#god do images even small not have PADDING anymore? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alltheficsiwant · 2 years

Text

Gummy Bears

Gummy Bears | A 🦊Foxy and 🐺Wolfy One Shot

Warnings: Nothing. This is just pure fluff.

Rated: For Everyone

Summary: Bucky isn’t really a big fan of your dietary consumption. To be honest, he thought, despite the nerdy exterior, you would be conscious about those things. You just scream it but then he gets to know you and has the privilege to spend a whole day with you. Bucky was proven otherwise as he watched you consume copious amounts of chips, red bulls, and your self-proclaimed favorite, gummy bears. So when you run out of it, Bucky, despite the protest of his stomach and six-pack abs, would do anything to get you your precious Gummy Bears.

A/N: This is my first time posting a story. This is a Mafia!Bucky x Reader. The reader is presumably female but I tried my best for a gender-neutral approach. Please do not repost to other sites! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated.

P.S. A few changes has been made :) But not much only adding the nicknames that has been declared to a one shot related to this universe. Check out: When Foxy meets Wolfie. - J💕

Bucky doesn’t know anymore. It was supposed to be simple, an easy job to do. Search for it and get as much as he can. Apparently, it was bad timing to find it at this time of the year. He couldn't help but grunt as he glared at the near empty shelf. Running a hand through his now growing hair.

He huffed and looked at his right to see Steve intently looking on one of the shelves. His big arms swarming through it trying to find the one thing that Bucky wanted to have right now.

“Had any luck?” Bucky asked and Steve grunted a no. Bucky almost, almost, whined out loud with the ridiculousness of the situation he is in but instead he growled. Scaring the mother and her child who is reaching towards the shelf beside him. For God’s sake, why is all of it no where to be fucking found?

“Stop scaring the damn patrons Buck,” Sam’s amused voice came in, making him sharply look to his left as he saw Sam walking back to him, empty handed.

“I don’t care. I need to find it,” Bucky grunted and side stepped the petrified mother and son to walk towards Sam. His eyes glaring in frustration and anger. Sam, used to the looks and not deterred by it just stood there with an amused smirk.

“It’s Halloween, what do you expect? It's either that or the chocolates,” Sam supplied trying to appease Bucky.

“But the chocolates are still very much in stock while the one we are trying to find is nowhere to be found,” Steve unhelpfully supplied. Not really attuned to Bucky’s anger despite witnessing it for the good 28 years of being friends. Sam hissed at Steve who finally looked up from his rummaging to see Bucky fuming.

“Great comment Steven,” Sam said as he turned to Bucky who clutched his hair now in frustration.

“Fuck, this is the tenth fucking store,” Bucky mumbled and Sam was about to reach out to stop Bucky on making himself bald. A familiar ring tone started to play in Bucky’s pocket as he pulled it out. Brendon Urie’s voice blasted through the speakers as he sang into the unknown. Bucky, oblivious to the shock of his two trusted men, immediately answered the phone.

“Did you find some, Wolfie?” A small voice spoke before Bucky could even talk. Bucky can’t help but sigh sadly as he closes his eyes and presses the pad of fingers over it.

“Hey Foxy, I haven’t found some yet. We are just going to the last–”

“It's okay,” Your voice cut him off. It got a bit lower now and fuck, you sound so fucking sad that it made Bucky clenched his jaw in frustration. Wishing he was there to comfort you.

“No baby, its not–”

“It’s my fault anyway,” you continue to mumble. He could hear some shuffling on the other side. His mind can’t help but conjure the image of you probably moving from your couch which was the last place you are at when he left towards the bed. Your eyes are downcast and a bit sad. Fuck, Bucky wants to go back to you at the same time wanted to get what you wanted. “I should have brought them before Halloween week. I thought it would have lasted until next week,”

“Come on Foxy, it’s not your fault. I’m going to find you one. I promise just wait—”

“No Bucky, it's okay. Just come back here please?” Bucky bit his lip at your request. “It's okay, I still have some Lays in here. I’ll be fine,” your voice loses that bit of sadness in exchange with the soft and sweet voice you coax Bucky with. A weakness of Bucky that he happily told you after the both of you slept together for the first time. “It’s just some stupid gummy bears and besides its childish,” You added.

Bucky huffed as he looked back at Steve and Sam. Steve is back at the shelf and haggling with some patrons if they see any more gummy bears in the store while Sam approaches an employee. “But baby, I promised you I will find one. It's not childish,”

He can hear you huff on the other side of the phone before talking. “But?” You trailed off extending the u’s in the word. Bucky can’t help but roll his eyes at that.

“But even though it's unhealthy and not really good for your body. You love those stuff and I told you when we got together that I would give you anything you love and need,”

Bucky heard you sigh affectionately. “That is such a cheesy thing to say Bucky Barnes your reputation as the big baddie is waning,”

Bucky chuckled. “What can I say? I like being cheesy with you,” He teased, making you giggle on the other side of the phone. “Though if you say that to anyone, there will be consequences,” he mused as he lowered his voice. Trying to implicate the things he would do to you. Things he plans to do to you all the damn time.

You giggled “But seriously, just come back here. It's just gummy bears.”

“But that’s your favorite–”

“I have a new favorite now and that is one big beefy mob boss named Bucky Barnes.” You told him and Bucky bit his lip trying not to scrunch his nose at the cheesiness of the line.

“Okay, I can see it now, that is just a cheesy thing to say,” Bucky can’t help but say and he smiled as he heard your laugh.

“Now you know how I feel but seriously. I want you back here now Wolfie,” You told him and Bucky sighed. Defeated, because he knew that is the one request above every request you can make that he can never say no to.

“Okay, but we will hit this last store—”

“FOUND IT!” Sam cut Bucky’s line as he turned to see Sam with a basket half full of Gummy Bears.

“Baby you heard–”

“Sam found one?!” You squealed and Bucky couldn't help but laugh at your reaction.

“I thought I’m your favorite one?” He teased you as he mouthed a thank you to Sam who dragged Steve towards the cashier to pay. Steve, who apparently, made a shopping trip of his own grabbed a couple of kit kats and cadbury eggs that undoubtedly wild end up in his and Sam’s pantry for a couple of weeks.

“Yeah, but Gummy Bears, Wolfie! Gummy Bears!” You exclaimed happily. “It actually helped me complete the prosthesis you are using now, Mister,” You added.

Bucky shook his head as he walked back out towards his bike to wait for Sam and Steve with the purchases. “I seriously got beaten down by mere Gummy Bears?”

You hummed and Bucky made a sound of being offended. You giggled but then you went quiet suddenly making Bucky straightened.

“Foxy? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, just had this feeling of being grateful,”

Bucky’s brow scrunched at the sudden turn of the conversation. “What for?”

“Nobody really goes to great lengths for me just to get me gummy bears,” you started as he heard you shuffling around again. “You really are different from what they tell about you Bucky Barnes,”

Bucky couldn't help but smile as he looked down at his feet. “You just realized it now, doll?” His Brooklyn accent peeked through as he cockily said it.

He heard you groan. “Now I just fed your ego, great.” You told him bitingly and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Thank you Bucky, not just for the gummy bears but for everything.”

Bucky is now itching to get home to you as he just wants to smother you with kisses and maybe urge you to do something else with less clothing but instead he settled for a few words.

“Anything for you, doll. You know I’ll do everything and anything for you,”

“Ditto,” you replied and Bucky can’t help but chuckle. There was a moment of silence as Bucky’s mouth twitched. The two of you haven’t said those 3 words yet but you and Bucky always settled with the phrase. But now, the urge to tell you those 3 words came stronger but before he could speak out about it you spoke again.

“But Gummy Bears are still my favorite. So get back here Wolfie so I can thank you properly,” You shyly suggested and Bucky can’t help but smirk as he saw Sam and Steve finally coming out. He aggressively started to sign to Sam to hand him over the Gummy Bears.

“Oh Foxy, I’ll be there 5 minutes tops and when I come home I think I can make you reconsider me,”

#bucky barnes × reader #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #mafia!bucky #Mafia!Sam #mafia!steve rogers #fanfiction #fanfic #sebastian stan fandom

153 notes · View notes

tobiokuns · 3 years

Text

— morning after with haikyuu boys

summary: they’re next to you when you wake up, but you wonder if he’s really yours even after last night. [previous / next] tags: suggestive content, nudity, aged up characters, hurt/comfort + angst to fluff, insecurities featuring: suna rintarou, kageyama tobio, oikawa tooru image credit: @seerlight on twitter

— suna rintarou

suna looks beautiful when he’s asleep, you decide. you take in the sight of how the hair falls over his eyes, how his eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheeks, and wonder if you’ll ever see this sight again.

you’re almost sure that he had only slept with you last night because it had been convenient: at the same party, living in the same apartment building. there’s no way he would want to keep doing this, not when there were so many other people he could be with. you graze your fingertips over his cheekbones, smiling to yourself, before you get up to go brush your teeth.

you’re making breakfast when he wakes up, padding barefoot and shirtless into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. god, he looks good, you think. you avoid eye contact, afraid that your feelings would show on your face.

“morning, rin,” you say, trying to keep your voice level, “i’m making food, if you want some—”

and then you stop yourself. maybe he doesn’t want any, maybe he wants to leave as soon as possible. so you backtrack, “i mean—it’s okay if you don’t want any! i just... i made—”

he cuts you off by putting his hand on your hip and resting his chin on your shoulder. your breath catches when he says, “what’s wrong? last night got you flustered?”

“no— it’s just—” you try to find the words, your face heating up, “it’s okay if you want to leave. i don’t— maybe you don’t usually have breakfast with your one night stands...”

he presses his lips to your neck. “is that what you think this is? a one time thing?”

you finally gather the courage to look at him, but he’s so close to you that you reel back. he catches you in his arms and smirks. you must look like you’re on the verge of tears, but suna just looks amused.

“come on,” he urges, digging his fingers into your back, “let’s eat breakfast.”

— oikawa tooru

“wake up, tooru,” you sing, slinging an arm over his waist and burying your face in his back.

you feel great. your body is pleasantly sore and you slept better than you ever have with oikawa next to you. you nuzzle him until he groans, twisting around to look at you. you grin at him, and he almost smiles back, but then a look crosses his face, and suddenly he’s turning back around.

“hey,” he groans, burying his face into the pillow, “c-could you get off of me?”

you recoil, your fingers slipping from his body. oh, you think. maybe it wasn’t like that then. so you laugh awkwardly, turning away from him with a small sure. there’s nothing to do except get out of bed, your morning mood broken. unbeknownst to you, oikawa peeks at your back.

“i’m just— i’m gonna go shower,” you mumble, and add, “it’s okay if you leave the door unlocked if you wanna go,” as an afterthought.

you turn the shower scalding hot, rinsing away the remnants of last night. you try not to strain your ears, try not to think about oikawa leaving while the memories of his touch are still on your mind. by the time you get out of the bathroom, your body feels clean but your heart still feels heavy.

“u-uh,” you hear from the living room, and you look up in surprise, “good shower?” oikawa asks, averting his eyes from your naked body.

“tooru?” you hold a hand over your breasts as an attempt at modesty, “what are you still doing here? i thought— i thought you left...”

he’s still shielding his eyes, but you can see the furious blush on his face. he’s embarrassed, you realize, watching his curled up form on your couch. you walk closer to him, dripping water all over the place, but you don’t care. you take his hand away from his face.

“s-sorry,” he mumbles quietly, still covering his eyes with one hand, “i was kinda mean earlier...”

you stare at him, finally relaxing. you burrow into his arms, leaving him sputtering over how he was getting all wet. you pout anyway, looking up at him with watery eyes.

“you’re such a dork, tooru...”

— kageyama tobio

when you wake up, kageyama is already getting dressed, slipping on the sweats and trackshirt that he wore to your place last night. he’s doing it so meticulously, so seriously, that you just watch him for a few moments before you say anything.

“tobio?” you call when he’s done, his hand on the doorknob of your room, “why don’t you come back to bed?”

he turns to look at you blankly, “no, i should get going. i have some things to take care of today.”

you search for signs that he’s evading, but knowing kageyama, he really does have errands to run, ones that he wouldn’t put aside even for five minutes in bed with you. he’s always been like that, straightforward—so you give him your best smile, pulling the blankets up to cover your chest, and wave him goodbye.

“okay,” you say quietly, the hurt from his dismissal lingering, “have a good day then, tobio.”

you try not to read into his actions for the next few days, but it gets harder with every moment that passes when he doesn’t contact you. he sometimes sent texts unprompted before that night. you’re disappointed when he doesn’t.

you see him by chance after a week, when you’re sweaty and out of breath after a jog. your heart’s already racing when he runs up to you, looking exactly as he did the morning he left you in bed.

“y/n,” he greets, face impassive, “how are you?”

you avert your eyes, telling him you’re good, even though you’ve been worrying about this despite your attempts not to. it’s awkward, with the sound of the wind blowing between you, and you don’t know what to do.

he looks around, hands in his pockets, “um...” he starts, blush forming on his cheeks, “do you want to spend some time together today?”

“but—” you look at him in surprise, “but you— i mean... do you want to?”

he’s confused, shifting his head to the side. “yeah,” he agrees, like it’s natural, “we haven’t seen each other much the past few days so...”

“i just...” you mumble quietly, “...thought you didn’t wanna see me anymore.”

“huh...” he hums, looking away, “sorry, i’ve just been busy. i guess i should have sent a message or something... but i, um... i missed you.”

you take him in then, with his flustered expression, and think, yeah, tobio is like that. he’s honest, almost to a fault, and you should have known. you relax, sliding your hand in his, just to watch him blush harder.

“i missed you, too, tobio,” you smile, “let’s finish our jog, yeah?”

#hana.fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #suna x reader #oikawa x reader #kageyama x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#ch.suna #ch.oikawa #ch.kageyama

4K notes · View notes

tofumedic · 3 years

Text

general relationship hcs with the brothers!!

summary// how i interpret how they love you(gn! mc)

Lucifer

he gets softer, he tries not to show it in public or anywhere with peeping brothers trying to get dirt on his image

but he unwinds, theres tension in his shoulders and stance completely but you look at him and he just goes "ah. nice."

he definitely covers it up by correcting his posture and with a small cough but satan just gives him a look

he holds less venom until the problem children of the house make new big trouble

he requests you to join him in his study only when hes certain that you aren't busy or dealing with RAD work he feels bad interrupting

is secretly proud of himself for not bothering you

anyways likes inviting you to listen to his records with him and if you ask or are feeling bad will let you pick one of the records he bought you

if you have a favorite of his own he will play it consistently he memorizes the grooves of that vinyl

he hums it to get your attention just to catch your eyes y'know? small things like that keep him going until he's not as busy

Mammon

he's always at your rescue, trying to be close by like a support dog he wants to make sure youre feeling okay

loves answering questions for you but plays it off as an annoyance he wants you to not think he's as dumb as his brothers say

leaves little pieces of himself with you, jackets of his in your room, has a copy of his bathroom stuff sharing counter and shower space with yours

he doesn't mean to in a bad way but he snoops, looking for a shirt that would look totally super good on him why would you own whats clearly his huh? just wants to be reminded of you

he takes in as much as he can, his eyes dart over everything in your room learning its place for different items, piecing together how things are you

it affects his greed bc now he picks up stuff that reminds him of you even simple stuff like you mentioned you needed a shelf? -oh god be damned he bought a set of them in your favorite color because they were on his mind

learns your mannerisms, has a major thing about mirroring you. he even starts laughing a bit more like you when your gone like he's filling your space

Leviathan

MC would you pretty please match icons with me *the pointy finger emotes*

adores finding characters that act like you and ones that act like him, it makes him ship pairings he may have not cared for previously bc subconsciously... those are you two

he would change your contact to henry with one of the cute face emoticons and some hearts but if someone like his brothers see it and mention it its just "mc normie 🧍‍♂️" for like a week during his recovery

he just wants to share what he likes with you!!!

he gets trusting with you believing you're safe to know about his interests and will info dump to you about his hyperfixations

and he equally wants to know about yours even if he already knows he will ask you questions to get you to share more and it makes him so happy he just melts at hearing you happy

and the fact it's just a special thing between you two? he's over the moon its such a flex that when his brothers try to steal you away they are too confused like you two are talking in code

Satan

he loves sharing space with you

as in he likes your company but he also likes that he can still read while you do something else because he gets to enjoy you and his studies of the moment

even if he doesn't share them depending on if he's ready to if it's really personal or for an event, he will write about you

sometimes they're poems, usually free-form unless hes feeling in a certain mood mainly so he doesn't have to worry about not using words he feels suit you but don't fit his rhythm scheme. sometimes they're full stories just rushed writings until he's not as full of love that its so overwhelming

this means its rushed with pen smearing from his hand having rested on the paper, words slanted and becoming cursive in order for his speed to be faster, he always writes in one sitting or will lose the motivation but its always based on you and how he feels about you that are his best pieces

you're his muse and shows it in how even if he's less physically attentive he does start to push into your small affections like holding his face or holding his hand, he leans into you like a cat taking a nap in the sun

Asmodeus

he asks you for your favorite kinds of affection, your least favorites, requests you all time, he wants to make you the most pleased the most comfortable so you enjoy the attention as much as he does

he also likes matching with you but in the way of clothes or doing your hair to match his or making kandi bracelets that have each other names or him wearing lipstick and you wearing a colored kiss pressed in sweet visible places. anywhere on your face is free game

he's a spot thief if anyone leaves you alone for a moment he's soaking up the attention, a hard believer of finders keepers. he likes filling spots he wants to help you feel complete, he wants to be there for you

real full love is hard for him, it's hard to believe in but after forming the pact he comes to terms that it's not just infatuation

talks with him will become more personal and deep instead talking about his brothers or just gossip to keep you updated though you of course still get it but its not a shield anymore if he's gonna be... bare with you he will do it fully

he starts saving objects like glass drink bottles or tickets or receipts from cute cafes, he loves photos especially of you but also of date scenery, of you with him even if its just your hands or your legs pressed against his while sitting. he likes the proof that you're real that you like him for real

Beelzebub

he makes sure you eat but only if you want to! humans eat so little are you sure you don't want dessert with him? you can share he can get an extra spoon

he tries to keep you safe even from yourself, he might be a little slow but he learns your tells if you give him time you chased off his nightmares so he has to do the same you deserve it

he enjoys simple intimacy like hugs and holding hands and stuff like that just for reminders but he also likes bumping into you just lightly he doesn't want you to fall but if you take an extra step after he has a small smile, rubbing against you with his head if his mouth is full or if talking is tough

will add some of your favorite foods to a list of his favorites because you're his favorite! he will also recommend stuff close to your favorites he looks out for them

he's another that enjoys your company going to you or a space thats full of you like your room just makes him feel more at ease, it's not uncommon for him to subconsciously just follow a few feet behind you while you're moving around

(this also leads to a slower set of footsteps following at an even further distance, its belphie following his mobile heating pads for sleeping if he could be bothered enough)

Belphegor

he's your new weighted blanket and youre the pillow it's a whole set, his complaints light hearted about his pillow moving so much when you give him small head pets

he includes you in schemes with satan deciding not to hide the truth like you again originally trying to make up his apology through his actions

he's very smart! he's fast on learning on how you're feeling depending on your body language or if he put his elbow in a bad spot while laying down

now know when asmo said that he(belphie) has the greatest smile you get that for free! sometimes you do have to pay the toll in naps or just pillowing him or doing something to make beel smile

his love is his trust, it's your trust, its proving himself not only to you but to his brothers and himself. you deserve the best and so he has to be that. his love is learning thats he's already earned yours in his regret and his growth

387 notes · View notes

silkenstarlight · 3 years

Text

in the softest hours of night

Summary: Bucky gets a haircut and (Y/N) helps him to fully wrench himself from the clutches of his past.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: fluff, cuddling, kissing, mention of Bucky’s past trauma

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: this made me feel very soft

My masterlist

Join my taglist

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

The sound of Bucky singing in the shower always made you smile.

He didn’t know that you could hear him from your spot in the bedroom. Sometimes, you considered telling him that you were his audience, when the guilt crept in and you felt as if you were intruding on a private moment.

But, most times, you chose to lie beneath the blankets and listen.

You could only ever make out fragments of lyrics-- tonight, he was singing Gene Sullivan.

“When my blue moon turns to gold again… you'll be back in my arms to stay.”

It was soft and tentative, his breathy, murmured syllables of blues-y jazz and swinging pop bouncing off the tiles with a sweet, echoing reverberation. He seemed to weave in between thought and song, quietly uttered lyrics often followed by a long period of silence before he picked the melody up again at the next chorus. Sometimes, his words were rushed and garbled, as if he were leaning into the shower head’s stream to wash shampoo-scented suds from his hair. Other times, he embraced the song head-on, crooning confidently into the clouds of steam, as if he were imagining brazen trumpets and thrumming drumbeats backing his vocals.

Whenever his volume crescendoed like that, you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face. He sounded so peaceful, so free, when for the past several decades, he had been the prisoner of his own mind. His singing was a small thing, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

You heard the water turn off and you turned onto your side, burrowing into the sheets and wiping any evidence of eavesdropping from your face.

A few seconds later, you heard his feet padding against the hardwood, and you turned to face him, smiling sleepily. He was bare, save for the white towel wrapped around his hips, minuscule water droplets rolling off of his muscled body with every step. His shoulder-length hair was drenched, framing his face in a slicked chestnut curtain.

He reached the dresser and pulled out the top drawer, picking out a clean pair of boxers. He slipped them on beneath the cover of the towel, and you smirked at his unnecessary, but courteous, sense of modesty. You had seen him naked before, but he still preferred to stay covered in nonsexual situations such as this. So traditional.

He unwrapped the towel from around his waist and tossed it in the dirty laundry bin, and then walked over to your side of the bed. You reached up to him and he eagerly climbed on top of you, grinning as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

You stayed like that for a moment, even though his wet hair slid against your jaw and his weight crushed the breath from your lungs. You didn’t care that you couldn’t breathe. You loved it when he was mellow. He was his truest self when he was at his most vulnerable, his eyes crinkling at the edges with affection, his lips turned upward in a toothy smile that stole your breath and colored your cheeks a rosy pink.

