a gentle voice singing, she recognised it immediately, it was George and he was strumming a quiet tune on a guitar. Y/N crept up the stairs quietly hoping she could watch him play for a little bit. As she got closer his voice got louder and she listened carefully to the lyrics he was singing.

Should I try to hide the way I feel inside my heart for you? Would you say that you would try to love me too? In your mind, could you ever be really close to me?

Y/N watches the way George gently strums the strings of his guitar and how his eyes are closed as he focuses on singing the lyrics. She glances at the paper spread across the floor in front of him and a quill realising this is a George original.

I can tell the way you smile

If I feel that I could be certain then I would say the things I want to say tonight

Y/N has tears threatening to fall as she listens carefully to the lyrics. George is singing about loving a girl and she feels her heart breaking. The guy she loves is in love with someone else.

But till I can see that you'd really care for me I will dream that someday you'll be really close to me I can tell the way you smile

If I feel that I could be certain then I would say the things I want to say tonight

But till I can see that you'd really care for me I'll keep trying to hide the way I feel inside

She hastily wipes away her tears and tries to compose herself as George scribbles something on the paper on the floor in front of him.

“Whoever your muse is for that song is a lucky lady” her voice slightly unsteady as she speaks.

George whips his head around his cheeks flaming realising Y/N heard him sing the song he wrote about her. “Yeah well too bad she doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

Y/N walks over and sits down across from him hoping her eyes aren’t puffy and red from crying. “She’d be an idiot not to feel the same way Georgie, you’re amazing.”

The sit together for a moment before George breaks the silence, “I wrote the song about you” he whispers sadness evident in his voice.

“You-you love me?”

“Yes of course I do, you’re amazing Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across her face, it made her cheeks hurt but she didn’t care. Georges eyebrows raised, not expecting that response.

“Oh merlin, you have no idea how happy that has made me, I thought you wrote that song for some other girl and I think my heart actually broke.” Y/N giggles, shuffling closer to George. She presses a sweet and short kiss to his lips. “I love you too.”

Now George was smiling like an idiot.

“Sing it to me again.” Y/N asks. George grabs his guitar and starts to slowly strum the cords, eyes not leaving Y/N’s.

#George Weasley #George Weasley fluff #George Weasley oneshot #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley x you #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley one shot #George Weasley fanfic #George Weasley imagines #Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley x you #Harry Potter #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter oneshot

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beomglocks · 3 years

Text

sk8ter boi ; c.bg

summary : he was a boy, she was a girl. can i make it anymore obvious?

pairing : skaterboy!beomgyu x reader

warnings & other : reader already has a child with yeonjun ok, beomgyu still pining after all these years, based off queen avril lavigne’s sk8ter boi song, listen while reading if you want

w/c : 2.1K (i may have gotten carried away)

"where'd you get that note and roses from?" your friend maria asks you when you get into class. you wipe away your smile quickly, already knowing who the mystery person was. "i don't know."

yeah, of course you knew. how could you not when the boy oh so clumsily shoved them in your locker while you were literally turning the corner. he tried to act like he wasn't doing anything but he was clearly caught. he tried to play it off in the best way possible and smooth talk his way into a conversation with you but you shut him down due to the bell ringing.

"oh- oh ok sure...yeah," beomgyu stumbled over his words, nervousness eating away at him with you being here. "yo gyu you coming? i just finished fixing my drum kit," his friend, jeongin, calls him over, interrupting your already over conversation.

"you should go...but thanks for whatever you just threw in my locker," you laugh. he nods hesitantly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "dude," jeongin now stands in your vicinity. he looks at you and beomgyu before pulling away his best friend to where the spare band room was.

"well open the letter, we wanna know who your little secret admirer is," maria says, leaning onto your desk. your other friends agree, eager to know who was pining over you. you laugh nervously before opening it. you're not sure how they'll react to finding out that it's beomgyu.

you see, you wouldn't exactly call yourself the prettiest girl in the school but hell it sure was close. almost everyone would compliment you every day even if it was something minor like a change in your nail color. you kind of prided yourself in that, not to gas yourself up or anything.

someone like beomgyu...well. he wasn't exactly the ideal guy, to put it simply. he was a skater boy, he hung out with the "simple boys" who skated and did music and hung out around the skate parks after school. he wasn't the scholar type like soobin or the athlete type like yeonjun, he was simple.

you liked simple but your friends didn't. they had preferences for people like soobin and yeonjun, not people like beomgyu. you could probably guess they felt like beomgyu was the bottom of the barrel, like a roach on their foot not worthy of their time.

you pull the letter out of the envelope. for some reason without even trying, you could smell his cologne all over it. you want to smile at the obvious try hard gesture but your friends don't allow it. "what the fuck is that smell, it's so strong," maria gags. you roll your eyes at her dramatics. "it doesn't smell that bad."

"yes the fuck it does," she retorts. "just see what it says." you read over the letter, smiling at certain parts where you could tell he'd done his research on the things you liked. "it's from beomgyu," you say when you finish the letter. you already knew this anyway but maria's eyes go wide and she suddenly snatches the letter from your grasp. "hey!"

"CHOI beomgyu?" she asks while she reads the letter herself. "yeah?" you confirm.

your other friends mumble amongst themselves and you can hear some snicker. "y/n you could do so much better. beomgyu is like a street rat or something. don't do that to yourself," she laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever said. you don't think beomgyu's that bad but you also don't stand up for him, simply biting your lip as she continues.

"he barely comes to school and when he does all he does is sleep. he skates with those other weirdos and thinks he's gonna make it big with his shitty guitar playing- i mean have you heard him?" she rolls her eyes, throwing the letter back on your desk. "you should go out with yeonjun, i think yall would be a cute couple. the prettiest girl with the coolest guy, your babies would be so damn cute."

"babies?!" you laugh at her ridiculousness. "yes! have you seen choi yeonjun?" she sighs in content. "anyways, don't pay beomgyu any mind because he's not gonna make it in life. go for someone like yeonjun and please for the love of god throw that letter away!"

you never did throw the letter away. you sigh as you think back to your high school years. you had just found it hidden behind one of the closet drawers while you were looking for valkyrie's binkie. she was crying so much since her father had gone out for the day and you were stuck taking care of her, as always.

you wonder how beomgyu was doing. you both talked after the fact but fell off during college since he had gone off to do his own thing. you didn't know what that thing was but you were proud of him nonetheless. you finished high school, went to college, got a good paying job, and were now married with a kid. all at the young age of 21. the typical life, you figure.

you're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear your child crying in the next room. "shit," you mumble to yourself. you leave the letter in your drawer and head back to the living room with the binkie. "valkyrie~" you sing song.

she continues crying, not giving a fuck about your efforts to calm her. she was usually a bit of a daddy's girl. "val please stop crying," you exasperate. "daddy's not coming home until late today. cut me some slack babygirl."

you slip the binkie into her mouth but her shrill cries go right through it. "let me go see if you need a diaper change," you mutter.

before you can even get up from the couch you hear your phone ring from somewhere in the couch. "shit where did i put my phone?" you put valkyrie down to look for your phone but it stops ringing before you can begin searching. you wait for it to ring again you find it between the cracks of the couch.

"oh hey mari," you say in confusion. after high school ended, you and maria kind of fell off along with all your other popular friends. you still had that clout all throughout college given who you were dating but you kind of strayed away from her. you guys were still on speaking terms though but this call was odd since it had been months since the last time she called.

"GIRL-" she pauses for a moment, still as dramatic as ever. "what it is mari? val won't stop crying she needs attention," you sigh, looking over at your daughter. her cries had gotten softer but she was still grumpy about not being with her father.

"girl turn on your tv to MTV right now- like right now before you miss it!" she says hurriedly. "this better be good you know i dont watch those shows," you say into the phone. you place the phone between your ear and shoulder so you can hold valkyrie while watching whatever it was that maria wanted you to watch.

then you see it. "is that-?" you begin. "CHOI beomgyu! yes girl!" maria finishes your sentence. she's right. there he is, the boy you were just thinking about was on your tv screen. "he's famous?" you ask.

maria sucks her teeth, "apparently after high school and like a year or two of college, he dropped out to pursue a music career and i guess it worked out for him." you nod even though she can't see you. "he signed with a label and now he's in like some super fucking famous band, look at him," she continues.

you stare at your tv screen in silence, watching beomgyu have the time of his life on the MTV stage. he really did get good on his guitar. the camera pans to the drummer and your eyes go wide when you see jeongin. wow, they really stayed together this whole time.

"he's fine as hell," you admit. you hear maria cackle on the other side, "you said it, he looks so attractive playing guitar like that, look at his fingers."

"ok alright maria, i have a child right next to me," you say. she laughs again, "anyways, i got tickets to their next show. you wanna come with?"

you're not sure how you managed to convince yeonjun to stay home with the baby while you went out with maria to this concert, but you did it. he was skeptical of letting you go out with what you were wearing which is why you both argued before you eventually stormed out to go anyways.

when you met up with maria outside the venue she looked up and down with a knowing smile. "i thought that pussy belonged to mr. choi yeonjun? what're you all dressed up for?"

