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tmpestuous · 1 year

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Moth to a Flame - 3

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summary: Bucky Barnes was the love of your life, and you were his. There was no denying it. But after two years of dating, you found yourselves on different paths and decided it was best to go your separate ways. The only problem was how drawn you’d always be to him even after moving on.

pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

chapter warnings: mentions of alcohol, angst and sadness, Atlas is kind of (really) an asshole, possessive/protective Bucky (because he deserves a warning), verbal argument

word count: ~4.5k

a/n: A bit of a longer update after the long wait! Things are getting juicy… I hope you guys enjoy <3

“Does he know the pictures that you keep?”

***

Bucky had really held out on his personal promise to himself to move on, though the process had never been more challenging.

He was no stranger to girls lining up for him; it was a common occurrence before he met you. As soon as word spread about your breakup and your moving on, it hadn’t failed to start once again. Bucky had been on constant dates, maybe bringing a girl or two back, though he never had them stay. He had felt as though he was just borrowing some friction from strangers. It was his way of distracting himself from the evident resentment he had for his own actions, how easily he let you slip out of his fingers.

The truth was that none of the girls Bucky had spent time with could ever distract him from you. He was bored because none of them were as interesting as you. They weren’t as smart as you, as humble as you, as caring as you. They weren’t you. They never would be.

But Bucky promised. He promised he’d be there for you, and he couldn’t fulfill that promise if he didn’t move on.

Recently, Bucky was seeing a new girl: Sharon. He had met her in one of his classes and much to his luck, Steve actually knew her and told him that she was a really nice girl. Bucky had never anticipated getting involved with someone like Sharon, and if he was being honest, he’d assume she was more Steve’s type and vice versa. Nonetheless, he really enjoyed getting to know her.

He knew his feelings for you wouldn’t subside so fast, but he didn’t find himself comparing Sharon to you while he was with her. That gave him a glimpse of hope, a glimpse of finally pulling himself from the hole he’d been stuck in for so long. It was a foreign feeling—the thought of letting you go—but given the fact that you had already done so, it was the right thing to do.

About three weeks had passed since that night after the party, the night you told Bucky you needed him. Since then, Bucky had seen you about half as much as usual. Natasha said you were caught up on finishing your research for your major, working endlessly on preparing the presentation you needed to give at the university’s annual research seminar. Plenty of research journal editors would be in attendance, hoping to find a research study worth publishing. You wouldn’t stop until you ensured your research was perfect.

Bucky knew once you got immersed in your schoolwork, it was difficult to pull you away from it. He’d seen it plenty of semesters prior, and he couldn’t blame you. You were one of the smartest people he knew, a quality of yours he never failed to admire.

He decided not to seek you out as he usually would have when you were together, but rather forced himself to try and be a better friend for you. Bucky wanted to be someone you could trust without worrying about old feelings or possible conflict arising. He owed that much to you after you made it clear you didn’t want to lose him despite everything. He also knew he was on the same page.

When Natasha had invited him up to your shared suite as they walked together after class, he politely declined. Bucky was well aware you wouldn’t be in much of a mood to talk or pay attention to anything other than your task at hand. You had always valued how much he appreciated and understood your work ethic, never overstepping. Bucky didn’t want to push that boundary now.

As Bucky continued his trek back to his residence hall, Natasha made her way up to your suite. Much to her surprise, Atlas was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water as he noted the redhead’s presence.

“Hey, Nat,” he greeted with a half-smile.

“Hi, Atlas,” she returned the greeting. “Is Y/n in her room?”

Atlas nodded, “She’s just finishing up her report. Seems pretty stressed, so I’m just waiting out here for her to finish before we go out to eat.”

Nodding at his response, Natasha made her way to your closed bedroom door. You could never be mad at Natasha for checking on you, especially when she would never let you live it down if you had been. Nonetheless, she was your best friend and you knew she only had your best interests in mind, so you always made an exception for her.

You were about to complain, assuming it was Atlas behind the door, until you saw Nat’s head peek through.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re alive and well with how long you’ve spent in this room,” she teased.

“Hi, Nat,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully with a smile. “I’m on the last page of my findings and then I am free.”

“Until tomorrow when you have to present said findings.”

“I didn’t need the reminder,” you said with a whine. “I really need this presentation to go well or I’ll cry.”

“And it will,” she said, letting herself in the room and taking a seat on your bed. “Now why are you letting your boyfriend bore himself to death outside?”

“Well I told him not to come over,” you noted as you returned to typing away on your laptop. “I can’t focus with him ogling me the entire time.”

“Am I not ogling you?”

“It’s not the same, Nat,” you said, flipping a page in your research notebook.

Atlas hadn’t been in your best graces for the past few weeks. You were taking your work more and more seriously as the days went by, dedicating a lot more of your free time to finishing up wherever you needed to. He wasn’t too fond of that, constantly asking you to take a break when you knew you didn’t need one or telling you to take a day off when you knew you couldn’t afford to.

You were pretty adamant on making this research as thorough as possible, with little to no errors to account for. The competition for a publisher’s attention this year was strong, with big brains like Tony Stark and Bruce Banner giving presentations as well. You couldn’t stand to look pathetic or basic next to them.

You didn’t ask for much. It’s not like you didn’t take any breaks or completely cut off all contact with the real world. But your time to work was the time you allotted for it, and being distracted wasn’t in your best interest. You had just wished Atlas would understand that rather than nagging you to spend time when you spent more than enough time with him at all times.

“He’s trying, at least, Y/n,” Nat urged. “Don’t shut him out.”

“I’m not,” you replied shortly. “I just shouldn’t have to explain my boundaries all of the time. I appreciate him being here and he could sit in here while I worked if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. That isn’t my fault.”

Giving in, Natasha sighed. “Is it a bad time to talk about Bucky?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked over at her.

“What’s up with Bucky?”

“He’s seeing someone, just thought you should know.”

“Oh,” you said before turning back to your work. “Good for him, he deserves it.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes..?” You said, genuinely confused. “I moved on, why shouldn’t he?”

“No, no, I just expected more questions is all,” Natasha put her hands up in surrender. “Are we seeing you after you’re done with your date later?”

You nodded, your eyes not diverting from your work. “Yeah, I shouldn’t be long.”

Patting your shoulder, Natasha left your room.

Bucky moving on was a good sign, but ignoring the weird feeling in your stomach was difficult. You shouldn’t be bothered by it, but for some reason, you were. It felt strange, thinking about Bucky being involved with someone else.

Those thoughts were only selfish, though, seeing as you were in a relationship of your own with a completely different person. Second guessing your decisions always got the best of you and moving on was one of those choices you vowed not to fall back on. Not again.

Was it wrong to feel this way?

You had finished your presentation about an hour later, heading out to eat with a slightly heated Atlas, a demeanor not really hidden from anyone.

“Are you okay?” You asked him as the waiter left to get your check. “You’ve been off since we left the dorm.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he responded with no hesitation, his tone short. “Just thinking.”

“About?” You inquired.

“Natasha spent some time in your room and you didn’t complain about being distracted then,” he finally admitted. “So how come it changes with me?”

You sighed. “Atlas, I’m sorry, it’s just not—“

“Would you have complained if it was Bucky?”

Shaking your head, you sighed once again. “Yes, I would have. Where is this coming from?”

“Just wondering.”

This wasn’t the first time Atlas had been bothered by something before dropping Bucky’s name into the conversation. It frustrated you, especially because it made you feel awful that he’d compare himself to your ex when you were committed to him. You had your moments of doubt, but you knew who you were loyal to and in what capacity.

“I said that I’m sorry,” you urged once more. “I could have phrased my words better, I just got irritated with you asking me when I’d be done every five minutes. I finished, I’m here with you now. Let’s not fight about it.”

Atlas nodded and took his card out as the waiter came with the check, paying the bill before you both left.

The car ride back was fairly silent. You could understand where you had gone wrong, but you also felt a bit suffocated every time Bucky had been brought up by Atlas at any given moment.

Bobbing your knee anxiously up and down, you tried not to get stuck in your own thoughts but it was an evident failure. As soon as Atlas parked the car in front of the boys’ dorm, you looked over at him.

“You’re not coming?” You asked.

“I have some fraternity event to attend, so I can’t go,” he said calmly, but you could tell he was still upset. “Text me when you get back to your room.”

“Oh, okay,” you said in defeat, not wanting to argue again. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it,” he said as he nodded, catching your attention once more before you exited the car. “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too,” you returned. “I don’t want to fight with you. At all.”

“Me neither,” he agreed. Hesitantly, he bit his lip and you could tell he had something else on his mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

Once you nodded, he turned in his seat to face you.

“Do you keep any photos of you and Bucky from when you were together?”

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you shook your head. “I’m confused.”

“While you were working, I noticed you were getting a few texts. I went to silence your phone but I noticed Bucky’s contact picture was still one from when you were together. With your head on his shoulder and him kissing your head. I just wondered if you still kept any other pictures.”

Shaking your head once more, “I don’t have any pictures. I just haven’t changed Bucky’s contact at all.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thank you for answering.”

You kissed his cheek before getting out of the car without another word, Atlas driving off as soon as you closed the door.

Sighing a third time to yourself this late afternoon, you walked up to the building and entered luckily as someone opened the front door.

You hated yourself for lying, but it’s not like you were holding onto old pictures with Bucky on purpose. You just hadn’t deleted any pictures, and for a while, you were harping on the idea that you two would realize you made a mistake and get back together.

Another fight with Atlas over Bucky would drain you. You moved on from him, you weren’t enticed by seeing him or tempted to get back with him. Bucky was one of your best friends and that wouldn’t change with a relationship. Provoking another fight would have ended badly.

At least that’s what you convinced yourself of.

You were grateful Atlas was opening up to you more while also acknowledging your feelings, though the road was still rocky. Times like this only made you constantly think about how you’d never have any issues like this with Bucky, but, of course, the circumstances were different.

Atlas was good to you. You both had your moments but he treated you the way you’d want to be treated. He understood you (for the most part). You once again felt bad about him comparing himself to Bucky, and hated yourself whenever you also did so subconsciously. Nonetheless, you were glad you could both somewhat talk about it and move past it.