He shifted, pushing up to rest his forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut before he pressed his mouth lightly against yours in a delicate gesture of warmth, his lips warm and soft. His hair fell against your face, brushing against your skin and tickling your cheeks.

You broke the kiss, dipping your chin down and giggling. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” Bucky repeated back, his voice low, his tone similar to the one he used when he sang quietly in the shower. He returned your smile, until more of his hair slid down, blocking his vision of your face. He pushed it back with a dissatisfied grunt and frowned slightly.

He sighed. “Would you-- would you mind braiding my hair for me?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, sitting up. “I don’t like the weight of it all. My hair, I mean.”

You sat up as well, instantly understanding the dual meaning behind his request. He wanted the hair out of his face, yes, but he also loathed the identity that was tied to it, the decades of mindless, brainwashed life that it represented. He hadn’t trimmed it since the forties, his hair an immortalized vision of his pre-war self, an artifact of the abuse he faced at the hands of Hydra. His hair carried the weight of a lifetime.

“Absolutely,” you responded.

He shifted, sitting at the edge of the bed, and you sat behind him, your legs caging him in. Despite the fact that he was almost naked, his modesty preserved by his plaid boxers, he was warm. You leaned into his broad back, savoring the heat that he provided, walking your fingertips lightly up his spine in a teasing gesture before brushing them through his hair.

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it.” Your fingers carded through Bucky’s shoulder-length locks, fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp. You brushed through the wet strands, gently untangling a few nasty snarls with adept ease.

“Well, I did have to borrow your conditioner. Hope that’s okay.” Bucky said quietly, his back to you as you separated his freshly-washed hair into three sections.

“I don’t mind,” you mumbled, pushing your tongue between your teeth as you began to concentrate on the braid. “Makes you smell good.”

He scoffed. “Did I not smell good before?”

You paused, strands held loosely in your fingers. “I-- well, yes.”

He huffed a laugh, but was silent after that, enjoying the dull tug as you weaved his hair into a neat plait.

You were reaching the end of the braid when a thought crossed your mind. You paused, still grasping the three separate sections, and looked at the back of Bucky’s head.

“You know, Bucky,” you said, voice gentle. “We could cut your hair, if it bothers you this much.”

He paused, breath stalling, and considered what you said. Although he hated the years of violence attached to his hair, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to completely sever it from him. So much pain, so much history, snipped off and swept away in the blink of an eye-- he wasn’t sure who he would be without it. He surely wouldn’t be the same man as he was before all of this, so smug and cocksure, so smooth-talking and suave, the perfect image of 1940’s lady-killing swagger. But, he also wasn’t sure if that even mattered. That was who he was before. Now, he had lived through years of torture, decades of service as a trained assassin. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Maybe a fresh start would do him some good.

“Can we?” His voice cracked, throat tight with a sudden urgent need to bid farewell to his past incarnations.

“Do you want to do it now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Go into the bathroom. I’ll find the scissors.”

Bucky followed your orders, reaching back to undo the braid you had so carefully woven. Silken, freshly-washed strands slipped through his fingers until he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, waiting for you to rid him of this long-held burden. He stared at his reflection, the tired, light purple crescents that shaded beneath his eyes, the natural down-turned tug of his lips, the deep, worried crease between his brows. A hard knot of self-hatred began to form in his throat, but he swallowed it as he heard you approach the bathroom.

You slipped behind Bucky, scissors in hand, and tapped his shoulder. At your signal, he knelt, folding his arms in front of him and leaning his head against the counter to allow you easier access to his hair.

“You ready?” you asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“Absolutely,” he said, nodding slightly, granting you permission to proceed.

You combed through his locks one last time, savoring their slippery, soft texture, their bristly split-ends. And then, you grasped a large section from the back and snipped.

You watched as the hair fluttered to the tiled floor below. Bucky smiled.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

Slowly, you began to cut away more and more sections of hair, trying your best to avoid creating any harsh, choppy lines. You weren’t a hairdresser by any means, though, so once the bulk of the length had been cut away, Bucky’s hair was a haphazard mess.

“Oh, god,” you breathed, shakily placing the scissors on the counter. “We’ll have to make an appointment with a hairdresser tomorrow.”

He stood, brushing stray strands from his shoulders. “That’s fine.” He turned towards you, not bothering to look at his reflection. “Just wanted to get rid of the length.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, whether in shock at his new appearance, or in embarrassment at your amateur handiwork, you couldn’t tell. But he just wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to his chest as you both shook with laughter.

He leaned back, reaching up to your face and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded and let him lead you back into the bedroom, turning off the bedside lamp and climbing under the sheets after him. He settled on his back and you wrapped yourself around him, tucked into his side, breathing in his fresh, soapy scent.

“Goodnight, doll,” he breathed, and you kissed his ribcage before letting his breathing lull you into the gentle space of sleep.

He simply smiled and stared up at the ceiling, a decades-old weight suddenly lifted from his neck. No longer did he feel the tendrils of his past slithering against his neck with every movement.

So this is what it’s like, to be free.

He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, tugging you just a little closer as he drifted to sleep.

492 notes · View notes

kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

Note

Prompt- someone in class 1A bodyswaps with kirishima. For some reason they don't/can't tell their class. Whoever is in kiri body (your choice) has to deal with soft baku who either is about to confess or is already secretly dating kirishima

(Kiribaku Drabble Prompt) OH MY GOD. I AM DEAD. JUST TAKE IT. with love.

The alarm went off (supposedly) at exactly six o’clock in the morning just like it did every other morning from what felt like the beginning of time. But the tune that drifted over into his ears sounded a bit strange today, and the sheets felt a bit scratchier and heavier than he remembered them being, and - probably most importantly to note - Izuku hadn’t even needed to twitch a single muscle that morning before the blaring noise was being cut off again on its own and the room was plunged back into stifling silence.

Which all lead to the objectively horrifying conclusion that there was someone else in this bed with him.

Izuku tried not to notice how frantically his heart was pattering away inside his chest, and he kept his eyes closed to maybe continue to give off the absolutely false pretense of still being asleep, but it was no use.

He was effectively freaking out.

Why did this kind of stuff keep happening to him? First it was Aoyama leaving him cheese outside on his balcony and now this? Should he be telling somebody about these incidents? It was starting to feel like maybe it was time for him to tell somebody. All Might, maybe? Principal Nedzu? His mom?

But… that alarm… it hadn’t been set to the sound he was used to.

And these bed sheets... they were so familiar somehow...

Izuku swallowed down his rattled nerves as quietly as possible before he unfurled one of his shaking fists to touch more prominently at the heavy comforter currently all tangled up around his limbs that felt too warm, so very careful to avoid shifting too obviously or accidentally bumping into whoever the hell was next to him.

No... Izuku knew these sheets. The way that the material caught on the pads of his fingers and pulled at long forgotten memories too blurry in his adrenaline-filled state to properly see them, and that smell! He took in a deep, slow breath through his nose, and he recognized all of them. His brain prodded him with useless bombardments of dismembered images. A pillow. A blanket. A couch. A kitchen. A color. A voice.

Oh. No.

This was Kacchan’s room.

Why the hell was Izuku in Kacchan’s room?!

Why the hell was he in Kacchan’s bed?!?!

These were the exact same sheets, the same rough texture, the same familiar smell of a subtle bleach and a smoldering stack of firewood that had been ingrained into his memories since before he was old enough to even be fully self-aware of such significant sights and sounds and sensory triggers.

But this hand...

Izuku wiggled his fingers as carefully as he dared to, but it all felt wrong. The wrist was too wide, the tendons in his forearm were too strong and sturdy, like they’d never been strained or bruised before in their entire lives, fresh and limber and toned.

No. None of this was right.

“Oi, we fuckin’ gettin’ up or what?” Kacchan’s hoarse, early-morning voice cracked somewhere beside him before an equally rough palm smacked hard into his bare shoulder and startled Izuku’s eyes wide open with a chaotic lurch in the opposite direction as he rushed to sit up and put as much distance between them as possible.

Oh wow. Yeah. This was Kacchan’s room alright.

That poster used to be in his bedroom back at his parent’s place, and that snowboard leaning against the dresser in the corner had his signature orange stripe down a solid black background, and this was definitely the same navy-blue comforter that Izuku had always hated the feeling of ever since he was old enough to hate the way that things felt, and - holy cow - there was Kacchan.

Sleep torn and shirtless with his wayward spikes all pressed down flat on one side while he lifted a broad hand up to rub his battle-scarred knuckles into one of his blurry eyes. His lips tucked down into a petulant scowl and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead the longer that Izuku continued to sit and stare at him with an open mouth as though he had just watched him grow another head.

Kacchan hasn’t tried to explode him yet.

Why hasn’t Kacchan tried to explode him yet?

“The fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?” Kacchan griped in a moody manner as he reached out for a second time and pushed at his shoulder again, lighter, and with fingers that tried to linger for far too long. Izuku jumped at the unexpected contact and tried to back completely out of his reach, but the bed was much too small, and suddenly he was tumbling off onto the floor with a resounding groan of pain that sounded nothing like his own.

“Oi! Kirishima! The fuck is the matter with you?” Kacchan snapped in clear agitation as he glared over the edge of the bed down at Izuku’s rumpled figure lying in a heap on the floor.

Did he just say Kirishima?

Okay. Something really crazy must have happened last night. Something quirk related. Definitely something quirk related.

Izuku righted himself on the ground before he held up his hands in front of his face and gazed at the strong, muscular vein protruding on his right forearm that was most definitely not his own, and yeah, okay, he was in Kirishima’s body right now. That’s what this was – they had switched bodies. Which meant that Kirishima was probably in Izuku’s room, waking up as him and - aw man - that meant that Kirishima was going to see all of the new posters and action figures that he’d been adding to his collection since the first time when everyone had forced their way into his room and -

HOLY CRAP - Kirishima was sleeping in Kacchan’s room?! Since when??

“Did you wake up feelin’ even more dumb today or what?! If you don’t answer me right fucking now -”

It was the familiar sound of Kacchan’s explosions popping in the center of his palms that finally jarred Izuku back to the present; back to the reality of this very hazardous situation that he seemed to have found himself in. There was no way that he could tell Kacchan who he really was right now. He would kill him. He would murder him in cold blood. He would blast him to death until there was nothing left of him and then he would blast away all of the rest of his pieces just for fun.

Nope. Kacchan could not find out about this. It was just out of the question.

“Sorry!” And okay, his voice did sound a lot like Kirishima’s, that was good. Lower and scratchier with an adolescent edge in the process of dropping a few more octaves before reaching full maturity someday. He could work with that. “I was just having a dream. You startled me… d-dude!”

Kacchan frowned down at him with a suspicious, squinted gaze and Izuku tried to look as innocent as possible as he slowly lumbered back up onto his feet that felt foreign and unsteady under his new weight.

Wow. Izuku was tall. It might have only been a few more centimeters, but the height difference was already astounding. It would have been kind of nice if he had swapped places with someone who happened to be taller than Kacchan, though… oh well.

Speaking of Kacchan, he tracked Izuku’s movements with a laser-light precision while Izuku tried to remember how it was that people normally stood (because he seemed to have forgotten how to) before Kacchan suddenly tch’ed and slumped back down into his pillow with a careless arm thrown up and under his head. He smacked the empty space where Izuku had just been laying with his other free hand and glared expectantly.

“C’m back,” he demanded in a decidedly less than threatening manner.

Wow. This was really weird. Kirishima slept in Kacchan’s bed and Kacchan was okay with it? How often did this happen? How did they even get to this point where it had become so natural for them to share a bed like this? To wake up together like this? When did –

Kacchan’s lip twitched impatiently and he raised his hand up in a slow, dramatic arch as though to catch his eye and make sure that Izuku couldn’t miss how obviously the gesture was being directed at him.

“Eijirou,” Kacchan grunted out, with an incredibly uncomfortable amount of eye contact, and then he smacked the empty space beside him again.

Oh… my god. It was a summons. Izuku could not do that. He could not handle just… getting back into bed with him?! Not when he’d finally managed to escape from it. There had to be an excuse. He had to find an excuse.

“I have to pee –”

“I could not care less,” Kacchan snarked back before his strong fingers gripped bunches of the comforter into a tight hold as though he were physically restraining himself from doing something that Izuku didn’t want to know what it could possibly be.

“I-I’ll just be a minute,” Izuku tried to stumble out as nonchalantly as possible as he took a hurried step in the direction of the bathroom.

A loud creak echoing from the other side of the room halted him dead in his tracks, and he whipped around to spot Kacchan as he rolled up onto his knees in one swift movement and leaned forward, reaching out and grasping the end of the bed with two strong hands and looking ready to leap off the mattress and block Izuku from continuing.

“You really gonna make me chase after you?” Kacchan snorted an amused sort of sound under his breath as his biceps flexed dangerously and he readied himself to pounce.

Oh no. Not chase after. Never ever chase after.

“N-no!” Izuku managed to stammer out, but it was far too late. Kacchan had already made the decision to end him.

Izuku scrambled back as quickly as possible in an attempt to keep some distance between them, but it closed before he even had the chance to register that it was gone and then Kacchan was just there, far too close far too quickly, leaning into his space and wow, Izuku was so uncomfortable right now that he couldn’t even pretend to keep making eye contact anymore as he fidgeted restlessly in his new cornered position.

“You’re bein’ weirder than usual,” Kacchan stated firmly, but he had finally stopped trying to come closer which was all-in-all a very good thing.

“Sorry,” Izuku squeaked out again, clenching and unclenching Kirishima’s hands over and over as he desperately tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t help feeling so incredibly blind-sided by all of this. He had so many questions and no way to ask them – no way to understand, to know.

How long would it take for Kirishima to wake up and try to come and find him? Surely he would understand the significance of how much Izuku was finding out about right now that clearly nobody was ever meant to find out about.

Holy crap, and if Kacchan knew that it was Izuku of all people who had been the first one to find out about it?! To have seen it all unfold up close and personal like this? Oh man, it was all so very bad.

“Stop apologizin’ to me, that’s what’s so fucking weird,” Kacchan grumbled out in the same bitter tone, and Izuku tried not to stiffen when he raised a hand and pressed it into the bookshelf next to his head, leaning his weight onto it and squinting down at him like they might share an extraordinary telepathic moment.

Izuku opened his mouth, ready to apologize again completely on instinct, but any noise that was about to come out got strangled and lodged in his throat when Kacchan’s other hand came up and his thumb promptly hooked under his jaw and clamped his mouth shut before a dangerous palm slid into place and covered his mouth completely. Izuku’s heart started to race in this unfamiliar chest and his eyes widened as he waited with vein-twisting anxiety for Kacchan to blow his entire face away with a single blast.

But… he never did.

“Seriously fucking stop, Kirishima. ’S pissin’ me off,” Kacchan demanded again; stern and final. “There ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, understand?”

Izuku tried to calm his labored breathing as he watched Kacchan watch him back for a long moment, and the fingers around his jaw tightened in an unfamiliar manner before they were suddenly gone again. Kacchan pushed himself away from the bookshelf and started towards the bathroom with a loud, gruff yawn.

“Better fuckin’ hurry up, cause I ain’t savin’ you any hot water for a second shower,” Kacchan warned without looking back as he turned on the light and ducked inside the other room.

Izuku’s entire body jolted back to life at the sound of the water in the shower turning on, and when it finally clicked in his head what that thinly veiled threat entailed, he tore off in the direction of the hallway at top speeds, practically sprinting out of the room and absolutely refusing to look back even when he could hear Kacchan shouting incredulously after him.

He so did not have the mental capacity to even try and unpack any of what he had just gone through. His one and only objective was to find Kirishima and switch their bodies back as soon as possible so that he could go on with the rest of his life and pretend like none of that had ever even happened in the first place.

Yeah… that sounded nice.

For once – Izuku just really, really didn’t want to know any more details.

--- full fic out now ---

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34034215

#kiribaku #kiribaku fic #kiribaku drabble #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #midoriya izuku #drabble prompts #bakushima #bakushima fic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

673 notes · View notes

helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

A Surrealistic Life (Adrenaline Junkie Part 17)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, derealization, depression, grief, blood, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks

Word count: 3,385

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You cried in Philza’s arms for hours on end until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your head was left pounding and your throat scratchy from the loud crying, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, without Arthur you were nothing. The past two and a half years just- just didn’t exist. Your mind was still reeling, the words ‘will you always be with me?’ echoing through your mind constantly filling you with guilt.

With one last shuddering inhale, you separated yourself from Philza and wiped at the tears that had long since dried on your face. His eyes, vigilant as ever, scanned your form looking for any sign of distress. In his eyes, you saw pity and grief. This angered you, you didn’t need his pity; you were long past the point of pitiful glances. Well, you were, he wasn’t.

You purse your lips as you watch his eyes flick between your wing and where your other wing was supposed to be. Sorrow flashes in his eyes before he looks back at you with a small, painfully fake smile. With one hand, he gently pushes your shoulder down back onto the bed and stands up.

“I’ll be back, you get some rest.”

With the slightest hint of a nod, you watched as he lingered in the doorway before hesitantly walking out of your room. After he left your room, you locked the door behind him. That door remained locked for weeks on end, every knock or attempt at conversation was never answered by you. Their words were nothing but background noise in the back of your mind.

Instead of responding, you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes thinking about nothing but everything you’ve lost. Only occasionally you would leave your room to attend to your most basic needs when you were sure that everybody was asleep or out of the house.

The days meshed together as your thoughts consume you in a whirlwind of unorganized messes. Several times, you’ve worked yourself into panic attacks and paranoia filled spiraling because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Being left alone with your thoughts was something that you always avoided by constantly tinkering with contraptions, your thoughts wandered off to places that greatly disturbed you. But now, you let those thoughts wash over you without a care. Your dreams reflected this; they were plagued with images of Arthur looking up at you with large puppy dog eyes and a large smile before he would be sucked into darkness screaming for you to help him, to do anything, but you were always glued in place leaving you to watch helplessly as he left you over and over again.

Another common one you would have is Arthur getting lost in a bellowing snowstorm in the dead of night. You would be wandering through thick snow calling his name until you would come across a small, pale hand peeking out of an abnormal lump of snow; dread would always fill you during those dreams, it was a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.

Other dreams, though very rare, would be pleasant; whether they were about you and Arthur whistling a small tune as you both invented something or a small picnic on the cliff laughing freely into the air, you would always wake up in the mornings prepared to greet him and cook breakfast with him. It wasn’t until you moved your right arm and found that it had limited mobility that you realized that everything was a dream.

You hated those dreams, they always gave you a false sense of hope that everything was okay. Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing.

You refused to believe that… whatever was going on didn’t happen; Philza had said that the last few years had been fake, something that your mind had made up as some form of coping mechanism, but who’s to say that this isn’t a hallucination as well? Both your experiences felt completely different from each other, this reality could be the hallucination for all you knew.

The only thing on your mind was how you needed to get back to Arthur in any possible way you could. If Arthur didn’t exist in this reality, you didn’t want to be in it. You need him and he needs you, you didn’t want to imagine a reality without him. If you got yourself into this by dying, perhaps that was your ticket back to him. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this.

You were going to get your son back, and you were going to die trying.

Until then, you just have to wait out your family. They’d just stop you in the end and you couldn’t have that. You’d have to put on an act that you were perfectly fine and that would entail inventing everything over again, but you were fine with that; if you made it once, you can make it again.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you searched your closet for your old cloak but then you remembered you got your cloak weeks after your first death. Groaning to yourself, you settled for your old bomber jacket. The slits in the back of it wouldn’t cover your nub, so you awkwardly tucked it underneath the fabric of the cloth. It shot pain down your spine, but you shook it off; the pain was something you could handle, you’ve had worse.

Without another thought, you quietly left your room with only one destination in mind.

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

You softly padded down the basement stairs towards your workshop. When you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, you paused and looked around. The walls that were once covered with sloppy sketches and words written in two different handwritings, both equally as messy and rushed, were barren for the most part; you forgot that the walls were painted an off white color. Your filing cabinets were gone, replaced with cardboard boxes containing old clothes and toys with thick layers of dust sitting peacefully on top of them. The crafting table sat in the corner of the room wasn’t worn, in fact it looked brand new, not a scratch could be seen on the surface.

Everything was wrong.

You numbly walked over to your desk and picked up the paper that laid on it, holding it up to the light. It was the first draft to your TNT launcher. The sight of the crude, minimal sketches made you cringe, it was far too messy; you had no idea how you could make out what your sloppy handwriting pointed to or what materials were supposed to go where.

You dropped the paper and let it flutter to the floor without a care. Your eyes flickered over the desk and eyed the notebook sitting on top of a stack of spare papers. A spark of hope ignited inside of you, this was the notebook Arthur so often doodled in with different ideas of what could be invented.

You snatched it and flipped the front cover over with haste. A wide smile stretched your lips when you caught sight of the small handwriting that littered the page. It was yours, but you had given it to Arthur so that he could learn and copy from your early years. It was perfect for a blueprint template, neat and organized.

However as you flipped through the book, your smile dropped and the little hope that flared in your chest was snuffed out. You stared at the blank page as frustration built up inside of you. Before you knew it, you threw the notebook at the opposite wall as hard as you could. You were left standing in the middle of the cold basement with your chest heaving and your teeth gritted.

Everything was so wrong. So, so wrong.

You heard footsteps thunder down the stairs before they came to a stop behind you. Hesitant footsteps made their way over to you, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“(Y/n)? Is everything-”

“Nothing is okay, Tommy,” you gritted out, “absolutely nothing about this is okay.”

He said nothing as he walked around you and put his hand on your clenched fist, his fingers curling around yours and opening your hand. Your palm stung slightly as you glanced down at it. Four small, crescent shaped cuts were imprinted on your skin slowly starting to glisten with blood.