"dressed up?" all you were wearing was a black and white bandana for a top and tight leather pants and comfortable shoes. "do the pants really have to hug your ass like that though?" she jokingly slaps your butt and you glare at her. "that's what yeonjun said," you mumble to yourself.

the concert goes smoothly and you're glad you actually got to see beomgyu in person and playing guitar. one thing about choi beomgyu is that he will play guitar like it's his last day on earth. he plays with so much intensity that you almost feel bad for the guitar.

you could almost feel how the crowd's energy in this packed room transferred to the members. if it was even possible, they started to play with more vigor.

at some point, beomgyu was full on immersed in his own playing. his once fluffy hair was now soaked with sweat and covering his forehead and eyes. he kept headbanging along to the beat while skillfully moving his fingers along the strings of the guitar.

during the middle of one of their songs, beomgyu took the center stage for his guitar solo. it was a fast paced riff that just seemed to give the song more life. his head is down so that it's solely focused on the guitar but once he finished the hardest part of the riff he looked up smugly. the crowd went absolutely mad when beomgyu bit his lip during the rest of his solo.

you had to admit the boy had stage presence, you practically almost re-fell in love with him.

after the show, you and maria went to get refreshments at the nearby bar. beomgyu seemed to already be there talking to one of his members so you took this opportunity to speak with him. you wonder if he'll remember you after all these years but you take your chances.

"beomgyu!" you shout over the music that's playing in the background. he whips his head around to the sound of his name being called and smiles lightly when he sees you. when you get to him, he subtly looks you up and down, taking in your body and attire. "y/n is that you?" he says, his voice laced with something teasing.

"you remember me?" you ask him with a smile. "how could i forget a face like yours," he smiles, leaning back. you laugh and he smiles. "i just saw you on stage, i never thought you'd become this huge! congrats!"

he nods, "yeah, i always wanted to make it big you know." he trails off, looking over you again like he's entranced somehow. "so how's life? you still with-"

"yeonjun...yeah we um- we have a kid...now," you finish nervously. did he really have to bring yeonjun up right now. "a kid?" he says, surprised. "let me see."

you show him a selfie of you and valkyrie that you took at a time when she wasn't completely hating your existence and wanting to cuddle her father instead of you. he laughs and leans back once again, "she's cute like you, she definitely got her mom's features."

"yeah and she's got her dad's attitude," you say, mostly to yourself but beomgyu catches it. "oh yeah! i wanted to say, i really like that one song you played, uh- fairy?"

"fairy of shampoo? yeah we added our own little rock twist to it," he says. "you know the lyrics are actually about y-" your phone cuts him off and you apologize, turning away to answer it. "what is it yeonjun"

beomgyu sighs in frustration when he hears you say that. when you finish talking you turn back to him and he has his eyebrow raised in question. "looks like my fun is over," you laugh dryly. he nods in understanding, "before you go though, let me get your number so we can catch up sometime."

you agree, not wanting to pass up the chance to reconnect with your now famous friend.

"maybe we'll see each other around gyu," you smile, beginning to walk away.

he smiles at the old nickname, waving you off, "i sure hope so."

#beomgyu imagines #beomgyu reactions #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu drabble #txt imagines #drabble #tomorrow x together imagines #txt headcanons #beomgyu headcanons #txt reactions #txt scenarios #beomgyu timestamps #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fluff #fluff

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dreamcatcherjiah · 3 years

Text

PART 10

💞Tight Hearts (Idol!Hoseok x Reader)

Plot: The red string of fate was visible when our grandparents were children. They would play around, following the strings from one person to their soulmate and laugh happily when these two people inevitably found each other. It was a reason for happiness. But little by little, people stopped seeing the threads. In bad times, it was dangerous, it was a liability, so people stopped seeing them to protect each other from harm. When I was born, nobody saw them anymore, they just felt their soulmate. Anxiety, happiness, sorrow, love, the hearts of the soulmates are one, feel the same things, but it is almost impossible to find your soulmate, now that the threads cannot be seen.

Tight Hearts Masterlist

Part 10

Organising how many cars you would take became easier as this time there were eight people to be taken to Big Hit’s headquarters. Taehyung and Jungkook had shown up in the kitchen while you were on the shower and, just as you were turning the corner into the room, finished cleaning after eating. Apparently, their routine hadn’t changed a bit with you intruding in them. After another awkward round of introductions and some whispered greetings, Namjoon took the lead again and divided everyone into pairs to get into the cars when he got the go from the manager. Hoseok, always thoughtful, had charged your phone thinking that you would like to call in sick and tell everyone you were feeling okay and you hadn’t dropped half dead in the middle of some street… Which you had, but no one needed to know the full, gory details. Smiling, you didn’t think much of it as you rolled into the balls of your feet and pressed a small kiss to the apple of his cheek. Boastful peels of laughter surrounded the both of you as his bandmates witnessed the public display of affection, causing you to blush and hide your face in your hands; getting used to this noisy group of men was going to take some getting used to, more with their new hobby of making every little thing Hoseok or you did into the funniest joke they’d ever heard. Chancing a look at your soulmate, you relaxed seeing how he had taken the loud teasing in a good-natured way and was just hugging a laughing Taehyung to his chest. The environment around these men was refreshing, calming your anxious thoughts and bringing the first real smile that your soulmate hadn’t put in your lips.

“Will you look at that! She can smile too!” Namjoon teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and giving you a little shake, “I was starting to think this was going to be awkward once Jin Hyung ran out of jokes to tell you, Y/N. I know they’re bad but you can stop laughing after he drops the punchline, he likes you already!”

“YA!” Screamed the eldest, “she likes my jokes! And,” he added, turning his eyes on you and seeing how you still smiled genuinely at him, “I am not running out. They’re my natural talent, I was born with both my jokes and my handsome face,” he finished taking his hand in a grand gesture to his mouth and throwing a flamboyant air kiss in yours and Namjoon’s general direction.

Jungkook threw himself at Jin and hung himself from the bigger man like an overgrown koala. The room descended into chaos as both of them play-fought and the rest of the guys either went for their phones to record the mock wrestling match or cheered them on. In the midst of their voices and bodies, Hoseok made his way towards you and took your hand in his. His presence did a good job of getting rid of any residual uneasiness you may have been feeling, the same way yours did away with Hoseok’s nervousness. You realised that part of what you had been feeling came from the man standing slightly behind you; even before the two of you met in person, you had noticed how he’d always put on a brave front, smiling even when his whole body wanted him to collapse and, perhaps without him knowing, he had relapsed into the same old routine: mask what he was feeling behind his happy-go-lucky persona.

“Hey,” you whispered, keeping an eye out for the other six men in the room, you didn’t need them noticing such a private moment, “relax, whatever they say there, they’re not taking me anywhere,” you noticed as his body relaxed, his shoulders dropping a few inches, as the words registered in his brain, “whatever works for us.”

With a small tilt in the corner of his mouth, his hand tightened around yours and, as the rest of his brothers calmed down and Namjoon gave the last instructions, got closer to you until not only your hands were touching, but your arms as well. You fantasised with allowing your head to rest a while on his shoulder, breathing deeply and calmly so both of you relaxed a bit before facing what felt like a court that would decide on your future. Coming back to reality, you straightened your treacherous neck, which was nearly about to give into your secret wishes, and turning your head in his direction, smiled at how he was already looking at you. His eyes formed crescents, his feet started moving and he took you, hand in hand, to the car.

Once the car door closed behind you, Hoseok put his arm around you, helping you get comfortable against his chest so that your head rested on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, you felt as every last cell of your body tuned itself to Hoseok’s and you could finally breath again. His hand settled atop your head, his fingers buried deep, caressing your scalp and following the tresses of your hair to return again with its sweet ministrations.

“Thank you,” whispered Hoseok.

Not wanting to move and disturb the spell surrounding you both, you only hummed and nudged your cheek closer to his collarbone, as a way of asking him what he meant.

“They love you already, Namjoonie is so comfortable around you, even Yoongi Hyung told me while you were in the shower that I had found an excellent one… That’s a lot for him to say after such a short time, you know?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he had realised something and was at peace with it, “you didn’t have to be so accommodating, so trusting, and yet here we are. Just thank you.”

Throwing your arm around his torso, you hugged him as tight as you could and moved your head so that you could see him resting your chin against his collarbone.

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I would trust you with my life. No questions asked,” you chuckled darkly. At his raised eyebrow, you explained, “Does it feel like that for you too? Is it as natural for you as it is for me, the fact that I could very easily die to protect you?” After his nod, you laughed and continued talking, “This would drive my parents insane, if they knew.”

“You haven’t told them yet?” He asked, his hand stilling in your head. You could see some of the previous tension sweeping back into him and you hurried to make it disappear again.