Taking the elevator up to the boys’ floor, you walked down the hallway and knocked three times, shoving your hands in your jacket pocket before Steve opened the door.

“Hey there, little genius,” he greeted you as you shook your head and walked in. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” you breathed out, seeing everyone seated in the living room. “I’m sandwiched right in between Tony and Bruce in the schedule which is not daunting at all.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Sam said, taking a sip of his Coke from his seat on the couch. “They’re in a totally different field of study, you’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” you acknowledged before noticing one blue-eyed brunette missing from the bunch. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s out with Sharon,” Steve said, sitting next to Natasha at the same time you sat in the love seat next to Pietro.

“Sharon as in Sharon Carter?” You asked.

“Yeah, why?” Steve retorted.

“Oh, no reason,” you shook your head. “I’ve seen her around campus before. Didn’t know she’d be interested in Bucky.”

“Yeah, they’ve been seeing each other for about a week or so,” Sam said while he typed on his phone. “He seems pretty interested.”

“That’s good,” you said, genuinely happy Bucky was moving on.

You didn’t want him to be stuck on you if you had moved on. It didn’t seem fair nor did it ever make you feel good, especially remembering how anxious you felt before telling him yourself. Bucky deserved to be happy, and that was all you cared about.

After a few games, the group trying to get you to spill all the contents of your research, and a movie, you called it a night. You had also left before Bucky had made it back, missing him by a few minutes since you knew you had to be up early before your presentation. Plus, Bucky would be there to support you so you’d see him then.

Walking back into his suite, Sam, Steve, and Natasha were still in the living room to see Bucky before retreating to their beds as well.

“Hey, loverboy,” Sam teased. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Bucky shrugged his jacket off, hanging it in the closet. “I kind of lost track of time. What’d I miss?”

“Not much,” Nat picked her phone up. “We were just waiting for you to get back before going to be—“

Cutting her sentence short, the guys all looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked first, though they were all curious.

“Y/n mentioned Atlas not coming over because he had a frat event, right?” She asked, her tone coming off hesitant.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “But she said he didn’t specify what it was, assumed it was some meeting or somethin’.”

“What’s up, Nat?” Bucky inquired once more, seeing the redhead’s face change into a slightly angry one.

“He looks shitfaced drunk in this story,” Natasha said, showing her phone screen to reveal a very wasted Atlas in a picture. “How is he gonna do that the night before Y/n’s big day?”

“Maybe it’s an old picture?” Steve suggested, obviously searching for the best justification.

“Definitely isn’t,” Bucky shot it down. “I had heard about a party but I assumed he was here with you guys.”

“Atlas always gets hungover after a drunken night,” Natasha said next. “Y/n’s presentation is at 8:00AM tomorrow and those frat parties never end earlier than like 4.”

“You really think he’s gonna bail? No way,” Sam interjected.

“Wouldn’t be on purpose,” she locked her phone and set it on the coffee table.

“He’s not gonna bail. Let’s not put that into the universe right before tomorrow,” Bucky said, making his way to his room after saying his goodnites.

He had only hoped for your sake that Atlas would show up tomorrow. Bucky’s protectiveness over you would never subside, relationship or not, and he knew just how important this research was to you.

Not having someone you hold with such high regard to support you would only hurt you. Bucky’s never wanted to see you hurt, especially not by a boy. He made the grand effort to always see your perspective on things, even when you disagreed, just so he’d never hurt your feelings or make you feel small. When it comes to anyone else, he’d be damned to allow that either.

He really hoped Atlas would come. You deserve that much.

The following morning was excruciating for you. You hadn’t remembered the last time you woke up this early, and it wasn’t even on purpose.

Your body decided to wake you up at 5AM before proceeding to not let you fall back asleep before your 6:30 alarm.

Already off to an amazing start to your day, Atlas wasn’t picking up his phone, Natasha and Wanda had already made their way over to the boys’ dorm to make sure they were ready, and you were running slightly late.

Check-in was at 7:30, and you walked in at 7:45.

Amazing. Just amazing.

After you checked in and made sure all of your work was ready to go, you peeked out into the lobby to see if you could catch a glimpse of anyone.

Bucky and Natasha were standing in line together, looking around just as anxious as you were.

“He has to show up, Nat,” Bucky pushed. “He’s not gonna just bail on her like that. It’s not like him.”

“It’s 8:05 and he isn’t here, Bucky. I’m not all too sure he’d be this late when Atlas is always at least 5 minutes early to everything he shows up to,” Natasha countered. “I swear I am going to kill him when I see him.”

On the opposite end of the doors, you couldn’t make out what they were talking about, especially more focused on trying to contact your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found. As soon as you were about to try once more, one of the moderators tapped your shoulder to let you know to take your seat.

You sighed and shut your phone off. You had reserved seats for everyone ahead of time, so it’d be no problem for him to show. He was just late, and he’s never late.

The anxiety was eating you alive as you waited for the seminar to start, and it only grew as everyone before you was presenting.

Looking back to check on the seats, you saw everyone seated but Atlas. Catching Bucky’s eye, he could definitely tell how you were feeling and what you were thinking. He always somehow had the ability to see right through you, and a pep talk from him wouldn’t sound too bad right now. But Tony Stark was just about to start his presentation which only meant you were next, and Bucky shot you a thumbs-up, mouthing ‘you got this’ before you turned back around in your seat.

As Tony wrapped up his presentation on the ever-expanding world of artificial intelligence, you mentally prepared yourself to give the best presentation you could ever give in your entire college career.

Your friends gave you looks of encouragement as you walked up to the stage, gathering all of your information as they put your presentation on the screen.

The anxiety didn’t get the best of you at all. You felt a lot more confident once you had started speaking, knowing every single detail inside and out about your research and your presentation.

Atlas hadn’t shown up throughout it all. It bothered you in the back of your mind, but it’d be improper to let something like that stump you in front of an auditorium filled with so many people smarter than you could imagine. Overall, you felt confident with your discussion, even surprised by receiving the second standing ovation of the day (which you concluded was only because you went after the Tony Stark), and tons of praise as you returned to your seat.

Feeling as good as you possibly could, Atlas was the last thought in your mind. You were definitely upset with him, but the high you felt from excelling in something you spent so much time and effort on completely overshadowed the current resentment brewing.

What you hadn’t realized was Atlas slipping in about 20 minutes after your presentation concluded, your focus too centered on Bruce’s presentation on gamma radiation to look over your shoulder.

Bucky, on the other hand, was more than glad to address the elephant in the room that decided to right next to him.

“You smell like alcohol, Atlas,” Bucky spat at him in a whisper, then grasping Steve’s attention from his other side.

“I came as fast as I could—“

“Yeah, well you already missed it. She shouldn’t even see you like this to begin with,” Bucky stood up and walked out of the aisle, waiting for Atlas to follow shortly after.

Sighing and exiting out of the auditorium behind Bucky and Steve not too far behind the both of them, Atlas ran a hand through his hair. As soon as they were out of the auditorium and walked out of the building, Bucky turned around to face Atlas. Steve stayed towards the entrance, knowing Bucky could handle it.

“Look, Bucky—“

“No,” Bucky cut him off right away, placing his hands on his hips and staring at Atlas in disbelief. “She doesn’t deserve that, Atlas. At all. I’m more than positive she can and will give you this entire lecture herself so I’ll save you the dramatics, but you can’t seriously expect to show up in the state that you are to try and support her.”

“I didn’t have time to shower, I ran all the way over here—“

Bucky scoffed. “And you still couldn’t even bother to show up on time, huh? An hour and a half. An entire hour and 30 minutes passed before she got on that stage, and you weren’t here.”

“I’m sorry, Barnes, but is Y/n my girlfriend or yours?”

Rubbing a hand across his face in frustration, Bucky did everything he could not to land a clean punch on Atlas’s face for his sake and yours.

“She’s your girlfriend, Atlas,” Bucky answered. “That’s the problem. She’s giving a presentation on something that could give her the opportunities she may have not even dreamed of, and her boyfriend shows up hungover, smelling like alcohol, and late. I was here on time. We all were because that’s the kind of support she needs and deserves. Not what you just pulled.”

It was Atlas’s turn to scoff now, putting his jacket back on. “What is it that you’d like me to do, Barnes? Completely bail on the whole thing? You should at least appreciate the fact that I showed up.”

“I don’t, though, and I won’t. You should leave,” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, and Atlas could tell he wouldn’t let him back inside that building.

After taking a deep breath, Atlas gave in and walked away. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against Bucky, to begin with, and he was actually well aware you wouldn’t appreciate your boyfriend fighting with your best friend. Atlas’s thoughts also very much got the best of him, assuming you’d take Bucky’s side over his in a heartbeat.

Bucky wasn’t happy. He also hated the fact that he still felt so protective over you, but he knew that you deserved better. It was a good thing to do as your friend nonetheless.

Inside the auditorium, you had noticed Bucky and Steve’s absence, meeting Natasha’s eyes but she seemed as lost as you were. Slipping out of your seat, you walked out of the auditorium, seeing an annoyed Steve and even more annoyed Bucky walking back into the building.

“Go out for a smoke, boys?” You asked them playfully, trying to alleviate the clear tension in the room. Bucky’s eyes softened at the sight of you, making your cheeks feel a bit warm, but you pushed the feeling aside. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, little genius,” Steve pulled you in for a hug. “Nothing to worry about, we just needed some air.”

You nodded as you pulled away from Steve and hugged Bucky next. Steve made his way back inside, but Bucky tugged on your wrist before you could follow.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” You asked as he looked a bit hesitant to speak to you, not even meeting your gaze entirely.

“Do you love him?” he asked, his voice nothing higher than a whisper.

“What?”

“Atlas, do you really love him?” he asked once more. “And does he really love you? Because I can’t stand by and watch you get anything less than what you deserve, Y/n.”

Bucky’s voice was low, only loud enough for you to hear, and his face was dangerously close to yours. You genuinely couldn’t tell what was happening, or what he and Steve were actually doing. His gaze finally met yours directly, his eyes more grey than blue today.