Huffing, you ripped your hand out of his grasp and glanced at his face. You caught yourself doing a double take as you saw just how innocent he looked. No sign of hidden pain in his shining blue eyes, no scars littering his skin, and the bags that once made him look years older was nonexistent. He was your annoying, gremlin of a little brother again. He was Tommy again.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” you breathed out before you shook your head trying to rid your mind of your frustrations, “no reason at all…”

He awkwardly coughed and nodded slightly, “right…”

You cleared your throat and glanced off to the side at the book laying on the floor. Tommy’s eyes followed where you were looking and went to pick it up. You felt a twinge in your heart as he started to flip through it much like you did earlier. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, “why’d you throw this? What’d the book do to you?” He jokingly asked you.

“It didn’t do anything and that’s the problem,” you mumbled out before you snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it into the trash can.

“Why are you acting so weird? I know you just died and all, but you never let that notebook out of your sight and now you’re just tossing it into the bin!” Tommy fished it out of the trash can and haphazardly placed it back onto your desk on top of the stack of unused paper. You could feel your eye twitch at it’s placement before you threw it away again.

“Leave it there, I don’t want it. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” you murmured under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you need it- wait, don’t tell me you’re quitting working with redstone. Cuz I’ll have you know that you’re going to be the best goddamned inventor this gods forsaken world has ever known and-”

“I’m not going to quit,” you interrupted him, “trust me, I’ll need whatever I can make. I just… don��t need it anymore, I already know exactly what I need to make.” I can’t stand the sight of Arthur’s notebook so empty and blank your mind supplied yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, “even without the bluepri-”

“Even without the blueprints,” you curtly nodded and automatically turned to look at the bulletin board hanging above your desk only to sigh when you once again saw that it was barren. “I made these things thousands of times before, I know what I’m doing,” your gaze zeroed in on the half finished blueprint for your automatic crossbow, “I’ll just make them again.”

Tommy once again looked at you with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, you could just see the curiosity and confusion swimming around in his baby blue orbs, “what do you mean, you literally only have one prototype of everything on here.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so just drop it.” You hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, but the frustration was just too overwhelming to ignore. Just as you could see him start to get dejected from the corner of your eye, you made quick work of changing the subject.

“You know, I could hear what you said when I wasn’t awake. I really appreciated the music, it was a nice change of pace.”

He tensed before his eyes were drawn to the empty space over your shoulder. His breath hitched slightly as a sorrowful look appeared in his eyes. Looking back at you, he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t struggle against him despite your frustrations, you knew he needed you right now. You could still remember how broken he was when you were unconscious. The way his lip wobbled slightly before he hugged you reminded you of Arthur.

You gently hugged him back and wrapped your wing around him. He gripped you tighter, his breath shuddering as wetness started to hit your head. You said nothing as you started to hum and run your fingers along his back tracing out patterns without a particular one in mind.

Eventually, he pulled away from you and chuckled sardonically, wiping his tears away with a fist, “you’re the one who died and I’m the one being comforted. Gods, it’s pathetic.”

“It’s okay to feel emotions, Tommy. You should never bottle them up, it sounded like you needed a good hug anyways. I’m happy to give you that,” you softly told him.

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, avoiding your gaze. For a moment, your tall brother was replaced by a short, red haired boy wearing that same expression. You purse your lips in thought, your previous frustrations completely gone and replaced with an urge to comfort him or at least distract him. Though a deep sadness dragged your body down at the thought of Arthur, Tommy just reminded you too much of him. It was eerily uncanny in your opinion.

Ideas swarmed your head as you thought back to how you comforted Arthur when he fell down. Besides talking to him, you would always teach him something; knowledge to Arthur is- was like a sponge absorbing water. It gave him a distraction to whatever got him down, maybe that would work for Tommy as well.

Wordlessly, you walked over to your desk and gestured for him to follow you. You plopped him into your office chair and pulled one of the cardboard boxes up to the desk. In the process, you grabbed your gloves, goggles, and everything you would need to set up a simple timed piston. The smallest spark of happiness flashed inside you as you saw that your resources were fully stocked.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, Tommy, I’m going to show you how to set up one of my favorite redstone mechanisms. Put these on,” you handed him the gloves and goggles and watched as he put them on. The goggles were a bit small on him, but besides that, everything fit him.

“Now, you’re going to want to…”

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

Hours passed as you both worked together on the contraption. Slowly, you could see Tommy loosening up and making more jokes, successfully distracted. However, you didn’t expect yourself to follow suit. Laughter came easier to you whenever Tommy would joke around, your troubles long forgotten.

It took a little longer than you were used to, but eventually Tommy started to follow along with the precision you’d expect from a beginner. Slowly but surely, with many mistakes along the way, there was a working piston system sitting on the desk.

Tommy triumphantly laughed into the air as he watched the pistons work in tandem with one another. You laughed alongside him and ruffled his hair, “nice job, Artie! I knew you could do it!”

Tommy completely stopped and looked at you in confusion, “‘Artie’? Who’s that?”

You completely froze in place, you hadn’t meant to call him Artie. He was Tommy, he was your blond little brother, not your ginger son. Tommy was his own person, he was Tommy, not Arthur. You mentally scolded yourself for constantly mixing the two up.

“Artie is- well, he’s just… Arthur is my old friend,” you stammered out after tripping over your words clumsily. Tommy couldn’t find out about Arthur, nobody could. That’d just ruin your plan.

He snorted, “sure, ‘old friend’. You know, if Dad finds out that you’re dating someone he’d ground you for life.”

“I’d never date anybody, you know that,” you scolded him with your nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s just an old friend and you remind me of him.”

“Well, old friend or not, he sounds amazing if I remind you of him!”

You smiled sadly as your mind flashed to images of Arthur at various points in his life, “he really was, you would’ve loved him, Tommy. He might’ve been the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him? I can preen your wings-” Tommy abruptly stopped himself and looked like he’d just accidentally kicked a puppy, looking at you with wide eyes and red tinted cheeks.

Just as he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, you chuckled at his expression, “you’re fine, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time for you to get used to this,” you shifted your wing and cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. You haven’t preened your wings since before you left for the cave nearly two months ago, and your wing was a mess of bent and loose feathers. “I’d… actually like a good preening, are you sure you know how to do it?”

“Please,” he scoffed before pushing you to sit down in your desk chair, “I’ve seen you and Dad do it to each other thousands of times, I think I know what I’m doing.”

“That isn’t how that- you know what? Just go ahead. Make sure you get any loose feathers and straighten them out,” you stretched your wing out and hoped for the best. Tommy surprisingly did a decent job of straightening out feathers, he just had to work on distinguishing loose feathers from intact feathers (you were now missing a couple of smaller feathers).

The entire time, you were telling him how amazing your boy was. Sure, you might’ve overexaggerated just a little bit, but Arthur was certainly someone that deserved the praise. That kid was something else, truly a prodigy at both redstone and compassion. Leaving out the fact that Arthur was your adopted son and that he was ten years old was a little hard, but you managed to avoid that.

You could tell that Tommy knew something was different about you, but you guessed that he just assumed the changes were because of your death and not because you were technically two and a half years older than you physically are.

When he was done, you looked at your wing and you were pleasantly surprised at how well he did; sure there were a few loose feathers and they were partially crooked, but you could tell that Tommy did his best with them.

“Thanks, Toms,” you smiled at him after you tucked your wing back in, “I really appreciate you doing that, it was starting to bother me.”

“It’s no problem,” he puffed out his chest in pride, “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“And I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Who knows, maybe Dad’ll let you do his wings next.”

“Oh gods no,” Tommy shuddered slightly, “his are massive and he has two of them! If doing yours took me an hour and a half, I’d hate to see how long it’d take me to do his.”

You cringed, remembering the last time you preened his wings. Though you were experienced, it had taken you two full hours for each wing. “Yeah, his wings are huge. Gods, I hope my wing doesn’t get to be that size.” Though they grew to be nowhere near Philza’s wingspan when you were in that reality, you weren’t sure if yours was going to be larger or smaller than what they were.

Just as Tommy was about to open his mouth to respond to you, Wilbur’s voice echoed down the stairwell, “Tommy, dinnertime!”

“Well c’mon then, let’s go. I’ll race you there,” was all Tommy said to you before he bolted up the stairs with a booming laugh, skipping every third step. You could feel your heart stop when he almost tripped on one of the stairs because he skipped too many. Rushing after him, you shouted at him, “Tommy, walk! You’re going to break your neck if you keep running up and down the stairs!”

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Taglists (if your name is italicized, it means I couldn’t tag you. Comment with the taglist you want to be tagged in if you want to be tagged :D):

General (tagged in all fics):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r @esylwen @seraphsema @boiled-onionrings @smolgreenybeany @louistommosnesquickmilk @hyacinthrosearsha @ryxjxnnx @autumnpleaves @ravennightingaleandavatempus @0ton1n @self-righteous-dumbass @a-simp-for-block-people @fortunatelylazystranger @m1lkmandan @mirios-sunflower @ahmya-4 @shinipii @noyasblush @auroraskyfall @cryptocry @hee-hee-haw @blackstar-gazer @serendipityryn

Gender neutral reader:

@totem-awooga @parkeepingparker @whatislifebutlemons @kittymaniacz

SBI:

@afifaj

Adrenaline Junkie:

@acecarddraws @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes @prlan @hummingbird-lightningstrike @pog-sad-muffin @mystyxmess @thegeekisheere @solar-idiot @yummychicknnugget @aikochan4859 @lofiisoul @deadroses2021 @iamsunshinesnowflake @xxtwizztedxx @izuruamme @reeeeeeeeeeeeeee @insanitybuff

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #sbi x you #philza x you #tommyinnit x you #mcyt x you #dream smp x you #adrenaline junkie #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: nightmares #tw: depersonalization #tw: depression #tw: grief

233 notes · View notes

startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Summary: Padfoot helps, James makes a fool of himself and Padfoot interrupts.

Or Lily's job as a dog walker is eventful.

_____________

“PADFOOT, NO!”

All in all, that’s the thing that Lily has been saying the most every day since she agreed to walk over that little beast that was released from hell exclusively to torment her.

The worst part is that this beast looks cute. Extremely cute, with the darkest and shiniest fur she has ever seen, warm brown eyes that look hugely sorry whenever he does something wrong (which seems to be all the time). Lily adores him except when Padfoot is misbehaving.

Again, all the time.

Every day since the first time she walked Padfoot, Lily has promised herself that she will inform his owner that she can’t do it anymore. But every day his owner looks at her apologetically, pays twice what they agreed on and winks at her as if asking “can you come back tomorrow, pretty please?”

Now, the double money is nice, Lily needs that job, the dog’s owner is not bad on the eye, but what makes her go back the next day is that Padfoot, that insufferable hellhound, comes back to nudge her with his wet nose, looking at her with his adorable eyes, and he looks so innocent that Lily agrees before she can think better.

But this is it. Seven days later, Lily is ready to finally give up, because Padfoot has done something graver than forcing her to change directions in the middle of the street so he can chase after pigeons, weirder than making her invade a house so he can chat with the cats and worse than invading a flower shop so he could sniff the flowers (and destroying half the plants in the process).

Padfoot pulled her towards a stranger.

For all his size, Padftoot isn’t an aggressive dog; but for all his size, when he is set into something, Lily and her one hundred and forty pounds can’t hold him, so before Lily can do anything more than scream (“PADFOOT, NO!”), Padfoot is running down the park, dragging her along, jumping towards a man and throwing him in the ground.

A second later, a full second in which Lily has time to reconsider every choice in her life that leads to this moment, the momentum throws Lily over the man in the ground.

And then for five very good seconds, Lily forgets all about Padfoot—if she thought about him, she might even thank him—because of every man in the world the dog could choose to jump over, he chose someone absolutely gorgeous. Lily notices first his face, his widen hazel eyes shining behind rectangular glasses, and a few wisps of his dark messy hair falling over his sweaty forehead. Then she sees his tanned skin, from his face to his chest—and when her eyes drop to his chest, she realizes he isn’t wearing any shirt, only some jogger pants, and she is thankful for the bright summer day because gods, he is fit.

Her hand over his chest twitches, and Lily swears she can feel his quick heartbeat—or perhaps it’s her pulse that is running quick, and Lily knows it was not the adrenaline of before.

“Wow,” he whispers, his voice mellow and deep and talking to her, and there is only—

Only a dog between them, licking the stranger’s very beautiful face, taking his glasses out.

“Hey, hey,” he says, laughing, and Lily remembers her current situation.

She jumps apart, knowing her face is deep red (and that embarrassment is only half the reason).

“I am so sorry!” she tells him, trying to pull Padfoot away. The man sits (damn those abs), hugging the dog, letting him keep his ministrations. “He has never—”

“That’s okay,” he tells her, grinning at her (damn this smile). “You are not a good boy, are you?”

Padfoot barks happily, looking very proud of himself.

“I’m really sorry, he doesn’t usually attack people and—” she looks at his dishevelled state (she is not admiring his body once more, she is not), with grass on his hair and dirt on his pants, not to mention all the drool over his face. “You are all dirty—”

“I was already in need of a shower,” he says distractedly (stop imagining him all wet). “I—oh.”

He doesn’t seem very concerned, but he turns his elbow to reveal a scratch from when he fell.

“Fuck, I’m so—”

“It’s no big deal,” he assures her easily. “I—”

“His house—I mean, his owner’s house is just across the street, let me help you.”

“Hm.” He seems strangely bashful. “Actually, I—”

“Just let me help you, please. I’ve been fixing his mess all week.”

“Hmmm.” He still seems opposed to the idea, his good hand scratching Padfoot’s hair almost absently. The dog looks very innocent there, standing with his mouth open, breathing fast. “I am James.”

“Oh,” she smiles at him, and his whole face alights with a grin of his own. “I’m Lily. Now that we know each other—”

“I’ll let you fix this mess,” he agrees, nodding, and when he accepts her hand to help him up, Lily tries to pretend she doesn't feel all the sparks.

_________

Because Padfoot always knows when he did something wrong, the return to his house is quiet and peaceful. He walks pompously, the image of the most behaved dog in the world, seeming glad about something that Lily can’t see.

Not that she is paying much attention, to be honest.

“So, what were you doing back there?” she asks, keeping her voice nonchalant.

“Meditation,” he says, and under her surprised look, James chuckles. To Lily’s dismay, he has picked up a shirt out of his bag, though he still looks very well. “Si… my best friend told me I had too much energy, I should try something to ease my mind.”

“Did it help?”

“Not very much. I was almost relaxing, but then there was this lady screaming and a dog—”

“I am so—”

“I’m joking! You really need to ease your mind too!” He throws her an amused laugh. “And what were you doing in the park?”

In answer, Lily shakes the leash in her hand. An adorable blush spreads over his cheeks.

“Yeah, of course, forget that I asked.”

Lily giggles softly. “Well, you may have hit your head,” she teases, though she is sure he didn’t.

“I hope so,” he whispers, and when her gaze meets his, the red in his cheeks intensifies. “I swear I don’t make a fool of myself usually. So—do you work with dog walking for very long?”

“Just one week actually—my first job is this little beast here.” In answer, Padfoot barks once more, proudly, agreeing with her.

“Padfoot is a nightmare,” James agrees, only fondness dropping from his voice as he stares at the dog.

Lily frowns. “How do you know?”

“'Cause he jumped over me?”

“No, how do you know he is called Padfoot?”

James blinks. “His tag?”

Lily nods slowly. “I guess… We are here.”

James has already stopped even before she says anything, but Lily doesn’t notice, busy opening the small gate to the backyard. Padfoot jumps once more, and this time she lets him loose, knowing he will only be running towards his favourite toys.

“You can wait there,” Lily tells James, indicating a few benches under a parasol in the backyard. “I’ll find some medical kit.”

James sits where she showed him, and he seems to struggle with something for a bit before— “I’d try the guest toilet, first drawer.”

Lily nods; it’s where she had thought first. She opens the door to the house with the spare key that Black has lent her—he won’t be back until seven, if she isn’t wrong—and finds her money over the kitchen table (double plus some more as if he knew that his dog would misbehave once more—very likely given his historic). But she moves forward, going to the toilet in the hall and, in the first drawer of the cabinet she finds a first kit aid.

James is waiting patiently for her, while Padfoot carefully offers him each toy for James to throw.

“He really likes you,” she tells him, sitting next to James. “It took me two days of bargaining to make him let me grab one of his toys.”

“I am a trustworthy person,” James says playfully. “You seem to think so.”

“I do?”

“Well, you just brought me here.”

“I trust Padfoot, he has good instincts. And I am sure Padfoot would defend me if you tried anything,” she says.

“I better not do anything then,” he says, and Lily bits her lip. She hadn’t meant like that.

She cleans his wound, using it as an excuse not to look at him. “Anything bad. After all, he threw me all over you today, so who knows.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” James says, even as he grimaces when Lily applies alcohol over his wound. “Actually I’d consider rewarding him.”

“You hated meditation that much?” she teases, now bandaging his arm.

“Nah, you were just the most exciting thing that happened to me today. This week. This year—not that I was excited, I mean, not that you wouldn’t make me—I just mean—”

“James? You are babbling.”

“Making a fool of myself, sorry.”

“It… it was actually cute.”

“Oh.” He looks at her, his eyes shining. “Do you enjoy making men fool themselves around you?”

“That's exclusive of you, actually.”

His grin seems to radiate joy now. “So… how much of a fool I would be if I asked you to dinner with me tonight?”

“No dogs to disturb us?”

“No dogs allowed,” he says, and Lily swears he is getting closer.

“That seems perfect,” she agrees, her gaze falling to his lips (full and they look so soft)—

The backdoor opens violently and then Padfoot jumps from the place he had been quietly waiting on the floor.

“Missed you too, Pads!” Black cries, kneeling to accept his dog’s attention. Then he looks ahead and his gaze goes from Lily to James, his mouth opened in surprise.

Lily jumps, suddenly aware of her situation. At her side, James is shaking his head. “Mr. Black! I am so sorry, I can—”

“Sneaking around, James? Thought you wouldn't be back until Sunday!”

Lily blinks. “You know each other?”

“Ah—”

“Ah, Evans! That’s my best friend!”

“What?”

James lifts his hand, running through his hair. “I was going to tell you—”

“So… so that’s why Padfoot ran to you?”

“I didn’t know you’d be there—”

“And you just let me make a fool out of myself?”

“Lily—”

“Hmm, can anyone tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m out. That’s what's going on. I’m leaving.”

“I'm so sorry, Lily, I didn’t mean, I just—”

“No, just… no.”

She shakes her head, walking away, and as she reaches the gate, she feels something brushing her leg, and Lily lowers her eyes to find the familiar black dog glancing at her.

“I haven’t a clue what the hell is happening, but you’ll be back tomorrow, Evans?” she hears Sirius asking, and Padfoot bends his head to the side as if he is asking her the same question.

Lily touches the dog’s head, caressing him under his ear, and his tail swings hopefully for her. His pupils are huge, looking like the most adorable dog in the world, and he barks softly at her before turning his head; Lily follows his gaze to see that James is looking at her, looking very sorrowful and as pleading as Padfoot.

She turns away.

“No, you’ll need to find someone else,” she says and forces herself to close the gate without looking back.

(to be continued. Don't hate me)

#Jily #Muggle AU #This is just for fun #meet cute au #kind of

84 notes · View notes

isaac-lahey-imagines · 3 years

Text

Imagine #70 | Request #31 (Part 3/3 of Isaac Lahey x Alpha!Reader)

Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2 (might need to rewrite these two though)

Can I just say that you guys who stuck with this blog (and the Wattpad imagines) are the best? And to think I haven't posted in years and we've hit 6k+ followers when I came back?! I don't even know how you people are still here and loving the pieces I put out when I'm here cringing over the old works back in 2015!

Warnings: The usual when it comes to the Teen Wolf series, specifically the Dread Doctors' season, mentions of blood, bones breaking, drugs, needles, a few curse words, idk if this is angst? whump?

Word Count: 6k+ (it's probably the longest I've written omg)

Not much of a flashback or backstory (I'm out of words, I can't squeeze anymore juices out of my brain, my bad). As usual, this is note beta-ed and sorry for any mistakes! English isn't my first language :(

“No more, please,” weak cries fell on deaf ears as you were dragged down from one hall to another, the smell of disinfectant and rust overpowering your already sensitive nose and magnifying the headache that was present from when you took a beating earlier.

The sound of bare flesh skidding on the polished floor bounced off the walls as you tried to pull away and run from your captors, you did not care of the stinging sensation that radiated from the pads of your feet - the open wounds left untreated by the people who kept you in hopes that whatever was inside of you can take care of it on its own.

You were repulsed at the thought of them still being considered as people after what they have put you through - they were monsters.

“Just a little more, my dear.” One of the figures that held your arm sneered, the grip on your bicep tightening making you clench your jaw. You internally scoffed at this knowing well that it won’t be ‘just a little more’ with how long and how frequent it happened and will happen.

“She should be able to go through another round.” A voice, deeper than the feminine one from earlier, spoke up as you entered through the heavy double doors of a room - an operating theater you guessed from the setup. “Prep her.”

“Her vitals are stronger now.” The third person declared, their fingers flipping through the pages of the clipboard in their hands before glancing towards the monitor to one side of the room - an image of your anatomy on display with different colors corresponding to each system in your body.

“The less you struggle the faster this will be.” One of the doctors, the Geneticist, who dragged you to this hell hole hummed as she was met with resistance on your end while she strapped you down on the cold metal table, the leather rubbing your already raw skin.

Her patience with you was at a limit, she was close to just ending it - ending you. But they have already achieved so much with their craft that it would be such a waste of time and resource to start from square one.

“Remember,” The Pathologist warned as he walked closer to you once you were settled down. “The louder you scream, the more blood we take from you.”

The tears that fell from your eyes to the sides of your face tickled your ears at the threat, small whimpers coming from you were ignored.

“Might I remind you that the btch wakes up?” The Geneticist interrupted, irritation in her voice as she steadied your shaking right hand before inserting an IV cannula in a vein at the back of your hand and taping it in place. Looking up to her left, she reached for the device below one of the two bags that hung on the pole and unclamped its tube letting the mix of anxiolytic, hypnotic, and anticonvulsant start to flow down to you. She then turned her attention to the other bag beside it, a mix of amnestic, and myorelaxant drugs, and did the same - a near-perfect cocktail mix they specifically designed for you.