“If these feelings of inadequacy I am sensing come from you, please, believe me when I say that it has nothing to do with me not wanting them to meet you. It’s just they’re not the typical parents. They wanted me to be independent since I was very young and now we aren’t really close.”

“But Y/N, not being close and saying that they would go insane if they found out you had a soulmate are two very different things,” he said, frowning.

You sat up, pouting and looked at him through your eyelashes. He kept eye contact with you, matching your pout and crossing his arms over his chest. Huffing, you sat back and looked ahead while you mulled over what to say to him, what to tell him so that you’d satiate his curiosity.

“You know soulmates are little more than a myth nowadays, right?” You asked, he nodded and raised his eyebrow at you, so you’d continue, “While I was still living with them, my father was very vocal about what his thoughts on the bond were, he would say that us soulmates were mere parasites and that it was all a ploy from the government to rob us of our freedom…”

An indignant little shout reached you at the same time you felt Hoseok jump and turn to face you. His face was hard, set, his lips pouting while his cheeks and ears turned red with agitation. From the moment the topic was brought up, you knew Hoseok wasn’t going to like what you had to say. Everyone, absolutely every person in the world who knew what soulmates were, had an opinion on the matter; good or bad, that usually depended on the case and the personal experiences of every individual but, more often than not, people were VERY vocal about what a pity it was that soulmates were dying out. “With technology as advanced as it is today,” they’d say, “it is just sad that a system to find linked soulmates hasn’t been developed,” with a mellow smile, they would just continue about with their days and forget about the issue altogether. Which you, soulmates, couldn’t do.

“I do not mean to badmouth your father, but that is such a simplistic thought process,” he said, dropping back against the seats. “To think that we have a choice in the matter is just plain ludicrous, and to imply that the government is trying to control people by making them match with their soulmates just shows how little information there really is about the bond. We aren’t like that, you and I.”

He reached for you, with his eyes closed and a troubled look on his face. You simply gravitated towards him, burying yourself against his puffy jacket, linking your arms around him. He sought comfort in knowing you were there, close to him and not leaving.

“No, we are not,” you said, tightening your hold on his torso when a wave of worry and apprehension reached you through the bond, “but people don’t really know that. We are the only pair of soulmates I know of, it kinda is uncharted territory.”

“I don’t care how little they know as long as you get to keep me,” Hoseok whispered, so softly you thought you heard him wrong.

The thought made you stop all your musings and actually think about what your soulmate said. You would have expected to say something along the lines of “I can keep you” or “we can stay together”, but the sole thought of you possessing him, Hoseok, your sweet, caring and incredibly famous soulmate, made you feel a huge lump in your throat.

“If I get to keep you?” You asked, looking up at him and finding him already looking at you.

“I can feel your uneasiness, maybe that was way over the line…” his insecurities were rolling off of him in waves, so strong it nearly gave you whiplash. Seeing how you weren’t answering, he swallowed and continued, “you know how our life is, you’re a fan. We… don’t get to… be normal. We don’t get to go on dates, enjoy the whole “get to know you”, mainly because we never have time. And I know that’s what we wanted but this place we’re in is very lonely. When my grandmother used to tell me about soulmates she would always say how she wholly belonged to my grandfather. As a child that didn’t make much sense, but lately, when my body hurt and I felt how miserable we both were… I just wanted to be yours, to have someone that didn’t always expect me to be okay and would just allow me to be… theirs…”

Somewhere between him saying how lonely he was and telling you he was yours, you had started silently crying, big tears leaving your eyes and staining his jacket. His thumbs suddenly cleaned them off your cheeks, carefully and sweetly, transmitting an incredibly warm feeling that surrounded you both, letting you know without words how sorry he was for making you cry, for overstepping the line he had set himself as his limit.

“I am so sorry for making you sad,” he whispered, leaving a small kiss between your eyebrows.

“So sweet but so clueless,” you hiccuped. At his pout, you chuckled and threw his arms around his neck. Once your face was hidden safely against his shoulder you told him; “I am so sorry you were feeling lonely. And you don’t have to say sorry for telling me how you feel, ever. I was just taken aback, I would have never imagined you’d want to belong to someone you just met…”

“You don’t have to say anything, I am sorry I sprung this on you,” you tightened your hold on his neck, almost chocking him and making him stop.

“I told you we’re in this together, I’ll have you if you’ll have me. That’s my condition,” his arms finally sneaked around your waist and fused your bodies together, ending with any guilt or inadequacy you may have felt.

“Thank you,” he whispered, nesting his face between your neck and your shoulder.

The rest of the trip to BigHit Headquarters passed in either companionable silence or bursts of laughter, which made time fly and, before you knew it, the cars were entering the company’s underground parking lot.

Your car’s door flew open and the maknae line piled inside, looking frantic only to leave the car as soon as they entered.

“They’re alive and decent, Hyung! We’re good to go!” Screamed Taehyung, his black hair hiding his eyebrows and drawing even more attention to his radiant square smile when he turned to continue teasing Hoseok.

As everyone left their cars and walked towards the elevators, manager Sejin hung back to give you a small plastic card with your name on it. He told you that one was provisional, you’d have to give him a recent picture and your full name so he could make one for you. He put a hand on your shoulder telling you to relax and kept walking, leaving you, Hoseok and the rest of BTS alone to ride the elevators to the CEO’s office. The rest of the managers rode together in a different elevator, leaving the eight of you alone. If someone wanted to comment on how Hoseok and you seemed to be joined at the hip, or how neither of you seemed willing to let go of each other’s hands, no one said a word.

“We are going to be there with you both the whole time,” said Seokjin, giving you a sweet smile, “if you hear something you don’t like or don’t agree with, don’t be afraid to speak up. We’ll all back you up.”

“But,” you doubted, until Hoseok tightened his hold on your hand to let you know it was okay, “won’t you get in trouble with the company?”

Jin huffed and looked at you as if you were the most innocent person in the world.

“I…” he started.

“DON’T FOLLOW WHAT THE AGENCY SAYS,” completed the rest of the men, as if they were so used to hearing that same sentence that they couldn’t help completing it themselves.

It served you all to relief the tension as you all dissolved into peals of laughter and you let yourself rest against Hobi’s body. His warmth was a balm for your nerves and, as the door opened to ease you all into the big hall, you felt so much more supported than you had ever felt in your life. These seven tall men, would have your back.

Nocking on the light wooden door and being allowed in, you followed Namjoon and Hoseok and found yourself face to face with a small, smiling woman who wrapped her arms around your shoulders. After a few seconds you realised the woman was Hoseok’s mother, his father and sister standing a bit behind the woman hugging you, next to a bigger man that can’t be any other than Bang PDnim. They smiled at you and Hoseok’s father neared him to give him a light slap on the shoulder.

“Welcome,” said the CEO to all standing, “I thought we’d be more comfortable sitting on the sofas, I prepared some light sweets in case you haven’t had any breakfast,” he focused now on you and smiled. “It’s so nice to meet finally meet you, Y/N. I was so sorry not to meet you yesterday, but I thought it would be better to let you rest. Please sit down and we’ll talk for a bit, then you’ll go with the boys so they show you around and practice for an hour or two. Is that alright?” He asked the rest of the room. When he got a positive answer out of them, he stirred them in the direction of a set of comfortable looking couches at the side of the room.

Hoseok’s mother sat next to you, leaving the other side free so Hoseok could sit next to you, placing your joined hands on his thigh.

“Y/N dear, how did you sleep, you look so refreshed, your cheeks look so lovely blushed!” You laughed and thank the woman, “call me Eomoni, dear”, you wouldn’t tell her your cheeks looked red because her son and you had had a heart to heart in the car, as it seemed was your thing these days, and you had cried your eyes out.

“These two couldn’t stay more than a couple feet apart, eomoni,” said Jimin, “so I offered them my bed so they could keep their distance.”

“Yeah, ‘cause yesterday they would go ‘woohoo’ if they touched,” laughed Jungkook, around a mouthful of banana cake.

Remembering the terrible bumbling messes the both of you became the prior day, your whole face turned beet red and you hid your face against Hoseok’s shoulder.

“As you can see,” added Yoongi, “they don’t start drooling when they touch anymore.”

Another fit of laughter raised from the group and your soulmate’s hand caressed the crown of your head as his body shook in silent laughter.

Bang PDnim took control of the ruckus and got all eyes focused on him again.

“First of all I want to welcome you again to the family, Y/N. We are here for you in any capacity, to help and support both you and Hoseok, but you are free to look for outside consultants if you want to for any legal matter. The only thing we ask of you is to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement that you will write with Hoseok and your lawyer, then we will look it over and sign as well,” he waited to see if you had any objection and seeing you didn’t, he continued, “For the time being, we would like you both to visit a doctor so you will be able to go about your everyday life once the bond allows you to be apart…”

“NO!” You shouted, putting yourself between Hoseok and the older man, without thinking. Silence reigned in the room after your outburst, “You’re not going to take him from me, are you? Please, I’ll do anything.”