“I know you have all our pictures and our texts,” he spoke once he realized you wouldn’t. “I know you have your doubts, and hell, do I have some of my own. But regardless, if I’m gonna see you with someone else, I need it to be someone who cares for you, who adores you, who loves you. Does he love you, Y/n?”

Looking straight into his eyes, you nodded. You didn’t even think about it, give it a moment, or second guess it. Going with your gut, you nodded. He nodded once in response.

“Okay, then. But the next time he treats you like this, I might have to take matters into my own hands, prinţesă.”

Bucky let go of your wrist, and the both of you walked back inside although the presentations were already over. Everyone was scrambling toward the exit so you and Bucky stayed back to wait for everyone else.

You couldn’t help but think about the last 5 minutes that had just unfolded, while Bucky was pretending as if nothing happened. Draining couldn’t even begin to describe your day, between Atlas flaking on you, you having to present months-long research in front of hundreds of people, and Bucky making you the most speechless you had ever been in your entire life, you couldn’t fathom what was going to happen next.

The rest of the group quickly made their way towards you and Bucky, each of them giving you a hug, Sam even giving you a “celebratory” pat on the head. You all walked out together, Natasha walking in the back with you as everyone walked ahead and talked amongst themselves. Nat caught your eyes focused on Bucky in his usual, quiet state, listening to everyone else talk with a stoic face that’d make anyone else assume he was in a bad mood.

“What were you and Barnes talking about?” Natasha asked you, snapping you from your train of thought.

You weren’t too sure if you should say anything, not exactly knowing how Bucky felt anymore. He was seeing someone, but he had never been so openly protective of you in that manner, let alone warning you of it. It also didn’t help your extended confusion about everything else going on in your head about the situation.

“He was just apologizing about Atlas not showing up,” you responded quickly, wanting to get away from the group for a bit before going out to dinner. “I’m gonna change out of this outfit before we go out, is that okay?”

Nodding right away, Natasha gave you a side hug as you walked in the opposite direction of the group to your dorm. Bucky couldn’t help but watch as you left, hoping he didn’t overstep, though he really had no regrets.

As you walked into your room, you saw Atlas sitting on your bed, remembering you had given him the key to get past the front door.

“Hey, swee—”

“Where were you?” you cut him off, not wanting to hear the pet names and soft talking.

“Y/n, I’m really sorry, okay?”

“That isn’t what I asked you, Atlas,” you said sternly, not letting your guard down. You couldn’t help but think about what Bucky said earlier, about deserving someone who cares about you and loves you. “I trusted you. You told me you’d be there and you missed the entire thing. All of it. I can’t do this if you’re gonna give me absolutely nothing, Atlas. It’s draining.”

“I’m giving you nothing?” he spat in response. “You still love Bucky, Y/n—”

“Bucky is my friend, Atlas. Yes, we dated, we dated for two whole years, but I am with you and you are the one I want to be with. He asked me if you loved me today and I told him you did because I really do believe that you do. I love you too. But I felt so embarrassed today knowing that my boyfriend couldn’t even bother to show up to one of the most important events of my career. I needed you there. I need you, period, and I don’t even know why you didn’t show up. Tell me why.”

He was quiet. You were tired of talking about Bucky, you were tired of him thinking about Bucky. If you had decided to be with Bucky, you’d be with him right now. But you aren’t. You had your own faults, as did anyone, but you really wanted to make this relationship with Atlas work. You couldn’t just break it off over miscommunication and unwarranted jealousy.

But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t answer and it hurt because you were well aware he did not want to tell you the real reason he didn’t show up.

“Nothing?” you asked, trying to prompt him to speak, but he didn’t.

Feeling the tears well up in your eyes from the sense of betrayal, you sighed to yourself. Still nothing. As a tear fell down your cheek, you wiped it off quickly, not wanting to be vulnerable in front of Atlas at the moment.

“I need you to leave.”

“Y/n, please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“Oh, so he does speak,” you said with an intentionally snarky tone. “Leave, Atlas. Please.”

While you were trying your best to hold your composure, Atlas put his jacket on and left you alone in your room, where you evidently crumbled. Closing your bedroom door, you slid against it down to the floor, choking out a sob. You stayed there for a couple of hours, consumed in your thoughts that you couldn’t even begin to interpret.

After a while, you grabbed your phone, calling the familiar contact that you’d probably regret afterward. A few rings and the familiar voice responded.

“Prinţesă? Where are you? I was just about to go and find you since Nat told me you were in your room—” Bucky rambled until he heard a sniffle. “Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“Can you come over please?” your voice cracked as you sniffled once more, still getting over your crying fit.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my way, okay? Don’t worry.”

After he hung up, Bucky rushed over as fast as he could, avoiding all the questions everyone was asking him before he walked out of the door.

He knew he was digging himself into a deeper hole than he was already in, but he couldn’t help it. All Bucky cared about was your well-being, and he was more than positive he’d do anything to ensure it was preserved and protected.

So when he rushed into your room and saw you crying and shaking on the floor, he knew he had to make sure this never happened again.

–

Very happy with the course of this story and I already have the next part planned. Thank you for reading!

tags: @jessybarnes @cjand10 @blulemonades @sebsgirl71479 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @a-serene-place-to-be @paulasocean @rebloggingmyrecs @sarapolare @barnesselo @roofwitty779

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader

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theline-wecrossed · 1 year

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i fold

“It’s Nice To Have A Friend” by Taylor Swift

https://open.spotify.com/track/1SmiQ65iSAbPto6gPFlBYm?si=76b41ba4af644052

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I don’t know how I feel.

Well.

I know how I feel. How I’ve always felt. How I’ve felt since I met you.

When did I meet you Dylan? I don't remember. That was so long ago, you kind of just appeared. I remember playing in a playgroup as kids. Hot wheels races and sweet iced tea. Coloring books on picnic tables. Fairy and toad hunting. Rock collecting. Dad called us inside after hours in the sun. Chasing after your dark tangled hair, shouting with laughter. And then you were gone. I think it was July, because Mom left us around the same time. You know what? Maybe it was that house party. That's when we saw each other again. I had never really been a social person. I left Ridgecrest after graduation and was planning on never looking back. And then I came home over the summer, because I didn’t get into that research seminar. Damn I’m still pissed about that.

“Hey you look like you need a drink” you had said, handing me a red solo cup. And you know what. I did . I did need a drink. That semester was the worst. I don’t think I had left my dorm for weeks. I couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed. I had stopped taking my meds. Your hair was shorter than when we were kids. Messy black and wavy. You don’t anymore but you loved to wear your thick black eyeliner. You looked at me so intensely, your green eyes were like, like piercing my soul. Whoa okay that was cringey as hell. I didn’t know it then but you always do that when you get super drunk. You make the most unsettling eye contact and then you would read me like a book. You always get myself out of my own head. It’s like my anxiety floats away when I’m with you. You did that at that party, I remember you grabbed my arm and dragged me out of whoever’s dingy basement we were in. I think it was Cora’s. You dragged me up the stairs and out the front door onto Cora’s porch. Wait no it was Sylvie’s because Sylvie’s parents had that green porch swing. I could hear the bass of whatever shitty song was playing, thumping from underneath my beat up chuck taylors as we climbed up the stairs. It was so hot that day. “ It’s so loud in there. It's so much better up here” you said, sipping your drink, slurring a little. “I think I remember you. I- I would play in your yard alllll the time…” you trailed off, head certainly in another realm, as you collapsed onto the porch swing, hand still gripping my wrist. And that was it. We talked for hours. I don’t even know what we talked about. I don’t even remember. The only thing I remember was wishing that you would never let go of my wrist. Your animated eyes that made me laugh for the first time in months. How we spent the entire summer together. How I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I had to leave again in the fall. Every time I come back again and leave I have to pretend it's fine. And now I’m leaving again. I can’t believe she feels the same.

So why did I not tell her? It was right there. She is right there.

Sawyer glanced over at the passenger seat where Dylan was sitting, restless. The stars were out now, and no signs of life for miles around.

Well I know how I feel but I don’t want to fuck this up.

“Dylan, what if we let this happen and everything is ruined. I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing this, losing us.”

Shit. Did I say that out loud? I guess I’m doing this.

Grabbing Sawyer’s hand Dylan chuckled.

“I’m not worried about it Sawyer, you need to stop worrying so much”

#the line we crossed #fine lines #crwr 213 ubc #creative writing assignment #creative writing #tumblr fiction

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ichigoromi · 2 years

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭| 𝐒𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

I have never written a Daichi headcanon and it has been long overdue. I need to write about this fine species of hunk. Daichi is actually the closest to my ideal type among all the haikyuu members. Might be shocking cause Omi is now my favourite.

Alright, I'm gonna stop rambling and get back to writing!

Pairing: Sawamura Daichi (timeskip) x fem reader! (she/her)

Genre: Fluff

Warning (s): pregnancy! unplanned pregnancy!

Enjoy!

Sawamura Daichi

Daichi was someone that has been in your life for a long time.

From childhood, he was always by your side. He was your person.

The one that made you fall in love with volleyball and improve all the time was him as well.

And you fell for him when he piggyback you back home after you scrapped your knees after playing volleyball with him.

You fell for him first, and then he fell harder for you.

High school was different, you went on to play for Niiyama Girls' High as a libero.

You got busy with training and games, and naturally you two became distant.

Until you two met again at the Spring Nationals.

And you two reconnect after high school graduation.

Now, you two are happily in a relationship for four years.

And maybe a little bun in the oven?

It has been two weeks since your period is late and you have been experiencing some pregnancy symptoms. Daichi was currently away for a three-day seminar, so you were alone and have called in sick.

When you were training, you almost fainted in the midst of practice and your team manager send you back home to rest.

Now, you were waiting in the waiting room for your results to come back.

If you were pregnant, it's going to be challenging. For your career and your relationship with Daichi.

---

When Daichi got home, he was expecting a warm greeting from you but instead, he was greeted by you twiddling your fingers nervously on the sofa.

"Babe? Are you feeling okay? What happened?" He immediately sat down beside you and wraps his arms around you.

Initially, you were going to be brave and tell him directly but once his arms wrapped around you, tears start falling.