She reminded the other doctors that no matter how much benzos, relaxants, or other drug concoctions they pump in your veins, you will wake up in between operations screaming your head off while attempting to break free of the hold you are currently in. “No matter how much sedatives we put in her, her wolf is too strong-”

“It’s an animal-” The Surgeon spoke up.

“She’s an alpha, a pure one-” She argued again, almost growling at the hard-headedness of her co-doctors before she was cut off by the same person.

“An animal.” He spoke in finality. “We are humans - gods even! We are at the very top of the damned food chain.”

The room suddenly fell silent, your whimpers, the beeping of a monitor, and the hum of the machines somewhere in the room were the only things that could be heard as you started to feel the effects of the fluids injected into you.

The tension you felt from earlier began to leave your body just as your vision started getting cloudy, your eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. You didn’t notice the Pathologist holding up a syringe to the light, flicking the bubbles away with his middle finger and thumb a few times before the taste of rubber invaded your mouth with such force that hurt your lips, gums, and teeth.

The Surgeon that was above you, blocking the light for a few moments, had shoved the mouth guard in before he continued securing your head in the metal gear positioned above you. Your neck followed suit with a hard metal clamp attached to the table effectively locking you in place and soon, your whole body was completely immobilized with a loud click from the double lock clamps.

The tears continued to flow down the sides of your face as you fought the sleepiness, praying for this to just end. The dread of what is to come overwhelming you and making your body shake as much as the drugs and table’s hold on you would allow.

“I’m surprised the smart one hasn’t figured it out yet.” They exchanged small talk over your muffled screams as soon as you felt the sharp sting of a needle puncturing your skin and into your cervical spine; expelling whatever it was they created into your system for the nth time. Your ears hurt from the ringing in your head while your throat burned as the pain from the syringe radiated all over your body.

“I’m surprised her mate hasn’t.” The Geneticist replied with emphasis.

“My friends, let us not be complacent.” Their leader ended their conversation as he now concentrated on looking at the x-ray on the monitor showing the movement of the serum as it spread in you.

“We continue our routine - clean her up, wipe her to an extent and then return her. ” He added as he pushed more of the liquid in you with a press of a button by your head.

“Marcel, they will know, soon enough.” She pointed out. “She will start to have withdrawals if-”

“We won’t let that happen.”

Sneakers skidding on the floor as everyone seemed to scramble out of the way towards the door, eyes wide with fear looking at the figure in front of them.

“Y/N?”

“Alpha?”

Isaac watched as the massive wolf in front of them let out a deep growl with its teeth bared at the people that called her attention, the fur on her back and chest standing up making her look even bigger than she already is.

“Y/N,” Isaac knew that Deaton was the best person to handle all kinds of supernatural cases, hence, the title of Emissary to their pack. “It’s Deaton.”

Letting out another growl as you licked your lips, your tail flicked lowly behind you as your eyes darted to each person present in the room before landing back to one in particular who was too close for comfort.

“Y/N, hey,” His voice sounded softer, it almost made you feel a sense of comfort until his hand reached out to you and made you snap back and almost bite it off.

This instinctively made Scott pull Isaac back by his shirt to a safe distance, struggling a bit in his grasp as the beta did not want to be moved further away from you despite the situation.

“Isaac, move back,” Deaton warned when he noticed that the curly-haired werewolf was not backing down, a hand gesturing for him to move away from you. “She’s scared.”

“No, Deaton, she heard me. She’s there - Y/N,” Isaac argued before turning his attention back to you again, blue eyes already glassy as tears filled the rim of his eyes. “She heard me.”

Isaac tried to hold on to the hope that you were present underneath the wolf because he was sure he saw that familiar glimmer that was distinctly you.

Just as he attempted to reach out to you again with a whisper of your name on his lips, the same frequency you heard before rang in your ears making you seize up and drop to the ground.

“Agh! What is that?” Liam winced as his hands reached up to his head to cover his ears, eyes scrunching shut as he tried to will away the incessant ringing.

“What’s what?” Mason asked with confusion etched on his face as he looked at his friend then to Stiles and the others, the werewolves in the room in particular, doing the same.

Isaac did not care for the ringing he heard, witnessing you looking like you were being kicked or beaten as you struggled to stand up, the sound of pained screams, whines, and whimpers coming out of you pulled at his heart making him drop to his knees beside you.

His hands hovered over your form trying to figure out what to do while he avoided getting scratched by the large clawed paws that writhed with your body, Scott and Thor doing the same and looking over you trying to see where exactly were you hurting.

“Deaton,” Isaac called as he carefully placed his hand on your shoulder before hissing - you were burning up and the black color that coursed through his veins upon touching you wreaked of disease. “Deaton what do we do?!”

“What is that?” Thor asked in bewilderment as he saw what was happening with Isaac’s arms.

“Hold her still as much as you can,” The vet’s voice was calm despite the mess, going to one of the counters in the room and asking Stiles and Mason for assistance as he tried to collect what sounded like glass vials from the way it clinked in their hold.

Isaac heard Thor mutter an apology to his alpha as he tried to hold your hind legs down as much as he can, Scott doing the same by your torso and Isaac by your neck.

“Y/N,” Isaac continued to call for you as he tried to hold your front legs down. “It’s Isaac, baby - it’s me.”

“Hurry!” Scott called to Deaton as his eyes scrunched and a sheen of sweat already present on their foreheads, the ringing still present in their ears making it difficult for them to concentrate.

Just as Deaton returned and knelt by your side, carrying a stainless steel tray that contained what looked like multiple large syringes in it, the static ringing noise started to get louder making the supernatural beings in the room let out a pained groan and lose their grip on you.

It grew too much too quickly to bear, causing the lights and windows above your heads to shatter and engulf the room in darkness. As everyone ducked for cover, Isaac stayed by your side and tried to shield you from the onslaught of sharp glass descending on you.

It took a few moments before the ringing stopped and the feel of cold air entered the room, snapping them back to their senses as their eyes opened at the smell of blood it carried with it.

Isaac immediately sat up as he felt the cold tiled floor and not your warm body underneath him.

“Y/N,” was all he said before he sprinted out of the room, the others following behind him.

“How did she get out?” He heard Stiles behind him once they reached the outside of the clinic, Thor already looking around the perimeter of the establishment for any signs of you.

Isaac’s brain was running a hundred miles at what he saw and what had just happened inside, his lips quivering as he ran his hands through his hair and pulling at the roots in frustration. He sniffled as he tried to stop the tears from running down his cheeks with the heels of his hands. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing before turning to Scott.

“She’s not gone,” his alpha spoke, already reassuring him. “We’re going to find her.”

Just before Isaac could reply and shoot down the optimism his alpha had, a car screeched to a halt in front of them.

“Where is she?!” Lydia asked as she got out of the driver’s side, a frantic look in her bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Stiles was immediately by her side, cupping her face in his hands. But Lydia only moved out of the way and turned to Isaac and asked again.

“We don’t know where she is. She disappeared right before Deaton -” Lydia was close to tears again as she groaned in frustration.

“They can’t get her back.” She said, sounding more of a beg as her voice shook a little.

Everyone in front of her stopped what they were doing and looked at the Banshee.

“Who’s they? And where do you think Y/N is?” Stiles asked before a few seconds later, realization hit him.

It was on the way to Eichen House that Lydia explained everything she saw that made her break all the traffic laws implemented in Beacon Hills just to rush to the vet clinic. Isaac could not shake the feeling that Lydia, a banshee – a herald of death, had visions of you in his arms already in eternal slumber. His wolf broke more than a little as she spoke more of what she saw, only a few words registering to him – Y/N, doctors, experiment, and torture.

Everything was a flash for Isaac now, he did not even realize that they were now in a tunnel under the mental facility planning on who was going where.

But once their strategy was laid out, Isaac wasted no time in trying to locate even the faintest of your scent in the damp and moldy tunnel he was walking through. He heard Stiles and Lydia speaking on the phone in his pocket that they'd found an office that had files strewn everywhere – files that specifically contained information about you and what they have done with you so far.

“Any luck finding her?” Lydia asked as Isaac heard papers being flipped on the other end of the line.

“Nope, not yet,” Liam replied.

“No, she’s not here.” Thor was next then Scott, all claiming to find only empty rooms and dungeons.

“Isaac?” Lydia asked after not hearing from him.

“None,” he answered, sounding defeated as he rounded another corner with you nowhere in sight.

Isaac could hear collective sighs as they continued their searches, his ears already drowning out what Lydia and Stiles were doing - occasionally spitting out questions of why’s as they continued to browse through what they found in the files.

His breathing became labored as his mind started to play tricks on him the further we walked down the tunnel, the source of light slowly fading the deeper he went.

Just as he was about to turn another corner, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as though soft fingertips touched him, making his skin crawl as he turned around quickly only to find an empty space. But as he directed his attention to the other corner of the room, the colors on his face drained.

Amidst the mess of metal chains and torn blankets, Isaac watched closely as the figure on the floor took a raspy breath, eyes moving behind closed lids, lips mumbling incoherent words.

“Y/N?” Isaac slowly approached, the other members of the pack on the other line calling for his attention and asking if they heard him call your name.

At the sound of your name being called, your body went rigid. Your eyes flew open, widening as you saw a shadowy figure in front of you moving closer.

“Please, no more.” Your voice cracked from the overuse as you begged, the sound of heavy metal clinking together echoed in the empty room as you backed away slowly. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, please!”

Your frame quivered as you continued to plead, sweat mixed with blood trickled down your body as you attempted to make yourself smaller against the corner of the cell; failing from the sudden pain on the back of your neck that restricted you to move any further away from where you were.

“Y/N, it’s Isaac. I’m not going to hurt you.” Isaac ignored the voices over the phone calling for him, asking if he really found you. “You’re safe now, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Isaac almost expected for you to cower further away from him, but you didn’t – instead, you relaxed a little as his hand landed on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder effectively pulling you into an embrace.

As Isaac felt you release a breath before melting against his chest, his scent effectively calmed you down as your wolf recognized her other half. You both stayed like that for a while before he went back to examining you and what was behind you, more so what was attached to you.

Now, more diligent in his movements, his hands hovered over what seemed to be a tube attached to the back of your neck. He shifted in his kneeling position, careful not to jostle you, before taking his phone from his pocket.

“Something’s attached to her, I need to get it off-.” He informed more to Stiles and Lydia than to others present on the call.

“Don’t!” Lydia exclaimed, panicked at what Isaac was planning. “Not yet.”

“But she’s already hurting!” Isaac’s hands returned to your shoulder and back, holding you closer - as close as the tube permitted.

“That’s connected to her spine, Isaac,” Stiles added, warning him of what might happen. “If you remove it you might do some serious damage here.”

His attention turned back to you when he heard you whimper his name.

You were testing to see if Isaac was really there with you or if you were merely hallucinating again, not sure anymore of what was real after everything that happened to you for the past few years.

“Isaac?”

“Hi,” he smiled down when he pulled away from you a little, his voice shaking as he cupped your face in his hands. “I’m here.”

Your eyes focused on his face, blinking a few times before-

“No.”

That, he did not expect.

“No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly making Isaac more confused- were you not happy or relieved to see him with you?

“You shouldn’t be here.” As you came to your senses, you moved out of his grasp and pushed him away at the same time with the little strength you have left.

“Y/N, we came here for you. What are you talking about?” Isaac was hurt, you can see it in his face the way his brows furrowed and eyes already releasing a few tears down his cheeks.

Before you could answer back, the same ringing sounded again.

“Isaac, you have to go, please.” You cried, your own tears flowing down your cheek as you tried to pry his hands that held on to your wrists away, wanting to get out of his hold on you all the while fighting the heavy ache in your body to turn against your own will.

“Isaac, you have to get out of there!” You can hear Stiles over the phone, can hear Scott and the others running to where your werewolf was located.

“I’m not leaving her,” Isaac growled at them but his eyes stayed on you.

“You have to, plea-”

“Y/N!”

A blood-curdling scream left your lips as your body started to tremble on the floor, your bones were visibly breaking and morphing under your skin against your will yet again. The jagged edges of the broken bones breaking through skin and the movement causing purple and blue patches to decorate your flesh, all the while the liquid inside the tube that was still attached to you bubbled angrily.

“Isaac!”

Turning to the person who called his name, he suddenly felt himself being tugged down to the floor as the sound of electricity zipping past them blasted onto the steel bars of a small window on the wall overcame your pained screams.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the static voice called.

“It’s the Dread Doctors.” Stiles’ voice over the phone can be heard, more papers can be heard being flipped and thrown somewhere. “They’re the ones doing this to Y/N.”

“I need to get it off of her!” Isaac spoke to the phone as he watched Thor lunge at one of the doctors in front of them, his clawed hand not holding back any hits he let out. Scott was next when another appeared much closer to where you and Isaac were.

Once your cries quieted down and your body settled down to small shakes - appeased from the onslaught of transforming against your will, Isaac’s hands hovered over the tube.

“You have to go before they hurt you.” It was barely a whisper when the words came out of your mouth, your body was getting too tired to fight it anymore.

“No, I’m not leaving without you, you know that.” Isaac spoke it with a voice that left no room for arguments as he held the tube in his hand and attempted to pull.

Isaac held back a sob as the screams you let out shattered through the noise of the grunts and punches being thrown. But before he could successfully pull it out, a force had hit him and sent him across the room hitting a wall with a loud thud.

“Near-perfect.” Another doctor, the same one who threw Isaac off of you, had appeared next to you with a device in his hand that, from the looks of it, controlled the tube that was pumping the liquid into you.

“Stop, please!” Your hands flew to the contraption attached to you just as Isaac charged at the doctor, sending them both to the ground.

Blinking away the heaviness of your eyelids, you tried to move from your position on the floor only to fall back down flat on your stomach. The wolf in you whined in panic, barking almost as she nudged you with her head to stand up - that you still had strength in you and she was there to anchor you herself.

“Give her back to me,” You can hear Isaac from across the room, the sight of him swiftly landing blow after blow at the doctor caught you off guard. The blood that ran down his temple to his eyes only added a level of intensity to his yellow glowing gaze as he gave a growl that had an unnerving timbre to it. “Now.”

On the other end of the room, you watch Scott claw at the doctor he was against before the mask fell off and revealed a face that was mottled, wrinkled, and scarred. If the true alpha was disgusted, he did not show it as he put his arms up to block the hit the doctor threw his way.

At the sound of a device dropping to the cemented floor, you felt the vibration of the tube behind you stop - the bubbles silencing as it halted its actions. This immediately cleared your head and relieved you of the pain, the fuzzy veil finally lifting as you took another deep breath and attempted to sit upright again.

Successfully sitting up with a few labored breaths accompanied by a wince, you lifted your aching arms and took hold of the tube attached behind you - the stinging feel of the needle made itself known as the small movement you made just from holding it jostled a little.

Taking a couple of ragged breaths again, trying to gather the courage and strength to pull the thing behind you when the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs. The sensation of a sharp jab radiated from your side, the groan you let out echoed to the other end of the room making your eyes dart to where Isaac was.

“No,” you let out a gasp at the sight of your mate wide-eyed as he stared up at the doctor in front of him - the pain you felt on your side mirroring where the Surgeon’s swordcane embedded on Isaac’s side and giving it a twist for good measure. “Isaac!”

Your wolf’s painful yips turned to a low dangerous growl.

Feeling the familiar throb in your gums as your canines grew longer, you heard a banshee’s piercing scream all the way from the other wing of the Eichen house while a true alpha’s growl filled the place you were in.

“No more,” You say through clenched teeth, Thor’s knees buckling at the command in his alpha’s voice, Scott and the doctors they were up against stood in awe at the willpower you displayed.

“Perfect,” one of them said under their breath, the final push for perfection.

Finally standing tall, the tube attached to your neck earlier now clutched in your hand, you did not waste time as you took down each person who did you wrong.

Going for the closest antagonist in your life, Thor immediately scrambled out of your way as your claws wrapped around the Geneticists neck. You let your body move past her without letting go of your grip on her before using the momentum to lift the doctor up, the weight and force effectively disconnecting her head from the rest of her body before hurdling her to the Pathologist who was clambering away from Scott and the fight.

Everything was a blur to the other occupants of the room as you zipped past them and took down each one before you finally lunged at the Surgeon who finally released his grip on both his cane and on Isaac.

“My child-” he managed to say as your grip on his neck tightened, his feet barely touching the ground - your eyes glowing a dangerous color as you stared up at him.

You can finally see through the mask, raw pink flesh with stitches decorating it was what the steel mask protected. His mouth opened to say something but only a gurgled gasp came out as your other hand embedded itself in his chest and pierced through skin and muscle. You felt your wolf puffing up with pride and anger - you were their greatest creation and downfall.

Silence enveloped the room as the lead doctor took his last breath before you haphazardly threw him to the ground.

With his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed, Isaac pulled the swordcane out of him. His jaw clenching before he let out a pained groan at the feel of the weapon sliding out before leaning heavily against the brick wall while clutching his side.

Your attention was immediately drawn to your other half, managing to wipe off some of the blood on your hand before tending to him.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted as he tried to not lean all his weight to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, careful not to touch the stab wound on his side. You felt tears playing at the edge of your lashes as you buried your face against his chest, the scent signifying home.

“Can’t really ask you if you’re okay,” You managed to say once you pulled away and looked up at him.

“You’re one to talk,” Isaac replied with a chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled, wiping the stray tear that ran down your cheek with the back of your hand as Isaac’s lips returned to your forehead for another kiss.

“Y/N, look-”

“No!”

A loud bang and the pain that came with it suddenly broke the bubble of peace you were in.

Clutching you to his chest, you saw the same confused expression that reflected on Isaac’s eyes before they darted from you to where the smell of gunpowder was coming from.

The Pathologist’s hand shook as he held the gun up, a crazed look in his eyes as he attempted to stand up from being buried under his colleague's lifeless body. He muttered incoherent words as he aimed the gun at you again.

But before he can pull the trigger, another loud thud took you all by surprise as you witnessed the man fall down flat on his face.

“Damn.” Lydia was behind him with a bloodied metal bat clutched in her hands - Stiles’ hands were up in the air, his eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe his girl just did that.

“Well mark me down as scared and horny,” Stiles muttered under his breath, his brain replaying the moment Lydia all but took off with his metal bat and ran down the hall as fast as her heels allowed her to where they were now.

“Thank you, Thor.” You hugged the larger-built werewolf, his arms wrapping around you tightly but still being mindful of your current state. “But I don’t think I’m fit to be your alpha - to be the pack’s alpha anymore.”

“I will never understand how you and the others accepted me after what had happened.” Your feet dangled as you sat on a bricked fence outside of the Eichen house, the jacket from Isaac wrapped around you securely to act as a buffer against the coolness of the night.

You can hear Thor’s wolf whine at your words, his face already reflecting the sadness you both felt at what you were doing as he leaned against the fence you were sitting on.

“Alpha, please don’t discredit yourself.”

You looked up at him, not really believing his words with how much damage you’ve done to the pack - to your family.

“You are more than worthy - especially at your age.” He added, pointing out that most of the alphas out there were a hundred years older than you. “You are strong.”

“Thank you, again - for everything,” your lips quivered as you gave your best smile before glancing up to try and prevent the tears from spilling down your cheeks. The thought of leaving your pack broke your heart, they were family. But you needed to have someone better to lead and handle pack-related things -- you needed to recover.

A comfortable silence settled around the two of you before you heard Stiles and Isaac walking towards you.

“Jeep’s good to go, big guy.” Stiles said - more to Thor than you - with a tilt of his head to gesture to where they were parked as Isaac helped you to your feet and walked you towards Lydia’s car.

“You okay?” Isaac asked softly as you both settled in the back seat.

His eyes double-checked the graze on your shoulder from the bullet that hit you, his arms never leaving your side as he let you lean on him - exhaustion already catching up to you with the way your body sagged against his.

No, not really. You wanted to say as he only tugged you closer to him, the drive to Deaton being quieter save for the soft tunes the radio played.