So focused on Bang PDnim you were that you didn’t see the softening glances of the people around the room, how Namjoon looked down and smiled, letting his dimples show, how Hoseok’s sister smiled at their father and how Jimin and Tae laughed silently. Hoseok was looking at you as if it was his first time seeing you, his eyes never deviating from the little portion of your face he could see and nearly not daring to breath.

“No one is tearing you two apart, Y/N. Our top priority is the wellbeing of the boys and, even if we didn’t care about you, which we do, we would never do something that could make them unhappy,” said the older man, allowing your lungs to release the air they were holding. You relaxed against Hoseok, finally dropping your head on his shoulder. The room then broke into soft conversations, Bang PDnim talking to Hoseok’s parents, the boys unknowingly giving you guys your space. Since you were looking out of a huge window to the side, you didn’t see the look in Hoseok’s eyes as he held you closer to him and kissed the crown of your head.

Tag list: @obsessoverthesmallthings247 @threedecadesofawkward @mabel-k3 @tremendousminyoongi @justignoremepleaz @demonic-meatball @hadaises @littlestsweetpea28 @rjsmochii @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @gali-005 @salty-for-suga @indicisive-af @nomimits7 @lysjeon @raisatarannum1234 @purplelady85 @threedecadesofawkward @valentynxmgc @acopenhagenarmy @ephyra1230 @minluvly @trashandshook @brinascorpio @trixiethebear @hobi-love @geekgirl41402 @annywaa

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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

Text

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 4/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“Buck!”

Buck nearly slices his hand on the skate he’s supposed to be sharpening when he hears May’s voice. He drags his eyes away from ice long enough to see her, Chim, and Maddie looking at him expectedly. Apparently, that wasn’t the first time she’d said his name.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said we’re going to that Thai place on Sawtelle for dinner, do you wanna come?”

“Oh, uh—” his eyes drift back in time to see Eddie land his cleanest quad lutz all day, and he tries not to smile. “I’ve got a session with Hen in a little bit, maybe tomorrow?”

“You okay, Buckaroo?” Chim asks. “You look...forlorn.”

Buck snorts and shakes his head. “I’m fine, just tired.”

Chim shrugs as he follows the girls out of the rink. Buck tries to focus, tries to get lost in the back and forth of sharpening, but he keeps getting distracted by Eddie’s practice and the way he commands the ice even when no one’s scoring him. He feels an ache in his chest watching him, a dull one but still there — it’s been a month since Skate America, and they still have lunch and hang out and everything is fine, but there’s also a tension between them now, the tension of knowing what it’s like to have their hands on each other, what the other one tastes like, and wanting to do it more.

They make eye contact as Eddie heads for the locker room, and he sends Buck a smile so warm Buck swears it’s better than sunshine.

He keeps thinking this waiting thing is going to get easier, but it really, really hasn’t.

“Did you guys get a divorce or something?” Buck jumps as Hen sits down next to him and starts lacing up her skates.

“What? We haven’t— We never— What?” Buck asks, voice an octave higher than normal.

Hen levels him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t give me that. You went from hating him to being attached at the hip to staring at him like a lovesick puppy in like six weeks. Either this is a lover’s spat, or it’s some kinky roleplay thing that I don’t actually want to know anything about.”

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever blushed so hard or so fast in his whole life. “Jesus, it’s none of those things! We—” he looks around quickly before turning back and lowering his voice, “we did kiss, at Skate America, but it was just once and we decided to...pause any next relationship steps until after the Olympics.”

“Why? You’re allowed to date teammates, that’s not against the rules.”

“I know, but—” he’s not sure how to explain I can’t stop thinking about him but that makes me lose focus and as much as I want to make out with him I also want to beat him at every possible competition without sounding insane, so he settles on “we just don’t want any distractions.”

“So you’re gonna pine for each other from afar for the next three months, because that’s less distracting than actually being together?”

Buck pauses lacing up his own skates. “Okay, so maybe it’s not a great plan.”

Hen shrugs as she pushes off from the boards, skating backwards so Buck can still see her skeptical frown. “It might be easier to handle if you just embrace it now. I know it’ll be easier for me to handle.”

Maybe she’s right, a little voice in his head whispers, because it makes sense. But at the same time, a relationship is something he’s never had to factor into competition season before, so he’s honestly not sure how to navigate it. Maybe it starts great, they’re mooning over each other, but then one of them has a bad showing, and it leads to animosity or jealousy or some other ugly thing that would drive a wedge back between them when they’d (he’d) just overcome it. Buck cares about Eddie, cares about their friendship, their potential relationship, Eddie’s general happiness. But he also cares about his career, about his own dreams, and call him selfish or single minded, but he really cares about winning the Olympics. And he’s not willing to risk hurting any of those things by jumping into something too quickly.

He wants to do this with Eddie, but he wants to do this right, when he can make Eddie a top priority like he deserves. If that means he has to endure a few more months of pining, then fine. Come February, it’ll all be more than worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he’s sitting cross-legged at center ice, staring off at nothing, when he sees Eddie skating over to him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to Buck, copying his position, and inviting himself into the reflective silence Buck’s created in the dim morning light.

He finds he doesn’t mind the company so much.

“Are we meditating?” Eddie whispers eventually, like he still respects the quiet even though he has no idea what it’s for.

“Something like that,” Buck says, and Eddie nods, lets them fall back into their own thoughts. It makes Buck melt a little bit, a welcome relief from the incessant buzzing he’s been feeling under his skin all morning.

The truth is, Buck hasn’t been able to make himself move for about 20 minutes. He came in for one last early practice before they’re supposed to fly to Japan, fell on every single jump he attempted, and eventually just didn’t get back up. He had half hoped giving up would spurn his stubborn streak to try one more time one last jump, but instead he just sat, his worries burying him deeper and deeper like freshly fallen snow.

He groans and leans back, laying flat on the ice, trying to focus on the bite of the cold on the back of his head instead of anything else. Eddie follows suit to mirror him again, and Buck’s stupidly grateful that he’s here. He turns his head to face him and is met with eyes glowing honey colored in the sunlight.

“I’m really worried about fucking everything up,” he says in a rush, like Eddie’s gaze pulled it right out of him before he could put all is walls up and lock them, pretend like he’s still strong and has it all together.

“You won’t,” Eddie says with no hesitation.

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve watched you skate since we were 16. I know setbacks make you fight harder.”

“This isn’t about setbacks,” he says, sitting up and resting back on his hands. “This is about going to the last GP before the Final, where everyone is warmed up and has all their kinks worked out, while I can’t even land a clean triple loop.”

Eddie, once again, sits up to mirror him. “One bad practice doesn’t mean anything. Your programs are solid, the audience and the judges love you, you really have nothing to worry about.”

“Except your perfect jumps getting in my way.”

Eddie laughs and it echoes around the rink. “Yeah, except that. But hey, if I win, I’ll let you hold the medal, just to remember what gold feels like.”

With anyone else, Buck would bristle at a joke like that, especially after a trainwreck of a practice. Hell, three months ago, he certainly wouldn’t have been okay with Eddie saying it. But now he just laughs, and he feels almost relieved, because despite their being direct competition, despite the pause they put on whatever it was they were moving towards, he still has Eddie in his corner. He might not actually know how this next week will go, but Eddie believes in him, and right now, it’s enough to finally get him up off the ice, offering a hand down to Eddie to pull him up too. They linger for a minute, hands still clasped, before Buck pulls away and glides toward the edge of the rink.

“Think you can’t beat me in a 500 meter, golden boy?”

Eddie smiles that smile that makes Buck’s stomach drop, and then he’s flashing past him, halfway around the ice before Buck can even start. They go around and around, name calling and playfully shoving, and Buck’s nerves melt away with every burst of speed and every glimpse of joy on Eddie’s face.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they land in Sapporo, Buck’s so exhausted he feels a little drunk. He’s never been good at sleeping on long flights, always too distracted by the endless movie choices or a trashy thriller he picked up at Hudson News or his own worries swirling in his head. He finally managed to fall asleep for an hour before he was woken up by the warm weight of Eddie’s cheek resting on his shoulder, his hair softly brushing his jaw.

His only focus after that was on keeping as still as possible for the rest of the flight.

Eddie, thankfully, takes charge of herding him through customs and to the car waiting for them at arrivals, gently steering him so he avoids people and poles while his eyes are half closed. He’s much nicer about it than Maddie ever is, and he only runs into a wall once. Eddie apologizes for it profusely, gently rubbing his head checking for bumps. Buck has to literally bite his tongue before an embarrassing string of words tumbles of his exhausted mouth.

They make it to the hotel in one piece, and Buck barely has time to take his shoes off before he passes out, starfished on the bed, soothed by the background noise of Eddie puttering around the bathroom. 30 seconds later (actually four hours but it feels much shorter), an alarm goes off, and Buck is once again herded around the room and out the door, a cup of coffee shoved into his hand as they get in the van to take them to practice.