"Daichi~! I'm pregnant...What are we going to do now? How are we going to tell our parents about this? Oh no, what am I going to tell my team? What-" Daichi cups your face and plants his lips against yours.

He pulls you up onto his lap and moves his lips in sync with yours. God, you missed this, even though he was only away for three days.

"Stop kissing me! I'm pregnant and everything is so sudden! What are we-"

Daichi once again shuts you up with another kiss.

"I know, you said that already. Do you want to keep the baby?" He asked first, and you nodded your head.

"We're keeping the baby, that's the first step. When do you want to tell our parents? Am I the first one to know that you're pregnant?" He was getting excited, and seeing him excited about becoming a parent, you started smiling.

"Yes. You're the first one. I wanted to let you know first because I was scared. I have to talk with my team because I'm not sure if I can attend any games..." You leaned your head against his chest.

"We'll figure out everything, okay? Let's worry about that later and celebrate now. We are having a baby!"

He was right, you two can worry about the future later. Now, it's time to celebrate.

"We're gonna have a baby! I want to have sukiyaki!" You cheered and laughs again when you kisses your cheek.

"Alright, let's go get some sukiyaki!"

And yeah, that's how I imagine Daichi will react. He has four younger siblings, so I'm not surprised if his s/o was pregnant and he's calm about it. I hope y'all enjoyed this:)

Stay safe and healthy!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

#sawamura daichi #daichi headcanon #daichi hcs #daichi haikyuu #daichi fluff #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #daichi x fem reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #karasuno headcanons

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babyboibucky · 3 years

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The Match - Part 3

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s becoming extra horny around you in the office.

Word Count: 2,697

Warnings: still smut, boss x employee affair, unprotected sex everywhere, hints at misogyny???

A/N: And a mini series was born 😂 no but honestly, I didn’t expect for parts 1 and 2 of The Match to receive such amazing feedback 😭 I really enjoy reading everyone’s reaction to this series and trust me, all comments keep giving me ideas. Thank you all so much!!!!!!! 😘😘😘 and btw, this part isn’t their promotion “celebration” because that will have a chapter on its own. Long story short, that will be pure porn with no plot at all so stay tuned for that 😂

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

It’s been a rollercoaster ride since you matched with James— Bucky, on Tinder. Maybe not a literal rollercoaster ride but with how Bucky had you bouncing on his cock as he sat on the couch, or that one time he asked you to sit on his face inside his car, it was a ride nonetheless and an exhilarating one at that.

Despite your relationship with him, the both of you surprisingly managed to keep things professional when there was work involved. Of course there were times when quickies in the office took place, given that Bucky was fucking insatiable (let’s all admit it, so were you). Work was work and you excelled at being the head of your department, but once office hours are over, you excelled more at giving Bucky head.

Oftentimes you found yourself worrying about getting caught. You’ve always been careful but lately, Bucky seemed to be slipping up. He just couldn’t seem to get his hands off of you and he was becoming more and more obvious. You were pretty good at being discreet but sometimes, it was hard not to react to Bucky when he would look at you with a naughty glint in his eyes, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you present. He’d tilt his head sometimes as he looked at you, lifting a brow as he smirked whenever he was impressed.

You ended up stuttering when he gave you that look one time. It was proud and it made your chest swell and your pussy throb. He rewarded you that night in his office by making you cum on his face twice.

That look was going to be the death of you and he was giving it to you now as you entered the conference room for the monthly mancom meeting. Bucky eyed you as you went around the desk, lifting a brow and pulling the empty chair next to him, commanding you to sit beside him without having to say a word.

You cleared your throat and pulled the chair, noticing how Bucky eyed your ass before you sat down.

“Is everyone here?” He asked after ogling your backside for a good five seconds.

All the department heads affirmed their attendance and soon enough, the meeting began with the HR manager reporting first. Lights were shut off and as soon as the report was projected onto the wall, Bucky began his little game. You were paying attention to the slides being presented until you felt Bucky’s foot nudge your ankle, hooking around it to slightly open up your legs.

You side-eyed him and subtly shook your head. He had never done this in public, at least, not during meetings. So you weren’t sure why he was being so frisky now, placing a hand on your thigh. You grabbed his hand and moved it away gently before slightly moving your seat away from Bucky, crossing your legs in the process.

“What do you think Mister Barnes?” The HR manager asked.

All heads turned towards Bucky, who obviously wasn’t paying attention provided that his hand was trying to sneak back onto your thigh. He cleared his throat and straightened up on his seat, fixing his tie before pursing his lips.

“I’m sorry, can you please repeat that?” He asked and you fought the urge to snort.

“I was wondering if we can hold another seminar about workplace etiquette.” She said.

Bucky hummed, “Do we have problematic employees?” He asked curiously.

The HR manager sighed, a blush creeping up to her face. “There have been rumors going around the office about employees engaging in...lewd acts within the workplace. I thought that we should revisit the topic about workplace code of ethics.” She explained.

You ended up in a coughing fit, quickly apologizing and reasoning out that you were having allergies today. Bucky tensed in his seat but managed to remain calm. He stole a quick glance at you before turning back to the HR manager.

“And have we identified these employees?” He asked, rubbing a hand on his chin. A nervous habit of his, you noticed.

This was what you have been worrying about! Bucky has been fucking you around the office and now everyone was catching on to it. And although you wanted to blame Bucky for this, you knew you were just as much to blame. Damn you and your hormones!

The HR manager shook her head, much to your and Bucky’s relief. “No sir, but some employees have been noticing and hearing things, especially after office hours. Janet for instance, filed a report last week about hearing hushed whispers from the pantry, followed by the creaking sound of the table. The following day, shards of someone’s mug were found in the trash. There was an assumption that there might be employees behaving inappropriately.”

“Oh my god, I’m close. Bucky I’m—“

Bucky’s hand clamped around your mouth as he shushed you, hearing footsteps approach the pantry. You stilled as you nervously watched shadows move beneath the door, but of course, this didn’t stop Bucky from snapping his hips against yours.

His thrusts were slow and languid, but he slammed back in with such force that made the pantry table scratch against the floor. Once the footsteps faded, Bucky wasted no time to get back to fucking you. He lifted your legs up and rested the back of your ankles against his shoulders, slightly bending down over you so he can angle his cock to perfectly hit that one sweet spot.

A single, powerful thrust sent you reeling, your hands finding purchase on the sides of the table.

“Cum, baby. Cum.” Bucky growled.

Another thrust made you gasp out loud, feeling the head of Bucky’s cock nudge against your cervix. One hand reached for his bicep, your nails digging into his dress shirt while the other reached back for the edge of the table only to knock off the mug resting on top.

You made a face when you heard it crash against the floor. The mug was soon forgotten when Bucky leaned down to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hand reached down to rub your clit.

You wiped the sweat on your forehead upon remembering that incident. Fucking Janet just had to file a report. It was after office hours, for fuck’s sake! Who cares what employees do after their shift?!

“I see.” Bucky responded, fixing his suit. “Okay. I approve of the seminar. Who’s next?” He asked, quickly changing the topic as if it was no big deal.

The head of the Finance department began with his presentation and just like that, Bucky returned his hand on top of your thigh, prying your legs open. You turned to him with a look of disbelief on your face. He was acting as if there wasn’t any close call earlier. You couldn’t believe this man, sure he was hot as hell, but you weren’t giving in to him. Not today, not when the both of you were almost caught.

The entire mancom meeting was pretty eventful, with Bucky teasing your legs with his hand despite your half-hearted protests. You hated how Bucky was able to familiarize himself with your body and how it reacted to him. Your eyes might be saying no but with how your legs eventually spread on their own, Bucky knew you were desperate for him too.

It was an hour past your shift when you received an e-mail from Bucky with the subject being “Report”. Thinking it was one his follow-up e-mails (Bucky is an impatient man when it comes to the submission of reports and you weren’t an exception) you opened it immediately and choked on your spit when a photo of his dick showed up on your desktop. You started clicking around in an attempt to close his e-mail, but instead of hitting the “x” button, you ended up maximizing the window instead.

“Jesus fucking christ!” You cursed and covered your monitor with your hands as you frantically looked around the office.

It was like a fucking jump scare, like one of those computer pranks asking you to concentrate on a dot before a scary photo would pop out. Except that it was Bucky’s dick that appeared. A dick scare.

Fortunately, you were the only one left in your area since pretty much everyone else scrambled out of the office as soon as work hours were over. It was a Friday after all.

You sighed in relief and quickly scrolled down to see the message beneath the photo of Bucky’s dick.

Need you in my office in ten.

P.S. Bring the report I asked from you the other day.

Best,

Bucky Barnes

Who sends an unsolicited dick pic through e-mail followed by a work reminder? And the signature? It was the cherry on top. Bucky Barnes was something else. Sweet jesus, you really couldn’t believe this man.

Grabbing your report, you marched your way to the elevator and headed up to Bucky’s office. Seeing that his floor was empty, you didn’t even bother knocking on his door and simply barged in.

“I can’t belie— what the fuck?” You called out when you were welcomed with the sight of Bucky leaning back on his chair, his cock out for the world to see as he gently stroked it.

“Need your pretty mouth around my cock, baby.” Bucky cooed with half-lidded eyes.

You huffed out a humorless laugh and shook your head, “I’m not sucking your cock, Bucky.” You refused and walked over to his table, slamming your report on top of it before walking away, but not before stealing another look at his majestic cock.

“Are you mad?” Bucky asked but he was smirking with amusement. He was giving you that look again but you were having none of it tonight.

You stood in front of his desk, keeping a safe distance away from him. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scowled at Bucky and tried your best not to let your eyes fall down to his cock again. Which by the way, he continued to stroke.

“For someone as smart as you, I can’t believe you’re so fucking dense.” You said with irritation when Bucky didn’t seem to understand why you were agitated.

He licked his lips, bucking up his hips when he squeezed the base of his cock. Bucky let out a delicious grunt as he continued to stroke himself. As much as you were salivating at the sight of Bucky’s cock— tip red and swollen, begging to be sucked— you didn’t want to give in.

“You’re fucking priceless, James.” You said, exasperated and turned around, heading towards the door.