“I will be.”

~~~

Isaac didn’t know what exactly woke him up.

Staring back at the ceiling, his ears strained to hear bed sheets rustling beside him. With the little light that passed through the curtains of the room you shared, he ran his hands down his face before turning to his bedside.

His eyes squinted when his phone awoke and flashed the time, 3:01AM it read - the phone’s screen showed a picture of the two of you together during a weekend picnic Lydia had arranged a few weeks ago. You had your eyes closed and lips smiling - a genuine smile after so long - against his neck as he had his arms wrapped around you tightly while he made a face to the camera.

Isaac stared at his phone’s lock screen a few moments longer before movement on his side and the feel of cold skin touching his leg took him out of his reverie.

Putting his phone back on the nightstand, he curled back down the covers and turned to face you. For someone who’s a warm-blooded supernatural creature themself, you sure have cold feet.

Isaac cupped your face before tucking a stray hair behind your ear, you were lying on your stomach facing him with your hands tucked just a little under your pillow. You were still in deep sleep but it did not look as peaceful as he remembered - your brows were furrowed, your lips moved as if mumbling something and an occasional hand twitch was what he observed.

“Y/N?” Isaac asked, his voice croaked from the lack of use as he leaned on his elbow and tried to coax you awake.

It didn’t take too long before Isaac finally understood what you were saying.

Please, no more...p-please.

Leaning over your side of the bed, Isaac flicked the switch to your bedside lamp open and tried to call for you again. He could now see the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, the sheets bunching up in your grasp as your knuckles turned a lighter shade from how tight your grip was.

I can’t t-take it anymore...

“Hey, baby,” Isaac gently ran his hand down your back a few times, trying not to ‘jolt’ you awake. He knew what methods to use in waking you up when things like these happen, though it took multiple trials and errors with a few bumps - more or less scratches - in the way. But god, he’d take you screaming and lashing out at him any day than this.

I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...

“Y/N, please wake up for me.”

It broke his heart more at the thought that while you were already together, even if in that span of time you were simply friends at first, they’ve already done a multitude of things to you.

“Y/N, I’m here - you’re safe.” He tried again, the soft kiss to your temple lingering a little longer in hopes that it might help - let you sense that he was present and you were not in danger anymore.

“Y/N, no one’s gonna hurt you,” He spoke softly.

Covering your clenched hand with his, it was all it took before your eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air. It took some strength and swiftness from Isaac to hold your wrists when you sat up so fast - almost bumping his chin in the process - that you almost fell out of the shared bed.

“Hey, hey,” He called for you, your eyes were dilated, blown wide and looking around frantically as if you were searching for the threat that plagued your life a year ago and giving you these night terrors that prevented you from having a good night’s sleep.

“I’m here, you’re safe.” He repeated, waiting for you and not letting go.

“Isaac,” He waited a little more before you finally settled down and realized where you were, your voice shook a little as you spoke his name; eyes glassy as you looked at the familiar blue eyes that called for you.

“I’m here.” Isaac gave a small smile as his hold on your wrist loosened before sliding his hands in yours and holding onto them on your lap - the soft yellow light from your bedside lamp gave his face a soft glow; his eyes looking more kinder that it already was.

Not again. Your lips trembled as you held back a sob, you shook your head as you stared down at your joined hands.

You felt trapped.

That was the only thing you felt and you wanted out, you wanted this to stop; you want an end to this thing happening to you - you don’t deserve the man in front of you.

Having known you for so long, Isaac can already see it on your face, he already anticipated it.

“I love you,” He spoke.

Absolutely no room for arguments, “I won’t leave you.”

You felt Isaac’s hands rest on your hips as you withdrew yours from his hold and tried to stop and wipe as many tears as you could with the heel of your hands. He let you lean your head on his shoulder, the feel of his lips placing a comforting kiss to your ear should’ve given your heart a little leap but it didn’t.

“How much longer will you tell me that before you finally get tired?” You did not mean to say it out loud, you hiccupped once your tears finally settled down with your head and heart.

“Never,” Isaac said as he pushed you away a little to look at you, cupping your face in his warm hands to make you look up at him, a glint of playfulness present. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You could only sigh and give a soft smile.

“You’re too good for me, Isaac.”

Bringing your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles, he let them go before cupping your face again and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose and lastly a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You deserve good things, Y/N.”

You deserve them after everything you went through. Isaac gave that smile he reserved only for you when he pulled away.

Lying back down, Isaac pulled you closer to him before pulling the covers up just below your chin.

“We’ll be okay, remember?” Isaac reminded you of the words you said to him when he asked you a year ago.

You did not miss the way he said ‘we.’ You did remember what he told you, that you were in this together - you’re it for me.

“I remember,” you answered, curling as close as you can to his side. The tip of your nose resting against the warm skin of his neck as he rest his chin on top of your head, arms tightening around you before they relaxed.

Feedbacks are always appreciated! Especially since I miss writing. But again, I won't be doing much writing anymore since I've somewhat lost touch with both my imagines blogs. I might just rewrite/refurbish some of my old imagines/drabbles.

Again, thank you so much for those who stuck by this imagines blog (and for Brett as well). You don't know how much I appreciate it, again, I'm sorry for not being active (read more here)

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine

111 notes · View notes

johnsamericano · 3 years

Text

𝓓𝓪𝔂 10:

кιм נυиgωσσ

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @silent-potato @whathamelon @unknown5tar @ajhdr @mrcarbonatedmilk @curieouscapt

warnings: unprotected sex (reader’s on the pill), y/n is kinda odd but in a good way, thigh riding (? Sort of.

“Please, Yuta. I need you.” You pleaded, falling onto your knees as you held onto his hand.

“Stop, people are watching.” He pulled you up, slightly vowing to the students staring at the little scene. “I’ve already told you I’m too busy with my own projects.”

“Yuta.” You whined, feeling like you were running out of options.

“I have a couple friends that might be willing to help you, but I can’t promise anything.”

As expected, all of them rejected you. Everyone was too caught up with their own work to care about yours. But one magnificent day, you found your muse. You met him at the cafeteria, he was simply eating pizza, yet he looked like a model.

He pretended not to acknowledge your piercing gaze, but as you started walking to his table he couldn't help but blush, playing anxiously with the pages of his textbook. Why was the goddess of the art department walking towards him?

“Hi, I'm y/n.” You casually sat in front of him, extending your hand towards him as if this wasn't the first time you'd seen him.

“I’m Jungwoo.” He was literally the epitome of cuteness, his pretty cheeks tinted pink and his brown locks casting shadows over his forehead.

“What’s your major?” You rested your chin over your palms, eyeing the book on the table.

“Mechanical engineering.” He surely didn't look like an engineer, but that sort of made him even more attractive.

“That's cool. So listen- wait, before that, can I grab a French fry? I'm starving.” He nodded, his eyebrows knitted together. “Thank you.”

You chewed on the savory fry, moaning at the flavor.

“So, what were you saying?”

“Oh, right!” You cleared your throat. “So for my final project, I have to paint a human portrait, but it turns out, none of my shitty friends wants to help me.” He couldn't help the small laugh escaping his lips. “Unbelievable, right? So I had no other choice but to hunt down the perfect muse by myself. I was about to give up just when I saw you, sitting here all by yourself like some mysterious rom-com guy.”

“Do you want me to be your muse?”

“Well since you're offering, I'd be more than happy to paint you.” He was about to object, but you resumed your nonstop chatting. “Of course, I’d pay for your time, not too much though, my part-time job doesn't pay that well.”

And that's pretty much how he ended up meeting you every Tuesday, sitting for two hours straight while you painted his gorgeous face. The mood was always cheerful with you around, always making small talk and provoking some smiles from him. He got to know you better during the month you spent together. Jungwoo realized you were the most authentic person he'd ever met, maybe that's why everyone on campus was so enamored by you. On the other hand, he was nothing like the shy boy you first met at the cafeteria. He was so bright, his laugh so pretty that it made you want to hear it every day.

“This is our last session.” You announced as soon as your canvas was fixed in place. “Time goes by so quickly, don't you think?”

“Yeah, sure.” You noticed the saddened expression on his face.

“What’s wrong, woo?” He loved the nickname you decided to give him on your first session, it made him feel closer to you.

“It’s just a pity that we won't get to see each other as often anymore.”

“Who says we won't?” You started moving the paintbrush over the canvas, adding the final details to your portrait.

“You still wanna hang out with me?”

“Of course I do! You're finally opening up to me, I won't risk losing the progress we've made.” His heart felt like it’d escape his chest any minute.

“I thought you were just using me for your project.” You gasped, approaching his seating place with the paintbrush still between your fingers.

“How dare you, Kim Jungwoo?” There was a dramatic pause before you painted the tip of his nose.

“You didn't.” You wiggled your eyebrows, running away from him as he stood up. “Get back here!”

“Stop!” You threatened him with your brush, back pressed against the wall. “I won't hesitate to paint you again.”

“Scary.” His chest was touching yours, faces barely centimeters away.

“Where’s the shy Jungwoo I met?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” His knee positioned between your legs, pushing against your core. “What is it with that face?”

“Have you been deceiving me from the beginning?” You tiptoed, trying to hold back the small whine threatening to fall from your lips.

“No.” He raised his knee, this time, the imminent whine managing to get past your mouth. “I really was shy around you, but you're so easy to be with. I feel like I can be myself when I'm with you.”

“By yourself, you mean your horny self?” He started moving his limb back and forth, making sure to apply pressure on the right spot.

“I wasn't planning to do this, I didn't even know you wanted to see me after your project was done.” His finger pads danced over your neck, causing goosebumps over the sensitive skin.

“Well, then, are you gonna kiss me or should I take The first step?” He giggled before attaching his mouth to yours, a variety of new sensations growing at the bottom of your stomach. “God, I wish my project would've been related to nude portraits.”

“I would've definitely called the cops if you had asked me to be your nude model.”

“Mean.” Your face inched closer to his lips once again, slightly biting into his skin.

“Are you alright with this?” He lightened up the pressure on your heat, making sure you were both on the same page.

“Yes. But I don't know about making love in a classroom, though.”

“Making love?”

“I don't like the way ‘fucking’ sounds.” He chuckled. “Would you rather have me calling it sexual intercourse?”

“Stop talking before my dick gets soft.”

He lifted you with ease, sitting on the stool you usually used with you on his lap. His hands rubbed the sides of your thighs affectionately, slowly lifting the fabric of your purple dress to reveal your panties. He wasted no time on moving them to the side, quickly using his digits to make sure you were wet enough.

You helped him undo his jeans, clumsy hands struggling to get the zipper down.

“Allow me.”

“Be gentle, alright?” You placed your hands behind his head, toying with his brown locks as he aligned himself with you. He nodded. “I need verbal confirmation, woo.”

“I promise to be gentle, y/n.” You felt his tip prodding at your small hole, bracing yourself for the imminent pain. “Look at me.”

He started sliding inside you, your fingers accidentally tugging his hair. He didn't complain, though, too immersed in your face to even notice. You glanced at him, noticing how handsome he was from up close. His eyes looked like they carried the stars- no, the whole universe, you'd definitely have to paint them one day.

“Can I move?” You nodded, holding back the smile creeping up your lips as he started thrusting upwards. “Not even in my wildest dreams would I have imagined we'd end up like this.”

“Well, I'm glad you accepted to be my model.” You let out an open-mouthed moan, his dick hitting your G-spot.

“Pill?” You nodded, letting him do all the hard work while you enjoyed yourself. “Pretty.” He kissed your throat, holding your glutes to push himself further into you.

There were no words needed to know you were both incredibly close to release, just a few more thrusts had your pussy pulsating around him, his warm cum coating your walls.

“This is the best love-making session I've ever had.” You let your body fall against his, causing him to lose balance and almost fall down. “Sorry.”

“Well, we can always repeat this. Maybe I can actually be your nude model for your next masterpiece.”

“Who is this guy?” He chuckled, the corner of his eyes picking the image of the recently painted portrait. “Don’t look!”

But he was already admiring the product of your hard work, and it was amazing, to say the least. It was a picture of him smiling, sunlight coming in through the large window panel beside him and directly hitting his face.

“If you don't get an A, I'll write a complaint.”

“I like your way of thinking. I'm getting the feeling that you and I will be a power couple, only if you want that too, of course.”

“Let’s go out for dinner and I'll think about it.”

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios

146 notes · View notes

junicai · 3 years

Text

lights out.

| summary | In New York, the City that Never Sleeps, Aria can’t sleep. So, her roommate comes up with a skeptical idea, and ropes Mark into it as well.

| word count | 3.7k

| warnings | one (1) curse word

| era | circa. April 2019

92. "Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English."

New York City.

Forever illuminated in light, forever alive and bustling down below the skyrises that towered above the people that wandered through the streets no matter what time was displayed on the clocks. The city was teeming with energy, bubbling beneath the surface as it waited for a chance to explode.

Traffic backlogged street to street, wandering souls pattering around the block in search of nothing, aimlessly strolling past the busy business-goers, those that carried briefcases with carefully filed notes and papers, and those that had dragged themselves out of their beds for the graveyard shift in the neon-lighted coffeehouse.

24-hour Coffee! The best coffee you’ll find in the Big Apple!

The noise outside the window was muffled through the thick glass but the busy sounds of the city still filtered through, gently falling in to the otherwise silent hotel room.

Aria rolled over onto her side, pressing her head into the soft pillow. The red LED lights of the alarm clock sitting on the locker beside her bed was boring the colour into her retinas, and no good could come from simply watching the minutes tick by.

The blankets were soft, if not a little cold on her skin, and she pulled her legs into her chest to rub at the exposed skin lightly. Donghyuck had insisted on leaving the air conditioning on as they slept, the boy living up to his name Fullsun as he ran hot near-constantly, but that left Aria to shiver slightly despite the mountain of blankets she had buried herself beneath.

Rolling back over to the cool side of the pillowcase, Aria let her eyes fall on Donghyuck’s back.

The boy wasn’t asleep - she could hear the low sounds coming from the airpods in his ears as he watched something on his phone - but he looked comfortable enough that she was reluctant to disturb him.

It had been a long day, and tomorrow was their only real designated day in this area before they were scheduled to be flown out to their next concert.

Aria loved touring, but it was hard to keep going sometimes. She assumed that Donghyuck thought the same, and that’s why instead of insisting that the pair of them watched something on his laptop, or played a game, he was letting her sleep in peace.

He had watched Aria push herself past what they both had thought her limits had been that day - watched as she stumbled through the final songs of their set with blurry eyes and a shaking frame. He’d moved to wrap an arm around her waist as soon as they had broken formation, and she’d given him a shaky smile for his efforts.

Donghyuck had guided a rapidly blinking Aria through their ending ments and off the stage, catching her as she slipped down the last two steps. He’d practically carried her into the car, waving off an insisting Yuta, who was adamant that he could help despite still favoring the ankle he had rolled two nights ago.

They were all running a little worse-for-wear, but, by god the crowds made up for it.

He had known that NCT 127 had an international fanbase, had known that they were popular overseas for years. But there was nothing like seeing a crowd of five thousand, even eight thousand people from a country that didn’t speak their language, singing their songs and screaming their fanchants at the top of their lungs.

It settled into his bones, pushed him past his old boundaries to create new ones, made him want to keep going and keep singing, keep dancing, keep performing until his knees went from beneath him and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Donghyuck knew Aria felt the same, and that’s why he took it upon himself to pull her away when she needed him to.

Despite their broadly opposite personalities - truly the sun and the moon when it came down to it - they were similar in so many ways. Scarily so.

Scary, in so far as the fact that Donghyuck knew when Aria couldn’t take it anymore, knew when she was stumbling and falling not because she was tired but because she’d hurt her back again and was unwilling to talk about it. Scary, in the fact that he knew when she wasn’t telling them something, choosing to bite her lip instead of letting whatever worry that was bouncing around in her head fall onto their shoulders to help carry the weight.

Donghyuck wanted to help her carry those things. Even if that meant carrying her as well.

The two of them had slipped into the hotel room at nine minutes past ten, showering briefly in the small bathroom they had adjoined to the left wall and slid into the two beds with a quiet goodnight. It had been silent since Aria had leant down to turn off the centre light, only the light peeking through the curtains from the street and the light of Donghyuck’s phone screen to illuminate the dark room left.

He had thought she had fallen asleep soon after - given the bleary squinted look she had given him in the van home as she told her to not fall asleep just yet, that they’d be home soon and then she could sleep - so you could imagine his surprise as he flipped over in the bed, letting the phone fall face down and was met with the image of Aria starfished over her single bed, staring open-eyed at the ceiling.

“Ari?” Donghyuck cleared his throat. “Ari? Why’re you awake still?”

Aria’s head flopped to the side to look at Donghyuck in the opposite bed, blinking once at him before closing her eyes and groaning. “Can’t sleep.”

He hummed, lifting up the corner of his blanket with a hand as the other pushed his phone onto the bedside locker to make sure it didn’t fall off the bed.

Without a word, Aria slid out from underneath her own blankets - pulling one from the top layer - and padded across the room to slide into Donghyuck’s embrace, fluffing the extra blanket on top of them both.

Donghyuck sniffed a laugh at her, but said nothing as he dropped his arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and snuggled his head into where her shoulder meets her neck.

Aria giggled lightly at his hair tickling her skin, moving her head away from the strands until the hand around her waist squeezed once.

“It tickles,” She whispered.

“But m’comfy like this,” He responded, shoving his head further in if possible and throwing a leg over hers.

“Just-” Aria moved some of his hair away from her face. “Better.”

“Better?”

“Its not in my face anymore.”

Donghyuck lifted his head from her shoulder to peer up at her face. “Why couldn’t you sleep? You were sleepy in the van.”

Aria huffed. “No I wasn’t.”

“You hit your head against the window when you dozed off.”

“I-”

“Twice.”

She sighed through her nose. “If it bruises I’m going to be upset. My face is my only selling point right now.”

A silence permeated the room, and Donghyuck sat up.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked again.

Aria flipped to lay on her stomach, shoving her head into the pillow. “I dunno. Think I have some excess energy to burn off or something.”

“You were literally dead on your feet three hours ago,” Donghyuck said.

“I know that. I just, feel like I need to go on a walk or something. Just to move or do something that isn’t lying in a bed in the middle of New York.” Aria muffled out into the fabric, kicking her legs slightly.

Donghyuck caught a wayward ankle before it could hit him in the face. “Hey, kicking your best friend was not on that list!”

“It could be.”

Scowling, he fell back beside her, scooching closer. The pair laid together for a moment, listening to the sound of traffic from outside.

“You want to go for a walk?” Donghyuck was the one to break the silence, looking down at Aria.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

Aria lifted her head to blink up at him. “It’s like,” she broke off to turn her head towards the clock, blinking rapidly to bring the LED numbers into view, “Half one in the morning, I don’t think the hotel gym is open.”

“I don’t mean the gym. I mean out there.” Donghyuck pointed to the window.

This time it was Aria who sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Hyuck, what?”

“You want to go for a walk? Let’s go for a walk. Who’s gonna stop us?”

“Our managers? The fact that its nearly two in the morning? The fact that Taeyong will kill us?” She said, bewildered.

Donghyuck sat up to face her properly. “They won’t know! We could be quick - promise. You can’t tell me you don’t want to see the city properly.”

Aria spluttered. “We have seen the city! We took that bus tour around when we first arrived!”

He scoffed. “I meant properly, Ari. Like a local. How the city is meant to be.”

“We could get murdered.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let that happen.”

Aria swallowed. “What happens if we get caught on the way out?”

“Simple: Lie.” Donghyuck leant back on his hands like this wasn’t the worst plan he had ever come up with in his nineteen years of life.

It wasn’t often that Aria went along with his ideas - nine times out of ten, she was usually the one talking him out of them. It was only when she’d run out of patience, or the will to give the effort to barter logic out with him that she’d give in. Or in cases like this.

“Fine.”

Donghyuck let out a whoop, reaching over to the locker to snag his phone off the top of it and flicking the screen unlocked. Aria in turn proceeded to roll off the bed and onto the carpet, looking for the pair of leggings she had worn through the airport to cover her legs so she didn’t go wandering around the city in a pair of sleep shorts.

Finding the black coloured material hanging on the back of the chair, she could hear Donghyuck texting someone behind her.

“Who’s that?” She asked, not bothering to turn around as she moved into the bathroom and partially shut the door to allow her both privacy and the ability to continue her conversation with him.

“Mark - Thought we should tell someone where we’re gone, right?”

Aria stopped. “Does he want to come?”

“Given the angry texts I’ve just received about quote, missing out on stuff like this now that he’s not in Dream: I’d say a solid yes.”

Aria nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. “Is Jungwoo coming as well then?”

Mark was rooming with Jungwoo this time around, the members alternating on a rotational basis.

Donghyuck shook his head. “No, he says that Jungwoo is too tired. He’ll keep a lookout for Taeyong for us though, which is good.”

“Huh, that’s nice of him.” Aria re-emerged from the bathroom, leggings pulled up over her hips and a large hoodie swamping her frame. With her thin wire glasses, she looked cosy and extremely comfortable.

Donghyuck himself was still wearing a pair of sweatpants, and pulled one of his hoodies on over his t-shirt before rummaging in the pile of shoes to find something comfortable.

Without looking back, he tossed out Aria’s runners, who caught them with a thanks before sitting down on the ground to do up the laces.

He succeeded in finding his own pair of shoes, pulling them in just before two light knocks sounded against their door. Aria pulled it open to reveal a bleary-eyed but excited Mark, a padded jacket pulled over his jumper.

"You are insane." Was the first thing out of his mouth.

"You're welcome to leave?" Sniffed Aria.

Mark frowned. "I never said I wasn't."

Opening the door wider, she revealed Donghyuck who had just stood up from the edge of the bed, brushing down his pants. He looked up to meet Mark's eyes and grinned.

"Let's go!" He cheered, moving to walk out into the hallway but being stopped by Aria catching the neck of his jumper and tugging him back.

Looking at her quizzically, he raised an eyebrow.

"You need a coat? It's nearly two in the morning it's going to be cold outside."

Aria herself had pulled on a jacket once Mark had arrived, but Donghyuck was still only clad in a threadbare hoodie that wouldn't protect him from the cold outside.

Reaching back over the bed, he pulled out his cost from beneath a chair and slid his arms into it wordlessly. He turned to Aria and spread his arms out into a display. "Happy?"

"It's better."

"Guys do you think we could not do this in the hallway? I really don't want to get caught by someone right now." Mark's voice came from just inside the doorway.

"Right, right," Aria agreed, shoving Donghyuck out the door and snatching the keycard off the table just before they left.

She slipped the keycard into her inside pocket of her jacket, zipping it closed before patting the padded material lightly. “Safe and sound.”