Thanks to the coffee and a 30 minute nap in the van, Buck’s at least awake enough to be functional when they arrive. He’s even more awake after a few laps around the rink, the wind stinging his face a better pick-me-up than caffeine. He runs his jumps with Bobby, lands them clean, and he feels good, his nerves quieted by lingering exhaustion and confidence he hasn’t been able to find in a few weeks.

He sees Eddie by the boards, the usual thrill of having him watch running through him, pushing him just a little bit harder, but it’s quickly snuffed out when he sees that Eddie’s not alone, and he’s not even looking at the ice. Instead, he’s talking to a handsome Russian skater, one that Buck’s known since they were juniors so he knows how big of an asshole he is. He’s laughing loudly like Eddie just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, his hand running up and down Eddie’s bicep in a much too friendly way. Buck tries to shake it off and keep focused, but after falling out of two spins and almost face planting on a three turn, Hen sends him off to stretch on his own and “get your damn head on straight”. He stalks off, passing close enough to Eddie and The Asshole to hear The Asshole ask when Eddie will have time to get dinner before going back to the States.

Buck...he’s not jealous. He has no reason to be, he and Eddie are not dating. But he feels something boiling hot and nasty in his stomach, and he kind of wants to slam the guy’s hand with a toe pick every time his laugh pierces through the rink.

He’s being obnoxious and distracting, so Buck is pissed, but not jealous. And he is not avoiding Eddie by hiding in Chimney’s room until he’s sure Eddie’s asleep.

He does avoid him the next day, out of an abundance of caution that his brain-to-mouth filter might fail and he’ll say something he regrets, and because he does need to get his head on straight and focus like Hen said. He needs at least silver to qualify for the Final and push him a little bit further in the USFSA’s good graces, upping his chances of being named to the Olympic team in two months. He can’t do that if he’s worrying about non-existent relationship drama. So he fills the rest of the day with practice and conditioning, working hard enough that his brain quiets and he feels prepared, but not so much that he hurts himself. He sees Eddie here and there, thinks he tries to catch his eye a few times, but he’s got tunnel vision now, and nothing short of a life or death emergency will break it.

At least, that’s how his tunnel vision used to work.

But the next day during short programs, he sees The Asshole strutting towards Eddie again before their warm-up group goes out, and his tunnel crumbles, filling his brain with static and rubble.

His program could have gone worse, overall, but it also certainly could have gone better. A quad loop turned triple loop and a sketchy landing on his triple axel land him in third place, meaning his free actually has to be perfect to get him to the Final. Only the six highest scoring skaters after all Grand Prix events qualify, and last he checked, he was just in sixth place but could easily be overtaken. Eddie is (surprise surprise) in first, Buck feeling a strange mix of pride and panic as he watches him execute another flawless short. It seems to be only getting stronger as the season goes on, which should also be happening for Buck, but instead it feels like he’s slowly unravelling, hurrying to spin himself back together before he loses too much ground.

The Asshole is in second. Buck has to sit on his hands during the presser so he doesn’t reach across the table and smack that smug look right off the guy’s face.

“He really said he was ‘looking forward to representing his country at the top of the Olympic podium’. Like seriously? We’re all thinking it, but no one’s conceited enough to say it out loud and on the record.”

Maddie shrugs from the other end of the bed. “Maybe it’s a language thing. Like he meant to say ‘on the podium’ instead but got confused because English is hard.”

Buck levels her with an unimpressed glare. He had come to her room right after the presser, lamenting about everything that went wrong and stupid judges and stupid Russia (“Really, Buck? The whole country?”). He’s usually grateful for Maddie’s voice of reason, but today he just needs to vent all his frustrations that have built up over the past few days. He really doesn’t care if they make sense or not.

“You should see the way he’s throwing himself at Eddie. I’ve watched him flex his arms every time Eddie’s walked past for two days. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating.”

“Well, I’m sure Eddie’s not falling for it if this guy is as big of a jerk as you say he is.”

Buck stays quiet, avoiding her eyes and slowly dragging a french fry through ketchup on the room service plate in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Maddie groans, reaching forward to shove his shoulder. “Do you really think Eddie is that shallow?”

“Well I don’t know!” Buck says. “I heard him ask Eddie out to dinner after the competition, maybe he said yes! It’s not like he’s seeing anyone.”

“It’s not like he’s seeing you, is what you mean. Since you were the one who said you two should wait until after Beijing.”

“Whatever,” he mutters as he stabs another fry into ketchup.

Maddie shakes her head. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Buck.”

“I’m not jealous! I’m just...concerned for my friend, and—” He stops as Maddie just stares at him like she sees right through him. Which, he supposes, is probably not hard for her to do. She reaches out for his hand, taking it in hers and squeezing gently.

“If you’re that ‘concerned’,” she says, air quotes very much implied, “then I think you should just go talk to him.”

“And say what? ‘I don’t want you to go on a date with that handsome Russian man because I want to go on a date with you, even though I was the one who said we should wait because I’m an idiot’?

“...maybe not those exact words. But you do have to go back to your room, because it’s after midnight, the free dance is in eight hours, and I need to sleep.” She all but rolls him off the bed, pulls him into a quick hug, then shoves him into the hallway. “You got this! Use your words!” she yells as the door closes behind her.

When he gets back, Eddie is still awake, reading a book and icing his right ankle. He smiles at him in greeting, that same soft smile that Buck’s pretty sure only he gets to see. The smile he definitely didn’t see whenever he saw Eddie talking to The Asshole.

Maybe not all hope is lost.

“Rough day?” Buck asks, nodding towards Eddie’s ankle.

“Think I just landed on it weird,” Eddie says. “You did really great.”

“I think the judges would say otherwise, but thanks. You were really great, too.” They swim in a semi-comfortable silence as Buck gets changed. He waffles back and forth on what to say, if it’s actually even worth saying anything at all despite what Maddie said, until he faces Eddie again and blurts out, “So are you gonna go to dinner with that Russian guy?”

Eddie just blinks at him for a second before he starts laughing. It’s not a mean laugh, it’s more like a I can’t believe you just said something that dumb laugh. Maddie has a laugh that’s very similar.

He’s still catching his breath a bit when he answers. “No, no I’m not going to dinner with that guy. You know him, right? He’s a total douche. Pretty sure he was actually holding a flex whenever he was talking to me.”

Buck sits on his bed and tries to keep his own laugh in, worried that it would come out hysterical with relief. Not that he ever really doubted Eddie’s taste or ability to take care of himself. It’s just...nice to have it confirmed.

“Plus,” Eddie says as he gets his composure back fully, “I, uh, told him I’m interested in someone else anyway. So hopefully he’ll back off for good.”

Buck freezes, his eyes locked on Eddie’s. A wave of guilt washes over him so suddenly it makes him nauseous. As dumb as his friends may think he is, he’s not that dumb — he knows what he asked of Eddie when he put this thing of theirs on hold. But hearing that Eddie’s following through, seeing it in action — it doesn’t sit right with him. It makes him feel like he’s imposing, like he’s taking away part of Eddie’s life just for the vague chance that they could have something, something that’s not even guaranteed no matter how right it feels to Buck even now.

“Eddie,” he starts, waffling again, “if you want— I mean you shouldn’t have to— I don’t want you waiting around for— for me, for us, if that’s not something you’re interested in anymore.”

There’s a beat before Eddie moves, tossing his book and the ice pack aside. He stands gingerly, favoring his left side just a little bit, and shushes Buck when he tries to protest. He crosses the short distance between their beds slowly, like he’s trying to make sure Buck doesn’t bolt before he gets to him. Carefully, he reaches down to take both of Buck’s hands in his, moving until he’s standing just between Buck’s legs. When Buck doesn’t look up (partially out of embarrassment, and partially out of marveling at how warm and good Eddie’s hands feel in his), he squeezes gently until he gets his attention. Buck finally manages to lift his head, and is met with a look so full of fondness it takes his breath away.

Eddie lets out a slow breath through his nose. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it meant something,” he says quietly, unwilling to disturb the bubble of peace they seem to form when they’re together. “So I’m still very interested. And I really don't mind the waiting. It’s only three months — we’ll be too stressed and working too hard to think about anything else anyway.”

Buck tries to talk around the lump in his throat, but he can’t, so he just nods instead, squeezing Eddie’s hands back. Something loosens in his chest, a tension he thought was coming from agonizing over his programs and his protocols, but maybe not. Maybe he’s come to rely on Eddie, on his friendship and general presence, more than he thought he has over the past few months. That confirmation that they’re moving toward something, together, makes him feel grounded in a way that he hasn’t felt in weeks.

They stay in their bubble for a little bit longer, and Buck feels himself calm even more. Eventually, Eddie squeezes his hands one more time, whispering “goodnight, Buck” before pulling away and getting back in his bed. He turns the lights off, the room falling into darkness, and Buck drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something’s definitely wrong. Maybe it was minor yesterday, but after landing on his ankle eight more times during his free, Eddie’s clearly favoring his left side and in a whole lot of pain. It’s clear to Buck, at least — to anyone else, Eddie is all grace and smiles as usual, easily taking first place with no way for anyone else to beat him, even with three skaters left.