You were about to reach onto the door knob when you heard the sound of a zipper followed by the wheels of Bucky’s chair screeching against the floor before a pair of hands grabbed at your waist. Turning you around, you were met with Bucky’s worried face.

“Shit, you’re really mad. Talk to me?” He pleaded, eyes apologetic as he took a step back, urging you to speak up.

“You might want to take a seat because I’ve got quite a list.” You said.

Bucky obeyed and returned to his chair immediately, sitting upright as he looked at you with doe eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you would’ve melted at the sight of him like that. And the Bucky Barnes? The CEO? Obeying you like a good little boy? Huh, what an interesting concept. You mentally took note of a certain kink that you might enjoy. But for now, you were mad at him and you were going to make him understand why.

“Number one, I don’t particularly enjoy it when you tease me in front of everyone else. We talked about staying professional when there’s work involved and what you did during the mancom was definitely not professional.” You told him.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold back not when your ass looked so fuckin’ tight in that skirt of yours. Can you blame me?” Bucky almost whined.

“Keep it in your pants, Barnes. I’m not yet done.” You reminded him and went over your second point.

“Number two, we almost got caught to the point of the HR deciding to hold a seminar on workplace ethics! Do you know how awkward it would be for me to sit there and listen to scenarios about office misconduct? Most of which we’ve probably done. I’d sweat like a whore in church!” You hissed.

Which scenarios could that be? Fucking inside the janitor’s supply closet? Check. Doing the nasty in one of the bathroom cubicles? Check that twice. Giving a blowjob beside the fax machine during lunch break? Triple check that shit.

“And oh, you sent me a dick pic using your work e-mail! You do know that the IT can access our computers right? Almost gave me a heart attack when it flashed on my monitor.” You asked in a huff.

Bucky snickered, “Are you forgetting that I’m the CEO? Baby, I can easily clean up our mess.” He reassured and stood up, approaching you.

You shook your head, “That’s exactly the point, Bucky. You are the CEO and I’m an employee. You may not understand it but I’m scared. If we get caught, it’s over for me. Whether you have it cleaned up or not, I’d still be the one at risk here. You’ll never be in the same position as I am. People won’t call you names if we get caught. No matter what happens, I’d always get the short end of the stick.”

You didn’t mean to be all serious, talking about the possible misogynistic outcome of your relationship with Bucky. As much as you enjoyed it, it still scared the living daylights out of you. Some were already spreading rumors about your promotion, getting caught would only add fuel to the fire.

Bucky sighed and nodded, “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to understand where you were coming from.” He genuinely apologized.

“If it scares you that much, then let’s make it official.”

You deadpanned at him, “Make what official, Bucky?” You asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Bucky shrugged and motioned his hand between the both of you, “This...us.” He simply said.

You scoffed, “Tell the entire office that we’re fucking every chance we get? Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky ran a hand through his cropped hair, “Not like that. Look, we’ve been at it for what? Two? Three months now? We might as well make this into an official relationship.”

You blushed at Bucky’s suggestion. Sure, you practically jumped at the opportunity to fuck your boss when he asked you. But were you an easy bitch in general? Of course not, even with how thirsty you were for him, you still had a little bit of appreciation for the old-fashioned ways.

Pushing Bucky’s chest away, you shook your head at him. “That’s now how relationships work, Bucky. You can’t fuck your way into my heart.”

Bucky laughed and bit his lip, “Fine. Then I’ll do it properly.” He said so easily you were starting to wonder whether he was fucking with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, “I don’t believe you.” You said.

“You will, baby. I’ll make sure of that. We’ll do it old-school.” He said, caressing your cheek.

You were caught off guard but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Bucky had been an amazing lover and in the past months you’ve fucked, he treated you with respect and took good care of you. He brought you dinner, drove you home and texted you good night. Sometimes he’d text you during the weekends too.

“Old-school it is then.” You shrugged as if it was no big deal but oh, it was a big deal.

Bucky nodded with a grin, “Okay. But...” he trailed, his smile turning upside down in deep thought.

“Does that mean we’d stop fucking each other for the mean time?” He asked.

You snickered, “I said you can’t fuck your way into my heart, not my pussy. So sit down and let me suck your cock.”

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @5-seconds-of-mendes @whoth3hellisbucky @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03 @its-yasbxtch @twinerd14 @bluehour-553 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @aikeia

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @little-baby-vixen @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi @learisa @borikenlove

#bbbwrites #the match #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

#archivalpride #the magnus archives #jongeorgie #jontim #jonmartin #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #georgie barker #melanie king #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing

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caker-baker · 3 years

Text

The Fall Guy

Ah, hell. Maybe the hero didn’t think this through. This was more of a myth than anything, if myth was the right word.

Or maybe it was just a pizza place and the hero was overthinking things.

Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Uh, hi.” The hero greeted the lanky cashier. “Can I get the hero’s special? I’m willing to pay extra.”

The cashier regarded this with a blink, then another, then finally, to finish off his grand display of emotion, he sighed.

“With or without the ‘save the day’ toppings?”

The hero scrambled to remember what to say. “With, please.”

Now with mild interest, the cashier leaned over. “Down that way, second door on your left.”

“Thank you.” The hero said with narrowed eyes.

Holy hell, that whole interaction felt like a strange dream that was a little too realistic. And that cashier was a bit too intrigued.

Jesus, their heart was beating in their ears at this point.

It could all be a lie, all of it, this could all be an intricate and carefully crafted lie told by a villain, made to lure in unsuspecting heroes to their deaths.

Too late now, their hand was already turning the handle.

Where the hero was expecting some small room that fit logistically with the rest of the joint, there were stairs.

No, they didn’t like this at all. But what was the choice, go down there, or go back outside?

Downstairs it was.

Surprisingly, it got lighter, and larger, a hard contrast to the ominous setting. And with the light came music. Something very upbeat, lots of drums and guitars, and loud.

With their final step, the hero was able to see the cause of the music, two large speakers attached to a phone.

They also got to see the apparent villain, sitting and humming along to the beat.

“Hello?”

The villain, who’s head snapped up, reached to turn down the music before turning around.

If the hero was unsure before, they definitely were unsure now. They couldn’t help being nervous as an oil stained face looked them up and down.

“I know you.” The villain finally said.

“You do?”

The villain hummed in thought. “You were the one involved in the bridge incident two weeks ago, yeah?”

A strange bout of pain overcame the hero.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Well, no need to look all guilty about it.” The villain stood from their stool, still shielding whatever caused the oil on their face. “Everyone screws up. Is that why you want to leave?”

“No! I’m not running away from that, I’m running away from-”

“You’re getting away from the heroing part. I get it.” The villain reached behind them, grabbing measuring tape. “Mind if I get your measurements?”

“What for?”

“The decoy. Did whoever told you about this not tell you about how it works?” The villain spoke while they untangled the tape.

“No. I didn’t even know if this was real. I thought the cashier was just annoyed by me.”

“Yeah, Paul, he’s just judgy.” The villain stepped closer. “Step on this.”

The hero put a foot on one end of the measuring tape while the villain pulled the rest of it up to the top of the hero’s head.

“Thanks.”

The villain seemed fine in silence, the hero, however, felt like their whole being was vibrating with questions.

When the villain moved away, the hero felt themself breathe out heavily.

“You alright there?” The villain asked, turning away to write something down. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

The hero chuckled awkwardly. “It wouldn’t be very heroic if I was, would it?”

Turning around again, the villain spoke. “Well, considering you won’t be a hero much longer, I won’t hold it against you.”

It all seemed to fall out of the hero at once, words carefully hidden away now in full sight.

“I didn’t even want to be a hero, then one day I was drafted. I don’t know how they found out what I could do, I never registered. All I wanted was to keep my head down, but suddenly I was out with the big leagues.”

Several creases had formed on the hero’s head.

“And then the tracking, oh, God, the tracking. I went out for fast food once without telling anyone, just for a moment of peace, and it was like the world imploded.”

The villain rested their chin in their hand, nodding emphatically every once in a while.

“You know there’s three days of training before they shove you into the world. They don’t care what you run into, as long as you defeat it. ‘Real heroes don’t run’ type bullshit. Ironically, that’s the most freedom we get, going up against something or someone three times our sizes.”

The villain turned their head to the side.

“And there’s a seminar on meeting foreign dignitaries! Meetings on how to address the general public, correct customs for different world leaders. Jesus, I don’t even get a choice on where I stay! I could be shipped off to Japan tomorrow.”

The hero stopped, their eyes glazing over with a strange numbness.

“Then I messed up, put on house arrest. God, that’s the happiest I’ve been in a while. Of course, I did have to beg to go and get ‘pizza’, even after the house arrest. That was the only downside, I guess.”

A beat.

“Are you finished?” The villain asked.

A brilliant scarlet color bloomed across the hero’s face. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

The villain waved them off. “Happens to nearly every one of my customers, sometimes the best therapy is just venting to the fall guy.”

“Fall guy?” The hero echoed, eyebrows furrowing.

That made the villain pause. “Yes? If this was all found out, who do you think would take the fall? Paul?” They laughed.

“Are you never, I don’t know, worried about being caught?”

The villain shrugged half heartedly. “Well, last time it happened, I just packed it up and moved. This time I had to make it pizza. Used to be donuts.” Their lips pursed. “I miss the donuts.”

The hero opened their mouth, then closed it again, trying to figure something out.

“What if-” Those weren’t quite the right words. “What happens if one of your, ah, customers gets loose lips, talks to the wrong person?”

“That, my dear hero, is a matter of trust. And it helps I am financially gifted, powerful. It’s a matter of who would last longer, and it will always be me.”

“I see.”

The villain leaned against their work table. “Hey, do me a favor.”

“Sure.”

“Can you portal something?”

The hero blinked, not expecting that. “Depends on what and how far.”

“Yourself, to a rendezvous point, say, oh, twenty six miles from here.”

The villain was grinning, waiting patiently for the hero to realize their plan.

“You use the heroes who come here, their powers to help them.” They concluded.

“While my decoys certainly do last quite a while, it’s not forever, and heroes often don’t realize the assets they have available. Speaking of, how come you haven’t tried it?”

The hero swallowed. “Portalling a living person is complicated.”

At that, the villain motioned with their hand, urging the hero to tell them what they weren’t saying.