Mark, closed the door behind them. The beep sounded as the mechanism locked itself, and the trio were left standing alone in the empty hallway.

Donghyuck stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly as his shoulder clicked. “Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

Aria paused. “Hyuck, you don’t speak English.”

“I’m deaf and you don’t speak English.”

“And what do I do? You planning on leaving me for dead?” Mark asked, arms crossed.

Donghyuck only pat him on the shoulder, moving to rest his weight onto his elbow. “You, are fast. You’ll be fine.”

“You, are a terrible influence.”

“A proud one.”

Aria put a hand on one of their shoulders each, pushing the two boys forward down the hallway insistently. “Let’s not have this argument where we can be found in incriminating circumstances, okay boys?”

Donghyuck snorted. “Aria we’re not going to go to jail for sneaking out.”

“Doyoung might put Aria on house arrest,” Mark countered.

“Then let’s not wait around for him to find her!”

With that, the trio made their way down the hallway, choosing to take the stairs down to the ground floor instead of the elevator - hoping to avoid as many people as possible. Aria had slipped three black facemasks into her pocket before they had left the room, knowing that if they were to be spotted they’d need something to help them blend in.

The front doors of the hotel slid open with a quiet beep, and she was blasted with a cold front of air. She could feel her nose twitch slightly at the breeze, and knew that she’d be returning with a rosy tinge to her skin if they stayed out longer than a few minutes.

But instead of letting that bother her, Aria chose to focus on the identical wide grins Donghyuck and Mark sported, both boys looking around in wonder at the lights that surrounded them on the pavement.

“Shall we?” Aria extended her arms playfully, giggling lightly as they both linked their arms into hers.

Beginning their walk down the pavement, she could only look around in wonder. New York truly lived up to it’s name - dozens of people were milling about even at this time, all clad in various thicknesses of coats, and Aria felt herself relax minutely at the knowledge that the trio didn’t stick out against the colorful lights like a sore thumb.

Each street had something new, and her eyes grew wider with every sign they passed as they walked.

“Mark look!” Aria pointed towards a small bookstore on the corner of the block, dropping his arm to run towards the window. “Doesn’t that look like the notebook you wanted to get in Atlanta?”

A small, green leather-bound notebook had piqued Mark’s interest in the city earlier that month, but by the time he had had the time to get to the bookstore, the notebook had been sold.

The notebook that Aria pointed out was near identical - perhaps a little bit thicker, but close enough to the original that Mark was already planning on how he was going to get back to this street tomorrow when all the shops were opened back up.

“Do you think we could come back here tomorrow to get it for you?” Aria looked away from the window, eyes shining hopefully.

Mark reached out to tug Aria underneath his arm, pulling her into his side. “I’m sure we can figure something out, Ari.”

She clapped her hands lightly to celebrate, before Donghyuck was taking them both by the hand and dragging them both back down the street which they had walked up.

“Now, while you’ve both been looking for fancy notebooks, I’ve been doing some important area recon, and have discovered that,” He trailed off, continuing walking with a firm grip on their wrists.

“Ta-da!” Donghyuck came to a stop, releasing their wrists before making jazz hands beside his face.

Behind him, was a small food cart with an attendee that looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Pretzels?” Mark asked with a tilted head.

“Pretzels.” Donghyuck nodded emphatically.

Aria tugged lightly on the younger boy’s sleeve. “Hyuck, I don’t think any of us brought money with us-”

Donghyuck hummed, cutting her off. “Got you covered, angel.” pulling out his phone and taking several small bills from behind his opaque phone case.

Turning to the attendee with a blinding smile he strolled forward to the cart, opening his mouth to begin speaking.

“Can I.. we..”

Mark stepped up behind him. “Order,” he whispered, facing the pavement so his lips weren’t visible to the man.

“Order.. three.. three,”

“Pretzels,”

“Pretzels please?” Donghyuck finished, looking up at the man curiously.

“Yeah,” Came the deadened response. “That’ll be $9.87.”

Donghyuck fumbled with his hands momentarily, before placing three bills into the awaiting hand and stepping back from the cart, shoving his hands into his pocket.

Aria came up beside him as Mark waited at the front of the cart. “Hyuck, I don’t think I should..”

He turned his head to look at her. “Hm?”

“I don’t think I should, eat that. You know?” She looked down knawing at her lip slightly.

“I think you should.” He said.

“No I really shouldn’t-”

Aria was cut off by Mark approaching them, three warm pretzels in his hand. He handed one to Donghyuck who took it with an affirming hum before ripping into the bread with his teeth, and handed the other to a cautious Aria.

After Mark had taken his first bite, he looked quizzically at Aria who was staring traitorously at the bread in her hand. “Ari?”

She sighed, dropping her shoulders a little. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should-”

Aria squeaked when both Donghyuck’s and Mark’s glare was turned on her. “Guys I-”

“Pretzel.”

A protest formed on the top of her tongue, but fell flat when Mark raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, ok sorry.” Aria took a bite from the now-cooling snack.

Satisfied, both boys went back to their own snacks, sighing lightly as the trio continued their walk back down the streets they had come. From a different angle, they noticed new things each time, and it was so easy to lose track of the time when they were staring up in wonder at the neon lights.

The atmosphere was broken by a ping from Mark’s phone.

Jungwoo [2:08] uh

Jungwoo [2:08] taeyong hyung started his rounds

Jungwoo [2:08] id recommend getting ur asses back

Jungwoo [2:09] ill stall him

Mark [2:09] how long do we have

Jungwoo [2:09] seven minutes. tops

Mark [2:09] fuck

The trio turned on their heels, pelting down the pavement.

The people they passed looked oddly at them - they must have made a comical sight. Three twenty-year-olds, dressed in padded jackets and facemasks sprinting down the street at two am. They looked like they’d just committed a robbery.

Aria could feel sweat beading at her forehead beneath her headband, pulling it off and tucking it into her pocket. These shoes were not designed for sprinting, and she could feel the rough plastic digging into her ankle already.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get back?” Aria yelled over to the other boys, the blood rushing in her ears.

Mark slipped out his phone from his pocket, pulling it up close to his face and checking the time. “Four minutes? We’ve gone in a big circle.”

“We’re dead.” Donghyuck breathed out harshly, picking up speed.

Silence filled in the wind rushing past their ears, feet pounding against the pavement. Mark barely stopped himself before crashing into a small child clinging sleepily to an older woman’s hand; twisting his body out of the way at the last second before profusely apologizing.

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the front doors of the hotel they were staying at for the next two nights.

Panting, Aria slowed to a walk, pulling at the neck of her sweater to fan herself. She took slow and deep breaths, trying to calm her pulse before they made their way into the lobby.

Starting forward, she was stopped by Donghyuck’s hand on her shoulder and Mark’s sharp intake of breath.

“Oh. Oh god.”

“Mark? You alright?” Aria turned to face the boy, watching his face drain of colour.

He lifted a hand, pointing to the one window on the fifth floor with a light still on. It stood out against the other darkened windows, like a lightstick in a sea of concert-goers. And there, illuminated against the cream-coloured curtains, was Taeyong’s silhouette.

Donghyuck huffed. “Aria, this was a terrible idea!”

127 notes · View notes

awanderingdeal · 3 years

Text

Never too late - 4 - 5

A continuation of Leo and Regulus' attempts (antics) to give Regulus the childhood he never had.

CW: All content warnings relate to Part 5: piercings and food talk

Please message me if you feel I need to add any content warnings

Rating: T

Previous and future chapters can be found on my masterlist

Credit for the sweater universe and the characters within it go to @lumosinlove. What a hero.

4. Take photos! Candids, selfies and posed group shots. They’ll hold the best memories.

“Merde, what are you doing?” Logan asked, resting his head on Leo's shoulder as he peered at the laptop.

Leo grinned, tipping his head back slightly so he could press a kiss against Logan’s cheek, “I’m getting inspiration.”

“That cleared a grand total of nothing up,” Logan huffed, circling the sofa so that he could flop next to Leo. “Oh my God, no. I thought I had deleted everything from back then” he groaned, reaching to close the lid of the device.

Leo swatted his hand away with a scowl. “First of all, I am offended that you never told me that you used to have bangs,” he gestured to the image of a young Logan on the screen, laughter bubbling in chest. “Second, I think you may have caught most yours, but you failed to check your tagged photos.”

Logan sighed again, apparently resigning himself to the fact Leo was going to trawl through the photos no matter what. “Is there at least a reason that you are torturing me like this?” he asked, curling into Leo’s side.

“It started off as me finding inspiration for classic high school photos to take with Reg, but now I’m just looking at how adorable you were at 14.” Leo chuckled.

***

“I want to be on the top!” James yelled, earning a snigger from Finn.

“No, Logan needs to go on the top, he’s the smallest and I’m not breaking my back for you idiots,” Kasey said from where he was braced on all fours.

“He’s actually very heavy. Like a tiny ball of muscle,” Finn said. Logan seemed conflicted as to whether he should be thanking his boyfriend or reprimanding him, the confused frown making Leo smile, but he figured he should intervene before a full on argument broke out.

“Maybe we should ask Regulus where he wants to go? These are his photos after all,” Leo suggested, turning his gaze onto the man in question.

Regulus threw his hands up, shaking his head. “I was coerced into this madness,” he defended. “But if I must participate then I want to go on top. At least then I don’t get squashed when this goes wrong.”

“O, yee of little faith,” Thomas scoffed, making a dramatic show of stretching his limbs.

“I’m retiring after this season, I’m too old for this,” Dumo groaned as he joined Kasey on the floor.

“You say this every season,” Kuny laughed, taking the spot next to Pascal and nudging him in the shoulder.

“Alright, Cap. I think you better go on the base too,” Leo said, laughing at the scowl he earned. It appeared that Sirius had been trying to make himself blend into the cushions in the hopes he might get out of the photo, but Leo wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “For Reg?”

“Regulus doesn’t even…” Sirius began to argue, but he was interrupted by his brother’s low chuckle.

“I have suddenly changed my mind. Come on Sirius, don’t be a spoil sport,” Regulus teased.

Sirius opened his mouth to start a rebuttal, but all that came out was a resigned sigh, and the man heaved himself to his feet, getting a loud cheer from the rest of the team. Once he had taken his spot, the rest of the pyramid seemed to form easily. James, Remus, Leo, Logan and Finn all climbed on, until eventually it was Regulus’s turn. With a little help from Timmy and Olli, the man managed to take his place at the top of the pyramid.

“Okay, Sergei, take the photo,” Leo instructed, feeling parts of the pyramid begin to shake.

“Which button is -” Sergei asked, before a semblance of a smile crossed his face. “Oh, found it.” Just as the words left Sergei’s mouth, Leo found himself tumbling to the floor, several of his team mates on top of him, a chorus of grumbling in several different languages erupting as they clutched various body parts.

“If anybody has broken anything, I am not explaining this to Coach,” Sirius declared, from under James and Finn.

“Did you at least get the photo?” Dumo asked.

“No, we need to do again,” Sergei grinned, a groan reverberating around the room from the rest of the team.

***

Regulus wiped his hand across his cheek so subtly that he nearly missed it, but the redness in his eyes was obvious.

“Are you crying?” Leo asked quietly, feeling the muscles 0f his forehead tense into a concerned frown.

“I’m fine,” Regulus said, blinking rapidly, shutting the scrapbook perched on his lap with a little more force than necessary. Leo had spent hours compiling the photos taken over the last few months into it: the forming a pyramid, two dozen or so polaroids taken at various events, a fair few with peace signs; the transition of Regulus slowly becoming more comfortable with the action obvious with each one, another was a take on the classic shoe circle only with hockey skates. Somehow James had snuck several selfies of himself into the mix.

“No, Reggie, what’s the matter?” Leo pulled the book from Regulus’s hands and put it on the coffee table, turning so that he could face his friend more easily.

Regulus shrugged, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, a nervous habit Leo had picked up on over the past few months. “I...I just never really had any friends in high school. It’s kind of hard when you’re taught to see everybody as competition, you know? So, I don’t really have any photos that aren’t stuffy family portraits or media shots. I didn’t realise that bothered me until now.”

Leo bundled Regulus into a hug, his friend making a disgruntled sound as he found himself pressed against Leo’s chest. “Just accept it,” Leo huffed, wondering how he had managed to find himself saddled with so many emotionally constipated hockey (or ex-hockey) players.

5. Find your style - change your hair, get a new piercing, buy a new outfit. Go wild!

“Hey, Reg,” Finn waved, mumbling through a mouthful of cheese.

“Harzy! Do you know how much that cheese cost?” Logan scolded, his expression somewhat more horrified than Leo would deem reasonable, “Please respect it.”

Leo grabbed his jacket, patting the pocket to ensure his wallet was inside. He rarely used his physical cards anymore, but it gave him far too much anxiety to rely on just his phone. “We’re leaving now. Try not to kill each other while we’re gone. It would be tragic to lose both of my boyfriends in one day,” he said, dropping a kiss first on to Finn’s cheek and then Logan’s.

“Bye Reg,” Finn waved again.

***

“Thank you,” Leo smiled at the cashier as he took his purchases from them. He looked down, noting that between the two of them they had amassed nearly twenty bags. Leo wasn’t usually one to spend money frivolously, but he had found himself swept away by Reg’s enthusiasm. Apparently when he wasn’t being stuffed into tight button ups and tailored pants, Regulus really rather enjoyed fashion. Finn would have been proud of the multiple pairs of trainers they had acquired so far. Still, they probably had enough for today.

Before Leo had a chance to suggest a change of activities, Regulus beat him to it. “Do you want to get some food?” he asked, the grumble of Leo’s stomach answering the question with no need for any words. Regulus laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you good to get Thai?”

Somehow over the course of filling their stomachs with curry and Pad Thai, an innocent comment about how Regulus would look cute with a piercing resulted in them walking into the nearest studio that had decent reviews. Regulus had changed into one of his new outfits: a loose black and white striped shirt, a pair of black pants cuffed at the legs and chunky white sneakers because his old outfit was deemed unsuitable for getting a piercing in.

Leo had just finished up getting his lip done, pamphlet of aftercare instructions clutched in his hand, and was waiting for Regulus to come out of his room. The boy had refused to tell him what exactly he was going to get done, and the anticipation was killing him. A few minutes later, Regulus pushed out the door to the small room and Leo’s eye was immediately drawn to the light catching Regulus’ eyebrow.

“Oh my God!” Leo exclaimed, wincing as the movement sent a surge of pain through his lip. “You look so good,” he added, moving to inspect the barbell peeking through Regulus’ brow.

“Thanks,” Regulus blushed at the approval. “Yours is cool too. Logan and Finn are going to freak out.”

“They sure are,” Leo chuckled. “Alright, I’ll settle this and then I’ll drop you back home?”

***

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Regulus scowled, reading the instructions on the back of the box of dye for what Leo was sure was the fiftieth time.

“I told you, you haven’t been a teenager unless you have made some questionable fashion choices,” Leo countered. “Except I’m going to look amazing with blue hair so it’s not really questionable.”

“Well, it can’t be worse than this anyway, right?” Regulus grimaced, gesturing to his bleached blond hair.

“Noughties boy band members would be jealous,” Leo laughed.

“It’s a shame it is neither the noughties anymore, nor am I a boy band member,” Regulus replied, shoving the box into Leo’s hands. “Just do it.”

A little over an hour later, Leo was nudging Reg in front of the mirror. “Okay, this was definitely not a mistake! We look amazing. I am taking up a career in hairdressing if I get injured,” Leo declared, holding his hand out for a high five. Whilst Regulus did return it, it was less enthusiastic than Leo had been going for. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it,” Regulus shook his head, dragging his fingers along the short sides. The cut wasn’t that different to what it had been before, other than a slightly more dramatic fade. “Just feels weird. My parents would die if they could see me.”

“Well, I think we look badass,” Leo said, running his hand through his own blue hair. He’d left the front long and floppy, deciding to go wild and undercut the back. “Come here, let me take a photo.”

Leo was glad that Regulus had finally learned that while he was not one to throw a tantrum, he did have his ways of getting what he wanted and it was easier for everyone if Regulus just compiled most of the time. The post had barely been up on their Instagram pages for more than 3 minutes when Leo’s phone began to vibrate, Logan’s flashing onto the screen.

“Regulus! Why did my little brother just call to tell me that he wants to dye his hair blue?” Remus yelled up the stairs as Leo picked the call up.

And if drug stores all over the country sold out of blue hair dye the next day? Well, Leo guessed there were worse trends to have started.

#Leo Knut #Regulus Black #Sweater weather #lumosinlove #cw: piercings #cw: food #rating: t

60 notes · View notes

smarchit · 3 years

Text

Look Around, Look Around pt 6

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse, blood, labor

Notes: Blown away by Tumblr’s response to this tbh. I’m absolutely overwhelmed by all the kind comments <3

He was supposed to take you back to Sorgan after that job. Supposed to take you back and let you spend the last few weeks of your pregnancy in comfort, let you give birth there in safety.

You managed to convince him to take you to a few more planets under the guise of wanting to see if there were any cities with salt baths that would help your swollen feet and legs. He knew you were lying through your teeth, but he never said anything one way or the other.

Now at a little over eight months pregnant and with your own gravitational pull, you walked through a vibrant market place of a large, exotic city during the height of their local fertility festival. You had been given baskets laden with blankets, food, and natural home remedies for easing the pain of birth.

People threw colorful powders and fragrant flowers in the streets at one another and it was extremely difficult not to get caught in their crossfire. You were certain that you were covered in vibrant color - you may have even been the target on more than one occasion because of your pregnancy. Not that you minded. You were having too much fun.

The little one was captivated by brightly colored dancers that spit fire in brilliant arcs across the path. The bells on their ankles caught his attention more and whenever one would cartwheel in front of his pod, he would make a grab for them, despite the gentle scolds from Mando.

You currently were sitting at a round patio table at an outdoor café. Lively music from a nearby band was muffled slightly by the crowd enough that you could speak without losing your voice.

"This is amazing!" you said to Mando, who looked incredibly out of place amidst bright colors and bare skin of the locals. He shifted in his seat and you knew he was scanning the crowd for potential threats. It wasn't personal, and it wasn't anything against the planet or its inhabitants, but more just who Mando was as a person.

Good gods, did the man ever relax?

Mando had ordered a cup of soup for the child, and expressed his displeasure for you turning down food.

"You need to eat something," he said firmly, straightening his back.

"I'm not hungry," you sighed. "The moon is currently displacing my vital organs."

"Your moon is exactly why you have to try to eat something," he said with a sigh. He shook his head and looked back over at the child, who was glancing between the two of you. When Mando looked at him, he smiled and babbled.

"She's moving around a lot in there today," you groaned, rubbing one side of your belly. "Take it easy, little moon. We're not going anywhere."

"Must be getting cramped in there," Mando hummed without looking back at you. He did another once over of the crowd and then sighed.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

He shrugged. "Just too crowded."

"Not a people-person, Mando?" you hummed.

"You wouldn't be either if you were me."

You supposed that was true. Even a few months ago you wouldn't have come to a place like this where bodies touched and jostled on either side of you. You got comfortable, but you imagined if you were in his boots, you would hate places like this. Too much chaos. Too many things that could go wrong.

"We should go," he said after a moment. He grabbed a basket and helped you to your feet before guiding you through a dip in the crowd.

It took a while to reach the hangar where the Crest was located due to the throng of bodies in your way.

Once you arrived back, Mando handed you a towel to wipe powder from your hair and clothes.

"The puck got activated," he said grimly as he locked the hatch.

You were shaking flower petals from your hair and the smile instantly dropped from your face.

"What?"

Mando turned to you. "I knew it was too easy. He let you go too easily for that to be the end of it."

You walked backwards until you found a seat and lowered yourself into it. Your heart pounded in your ears and you barely registered his words.

Your husband knows exactly where you are.

He knew what you were doing, where you were going, he might even know where you planned on giving birth. Would he attack then? When you were raw and vulnerable, bed soaked in your blood and eyes wild with instinct?

Like a caged animal. Though injured animals will do anything to protect themselves.

"Hey, hey, don't give out on me," Mando said loud enough to draw you from your fear. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you gently so you would look at him. "You're safe with me, okay? I'm not going to let him take you."

"Why is he-- Why is he doing this?" you whispered as you felt tears start to fall. You could barely speak. The thought of him finding you touching you, putting his hands on you... On your baby. It made you sick. It made you scared. It made you angry.

"Because he's a coward," Mando said softly, guiding your face back to look at him when you glanced away. "He's small; he has to hurt others to feel better. You are safe. You and your moon." He placed a warm hand on your belly. The baby flip flopped in response.

"Please don't let him get me," you begged. "Promise me. Not me. Not my baby."

Mando looked at you and nodded. "I promise." He leaned up on his knees and pressed his forehead to yours. He held the position for a moment before he got to his feet.

"We're leaving this planet right now," he said. He picked up the baby and set him back in his pod and turned to set coordinates.

"Where will we go?" you asked, suddenly feeling like the smallest person in the galaxy. "Where will we go that he can't find us?"

"I have a few places in mind," he said as the ship dragged itself out of the planet's atmosphere. "Safe places."

"Sorgan?" you asked hopefully.

He paused for a minute. "Sorgan isn't safe. If he knows you were there he'll have people there waiting."

You held on tight as he punched in the coordinates for some unknown planet in on the pad.

What would you do if it came down to capture and return?

You couldn't help but cry. You looked down at your stomach and cupped both hands around it.

"I'm so sorry, little one," you whispered.

***

A few hours later, Mando dropped the ship out of hyperspace. A planet lay before you, dark and unfriendly looking in the blackness of space. There were a few lights from cities spread out in the far reaches of the large sprawling continent, but beyond that, you could see nothing.

"What is this place?" you asked.

"Arvala-7," he replied. "I had a... Friend who lived here. Worked on a moisture farm. Helped me with the kid."

"He doesn't live here anymore?" you asked, forcing yourself out of your seat with difficulty. You ignored the pain in your belly and back - normal for this late in your pregnancy. False labor couldn't detract from your fears right now.

"He died," Mando said softly.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't reply and started the deceleration to land in a remote section of desert.

"You should be safe here," he said as he lowered the hatch for the two of you to step out.

"Should be?"

He nodded. "Should be."

"How could he find me?" you asked softly as Mando set about shouldering open the long-locked front door.

"Tracking pucks," he grunted, throwing his whole body against the door. He let out a rather undignified cry as he fell inside when the lock finally gave way and the door banged open. When he stood he fished one out of his pocket and held it out in his palm to you. It flashed a rapid red as it neared you. "That's how."

"Why now?" you asked. Rage welled up in your heart at the thought of this vile man getting a hold of you again.

"Probably just wants to scare you," he said as he set about tidying the little house up. "Knows that baby is coming soon. Just wants to stress you out more."

As if on cue, a particularly rough false contraction hit and you vaulted forward to grip the edge of the table. You arched your back, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure.

"Oh, kriff," you gasped, gritting your teeth. You squeezed your eyes shut and took a few deep breaths in and out. "Maker, I don't want to know how bad the real thing is gonna be."

"You won't be alone," Mando said softly as he placed a hand on your back.

"Yeah, well," you gasped, "No offense, but have you ever delivered a baby?"

Mando was quiet.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