But Buck knows, knows Eddie and knows that feeling of trying to push through the pain better than anyone, but he doesn’t have time to do anything about it — talk to Eddie, talk to Bobby, talk to someone — before it’s his turn to skate. He tries to shove the worry down, but that raspy little voice is back in his head, whispering about all the worst things that could be happening to Eddie, and all the worst things that could happen to him again if he fucks up his own landings. Visions of cracked bones and bandaged cuts fly through his head — flashbacks to months of bitterness and rage and uncertainty. The panic at his dream potentially slipping away from him again floods his chest and makes it hard to breathe. He swears he feels his leg seize up, just like it used to, just like it hasn’t in over a year until right now, but can’t figure out if it’s real or not.

His music starts just as his spiral does.

The first fall is, technically, his fault. He’s too close to the boards for his triple axel, so he can either crash into them when he lands or stop short and hit the ice. He loses points either way, but in the split second he has to think about it, the latter seems less embarrassing and less painful. As he stands back up, he quickly does the math in his head. Accounting for his average component scores and any potential tech panel biases, he really, really cannot afford any more screw ups.

So, naturally, he falls again.

It’s the jolt this time — that fear that grips his entire body when he sees the ice so far below him, the memory of landing so incorrectly that he couldn’t walk for three weeks, couldn’t skate for even longer. And it’s all laced with worry for Eddie, who he knows is watching from the side, no ice on his ankle and still standing on it, trying to ignore something that’s only going to get worse. Maybe it’s projection, but he wouldn’t wish the misery he went through on anyone, not even Eddie when he couldn’t stand the sight of him, and especially not Eddie now.

He finishes by sheer force of will, his stubbornness and perfectionism overcoming his panic long enough to get him through his last step sequence and spins and to hit his final pose with a smile. The applause feels genuine, but he knows it’s not enough. It’s not even close to enough.

He finishes fifth in free skate, fourth overall, and he knows before he even sees the complete standings that he’s not going to the Final.

Luckily, since he finishes off podium, he doesn’t have any post-competition pressers or photo ops or reasons to slap on a fake smile for anyone. He goes back to his room and packs up so he has something to do with his hands. Maddie and May both text him about doing something with their last night in Japan, but the thought of going out and talking to his friends about their successes against his own failures kind of makes him want to throw up. Instead, he turns off his phone and finds a Japanese dub of Goonies playing on cable and burrows into bed in an attempt to get his brain to shut up for the first time all day.

When burrowing doesn’t work, he squishes himself into the armchair by the TV instead.

When that still doesn’t work, he paces.

That’s what he’s doing when Eddie gets back, looking worn out but still smiling, ribbon of his gold medal dangling out of his warm up jacket pocket. He waves goodbye to whoever is on the outside the door, but as soon as it’s closed, the act drops. Buck watches him sink against the door and lets out a long breath, grimacing as he tests out putting full weight on his right ankle.

Whatever anxiety Buck had managed to pace off (which really wasn’t a lot) comes back in full force, and he’s at Eddie’s side in three long steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says matter-of-factly.

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s just really sore, Buck, it’ll be better when I finally get to rest it.”

“No, it won’t be,” Buck snaps as he strides towards the ice bucket in the corner of the room to start filling up a bag. “You’ll think it’s getting better, and you’ll keep taking painkillers to take the edge off, but it’ll just keep getting worse, and you won’t even know it until your PT finally tells you it’s either two months off your feet to let it heal properly or you risk never being able to compete again.” He almost rips the bag in half as he finishes filling it with ice. He wraps it in a spare towel and shoves it at Eddie, who takes it gingerly before sitting on his bed and placing it on his ankle.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Eddie says.

Buck shrugs. He might know a thing or two about trying to force healing too quickly and ignoring pain, about getting a cast off two weeks too early and almost having his bone heal crooked. But his issues are not what’s important right now.

What’s important is Eddie.

“Look, can you just—” Buck sits on the bed next to Eddie, hovering over him like he can use his body to shield Eddie from anything else that might hurt him. “Just promise me you’ll get it checked when we get home, okay? Don’t put it off, don’t wait until after the Final—”

“Hey,” Eddie says, his hand coming to Buck’s shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll go, I promise. First appointment I can get.” Buck nods, and Eddie nods with him, thumb softly pressing against his pulse point. He doesn’t feel better, but he feels less buzzy, less like he’s dangling off the edge of a cliff by the tips of his fingers.

Buck nods again, decisively, before quickly squeezing Eddie’s wrist and standing. Eddie catches his hand before he makes it very far, his eyes filled with an intensity he hasn’t seen off the ice.

“I’m okay,” he says firmly, reassuringly. “We’re okay. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

You don’t know that, Buck thinks, but he just quirks a smile instead before heading to the bathroom.