“And,” the hero began. “my portals don’t like technology. The tracker in me could malfunction, electrocuting me before I get all the way through.”

“How did you learn that?” The villain asked, turning to scribble something down.

“The bridge incident was my first mistake as a hero, not a person.”

The villain let out a laugh. “Seems you’re just as morally gray as me.”

“It’s why I can’t be a hero.”

The villain smirked at the self righteousness of the hero, who probably didn’t even realize they were being self righteous.

“And the tracker,” the villain switched subjects. “standard GIM-14U?”

Wait, something wasn’t adding up here. There was something too certain, too familiar about the way it rolled off the villain’s tongue.

“How’d you know?”

The villain tensed, as if they hadn’t expected anyone to pick up in their certainty.

“My clientele often times have the same one.”

“And?” The hero prodded.

They could hear the villain mumble a curse under their breath.

“I used to have one. First prototype, in fact.”

Something else didn’t add up. The first GIM-14U came out several years ago, when the hero was a kid. The villain was barely older than the hero, maybe the same age. Why did the villain have one when it just came out?

It took a moment too long to realize. “You were the child prodigy, the one who vanished.”

The villain did a mock bow, their muscles relaxing slightly. “In the flesh, although technically, I’m M.I.A.”

“Oh, God. Now you-now you get other heroes out.” The hero almost laughed. “That’s genius, it’s the perfect payback, it’s-”

“What makes you think it’s payback? Maybe I just like helping people.” The villain had a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

The villain held up a hand. “It’s a little bit payback.”

A familiar shade of scarlet crept across the hero’s face, and the former prodigy decided they liked that.

“Now this part is the part most of my customers don’t like - waiting. Your decoy will most likely only take two months. In that time, you need to work on your portalling.” The villain made sure to hold the hero in their gaze. “I will contact you when and where to meet and set up the decoy. I already have your information.”

“How do you-”

“Door frame. Like a metal detector, but more precise. If you are registered on any system anywhere, I’ll know you.”

The hero had relief coming off them in waves. Two months, and all they had to do was practice some portals. And do some heroing, but they could manage.

“You know, you interrupt people a lot.” The tone was joking, and the hero was far too busy trying to contain a smile, there was no time for chiding.

“So I’ve been told.” The villain did smile. “Now, about my payment.”

“Right.” For a second, the hero fumbled around in their pockets, before pulling out a wad of cash.

The villain took it, and began counting the bills, their eyes getting wider.

“‘I’m willing to pay extra’ is just part of the code. You know that, don’t you?”

The hero shrugged. “Do you not want it?”

In the blink of an eye, the money was pocketed by the villain. “I didn’t say that. Pleasure doing business with you.”

The hero nodded, and turned on their heel, then stopped suddenly to ask one final question.

“If you know everyone from the door frame, why bother with the measuring ordeal?”

“Gets people to open up, relax a bit.”

Oh. That was sweet.

“You aren’t a bad person, are you?” Asked the hero.

“Hey now, don’t go telling everybody. My scary reputation could be ruined.”

The hero, a ghost of a smile on their lips, left, back up the stairs, through the pizza place.

Two months.

#snippet #short #writing #hero #villain #heroine #villainess #heroes #villains #heroes and villains #just in my drafts so #why not #hero x villain #not really a villain?

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me?

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo card!

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

“For what?”

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway.

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.”

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling.

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut.

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile.

“Me too.”

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away.

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have.

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different.

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing.

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing.

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.”

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything.

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic.

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—”

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile.

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says.

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.”

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look.

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.”

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over.

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too.

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them.

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back.

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it.

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment.

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though.

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you.

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s.

Fantastic.

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either.

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair.

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.”

...fuck.

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Can we talk?

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around.

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry.

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now.

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh.

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?”

“Yeah. I got that.”

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter.

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?”

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?”

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—”

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you.

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.”

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.”

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—”

“Yeah?”

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him.

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.”

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.”

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough.

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest.

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy.

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself.

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last.

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true.

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels.

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time.

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile.

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse.

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should.

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human.

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up.

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass.

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current.

It’s the longest six weeks of your life.

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.”

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.”

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?”

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.”

You walk fast.

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings.

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true.

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled.

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face.

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks.

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate.

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated.

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip.

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait.

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen.

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it.

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door.

Smutty bit is now here!

More CM fic here!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

mango, m | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental abuse and suicide; suggestive words/actions; alcohol consumption; mentions of nightmares plaguing the reader; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader, ft bestfriend!Hoseok and friendly!Namjoon

Your head leaned against the wall of the library. Too many books around you, research paper already outlined for you seminar class. That was good. You only needed a partial outline next week and you would finish tweaking the outline tomorrow. You phone was open beside your papers, screen blaring at you.

Jungkook’s text, asking where you were. Your reply.

Library.

No further information. A guy like that probably never stepped foot in a library his entire life.

You closed your eyes. Placed your arms over your papers, sighing softly. You were in one of the study rooms in the upper floors of the library, where all the scientific journals were.

Why had you given him your phone number like that?

Self-destruction.

You turned your head the other way, eyeballs shifting under your closed lids.

Guys like that only cause self-destruction.

Your thumb ran over your glossy nails. You wondered if he would be mad at you for associating yourself with someone who looked dangerous and wild. Maybe he would tell you it was a bad idea. Maybe he could make you see reason. All you had to do was call him and ask for his opinion.

I’m sorry, Hoseok.

You ran your other thumb over the nails on your other hand. The little stickers caused raised bumps, but none of them had peeled off yet. You pressed your thumb down on one of them. At least he was still there, with you in this way.

A soft blackness swallowed you up, taking you into deep slumber.

Then, a coated sweetness pressed against your lips. A familiar taste. You opened your mouth and the thin, flat piece of dried fruit slid partway in. Your teeth stopped it. Spun it slowly with your tongue. Then it went into your mouth. Chewed.

Opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook, standing over you.

Holding a pack of dried mango. Eating a piece, his straight white teeth gnawing at it. Pink lips closing around the orange fruit. The mole under his lip danced with movement. His brown eyes were darker due to the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Tan skin glowing, black hair slicked back with too much gel, revealing his clean undercut. Leather blazer over a low-cut black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black backpack far too deflated to be holding much.

“Don’t know how you eat this stuff,” Jungkook said absentmindedly. He sat down on the chair next to you. Scooted closer. You could smell his cologne. Something sharp, but clean. “It’s not bad, but I couldn’t eat packs and packs of it like you.”

You lifted your head. “Habit.”

He nodded. “I noticed you do it whenever I talk to you.”

You chewed slowly.

“I don’t talk to people.”

“Hmm.”

He looked you over. Black turtleneck. Maroon oversized hoodie. Black flared miniskirt. Black opaque tights. Black boots with a ten-centimeter platform.

“What do you do for fun?”

You reached over and stuck your hand into the pack of dried mango. Picked a piece and placed it in your mouth. Sat back in your chair as you chewed on it.

“I don’t have fun.”

Jungkook sucked his teeth. It seemed like he was trying to unstick some candied fruit from them. “You seem like the creative type though. Moody and artistic.”

You shifted your eyes, staring into the bookshelves. “Creation is meaningless without an audience.”

Jungkook scratched his nose. “Maybe you just don’t want anyone to know what you’re thinking.”

You stopped chewing.

You turned your head to face Jungkook. He frowned at the packet of dried mango and placed it on the desk, sliding it to you. Then he noticed you staring at him. His lips curved into a slow, sly smile.

“You doing anything tonight?”

You didn’t go to parties.

Never. In your entire life. Not even a birthday party. You didn’t have birthday parties yourself either.

You only remembered beatings on your birthday.

You stood at the edge of the lawn, looking up at the large house. Too many people. Too much drinking. Too much danger. You reached into the center pocket of your maroon hoodie, pulling out a piece of dried mango. Slowly placing it in between your teeth. Spinning it. A couple was making out on the porch, pressed against the wall. Sucking the dried mango in your mouth. On the other side of the porch, a girl was slapping another guy and tossing the contents of a red plastic cup at him.

Chewed.

You shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t where you belonged.

A strong hand gripped your upper left arm. Familiar fingers. Long, strong ones, with small tattoos.

“How long you been standing out here?”

Alcohol on his breath.

“How much mango you consumed in that time?”

You held out an empty cellophane bag.

“Wow. Impressive.”

You chewed. The fingers let you go. They danced up your shoulder.

“You don’t seem to be bothered when I touch you.”

You swallowed.

“That’s because it’s obvious what you want.”

Jeon Jungkook chuckled. Deep and amused.

“But talking bothers you?”

You exhaled. Took out another piece.

“Words, intentional or not, leave everlasting scars far longer than a meaningless fuck.”

You placed it in between your teeth.

“Do you think it will be meaningless?” His voice was low, treacherous.

You paused. His fingertips balanced on the shoulder of your hoodie. A gust was wind made your black skirt flutter against your thighs. You felt nothing. Not cold, not hot. Nothing but those fingertips balanced on your shoulder. You sucked in the piece of mango and chewed. You could walk away. Not provoke him anymore and not try to walk through that fire.

You could back away and continue on your tightrope, high above.

But if you were already standing on this street, in front of this house, didn’t that mean your feet were already on the asphalt? Weren’t you already on the ground, wandering down that lost highway?

“There is no meaning in the arms of a stranger.”

You reached for your hoodie pocket again but his fingers wrapped around yours. Stopping you. Pulling you to him. Face shining in the moonlight, brows furrowed as he looked down at your face. Thick silver chain glinting at his throat. Dark hair slicked back but falling apart due to the events of the night. Eyes like the dark side of the moon.

He leaned down.

You could feel his breath against yours. Alcoholic, but somehow not unpleasant. It mixed with his sharp, clean cologne and the leather of his jacket. You saw his eyes flicker. He was really staring deeply into your eyes. He was as handsome as everyone said he was. You tilted your head at him.

Guys like him were always looking for a target. A puzzle to solve. The harder and more difficult it was, the better the thrill. That’s how it was and that’s how Jeon Jungkook was. So, you stood there. Waiting for him to do it.