"You'll be fine," he assured. "Sit. I'm gonna go look around, see what we can salvage and use."

You sighed and nodded. "If you need help, let me know. Sometimes walking helps with the pain."

He looked around at the state of the main living room. "Okay. Here, I'm gonna fix the bed. You go and get the blankets from the ship. Take a few trips if they're heavy."

You took the key from him and started back towards the ship, a hand grasping your belly. It's okay, my moon.

As you boarded the ship and headed towards the bedroom, you heard what sounded like voices from the cockpit. Taunting voices drifted down the ladder and through the corridor to you, though you couldn't make out what was being said. As your heart hammered away in your chest, you tiptoed to the ladder to ascend to the cockpit.

It became obvious to you as soon as you breached the top of the ladder that the voices were on a recording, an old transmission that must've automatically started playing when the ship picked up a bio feedback on board.

"...don't worry, Mando. We just want the little whore you been travelling with. Not that ugly kid," a low voice growled up at you from the holopad. A thin blue image of a burly, bald man was staring up at you and illuminating the otherwise dark cockpit. "Ain't got nothin' to worry about with us. In and out, like always. She got a good price out on her, and with that baby intact, there's a double offer on 'em. So we call it even, got it? Besides, Xi'an misses you."

Your heart was pounding in your throat as you sank into the pilot's chair. Mando was right. People were looking for you.

A chilling thought entered your mind and no matter how much you tried, you couldn't shake it.

Did Mando turn you in?

You broke out in a cold sweat as you glanced around the cockpit for something that could be used as a weapon. If he knew that you saw this message...

Maybe he didn't have to know you saw it. After all, he just sent you in here to get the bedding. He wouldn't know... You hit delete, hoping maybe he wouldn't find out about it.

You quickly descended the ladder and retrieved some of the bedding and carried it down the ramp of the ship.

Mando was tending to the moisture tanks a little way away from the house and you eyed him warily. It was the first time in six months you had not trusted him.

Why would he wait until now? Were he and his friends waiting to literally snatch the baby from between your legs and drag you by your hair, kicking and screaming to your ex-husband, a bloody trail dragging behind you?

Mando wouldn't do that. You knew he wouldn't. So why now were you so afraid? Was it just the mounting anxiety of new motherhood catching up to you?

You busied yourself as best you could while you waited for him to come back to the house, both by trying to clean up all the dust that gathered and by watching the baby.

He had been uneasy the last few days, especially around you. He would babble softly and reach for you to pick him up, which you had been having trouble doing due to the fact that you could barely bend over.

One time he cried so hard and so loud that Mando ended up taking him for a walk off the ship until he fell asleep so your breasts would stop leaking and soaking through your shirt.

The lights came on automatically a few hours later and were droning steadily for half an hour by the time Mando came back inside

"So bad news," he said with a tired sigh as he dropped into a chair at the rickety kitchen table. "Moisture tanks are busted to hell. Looks like Jawas scavved the machinery. I tried to salvage what I could but no luck."

"What are we going to do?" you asked softly.

Mando shrugged. "Gonna have to go find somewhere. We're gonna need a lot of it, especially when that baby decides to make an appearance."

"Should I come with y--"

"No. You're gonna stay here," he said firmly. "I'll leave my gun and a knife for you."

"You're going to leave?" you asked, heart racing.

"I'll only be gone a couple of hours," he said, getting to his feet. He unholstered his blaster and took a knife from his sheath. "Safety is off on that. Use it like I taught you if something happens, okay?"

He handed them both to you and picked up the baby. "I'll leave the ship. If anyone comes, you go inside and you lock that door. Nothing on this planet will get inside. I'll be back by morning."

Mando came over to you and cupped his hand around the back of your head and pulled you close to press his forehead against yours. Second time he's done that...

He seemed hesitant to pull away from you. He placed the baby in his pod and looked back at you, his shoulders tense and squared.

"You'll be safe here. I promise," he said as he opened the door. "I'm gonna take the kid with me. You need to take it easy and he'll just be upset the whole time."

You looked at him, eyes wide with fear as you watched him leave.

For a moment, you debated telling him about the message on his ship. But you knew then he wouldn't leave - and you needed water. Washing, cleaning, sanitation, drinking. A lot of water was necessary, especially if you were going to be here for a while.

He shut the door behind him and you waited a few minutes before you got up and shoved a broom through the door handle, effectively locking it from the inside. If you needed to escape out the back door, it would buy you a moment of time.

He knows where I am. He knows I'm with the Mandalorian... He knows that I am alone.

You had to do something to keep your mind busy and off of the thought of being taken back to evil himself. It wasn't easy, and you desperately wished that he left the baby. He was right though. You needed to rest and sleep as much as you possibly could.

You also wished that you brought something to do to distract you from the excruciating pain that was now tearing itself through your lower body. As quickly as you could, you ran to the section of the abandoned homestead that had once been used to repair the moisture tanks, both now stripped bare of essentials. A passing knowledge of some of how some of this stuff works comes in handy every now and then. You had a timer fastened together in no time, set to beep once a minute. It would keep you alert, at least.

As you made your way back to the main part of the house, the pain subsided. You allowed yourself to eat part of the food that Mando had brought in, hoping that would quell the gnawing feeling in your stomach.

The baby turned and shifted as the night went on, even as you bedded down to for the evening.

Sleep didn't come easy that night for you and as you lay awake in the darkness of Arvala-7. All you could do was hope that you wouldn't be alone when the baby came.

***

Mando wasn't back the next morning. He wasn't there to help you out of bed, or to call you me'suum. The Crest was still there though, which brought a little comfort to you that he hadn't simply abandoned you on this desert planet to die of thirst.

He didn't come back by lunchtime.

Or dinner.

Or long after the lights came on.

You found a small leather skin under the bed that had about a day's worth of water in it. It was warm and had a bit of a sandy grit to it, but you drank deeply from it all the same.

That night, in the early hours of the morning, your waters broke.

And you were utterly alone.

***

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added!):

@miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @poeticparker @blackbird337 @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell @qhbr2013 @bookszazzy @marvelbros-oneshots @cuteboyking @boomtownboy @connor-challoner @fandom-lover-4 @itsmysticalmystery @love-struck-aries

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #no use of y/n #look around fic

144 notes · View notes

sylvain-writes · 4 years

Text

Unbroken (Mikey x Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, pre-relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, Mikey whump, brothers not coping well with stress/fear, victim blaming, affection, love confessions, friendship/love

Mikey's been injured beyond anything his family has experienced before, leaving his brothers terrified. While Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo struggle with their own guilt and fear, you take over your dearest friend's medical care. for @brightlotusmoon

Tension pours from the Lair into the tunnels. You move quickly.

Something had told you to bring your delivery of medical supplies early, but what you had chocked up to a gut-feeling now feels much more likely to have been a call from the energies that connect you to Michelangelo and his Father. That psychic pull flares as you draw near and there's no longer room for doubt.

Your messenger bag slips down your arm as you increase your pace. It catches on your elbow awkwardly as you carry the heavy cooler of sundry medicine vials, but you don’t let that slow you down. There’s panic in the air - anger and fear. Casey’s and Raphael’s voices echo through the space - another call for your attention.

Casey urges Raphael to stop raving before he says something he’s going to regret. But his pleas are ignored.

Raphael shouts over Casey’s shoulder from the tunnel into the infirmary. He spits accusations and threats at someone unseen.

In plain clothes, but with all the authority of a Detective, Casey gives Raphael a final warning before pushing past his raging friend and stepping up to you. He grabs the cooler and leads you into the infirmary, thanking god for your arrival.

“Donnie will be so glad you’re here.”

You would have come sooner had someone sent word. You’re about to say as much when Casey steps out of the way and the sight of Mikey laid up on a hospital bed leaves you speechless. Frozen. Donnie gives you a frightened look before his eyes drift to his quarreling brothers, then draws the curtain to block them out.

Raphael’s bellows behind your back, shocking you out of your stupor. “Ya shoulda been there!”

Your heart leaps, thundering against your ribs. You turn around, breath caught in your throat wondering how on earth you could have prevented such a thing. But Raphael is rounding on Leo, not you, shoving his older brother square in the chest as he brings his face too close.

“Ya shouldn’ta sent him away!"

Tension ripples up Raph's arms from his fists to his shoulders as he crowds Leo into a corner. "This is on you, Leo. If he don’t wake up- If he don’t... “

When words fail him, Raphael launches himself at his brother with a growl.

Casey’s face twists into horror as Leo, outwardly stoic and calm, takes his brother on.

In a quick series of grabs, Leo has Raphael twisted and pinned against the wall in seconds. Leo eyes him with a look of impatience and disappointment. “Walk it off, Raph.”

“Try’na get rid of me too, huh?” With his face pressed against the cement, Raphael grinds out his words through clenched teeth.

Leo turns to Casey, as if he doesn’t have time for such an inconvenience as this. “Get him out of here. He’s making Don nervous." His grip on Raph lets up as he turns to face the curtain once more. "We’ve been hurt before. We heal. Everything is going to be fine.”

You've only caught a glimpse of Mikey's condition. But you've never seen Donatello so scared. You wonder who Leo is trying to convince.

Raphael seethes as Casey takes him by the arm, but he isn't forced out of the room. "Ain't been this bad. Never this fuckin' bad." Raph's voice is hoarse from shouting and crying, but his words don’t seem directed at Leo anymore. As his disbelief turns from swears to prayers, you think you hear him making deals with god and the devil.

“Swear to god, bro,” Raph says, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, “if you don’t wake up, man…” With his elbows on his knees, Raphael buries his face in his hands.

Casey lays a hand on his friend's shoulder before the radio at his belt urges him topside. "I'm sorry," he says to the room. "I gotta..."

Raphael's head hangs lower, but he nods.

Leo stands stoic - arms resting at his sides, ignoring Casey's words of departure, watching the drawn curtain. Blinking but not seeing. His breath is even enough for him to be attempting some form of meditation, and you think that’s for the best. But you wonder how long the quiet will last.

Casey tips his head toward the hospital bed. A small jerky movement that grabs your attention. You look at him, head spinning. “You gonna be OK with this?”

You glance over your shoulder to where the curtain hides Donnie and Mikey from view. Slowly, you nod. Even before med school you were proficient at compartmentalizing. You can help Mikey without becoming overwhelmed by seeing your best friend in whatever condition he’s in. You just need to get in there, see what you’re working with.

“I’ll be alright,” you tell Casey and remind yourself.

You wave him off, draw back the curtain, and take a fortifying breath.

At the head of the hospital bed, Donnie moves as if on autopilot. He's set a PICC line just under Mikey's shoulder and is starting a transfusion. He's talking himself through the steps, laying out his plans for what to do next. Even as you approach, he remains completely focused on his tasks.

His hands shake as he lifts a fresh bag of fluids to the IV stand. Careful as he tries to be, the bag slips from the hook and lands with a wet slap on the floor.

You crouch down to help and lay a hand on his arm as he apologizes for this little hiccup in Mikey's care.

Unshed tears cloud his vision. He looks almost as pale as his brother lying on the bed. It's obvious he's doing the best he can, and you couldn't ask for more.

Donnie watches you easily hang the bag and open the line. He holds his breath as you properly take in the scene. “He shouldn’t have been out there alone,” he says quietly. It sounds like another apology.

From the edge of the curtained area, Leo parrots the same words. The way he says them, however, sounds like an accusation.

“He knows better,” Leo continues, coming closer to Mikey's bedside. The more Leo speaks, the more life returns to his eyes. Fire heats Leo’s words. You suppose anger is easier to feel than fear. “What was he thinking?”

From the floor, Raphael chokes on a sob. “You knew better. The fuck were you thinkin’, huh?”

Leo widens his stance and rolls his shoulders back, ignoring his younger brother's latest outburst.

The monitor at Mikey’s bedside beeps, Mikey starts to convulse, and it’s easy to tune out everything else.

You and Leo struggle to hold Mikey still as Donnie checks the equipment.

Donnie adjusts the speed of the morphine drip, scanning Mikey's body and the monitor displays. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw ticks with how hard he's clenching his teeth to keep his lip from trembling.

He wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist and pretends he's not close to tears seeing his only little brother injured beyond what any of them have ever faced.

Even as their eldest brother works to restrain Mikey from further aggravating his injuries, Leo asks if it's really a good idea to increase the narcotics. "We don't want him dependent on that stuff."

It was the last straw for Donatello. His resolve falters. He faces Leo with color high on his cheeks and opens his mouth to argue. But he sputters and fails to string together an explanation fit for Leo’s approval. Too much of his energy has been depleted by Mikey's care for Donnie to dumb down his course of treatment into terms Leo can understand.

You place a hand on Donnie's shoulder and offer him a knowing look.

"One thing at a time," you tell Leo with the calm authority of your medical expertise. "We get Mikey through this, first. We'll titrate him off the meds when he no longer needs them."

Exhausted and exasperated, Donnie ducks his head and steps aside to let you take over. He watches you assess the work he's done. He holds his breath as you review the scans and x-rays he provides.

There’s nothing for him to be ashamed of. His stitches are hasty, but they'll hold. The broken bones have been set properly.

There's a pain in your chest as your brain switches the images in front of you from patient to Mikey to patient again. You know that unbiased detachment will serve you best in your decision making tonight, but the crease between your eyebrows twitches as you spend a second too long watching Mikey's eyelids flutter, hoping for them to open.

Mikey is barely conscious, groaning with every squirming movement but seemingly unable to keep still.

The file Donnie's prepared lists a concussion on top of deep tissue bruising, stab wounds, broken bones, a dislocated knee, and a cracked plastron. Mikey's head is wrapped. Thick gauze pads the left side of his skull and dark bruises color his swollen face. With each injury your interest in the case, in the patient before you, grows more clinical.

You mutter, more to yourself than to Donnie or anyone else, your review of what's been done and what still needs doing. Donatello nods along, keeping up and eager to learn even in the midst of the crisis. Perhaps especially due to the nature of this one.

And after a few more minutes of tweaking the medications, your dear patient eases more deeply into sedation.

You smooth your hand over the gauze above Mikey’s ear and allow yourself a breath of relief. His glassy eyes blink up at you, unfocused until you run the back of your fingers down the side of his face.

Memories of all the times he’s called you ‘Angel’, the times it felt less like a place holder for ‘Dude’ and more like a pet name chosen specifically for you, poke and prod the edges of your mind until one memory rushes through.

You and Mikey sitting on the rooftops together. His feet dangling over the edge of the building, kicking out a rhythm as he percusses with his hands upon his thighs. You rocking forward and back as he listens with rapt attention to you talking about Med school: your residency, your hopes and dreams for advancing the field of neurobiology, and the sundry inbetween stuff that never feels like tangents when you're speaking with him.

You’re lost in the memory of the night, of you and Mikey and endless possibilities, when Donatello gives your shoulder three taps and pulls you back to the present.

The hairs on your arms rise when Master Splinter arrives to check on Mikey's progress. You wish you could say it was his raw psionic power that gives you chills, or his virtuous presence that tears your attention from your patient. There's no compassion or concern flowing from him right now. And it's neither respect nor admiration you feel for him in this moment.

Though Splinter approaches the bed, his energies remain rather distant. Cool. Complacent. He reaches out to Mikey through their psychic bond and nods in approval. "He will learn from this,” Sprinter says, voice a low, monotonous hum. “Grow stronger." He turns from his youngest with a clipped, "Humph," and moves to the corner of the room without offering a word of comfort to any of his sons. He sits to meditate, unperturbed by the scene.

As if taking a cue from their father's indifference, Leo and Raphael start up their squabble again.

It's too loud. Too much. Reading Splinter's energy and watching Mikey's shrink from it like a kitten being scolded for mistaking wicker furniture for their scratch post tests your nerve, grates on your mind, and burrows under your skin.

A year into your residency, and twice as long helping the Hamatos, you think you'd be able to handle anything. But you begin to get shaky. How Donatello worked so long with his brothers looking over his shoulder and arguing behind his back, you'll never know.

Every now and then Splinter comments on the strength of Mikey's chi. He seems oblivious to the fact that his son was literally writhing in pain on this hospital bed moments ago. The harder Splinter insists on Mikey’s resilience and tenacity, the more you feel Mikey pulling in on himself, frightened to show his Father the truth of his condition. Protecting his family from his frailty and pain even as he lay nearly unconscious.

Meanwhile, Leonardo insists that this all could have been avoided if Mikey would have exercised some patience and common sense by not going up to the surface alone.

“Where were you, anyway, Raph?" The unending feud cycles around and around. "You’re supposed to look out for him.”

When Leo starts apologizing on behalf of Raph's and Donnie's negligence, you think his younger brothers are going to snap. You make the call to get them all out, so you can focus on Mikey without worrying about playing referee.

Leo catches Splinter on the way out, making plans to meditate together through the night.

Before Donatello leaves, he pops by for a goodnight. “Get well quick, little bro,” he pleads, squeezing his arm and dropping a kiss upon the crown of his brother’s head.

Raphael does similarly, adding that they’re bedroom won't be the same tonight. Without Mikey's headphones hanging off the side of the bed, still playing music while his snores somehow ride the beat of each song, Raph won't get a wink of sleep. “Won’t sleep til you’re there buggin’ me again.”

Mikey responds with quiet murmurs that his brothers all but ignore. They're more accustomed to and comfortable with hearing their own voices than listening to their brother's pain.

With the room clear, it’s easier to hear Mikey’s mutterings for what they are. Though speaking through a fog of pain and anaesthetic, he’s not incoherent.

Your heart sinks to realize he understands what's happening to him, that he’s likely heard everything that’s been said in the room. The shouting, the crying. The selfish demands on his suffering body. The detached sureness of his Father.

So confident that all will be fine, Splinter hadn’t even laid a hand on Mikey or spared a shred of empathy before he had gone.

You pay close attention to Mikey’s words, letting them inform your care.

Mikey’s eyes peek through heavy lids, trying to follow you around the room. But when you’re at his side again, and your hand strokes his face, his eyes close. He leans into your palm despite his bruised and fractured jaw.

For a few minutes you remain just like this - cradling his face in your hands, watching him drift in the haze of sedation, feeling his energies ebb and flow from their hiding place in their search for the safety he’s always found with you.

“I’m here,” you assure him gently. “It’s only me.”

Your promise is enough for his energies to move free.

Hushed sounds and quiet clicks of your tongue fill the space between you as you put Mikey’s mind at ease. Your fingers pitter-patter over his cheek bones and down the sides of his neck as you palpate for further injuries. They pass over his clavicle and shoulders as Mikey stutters a breath.

A sling traps his arm against his chest, where his fingers tap the scute over his heart. It’s a small movement, perhaps one of the only movements he can safely make in his condition, and even then, it must be a challenge. For someone you’ve only seen lying this still during his most depressive episodes, you think being incapacitated thusly must be torture.

His bandaged hand is heavy as you lift it. His fingers are cool under the press of your lips. They curl reflexively around yours and you kiss his hand again.

“My best days are the ones I spend with you,” you whisper. It hurts to be burdening him with such a thing right now, but you also think it’s a truth he should hear sooner rather than later.

Mikey’s chest rises and falls with staggered, labored breaths as you pet his chest. You talk and Mikey lets your voice wash over him. He leans his head back, relaxed and floaty, feeling like he's in a dream. And as he has so many times before, in dreams, Mikey tells you he loves you.

You bite your lips together as tears fill your eyes. For the first time tonight you think they’ll truly spill over. “Love you, too,” you say, and it doesn’t matter to you whether he means it romantically or as friends because the relationship you share and the love you’ve fostered for each other doesn’t need labels or constraints.

When Mikey seems to be falling asleep you try to give him some space, but he doesn’t want you gone. His mind is quieter when you’re at his side.

You rub his leg as you stand by his bed. Though your back is aching and your feet protest the constant bustle, you still haven’t been able to sit.

“Tell me if you need anything,” you say in earnest.

Despite your efforts to keep Mikey hydrated, his words are but a croak. “Just you.”

“Hm?”

“You here. Could you-” Mikey’s eyes close and his hand turns palm up on the bed. Though he can’t muster the strength to lift his arm, his fingers curl and release inviting you back. You slide your hand into his and give it a light squeeze.

“Stay,” he whispers weakly.

Sleepy, and still in pain despite the heavy opiate cocktail you and Donatello created for him, Mikey gives a weak tug on your hand and whimpers, begging you to understand what he needs.

You climb up, thankful for the extra wide bed, and rest against his wrapped plastron carefully. He buries his face into the top of your head. He nuzzles the hand you’ve raised to cup his cheek. The soft, sleepy sounds he makes drift in and out, sometimes words and sometimes just a hum.

“...M no good,” Mikey mumbles into your hair, and you feel his breath hitch. “Not good enough.”

“Oh… no, baby,” you say, bracing yourself on the mattress and pushing up to look him in the eye. You stroke the lines of his brow ridge above his eyes, left and right, until his eyes flutter open. They shine with tears threatening to fall. “You’re always enough. Always been enough.”

He gives the slightest turn of his head, but his eyes stay locked on yours as if desperate to believe your words. His lip trembles. His tears slide down his cheeks.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart.” You continue to pet his face, but you let his tears fall freely, letting him know it’s alright to cry.

“For you?” Mikey asks, bordering on inaudible. But you hear him. The question rises from the depths of his being, calling out to you, and you answer the call with the truth of your soul.

“Always. Perfect for me. Forever perfect for me.”

#TMNT x Reader #tmnt x gender neutral reader #mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #gender neutral reader #my writing #angst #hurt/comfort

244 notes · View notes

jjmaybanksbaby · 3 years

Text

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer II

Part 04: I Should Just Tell You To Leave

series masterlist | previous part

summary: Against your better judgement, you seek out Rafe to talk about the Fourth of July party but things inevitably spiral.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to add!! Enjoy the angst! :))

word count: 2.2k words

The warm Outer Banks sun streamed into your room waking you from your sleep like a subtle alarm clock. The sounds of the air conditioning whirling away in the background was the only noise filling the mostly quiet house. You rolled over in your bed and finding a cool spot drifted back to sleep.

This time the loud chimes of the front door bell pulled you out of your slumber. You sat up onto your elbows curiously. No one ever ringed your door bell except for the delivery person and never this early in the day. A pair of footsteps padded across the foyer to the front door and your mom’s familiar voice echoed through the house moments later.

With your door closed, the conversations was muffled and you could only make out pieces of it.

She didn’t just say “Cameron,” did she? You wondered.

You were surely just being paranoid. It had only been two days since everything that had happened on the Fourth and your brain felt scrambled from overthinking just about every detail of that night.