He closes the door behind him, sinks to the floor, and tries to let any worse case scenarios push him back over the edge.

~~~~~~~~~~

[from: Eddie] It’s a stress fracture

[from: Eddie] They said if I had landed on it a few more times it would have been much worse

[from: Eddie] Glad I listened to you

Buck feels a weird sense of relief and unease as he reads Eddie’s texts. The door to Bobby’s office shuts behind him, the sounds of the rink muffled to a dull murmur. He’s not sure why he’s here — he hasn’t done anything to get him in trouble, and they literally had practice together an hour ago.

Bobby sits at his desk, hands folded in front of him. “So I’m not sure if you heard, but Eddie—”

“—has a stress fracture in his ankle, yeah, he just told me.”

Bobby smirks before continuing. “He’ll be out for the next six weeks at least, so he’ll be missing the Final.” He pauses for what feels like dramatic effect.

Buck scrunches his brow. “Right. But what does that have to do with me? I’m second alternate, that kid from Japan should be taking his spot.”

“And he is,” Bobby says. “But the skater from Canada who qualified also has to withdraw. I guess a bad case of the stomach flu has been going through their team. He won’t be back in shape by next weekend, which means—”

“I’m in,” Buck says quietly.

Bobby nods. “You’re in.”

Buck’s first reaction is to laugh. A high pitched, hysterical laugh because he really can’t believe this is happening. He screwed up, screwed up bad, but he’s getting a second chance, by some twist of fate or intervention from the universe or however the hell this happened. Bobby keeps talking about flights and practice schedules, and Buck hears him, but not really, because all he feels is relieved. Relieved that his Olympic chances maybe won’t be as squashed as he thought, and relieved that he gets a chance to prove himself again, to show that he can deliver and that he’s worthy.

That’s all he’s ever trying to do, really.

He leaves Bobby’s office practically floating, already texting Hen about when they can meet and tweaks he wants to make that will push his programs that much closer to perfect. He’s in the middle of calling Maddie when he gets a text back, pulling it up as she starts listing all the program improvements she has planned for her and Chim to work on since they didn’t make the Final themselves.

It’s not from Hen like he expects, it’s from Eddie — a picture of him laid up on a couch, foot in an air cast but still smiling at the camera.

[from: Eddie] Told you I’d take care of myself. I’ll be cheering you on from here

It hits him then, and he plummets back down to Earth at the reminder.

Eddie’s not coming with him.

He gets to try and keep his Olympic dreams alive, while Eddie stays home and hopes that he does enough to be healthy in time for Nationals.

A year ago, he’d be stupidly smug about a change of events like this. Now, it just makes his stomach twist and sympathy and sadness. He’ll be facing this competition alone — without his friend, his fiercest competition, his...Eddie — and no matter how much easier it might be for him to stay focused, alone is the last thing he wants to be.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #fs au #ficcery

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wayhavenots · 3 years

Text

So don’t you fret for your baby sister now

I wanted to write a fluffy Mind Blind fic, but this was the only idea I could write. ...Sorry in advance!

Title taken from Sunday Shoes by Lady Lamb.

TW: Death of a major character (Nick)

Synopsis: Nick opts to be taken off of life support when it looks like he will not recover. He needs Daphne’s help to say goodbye. (Some Gray x Button but it’s really not the focus here.) (Major angst! I cried like three times while writing this.)

Word count: 1312 words

You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Button.

Daphne Wiseman flicks the zipper on her jacket. I know, she thinks back.

She knows, and she doesn't want to, but her body walks them into the hospital room anyway. It pulls up a chair next to the body of her comatose brother, who is breathing steadily through a ventilator. It sits and it looks.

Funny, how a body and a mind can be so at odds, sometimes.

Funny. Haha. Like the time her body almost killed her brother.

Correction: Like the time her body did kill her brother. Because it didn't matter that Vengeance had been brought to justice. Justice wasn't coming back.

Nick's body stopped breathing shortly after the epic takedown of Vengeance. He disappeared from her mind for the most terrifying half-hour of Daphne's life. (That included the twenty-seven minutes that her mother took her body for a test-drive. And the thirty-two it took for Nick to delete an embarrassing message that a love-sick and slightly drunk nineteen-year-old Daphne had left in Grayson Black's voicemail box.)

Guess they fixed me in the nick of time, he remarked when he came back, when he and Daphne both heard the doctor say that there had been an unexpected development.

C'mon, Body, stop kidney-ing around, he said a few days later, upon the revelation that his kidney function had decreased.

Hey, I can beat this, he said a few weeks later, in regards to the unstable rhythm of his heart. Get it, Button?

And then after some more weeks, so, so softly that Daphne almost didn't hear him over the sound of her own thoughts mixing with the doctors' words (”...brain could eventually shut down...” that's just what happens when you're trapped in my head in Rosy's classroom eh Nick “...you'll need to make a decision, or rather, he’ll need to make a decision if he wants to proceed with organ donation...” if it’s anything like your Halloween costume decisions then I think we should crowdsource this one...)---

Shit.

John and Hope drive down from Milwaukee to say goodbye. To Nick, whose body will soon stop and whose mind will go with it. And to Daphne, whose head will soon be unprotected from those who can do her harm, intentionally or not.

And that’s why they have to leave, hours before the doctors are scheduled to power down the machines. Because they couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to Daphne, too.

But she isn’t scared of what her mother could do to her. Not anymore. What could she possibly do to her that is worse than being used to kill her brother?

She doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say anything, except for the words that Nick wants her to relay---about how much he loves them, about how he couldn’t have asked for better parents, et cetera, et cetera.

Her mouth forms the words, repeating after Nick, but her mind is elsewhere. Her mind is focused on the heart monitor’s steady rhythm, the fluid dripping from an IV into her brother’s veins, a chip in the paint on the wall, the zipper of her jacket. Zip up, zip down, now you see me, now you don’t. The sound is soothing over her voice, which is shaky and unsteady---not a good representative for calm and confident Nick at all.

She barely remembers being gathered into the last ever Wiseman family hug. Or watching the door shut behind them.

How are you feeling, Button?

As if he doesn’t know.

(Maybe he doesn’t. She’s not sure, either.)

Hungry.

It’s the funniest answer she can think of, until she remembers that she will never have a meal as good as one cooked by Nick.

In the long string of goodbyes, a long list of friends and relatives and exes that Daphne never knew, the last is Gray. He bumps a chair on his way in and apologizes to it, which makes Daphne smile for a moment, without realizing it. And then he places the chair across from hers, sits down, knees almost but not quite touching hers.

His eyes are red, she notices. She wants to hug him.

Why not? I think he’d like that.

She tries to suppress the thought, but can’t: she killed his best friend.

Nobody is blaming you for that, says Nick firmly. Button, tell me you understand that this isn’t your fault.

“How are you holding up?” asks Gray softly, unaware of the conversation happening inside her head.

“Me?” she laughs, pointedly ignoring Nick’s request. She holds up a coffee cup, on the outside of which is written Resilience. Her honorary callsign, ever since she and the others brought down Vengeance, and the name the barista insisted on writing on the cup. “I’m held together by caffeine and denial.”

He grimaces, moves his hand as if to take hers, then stops.

Nick groans loudly in her head. This, he says, this is what’s going to kill me.

“And...how is...?” Gray looks between the still body in the bed, and a point in the center of Daphne’s forehead. “How does this...work, exactly?”

“Just pretend that I’m not here,” she says softly. “I’m just translating.”

And she does, her own mind floating through space as she repeats Nick’s words without thinking. Eyes on Gray’s worn shoes, then back to her zipper, and then she is absorbed with ripping up the paper coffee cup, until she can no longer read the name on the front.

“Take care of yourself,” she is saying, “and take care of---”

She stops. She has to draw a line somewhere. I’m not saying that.

It’s my dying wish, Button. Please.

“...and take care of my sister.”

Dr. Amari knocks on the door gently, and Daphne’s mind---hiding in the corners of the hospital room---comes rushing back to her. For the first time in months, she feels the weight of her body, the effort to inhale oxygen into her lungs, tears rushing to her eyes without her express permission.

No, no, no, it can’t be time yet.

“I guess it’s my turn,” she chokes out to Gray.

Without another word, his arms wrap around her small frame, wishing her good luck. Or maybe it is a final hug for Nick.

Two for the price of one, he quips, though he sounds scared. Am not, he adds to her observation.

Gray finally lets go, but he doesn’t leave. Together, they watch as the last of the devices keeping Nick’s body alive are removed. Daphne sits to take her brother’s hand in hers.

It’s okay to be scared, she thinks to him. It’s okay, Nick. You don’t have to be good magnanimous big brother right now. You can be scared.

Promise me you won’t blame yourself for this forever. His tone is positively panicked now. I can’t leave if you’re not going to be okay.

Joke’s on them both: It’s too late to change his mind, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be okay.

I’ll try, she manages. Really, I will. You can go, Saint Nick. I’ll be okay.

The rest of his words come out in a rush, as the heart monitor shuts off, each syllable softer than the last. I’m so proud of you, Button...Give Rosy hell from me...I love you...Don’t let Gray starve...You’re gonna put us all to shame at Aeon...If you and Gray have kids, name one after their Uncle Nick...I love you, Button...

I love you, Saint Nick.

Gray gathers her in his arms again when she starts sobbing. Tears flow down his own cheeks as he holds her tight against him, the room silent except for the sound of her muffled sobs against his T-shirt.

And then she is yelling, so loudly he nearly jumps at the volume of it---

...oh God, oh God, it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave...

Gray’s heart sinks at the realization: it is her voice in his head.

But he doesn’t leave.

#mind blind #SORRY #nick wiseman #grayson black #gray x button #tw: death #mind blind spoilers #(if you haven't read the demo i guess lol)

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bunny-bts · 3 years

Text

She's Everything

Pairing: Yoogni x Reader

Summary: You moved and started anew in Korea, where you were so lucky to meet your favorite KPop idols. You've been happier the past two years than ever and all because you chose to leave romantic love in your past but you're unaware of your friends' feelings.

Warnings: maybe cursing?

Author: Based on She's Everything by Brad Paisley because this picture does things to me. Noone can tell me they don't listen to country. Part 2?

Words: a lot, I was copy pasting it to a word counter and got tired. For the record, wrote this after work so....

"Night guys," Yoogni pats all of the guys on thier shoulders. It had been a long day and he just wanted to go home and pick some strings, relieve stress. He sighs and leaves, twirling his car keys on his finger as he walks out of the studio. The sun had set hours ago and the stars lit up the sky now, he stops to look up at it for a second before walking to his car and slipping in and noticing that he had gotten a message saying he needed to do a live video. He slid his phone up on his dash and leaned his head back on his chair and groans before sighing and driving home, well the hotel room. Quiet, it was quiet, he wished he was back in Korea with you as he tosses his phone on the couch and keys on the kitchen bar table and flicks the lights on. He kicks his shoes off by the door. He made his way over to the couch and sets the laptop up for a video. Reminding himself to put on a smile as he leans over and grabs his guitar. Immediately the video has comments flooding up, he waves and gestures his guitar and explains he had a long day and wants to play. Just like that, song suggestions fly in, he can't even keep up to read them all but he catches the one that he was hoping to see. Yours. "Play something country," he shakes his head and smiles. He can't out right say Y/N and acknowledge you but he finds the chord and starts playing and you know he saw your comment. He plays and his mind wanders, he just focuses on the music and memories of the past few years flood his mind