Thing was, Jungkook wasn’t doing anything.

He finally backed off; expression unreadable. You pulled your hand out of his.

“Let’s go on a walk. I have to sober up.”

You looked from the house to him. He cocked his head. You two began to walk, stepping into the moonlight. Not touching each other, but walking side by side. The silence was deafening. He wasn’t speaking to you. Not even looking at you. You placed your earbuds into your ear and put on some violin music.

“What are you listening to?”

You jumped, surprised he noticed. Jungkook tilted his head at you. You handed him one of the Samsung buds. He placed it in his ear, tucking his hair back. Profile illuminated by the moon, nodded slowly at he listened.

And then you two walked, serenaded by violins.

Jungkook texted you and showed up in the library again. You were in the middle of writing your seminar research paper. To be honest, he was a welcome distraction. The scientific articles were giving you a headache.

He handed you a piece of dried mango before speaking.

“Let’s date.”

You blinked at him. Jungkook grabbed a seat and sat down, taking out a slice himself. You placed the piece of dried mango in your mouth and chewed slowly. He watched you the entire time, chewing with you, staring at your lips. You swallowed, sighing.

"Jungkook, you don't want to date me."

He nibbled at another piece of dried mango. "Pretty sure I do."

You took in a deep breath, feeling the annoyance rise in your chest. "Your body is the literal reincarnation of Adonis himself and you radiate bad boy vibes like nobody's business. You would ruin your image by dating the strange girl with a dried mango obsession."

Jungkook chewed slowly. "That's the first time your tone has changed with me."

You froze, realizing that too. Realizing that, for once, you were actually irate instead of being objective or apathetic about it. You were not making an ambiguous comment or philosophizing humanity. You were just stating what you were thinking straight up.

"And, anyway, you're the literal reincarnation of sex goddess Aphrodite herself, so there should be no problem if you're worried about looks."

"That's not..." You cut yourself off, not bothering to correct him. "You can barely see my body."

Jungkook's eyes traveled down to your legs. Your black pantyhose-covered legs, with your short red skirt and black hoodie. He reached out and grabbed your hand. You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.

"True, your skin is always covered," he mumbled.

Then Jungkook pressed your hand into his crotch.

Your eyes widened, feeling his semi-hard length in his jeans. He let go of your hand and you recoiled as if burned. Did he really just–?

He gnawed thoughtfully. "And yet every time I hear your voice, that happens to me."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sexual attraction is not a solid foundation to a relationship."

"It's not," Jungkook agreed, grabbing another piece of dried mango. Then his eyes flickered to you, dark and serious. "I just didn't like how you dismissed my physical attraction to you so easily." He went back to nibbling.

You looked away; ears hot. "In the end, all you want is to boast that you fucked me."

"That was my original intent, yes." You snapped your head back, furrowing your brows. Jungkook inspected the dried fruit, licking some sugar off. Your stomach flipped a little as you watched his pink tongue. "But now I want to take you on dates, hold your hand, and make you eat real meals that aren't only composed of candied mango."

You looked down at your lap. "I'm not a hand-holding kind of girl."

"Then I'll hold your ass."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. You glared at him, but he was smiling, popping the mango in his mouth.

"One date. And then we'll see how it goes."

You closed your eyes. Inhaled deeply. You could say no. You could refuse and tell him to leave you alone and never speak to him again. You could and maybe you should. Because once he knew... he would know. You chewed on your lip. Fear was an understatement. And you were afraid because you knew the truth. If there was a flame between you two, the truth would likely snuff it out.

Was that better or worse than you smothering it yourself?

"Before we go on a date," you said quietly but firmly. "I need to show you something."

“Okay. What is it that you have to show me?”

You were standing in Jeon Jungkook’s apartment. Different day, different clothes. He was wearing a loose leather jacket, white shirt, and distressed acid-wash jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Black hair slicked back as usual, sculpted dark brows framing intense brown eyes. Even though he was dressed like a delinquent, his apartment was well-kept and clean. It was one of the student apartment complexes, decently expensive, segregated for men and women. Not that it mattered, since you were obviously standing there right now.

You were wearing your black turtleneck and flared black miniskirt. But instead of your usual opaque pantyhose, you were wearing black thigh-high socks. They made you very uncomfortable and not because Jungkook was staring at the sliver of exposed flesh. To be honest, you couldn’t care less if he was staring or not.

You chewed on you lip, clutching your messenger bag.

You really wondered if you should show Jungkook. Your thumb ran over your nails. Painted royal blue with raindrop crystals. You asked Hoseok to do them for you this time. He was excited to pick a design and style for you. Asked you what it was for and you said you just felt like it.

Hoseok was very happy to hear that.

Jungkook seemed to sense your unease.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Do you want a piece of man–”

You shook your head furiously. Just do it. Do it and maybe he’ll leave you alone. Do it and he’ll understand this is a bad, bad idea.

You took a deep breath and bent at the waist. Then you yanked down both your thigh-highs, all the way to your ankles.

Jungkook gasped sharply.

You stared down at your legs. At the knife scars, mostly on your calves. Some white and thin, but there were a few big dark ones, knotted and twisted from the skin trying to grow back evenly but failing. Your legs were quite pale too. They never saw the sun.

You hated looking at them. They reminded you of why you had nightmares.

“What… happened?”

You didn’t look at him. His normally smooth, suave voice was trembling. Confused.

You sucked in your lips and clicked your tongue.

“My father was not a nice man. I was an only daughter and he was not happy about it. Perhaps he was never happy about life to begin with. He reminded my mother and me about it constantly.” You straightened, still not looking at Jungkook, but no longer wanting to look at yourself either. “He beat us up a lot. At the time, I really thought that was how it was. Men lost their temper sometimes. Happens. What else am I supposed to think?” You shrugged. “But it was always slapping around, the occasional punch. Not that bad, perhaps.”

You had to remember to breathe. Breathe.

“But when I was twelve, thirteen, it got worse. I don’t know if it was because my mom was slowly fighting back or if work became more stressful and he acted out, but the reason doesn’t matter. He simply got worse. Things thrown at us. Years of insults made them cut deeper, harder. He pulled a knife on me, when I was home alone and my mom was at work.”

You had to swallow hard, trying not to go back there. Trying not to get too detailed, because the nightmares already did that for you. You pulled up your sleeves. There were a few unpleasant scars there too, but nowhere near as bad to your legs.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I think he thought I was bleeding out or dead. My mom, feeling that something was off, decided to come home early. I don’t think I would be alive if she hadn’t thought to do that.” You inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment before continuing. “My father took his car and drove to the other side of town. Drove to a deserted area and ended his own life with the knife he cut me up with. I don’t know if it was guilt or fear of being exposed. But it doesn’t matter. I went to the hospital and stayed there for a long, long time. Not because of the cuts or almost bleeding out, but because I had to talk to a lot of psychologists. A lot of counselors.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out the pack of dried mango. “My mom would buy me these. She couldn’t visit often. She had to sell the house and work overseas to pay all the medical bills. Maybe she has a hard time seeing me too.”

You chewed on your lip, shoving it back into your bag.

“I look more like my father, unfortunately. And, even though I understand what has happened to me, I can’t escape it. I see it every day in the mirror. I am reminded all the time. I can’t talk to people unless I’m eating dried mango. It’s a stupid tick, but my therapist told me once that it was better than cocaine, so, whatever, right?”

You chuckled darkly, feeling empty.

“And I have nightmares. They don’t go away. When I take medication, it gets worse, so I don’t try anymore.”

You kept your eyes on the wall, still not looking at him.

“You’re handsome, Jungkook. Handsome, decently smart, could clean up well,” you said, still gnawing on your lip. “I’m not pretty like the other girls you hang around with. I don’t get to wear what I want because I don’t want to be asked what is wrong with my skin. Sometimes, I wake up screaming, remembering everything that happened that night. I eat way too much dried mango and speak like a fucking robot.” You closed your eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath. “I spend a lot of time trying to not feel anything. I’m not okay. You shouldn’t date someone like me.”

Silence.

Ten seconds past.

Then, the creak of leather. You suddenly felt his presence right in front of you. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne, the thinness of the white shirt revealing his toned torso. Well, the reaction wasn’t disgust. Maybe it was pity and that was worse. You did not want a pity fuck.

“At the risk of something insensitive,” Jungkook murmured quietly into your hair. “Your battle scars are really fucking cool.”

… What?

You laughed.

You laughed, because, what? That wasn’t a reaction you expected. Your laugh was raspy and kind of gross, considering you hadn’t laughed like that in years. But you laughed into Jungkook’s chest, laughed because it was ridiculous, laughed because it was a little insensitive, laughed because you didn’t care. No one who knew about your scars ever said anything like that. Everyone else was very serious and solemn, pity in their eyes as you explained.

Jungkook buried his face into your hair. You could feel his smile.

“Your laugh is cute.”

You wheezed, shaking your head a little. “It isn’t. I didn’t even know I could laugh,” you choked out weakly, breathless.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. You froze, a shiver running through you.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured. “I was really nervous in the library when I was asking you out.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t breathe, really.

“I found myself continuously eating that mango. I think you rubbed off on me.”

You remembered. And then you realized.

“You only ate one piece though,” he muttered. “It made me even more nervous, honestly. I just kept eating to keep my mind off it.”

Was this… was this the first time you had an entire conversation with Jeon Jungkook without eating mango at one point?

The only person you weren’t like that with was Hoseok, and that was because he was your oldest friend. The only friend who knew it all, who witnessed your bruises and tear-stained cheeks. The only friend who saw you in hospital gowns and did his best to cheer you up. Drawing pictures with you, making bracelets. Telling you that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be your daily dose of sunshine, your hope, never getting discouraged. There weren’t romantic feelings between you two, but there was love, and you were eternally grateful that Hoseok never gave up on you.

Jeon Jungkook?

He was just the annoying kid who kept trying to copy your Chemistry homework.

“You’re… not that bad at Chemistry, are you?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Nah. I always do the homework. I just wanted to annoy you.”

“You are, indeed, very annoying.”

You two stood there, Jungkook hugging you, your thigh-highs at your ankles, clutching your bag. To be honest, you thought it would have been a lot weirder. But somehow, it was kind of nice. You were okay with it.