Your curiosity officially got the best of you and you slipped out of your bed, quietly as not to make any of the floorboards creak in the old house. You cracked open your bedroom door just enough to hopefully steal a glance at the front door but your mom's figure was blocking the face of whoever she was talking to.

The voice though. It sounded so familiar, like you should have been able to place it.

You watched from your bedroom as your mom stepped forward and gave the other person a hug, bringing their face into perfect view.

It was Ward Cameron. What was he doing here?

You watched your mom exchange a few more worlds and close the door behind him. You slide your feet into a pair of throughly-worn through slippers and stepped out of your bedroom.

Your mom was still standing at the bottom of the stairs tapping away at her phone. You wanted to ask her about Ward but you couldn't give away that you had been eavesdropping.

"Morning mom," you said, kissing her cheek, your eyes fluttering down to her phone screen. Her text with your dad were pulled up but it didn't look like anything important. "What’s for breakfast?"

"There's some bagels on the counter,” she replied, not looking up from her phone.

"Okay," you paused. "Was someone at the door?" You asked, hoping your mom missed the eagerness of your question.

"Oh, just Mr. Cameron." She said.

"Ward?"

"Mmmhmm."

"What did he want?" You pushed.

"He's helping us with Midsummers,” she replied.

Midsummers? You thoughts. Isn't that usually in June?

"I thought Midsummers already happened this year."

Your mom sighed and you could pick up on her slight annoyance with your questioning.

"It was. He's helping us with next summer. The board sends out invites the August before."

The bulk of your mom's statement went over your head except for two words: next summer. As in you would for sure be back in the Outer Banks next summer.

"Isn't Nonna already a member of the Club?"

“Yes, she is. But Midsummer is put on through the Island Club which an even more exclusive part of the Club. Our family used to be a part of it when I younger. Ward's helping us get back in."

"I thought our family didn't like the Camerons?" The words were out of your mouth before you realized how it might sound.

Your mom finally looked up from her phone at you. "Why would you think that?"

"Oh," you paused, unsure how to proceed exactly. "Nonna said Mr. Cameron broke your heart your senior year of high school," you said hesitantly. "She said you were so upset you didn't talk to her for like two years.”

Your mom scoffed. "Your Nonna is always so dramatic. That's where your older sister gets it from. My mother told me she wouldn't pay for my college if I followed Ward to UNC. I guess she didn't realize I wanted to go to the west coast for college anyway and was going to break up with Ward when he was home over Thanksgiving break. Things with Ward didn't end with any bad blood, contrary to my mother’s belief. She’s never liked the Camerons for some reason but that's just her."

"So then we're going next summer? To Midsummers?"

"That's what I'm trying to make happen." Your mother went back to typing furiously on her phone.

"And the Camerons go ever summer?” You asked. Your mind defied you, conjuring up an image of Rafe waltzing into Midsummers in a perfectly tailored suit with a matching baby blue bow tie that made his eyes pop.

"What's with the sudden interest in a party?" Your mother asked back.

You forced the corners of your mouth up into a casual smile. "No reason. I'm going to eat breakfast." You quickly disappeared down the hallway before you gave yourself away.

☼☼☼

You hummed along softly to the music coming from your phone as you ran a straightening iron through your thick hair. The summer humidity made it a disaster to deal with. You knew two minutes outside would send it right back into looking like an untamed mess but most mornings you still stood in front of the mirror straightening it anyway.

Your phone which was sitting on the counter to your right buzzed with a new notification. You picked it up and unlocked it. There were two unread text sitting in your messages: one from your dad and another from an unknown number. You opened the second one.

Hey y/n! It's Cleo. Have you heard from Rafe recently? He's been acting weird and ghosting on our plans. I realized I had your number so I figured I'd shoot you a text and ask!!

You reread the text from Cleo before switching to your messages with Sarah.

y/n: Do you know where your brother is?

s: he's in his room moping i'm guessing for the same reason i couldn't find you after the fireworks

y/n: Sorry about that. How about I'll buy you ice cream this week and make it up to you?

You paused for a moment before typing out your next message.

y/n: Do you think I could come talk to him?

s: go for it

s: and i like mint chocolate chip with sprinkles :)

☼☼☼

You stood on the Cameron's front porch, not sure if you should knock or just walk inside. You settled on knocking and seconds later the door swung open revealing a younger-looking blonde woman holding a stemless wine glass with thick gold hoods hanging from her ears.

"Hi," you said, feeling like coming here might have been a very bad idea. "Um, is Rafe home?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah he is. Who are you again?"

"I'm y/n, one of his friends. Sarah said I could stop by."

She stepped back opening the door wider. "Sure, come in. I'm Rose. Rafe's in his room."

"Thank you," you said, stepping into the house. A sweeping staircase climbed up to the second floor. "Up here?" You asked.

"Mmmhmm." Rose nodded, bringing her wine glass up to her lips.

You walked slowly down the long hallway, most of the doors were closed except for one at the end.

You saw Rafe before he saw you. He was sitting in his unmade bed pushed into the corner of the room, only the light from the video games on the tv illuminating the space. You raise your first and knocked lightly on his doorframe, his attention snapping up to you.

You lingered in his doorway. Crossing into Rafe's room felt like it should mean something, you wanted it to mean something. His eyes were glued to the floor, watching your hesitant movements. You took a small step forward. He went back to the game, unpausing it, his fingers flying across the controller, no longer focused on you.

“Hey, I think we should talk,” you said as you crossed the room until you were just few feet away from him. When he didn’t move his gaze from the tv, you glanced around his room looking nervously, unsure where to rest your own eyes. The room was so distinctively his. Everything fit together in a way that made sense and the years he had spent growing up in it were obvious.

“Does your boyfriend know that you’re here?” He snapped back.

You ignored his comment, pressing on. “Sarah said you were moping.”

“Sarah says a lot of things.”

“Rafe.”

“Y/n.”

“Jesus, why are being such an asshole? Are you even gonna look at me?”

You expected your comment to earn you at least a glance in your direction but his head stayed firmly facing forward.

You stepped in front of the tv, forcing him to meet your stare.

“I’m sorry Rafe. I should have told you about Evan earlier. Or made it clearer.” You stumble on your words. The air in the room was hot. The words in your throat felt sticky like it was taking everything in you to get them out.

Rafe stood up from where he was sitting on his bed. Before you realized what he was doing, he was standing in front of you, his arm slipping behind your waist, pull you in until you had to place a hand on his chest to keep some distance between you. God, you cursed the way your body instinctively arched against his, the two of you fitting together like you were perfectly shaped for each other.

“I’m not an asshole,” he growled, his voice lower than you had ever heard it. “Because an asshole would kiss you right now even thought you’ve made it very clear you’re not available to be kissed.”

He looked down at you, his lips no more than two inches from yours. If you tilted your head up anymore your lips might land on his.

He lowered his head to whisper in your ear.

“And to be very clear, I would fucking love to be kissing you right now,” he paused, not moving his mouth from next to your ear. “Actually, I’d like to do a little more than just kiss you, sweetheart.”

A deep blush spread across your face. You whole body responded to his words.

Rafe took a sudden step back, releasing you from his grip. “So you can either call up your boyfriend and tell him you’re over and kiss me like I can tell you want to. Or don’t and leave.” Rafe crossed his arms in front of his body, his tshirt straining against his biceps muscles. How had you never noticed just how built he was? You tried to shake off the feeling of being pressed against him, held in place by his strong arms.

Your phone felt heavy in back pockets, weighting you down. “Rafe, you know I can’t do that. I can’t just pick you or him.”

“I’m not gonna be some side piece y/n. And I’m sure as hell not gonna share you with some kid who probably doesn’t deserve the time of day from you, much less to be your boyfriend. You have thirty seconds. Make a choice.”

“We’ve been together 6 months...7 next week.” You blabbed, practically pleading with him. You hated to hear the words Rafe was saying because you knew they were every bit true. You couldn’t have both boys. But if you were being honest with yourself: you didn’t want them both.

Rafe Cameron was intoxicating. He made your brain swirl and held your whole damn emotions hostage. You should have known after he’d gotten you into a car crash the first night you’d met that he’d end up tearing you apart in every way. Not to mention your own grandmother had quite clearly warned you to stay away from him. But something about his beautiful face made you cling to him and welcome your downfall.

Your eyes danced from Rafe’s lips up to meet his glare. You could see him counting down the seconds behind his stare.

10...9...8...

It was all moving too fast. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

7...6...

But hadn’t you known coming here would lead to this? A part of you did. You knew the second you walked into the big Cameron house with the shiny marble floors you weren’t gonna leave it any bit the same.

5...4...

The voice in your head was screaming at you to walk away. You didn’t hurt people and Rafe was right: staying here would hurt Evan and it would hurt you just as much, maybe more. The voice yelled at you to get out. Run away from trouble back to Evan who wouldn’t ever hurt you. Back to your perfectly nice boyfriend.

3...

But no matter how loud or persistent that voice telling you to leave was, it couldn’t shut up the part of your brain pushing you to take what you really wanted. The boy you really wanted. The boy standing in front of you.

2...

You spun on your heel and kept your eyes down as you across the threshold of Rafe’s room back into the hallway.

1...

Rafe’s door closed behind you with a definitive click. That was it. He’d told you to pick and you had. There was no going back. No do-overs.

You stood frozen in the Cameron’s hallway, blinked away the tears threatening to spill down your face, trying to reassure yourself of your decision.

Your life would be easier without Rafe Cameron crowding your thoughts, you told yourself. Evan was the safe choice, he was good for you.

You let your legs carry you down the grand staircase and out of the front door of the Cameron’s house. There you were, for the second time in a week, fleeing from Rafe Cameron with your heart in the kind of pain that just might actually kill you.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13 [drop a ☀️ in my inbox or messages if you want to be added]

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron x y/n #obx netflix #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks netflix #rafe cameron x reader #obx rafe #outer banks rafe cameron #where it leads series #where it leads

52 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

let me down slow (epilogue)

word count; 2830

summary; it’s moving day, and stiles is getting his dorm all set up with the sheriff, while you and mitch still have a considerable amount more unpacking to do.

notes; I know some of y’all didn’t like the events of part eight, but you’re just gonna’ have to deal with it, because they’re adorable, it was all a misunderstanding, and they deserve the world.

warnings; none, really. some vaguely dirty innuendoes, that’s it.

Smoothing your hands over the poster on the wall, you pressed it flat to the plaster, holding it steady as Stiles pinned it down straight, and you cheered once the final one was up, the collection of Star Wars posters lining the walls making the room seem entirely perfect for your best friend. Hopping down from the bed, you smoothed out the covers, before letting both of your hands fly up to meet Stiles’ in a set of high fives, and the pair of you cheered as you took it all in.

“It’s really getting there!”

The oversized corkboard he loved so much was sitting against one wall, a shelf you’d spent almost an hour trying to put up between the pair of you as the Sheriff laughed was now assembled, with three baskets sitting along it. The first contained bundles of assorted pins and paperclips for putting up the vast assortment of photos and collage pieces that added, the space freshly cleared so that he could build it up ready for the new year. The second basket contained his camera, with a selection of different types of film for interesting shots, and the third was filled with pens and note pads for all the annotations and quotes he would put under each picture.

The opposite wall was lined with six matching Star Wars posters, showing off the promotional pictures and titles of the originals and the prequels, a prized possession that you’d bought for Stiles as a graduation present, so that he didn’t have to take his collection at home down and travel them across the country. His desk was already cluttered with notebooks and pens, and the closet was brimming with flannelled shirts. The bookcase was stacked with textbooks and DVDs. Above the desk was pinned a campus map, class schedule, time table and a calendar, all for his convenience, because Stiles had already voiced his desire to cram as many college experiences into his first year as he possibly could, he wanted to live life to the fullest.

Along the windowsill were photo frames with his favourite pictures of everyone from back home, and he was proudly staring at the final few boxes on the floor, as his dad carried the last one in, the final clothes he had ready to be unpacked into the set of drawers beside his bed, your hand coming up to wipe across your forehead in false exhaustion as you looked around.

“It’s fitting for you, kid.”

His voice was a little rough, and you could tell that the Sheriff was holding back his emotions as he sent his youngest son off to college, too. He held his arms out of you both, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he let out a string of curses at the affection, but pressed his face into his father’s neck as he wrapped around one side of his body, not covering the little sniffle he let out as well as he thought he had. You were quick to follow in his footsteps, tucking yourself happily under the older man’s chin, and you squeezed the two men in a tight hug.

You easily remained that way, knowing that the two were each trying to hide their emotions, and you smiled to yourself at the thought, rolling your eyes softly. “You know, dad, I’m going to be checking with Melissa that you’re still eating healthy. Don’t think you can start eating bacon and fries every day now just because I’m gone.”

“You’re the worst.”

You giggled as he pushed you both away, but he ruffled your hair fondly, and you decided to lighten the mood a little, turning to swipe the camera from its place on the shelf, checking it was loaded with film before handing the polaroid device over to Noah. “I think we need to take the first picture to put up, don’t you?”

Stiles gasped, nodding happily before turning to you, and you pressed your hands to his shoulder once he’d turned back to face his father, and you jumped up as high as you could, sealing you legs above his hips and he gripped at your thighs, letting out a laugh as you landed on his back, your hands wrapping around his neck. With the cheesiest grin that you could muster, the Sheriff gave you a count down, before clicking the camera and waiting as the small piece of paper pushed it’s way out of the device, before handing it over to you both and putting the camera down on the desk.

Holding up the little slip, he waited patiently as the colour began to drip into it, the picture slowly revealing itself, and you let out a squeal once it became properly formed, so that you could see the image clearly. “I love it! Pin it!”

You tapped his shoulders, and he moved eagerly across to the board, selecting a pin and pushing it through the card, securing it to the very centre of the board. Only a second later, he was grabbing a red pen and a yellow post-it note, scribbling down a reminder before adding the note to the photo, and you peaked over his shoulder to read it.

‘Move-in Day, August 2020’

You grinned, taking the pen and adding a little heart to it, before placing your hands on your hips and looking around the room. The phone you’d left on the bedside table a while ago buzzed loudly, chiming a little tune as it did, and you jumped at the interruption. Stiles moved across the room for you, picking up the device before letting out a long groan, and you chuckled at his reaction, already knowing who it must be.

“It’s my brother. Your boyfriend. Ew, I hate the sound of it, still.” You grinned at his words, sticking your tongue out as you took it from him, scanning your eyes over the message, before reaching for your bag and sealing the device inside, lifting it up onto your shoulder. “Time to go?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. You’re unpacking these last few boxes alone.” You joked, and he huffed, kicking at one lightly with the toe of his shoes.

“Not alone, Dad is here to h-”

“Dad is going back to the hotel to rest his back and take a shower. Stiles is alone and putting his own laundry away for the first time in his life.” His dad grinned, and the boy let out a whine at it, stomping his foot a little before giving in.

“See you tonight, at the restaurant?”

“We will meet you there.” His face scrunched up once again.

“I can’t get with the referring to you and Mitch as a ‘we’. I’m not used to it.” You shrugged, but leaned up to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, before letting him wrap you up in a tight hug, and brush his lips to your temple. “I’ll get used to it. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

His dad left the room, leaving you both to your moment, even though you were only saying goodbye for a few hours, but he was a little jittery once the door had closed.

“Can I tell you something, before you go? I don’t want it to be a big deal, but I do want to tell you first.” You nodded, brows furrowing as he fiddled with his fingers between your bodies worriedly, and you reached up to place your hand over his own, letting him lace your fingers together. “Now that I’m not obsessing over Lydia anymore, and I’m in college and really taking a minute to get to know myself, I think I discovered something.”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I think so.” He was nervous, biting down on his lower lip, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly in an attempt to tell him that it was okay. “I think I might be bi.”

A blushing tinge spread over his cheeks, his eyes ducked to avoid your own as the heat spread up to his ears and painted his pale skin pink, and you leaned in to press your body to his, your arms wrapping around him tightly, and he let out a deep sigh, before wrapping himself around you once again, his body sagging out of relief.

“There was this guy in my welcome lecture, and he was really good looking, and while I was still in my Lydia phase I didn’t really think about anyone else that way, so I was pretty shocked when my first thought was about a guy, but then he asked me if I wanted to get coffee before the semester starts, and I said yes. We’ve been texting for a few days, now.” The words came out jumbled and hurried, and you stepped back to look at him, making sure to catch his gaze as he gave you a nervous smile.

“I’m so happy for you, Stiles.”

“I’m going to tell my dad and brother at dinner tonight, but I just needed some support.” You nodded, before stepping back as he let out a relieved laugh and wiped a hand over his face. “God, I feel so much better. I hate keeping things from you. I don’t know how you did it for months, having secrets with you kills me.”

“It wasn’t without a lot of suffering, trust me.”

He grinned, before nudging you towards the door. “See you in a couple of hours.” You simply nodded, waving your goodbye to the Sheriff as he chatted with the other parents of Stiles’ various roommates for the year, and you made your way to the door, stepping out into the corridor.

With hurried steps, you made your way down the stairs, knowing it would be quicker than taking the elevator, and you were just glad Stiles was living on the first floor, you really weren’t sure he’d be able to handle hiking up twelve layers worth of stairs to the top floor on a tired day if the lift ever broke.

It wasn’t a short walk to the place you had promised to meet your boyfriend, and the walk was enjoyable, hot sun shining down and a light breeze carrying through the campus, cooling you down from the heat. Shuffling through your bag, you searched for your sunglasses, lifting them out to place them on your face, and letting out a happy sigh when you no longer had to squint.

You could already see the man you were waiting to meet, his body coming into view as he sat on the edge of the fountain, scrolling idly on his phone as he waited for you, the bag slumped on the floor beside his feet was spilling out with textbooks and his laptop, and his hair was messy from constantly running through it. Picking up your speed a little, you made your way over to him and took up before him, your shadow falling across him. He glanced up, expression stoic and stony before he realised who it was, and his face split open in a wide grin as his entire demeanour brightened.

“Thought you were standing me up for a second there. You’re late.”

“Yeah, well, I got caught up. You can believe that I will never just leave you hanging.” You offered, and he scooped up his bag, swinging the strap over his shoulder before standing up, and he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Pulling you in towards himself, he bumped the tip of his nose with your own, before letting out a sigh. “I know you wouldn't.” He pressed his lips to your own, a sweet kiss that made your heart thud and your mind spin, before you were pushing up into him a little further. Resting your hands on his shoulders, his own slipped down to your waist, holding your body to his as his mouth moved with your own in gentle rhythms, and giving you one final peck when he pulled away. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” He took your hand in his, pulling you away toward the direction of the apartment the two of you had so carefully chosen together, and you leaned your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked. He twisted, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, and you squeezed you hand in acknowledgement of his affections. “Guess who I ran into earlier?”

“Who?”

“The redhead from a few weeks back.” He stiffened underneath you, only relaxing when you paused, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips as he fixed you with a worried glance. “Her name is Cassandra, which you never told me, and she’s actually really nice. We arranged to go for coffee.”

He practically choked on his breath, turning to look at you with wide and worried eyes as he held the door to the building open for you, and you slipped through, letting him follow as you laughed lightly at his reaction. “What was she doing there?”

“Her friend was moving into Stiles’ building, and she was helping out.” You shrugged, the two of you stepping into the elevator and you were glad to be alone, leaning back against the wall and pushing your glasses up onto the top of your head to peer at him, raising a brow. “Hey, stop freaking out. I can see the cogs working in your head. She asked about us, you know.”

“What did she say?”

“Just wanted to know if I was all good, and if things worked out.” You shrugged a little, your glasses slipping on your head, and you detangled them from your loose hair and put them away once again. “I told her that we’re doing amazing, and that I’ve never been so happy, and that we have a place together with a whole bunch of plans for the future.”

He finally let his shoulders drop from the tension he’d built up, before tucking some hair away behind your ears and stepping in towards you, crowding you into the wall a little further. “Never been so happy, huh?”

“Totally and one hundred percent in love with you.”

“I love you too.” He whispered the words into your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you, barely getting a chance to do so before the elevator was chiming and the doors were sliding open. You grinned in the kiss as he huffed out, pulling away and letting the two of you walk along, both of you patting down your bags to find your keys, but he found his own first, and lifting the set up to the door to open it.

Boxes still littered the room, labelled with things to be unpacked and brought out, but whereas Stiles had been unpacking only one room, the two of you had been unpacking an entire apartment, and there was still a lot to buy and a lot to set up, the flat-pack furniture box holding the coffee table the two of you had yet to assemble was sitting with coasters out and rings on top from drinks, using it for its purpose before it was even constructed.

“We’re still on for dinner with Dad and Stiles, right? I don’t think we have any leftovers from last night’s takeout and I’m too lazy to go for a supermarket trip.” He flopped down onto the couch, and you nodded, hanging up your bag on the hooks and taking your phone from it, running you fingers through your hair and tugging on some of the knots that had built up.

“Yes, we are. Are you going to get changed, or wash up?”

“No, I'm going to take a nap.” He grinned, settling along the couch and tucking a hand behind his head, pouting his lips when he felt you lean over him. Pressing a soft and quick peck to his lips, you brushed some hair off of his forehead and out of his eyes, before standing up.

“Okay, well, I’m going to take a shower before we go.”

You jumped when his eyes snapped back open, and he rolled up from the couch, grinning cheekily as his hands found your hips and he turned you around. “You know what, maybe I should wash up. We haven’t christened the bathroom yet, and I bet you look great on your knees in the shower.”

He tapped your ass cheekily in a light spank, and you gasped at the impact, but laughed anyway as he guided you through the halls, tugging at the bottom of your sundress as you went, until he had the material over your head, dropping it to the floor in the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.” He teased, switching on the water and waiting for it to get hot as he stripped himself down, and you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“I love you.”

“Good, because I love you too.”

#mitch month #mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp x reader smut #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp/reader smut #mitch rapp american assassin #LMDS #let me down slow #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien american assassin

221 notes · View notes