She's a yellow pair of running shoes

He doesn't realize he is about to laugh as he starts singing because of the memory. It was maybe six months ago when you and Jungkook, being the idiots you both were and the same age, decided that you wanted to race to see who would buy the other cake at lunch. You won, despite your legs not being as long they carried you just as fast. You wanted to do it barefoot but Jin and Namjoon wouldn't allow it, you insisted the shoes slowed you down. Truth was you just hated wearing shoes. You did start taking off barefoot but they said no because it was on pavement, much to your annoyance. Your shoes were yellow because they were a dirty pair of what used to be white knock off converses and they just got dingy with age. Come to think of it, you may have actually been faster without them, you had some powerful feet.

A holey pair of jeans

All of your damn pants had holes in them. All of them that fit you at least, you either bought them ripped or there was one pair you sandpapered a rip into and wore so much that the fashionable little rip turned to a giant gaping hole in the knees because the strings popped and faded away. God, your jeans aggravated him.

She looks great in cheap sunglasses

You were frugal. He remembers a trip to a mall one time with you and Jungkook, and Joon. Joon wanted to visit the sunglasses shop because he had broken yet another pair. As Namjoon tried some on and he leaned on the door waiting for you all because he just wanted to sleep that day. "Y/N, try these," Joon hands you a pair and he remembers watching. "Ray-Bans, ey~ she got them Ray Bans-," you tried them on, "I can dig it," you make your rapper face in the mirror until you see the price. "What the fuck? Oh hell no, you just gonna break them anyway. Come-on." Then you dragged the boys out by their hands and told Namjoon to drive to a gas station. You walked out wearing a pair of shades, your hair blowing in the breeze and sun shining down on you. Ofcourse he was looking at your cut off daisy dukes but his eyes in that moment trained in on the sight of your face and he was glad you and the guys weren't paying attention. You looked so damn good in them, and you looked like for a split second you felt like you looked good too. You walked over to them, "three dollars, you're welcome," you smirk giving them to RM who immediately broke them trying to put them on his face. "Okay, six dollars, I'll be back"

She looks great in anything

Despite what you thought, you did. His favorite thing for you to wear would be lingerie but he's never seen that, imagined it yes, but that's different. His favorite thing he has seen you wear is a good pair of jeans. Jeans when they don't have holes. They hug you nicely, paired with a navy blue v neck blouse you have and he is done for. It's all he can do to not say something to you. You did maybe three times a year max do this, but, wear lip gloss, that made his knees absolutely weak. He has known you for two years now and you've done that three times, once to church, once to go clubbing with them at a beach, and once just because but it had to be a somewhat special occasion for it to happen.

She's: "I want a piece of chocolate"

This was a recent memory, last month. Your cycle came while you happened to be staying over with them. He, Jimin and Hobi went to get you some things, upon Namjoon's request. He knew what to grab because he is a grown ass man but you texted him that you wanted specially that you wanted just a little bit of chocolate. You were adamant as always that there was a such thing as too much chocolate. He was going to just grab a candy bar but Hobi was for some reason hell bent that you needed strawberries. You did like strawberries but still? Jimin said that chocolate to dip them in would be perfect. You were pleased.

"Take me to a movie"

You would be perfectly happy if you went to work and on your days off went to see a movie, then came home and had dinner and just talked the night away on the porch or sat there silently. You knew what movies you wanted to see and the trailers gave you something to look forward to.

She's: "I can't find a thing to wear"

This. You will complain about not having anything to wear while trying on a million outfits. He and Jin don't hesitate to groan and complain, but really, he wished the door was open and he could see the little fashion show

Now and then she's moody

Moody wasn't really it, what he narrowed it down to be was that you were like him. You were nice, sweet, most times but now and again life becomes too much and you bottle things up so it explodes like when you shake a bottle of soda and open it

She's a Saturn with a sunroof

That was true, you weren't fancy. He smiles to himself, thinking about you trying to drive a family vehicle like that and he laughs as he sings. He imagines you screaming at Jin and Jungkook in the back and threatening them that they can't have fries if they don't be quiet and pictures himself sitting front passengers seat next to you and just watching you. This hasn't happened, but he can imagine it.

With her brown her a blowing

He loves watching your long brown hair blow in the breeze. If it's a gentle breeze it looks like in the movies and music videos; like princess Pocahontas. However, when it's strong wind it's one of the funniest things in the world to him. It's slapping your face, going in your mouth, getting hella tangled which would hurt later but it pissing you off was funny. He would always be there to help you brush it and wipe your tears later

She's a soft place to land and a good feeling knowing

He may not realize it but all the girls watching are cooing at the warm face he has as his eyes close. He wished you were here and he could lay his head on your lap now, feel you stroking his hair and drift to sleep there but it was a good feeling knowing you were watching this live he had long forgotten about

She's a warm conversation

That I wouldn't miss for nothing

She's a fighter when she's mad, and a lover when she's loving

When you got mad, it ranged from cute to damn with hot somewhere in the middle, damn being scary. Youre so small but just damn. As far as loving, you wouldn't let yourself do that romantically but he sees how you are with him and the guys.

And she's everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

I talk about her

I go on and on, and on

'Cause she's everything to me

She's a Saturday out on the town and a church girl on Sunday

Cross around her neck

Seven, no, eight months ago. Back in the summer, blinding light came into the room waking him up. He shielded his eyes and sits up. "Wake up Suga," he heard your voice, filled with something, a emotion he couldn't place. "Wha-," he was hungover, "what? W-Why are you awake? We slept for," he looked at the clock, "two hours? When did we get back?" You shrug. It was then he realized you were wearing a pale-ish clam pink silk dress with spaghetti straps on your shoulders, no bra, paired with wedge high heel sandals. He let his eyes scan you apply your lipgloss, the one that's the same kind JK uses, the uh, Rosy lips Vaseline. You leaned over the vanity mirror of the hotel room to see what you were doing and he remembers taking in the sight. Contrary to the jeans you wore the night before with the black t-shirt. "What's going on?" "I need to start going back to church"

"mmk, have fun," he laid back down, just feeling hungover as fuck. How are you not? He looks over his shoulder at you downing two Excedrins dry before coming over and sitting on the side of the bed. You put a hand on his bare shoulder, "Please," he couldn't look at you, in this, look in those eyes and say no. "Mmk"

And a curse word cause it's Monday

Fuck was your favorite word, there was no doubt. You love how versatile it was. It could be a verb, an adjective, a noun, you even somehow managed to make it a proper noun. He heard you say it shamelessly every way possible, except one

She's a bubble bath and candles

Candles gave you migraines, the scents were overwhelming, but you kept unscented ones on hand. If you've had a day anything like his today you'd light some for aesthetic purposes and sink yourself into a nice hot bath and most likely forget your bubbles in another room only to call him or one of the guys to get it for you and giggle happily upon being able to use it. After ofcourse smelling it and humming contently

Baby come and kiss me

You had only said this to them all in a playful platonic way, to kiss thier head or cheek. There was one time when you were all drinking around a fire at the lake house when you did say it and kiss Jin on the lips. It was a peck, you were all drunk, but he can't help the frown appearing on his face

She's a one glass of wine and she's feeling kinda tipsy

"No! Stob it Y/N!" The smile returns remembering this night. You decided to have a glass of wine and unwind. Your logic was that the bottle itself was made of glass to justify your actions

She's the giver I wish I could be

Stealer of the covers

Every time you sleep over, the guys agree on one thing. No matter who you sleep with, you are a blanket hog. You don't do it on purpose. It's just that you start sleeping in fetal position and without realizing it go into a deep sleep and somehow maneuver into some sort of rogue pelican formation. Not to mention you're always cold

His wallet falls out of his pocket onto the floor as he's getting into it, he comes back to reality and stops playing for a second as he reaches down for it and stops. He stops and smiles at the flap that's open with a picture in it. A selfie you took of you and him randomly one day because you caught him smiling and wanted evidence. You wanted proof and since you never had a open mouthed smile like in this one he wanted it to so he had it made into a photo card. He remembers and gets back to singing, noticing the comments demanding it.

She's a picture in my wallet

Of my unborn children's mother

He doesn't even realize that he stops this time for quite a long moment at the memory that comes with this line. Or that he is crying much less.

It was one day when you saw a pregnant girl and everyone was swooning over her and her son who was with her. Her son wanted to play with the guys to which they all happily went along. You walked away and he followed noticing something was up.

"Y/N...."

"Oh hey," you smiled up at him, weakest one possible.

"Something wrong?" He sat at the picnic table across from you.

"It's silly..."

"Tell me anyway?"

"I've known I've wanted to be a mom since I was 16. One day I was riding home on the bus and I just decided, someday that's what I wanted. I never wanted a huge family, I just wanted one or two. Not then, obviously, I just knew someday. I moved here after a long term relationship ended, y'know that....I wanted one with him, I cried, I can't even remember how many times I cried and practically begged, but there was always some reason we couldn't he'd come up with.....so," you shrugged, "it's silly, it doesn't matter anyway. Never going to happen.....girls like me don't get that," You got up and left him there and walked back to the car

He now realizes his face is wet and reaches up to wipe the tears that went down his face

She's the hand that I'm holding

When I'm on my knees and praying

The memory of the morning of the hangover returns again. He could tell you were nervous, eyes were on you. He knew it because you were so beautiful but you probably didn't. When the church cleared and it was just the two of you you dropped to your knees but stood back up just as quickly.

"Hey, Y/N, you can pray if you want..."

You shook your head, "I've messed up a lot, I'm scared...."

Nothing scared you. He took your hand and got on his knees too. "I'll do it too"

The two of you prayed in silence, holding hands. He finished before you did and just stared at your interlocked hands, rubbing his thumb over your ring finger

She's the answer to my prayer

She's the song that I'm playing

And she's everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

I talk about her

I go on and on, and on

'Cause she's everything to me

She's that voice I 'd love to hear

Someday when I'm ninety

Every day that passes

I only love her more

Yeah, she's the one

That I'd lay down my own life for

And she's everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

She's everything to me

Yeah, she's everything to me

Everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

She's everything to me

Sitting the guitar down he smiles at the camera, says goodnight and blows a kiss. With a little heart fingers he says goodnight and signs off and gets ready for bed

#bts #bts yoongi #bts fic #suga #august d #yoogni x reader #suga x reader #x reader #bts x reader

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