“Where do you want to go on our date?” Jungkook suddenly piped up.

You spoke into his chest. “We’re still going on a date?”

He hugged you tighter. “Yeah, of course.”

You were pressed against his body, held so close that your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Something is poking me.”

“… Please ignore him. He doesn’t know time and place.”

A few silent seconds passed.

“I mean, maybe you needed some reassurance that I still think you’re fine as hell.”

“He’s getting bigger.”

“I told you to ignore him.”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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aziliang · 2 years

Text

Emergency Contact

Bokuto was rarely sick. He may have caught coughs and colds a few times a year, but he only needed his allergy medication, some sleep, and he’s good to go. But he was rarely sick, his immune system was forged since he was born and was given a gift of naturally having a strong immune system. For he only got sick once or twice a year, whenever he got stubborn or over fatigued. On top of that, there is no indication that he would be sick beforehand. It’s like yesterday he’s feeling well and energetic, then the next day Akaashi’s already notifying Meian that Bokuto would be resting for 3 days to a week.

It was in the middle of V-league season, on a busy Monday afternoon in Tokyo when Bokuto suddenly felt sick at 4 PM after their warm-up. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows that Meian and Sakusa already sensed it and were just waiting for him to give a signal or come clean. He was contemplating on continuing, hanging by a thread until they finish the match, but he couldn’t help the worry and guilt if ever one of them got infected because of him and probably their connection would be unstable because of Sakusa’s tendencies.

Bokuto walks towards Meian, he’s decided to get out of their match line-up, and doesn't want to get in their way of winning matches this season by infecting them.

“Ya cannot call Akaashi or Kuroo about this, to pick me up or anything.”

“But Bokuto, you’re not fit to go home alone, let alone wait for the match to finish. You have to go home and rest.”

“It’s Monday, Kuroo’s usually working overtime on Mondays, and I don’t wanna bother him. Akaashi’s out of town in a seminar, he’s not able to rush in and pick me up.”

“Well, do you have someone in mind? I mean I could drive you to your apartment, but someone has to take care of you.”

“I think I do, but I doubt he would be able to squeeze me in his work from home.”

“Well, you at least have to try.” Meian reassures before giving Bokuto their team phone, used as a contact to their families when they needed a time off.

Bokuto dials a number, unregistered under his list of emergency contacts. Two rings were all it took before the other line picked up.

“Hello? How may I be of help...?” the man speaks softly.

“Kenma? Hey bun, are ya busy today?”

“Koutaro? Hmm, let me check…”

There was the sound of papers flipping, keyboards clacking, and mouse clicking. Then silence, just filled with steady breaths.

“Taro, you still there?”

“Yeah, yep, still here.”

“I just have a zoom meeting by 6 in the evening with the JVA Collaboration, then I’m free before and after that.”

“Uhm...”

“Why’d you ask?”

“Can you please come get me? I don’t feel well today, Keiji and Kuroo are busy today then I thought of you- Kenma?” He asks as he hears loud rustling in the line.

“Get your stuff, I’m on my way there. Stay inside your locker room and wear your jacket, alright? See you in 10.” Then the call ended, leaving a taken aback Bokuto, before snapping out of it and starts collecting his stuff.

Kenma came fetching him exactly 10 minutes later, drove them back to his and Kuroo’s apartment, already deciding that he would spend his time taking care of his close friend rather than dropping him off at Keiji’s and driving away. It may not be obvious, but Kenma has been the silent caring and worrying friend out of them four. He’s also the best at taking care of someone sick, and mastered the way of taking care of someone through the years of Kuroo getting sick because of overfatigue. He was so worried and dedicated that he nearly canceled the meeting with JVA if not for Bokuto convincing him that he would sleep once Kenma’s in the meeting, but it didn’t stop Kenma from setting up his portable work area by the corner of their guest room where Bokuto’s resting in just to keep watch on him.

Bokuto never knew this side of Kenma and seeing this firsthand, he silently ranks Kenma one of the best nurses he ever had, second to Keiji of course. Bokuto was back in the games after 3 days, just in time for MSBY’s match against the Adlers, and ever since then Kenma’s name was registered under Bokuto’s emergency contacts in the MSBY phone and has been a speed dial in his phone.

#implied kuroken #implied bokuaka #platonic bokuken #bokuto koutaro #kozume kenma #background msby #sickfic #kenma cares alot #LIKE A LOT #fluff

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

hc of jake and amy hand holding before dating (i’m convinced they did a few times before they ever dated) and also in the beginning of their relationship + getting teased by the squad 🥰

(this has definitely turned out far more emotional than you’d probably thought, anon, but I don’t make the rules when it comes to fic inspiration)

Amy Santiago is sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of her friends has said, and she feels a warm hand slip into hers under the table. Jake Peralta is laughing next to her, too, but then he’s also smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them.

-*-

He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Amy thinks she’s never seen something more unsettling than a quiet Jake Peralta. The only sound in the room is the beeping of some monitors he’s hooked up to, and the only movement is his chest rising slow and steady. Something it didn’t do about two hours ago, when she was kneeling over him in some alley and screaming while the medics finally arrived and brought him back. It was a fairly ‘minor’ injury in the end, one bullet wound that the doctor’s had to close up, but it had hit some sort of vein that was important and that lost a lot of blood and that stopped his heart for the few moments she remembers stretching like hours in her mind. She doesn’t remember much else, especially not the medic’s or doctor’s explanations. They’d taken her along in the ambulance, because she was his partner, and she was allowed to sit in the hospital room he was recovering in now, because she was his emergency contact, too. She could’ve been nothing after today. Because the bullet from that gun wasn’t aimed at Jake before he pushed her to the side.

Amy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, pinching each other to remind her she’s awake, she’s here, and so is Jake. Not awake, but here. Still here. They’re squeaky clean, her hands, because she’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the hospital public toilets scrubbing them free of his blood after he was rushed into surgery and she was left behind, alone in the waiting room, her sensible grey pantsuit coloured red all over her arms. She had a list of things to do in her head - contact Captain McGintley to follow the chain of command, and Terry so something would actually get done. Figure out how and who can transport Peralta home and take care of him, if he gets to go home. (He will. He has to. She will take him.) Call Rosa to find out if they booked the perp properly, and that they add assault with a deadly weapon to his rep sheet (not murder, although that’s what he did, that’s what happened). But she couldn’t do any of that, because she was still shaking, her heart was still racing, and all she could see was his blood on her hands, warm and sticky and dark and drying into a rotten brown shade already. So she washed them clean, and then scrubbed some more, and some more, until she felt as red and raw as the wound in his chest had looked in the ambulance when they got his shirt off. (The jacket of her suit is rotting away in the toilet trashcan now, and she’s shivering ever so slightly in only her short-sleeved blouse, but it is clean and there is not a hint of Jake’s injury anywhere anymore, except in his gaunt cheekbones and the pale colour of his face, and the silence of the room.) His hand twitches while she’s staring at her own, and if it’s instinct or reflex of whatever that makes her reach out and grab it immediately, she doesn’t care. His hand is warm under hers, and it twitches again and then wraps its fingers around her and holds her, steady and calm. He blinks awake, a little disoriented, but then he focuses on her and - smiles.

“You’re okay.” He says, and that’s what breaks her in the end.

She doesn’t outright sob or anything, but she does let her head drop so her hair is hiding her face, hiding the tears he doesn’t need to see first thing after waking up from literal death. She feels his hand pull on her to make her look at him, though, and she can’t deny him, even if her tear-streaked face is probably not a good view.

“Hey, no- don’t-” He rasps, his voice still coming back, “I’m okay too.”

She laughs through her tears, a short little snort, but it helps calm her down - and him too, it seems, because he smiles again.

“You’re far more than just okay, Peralta.” She smiles back, and feels his hand tighten around hers, three little, but distinct squeezes.

-*-

She shouldn’t feel this nervous. She’s a cop, a detective. A good one. She’s done this before, and it’s never been nice, but it’s always something she’s gotten through.

But she fears tomorrow’s court date more than anything else in her life right now, which is why she’s trying to drown the thought of it at Shaw’s. The hangover will probably not be helpful with her witness statement that could possibly make or break this ruling, but her panic demands more alcohol. However, the next beer she orders at the bar is intercepted by a larger, more calloused hand than hers.

“Alright, Santiago, that last one was your sixth, and I really don’t need to deal with Seven Drink Amy tonight.” Jake says as he settles down next to her, hands the beer over to Rosa, who leaves them alone at the bar before Amy can whine and complain.

“I need that drink, Jake. It’s my only friend right now.”

“We both know that’s just Six Drink Sadmy speaking.” He pats her arm as she spreads out over the slightly sticky bartop and whines some more.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” He continues, reading her thoughts like he sometimes does, which is such an annoying thing he can do. His hand is still on her arm. “You don’t have to be.”

“That girl’s entire life is at stake. And the gang boss is going to kill me and her if he gets off-”

“He’s not going to get off. Not if you tell them exactly what you told the lawyers taking your written statement.”

“Says you.”

“Says Sofia.” There’s a weight to those words that hits her stomach, and it’s only partially the fact that a damn defense attorney is on her side. The other part of why those words from the woman Jake started dating just recently hurt her, she doesn’t want to think about. “Look, I’m gonna drive you home, you’re gonna take a hot shower to detox, then you’re gonna get your perfect 8 hours of sleep, show up at court tomorrow in your best, darkest pant suit, and rock this like you rock everything else.” His hand has wandered down her arm to her hand, now, flips it over to hold it, and it’s pure coincidence that their fingers spread and interlock, surely. “Okay?” He asks one more time, and she sighs.

“Teddy can pick me up-”

“Teddy’s at that conference, remember.”

Oh, right. Something that had been lost to memory between drink three and four, the fact that her boyfriend had booked himself into a seminar the week the court date was announced. It’s a really good one, he’d said, if she wasn’t already busy he would’ve asked her to join, too. Already busy. Regular Amy doesn’t get punchy a lot, and maybe it’s her closeness to Seven Drink Amy right now that makes her want to knock him out for that, but she felt that way when she helped him pack his luggage two days ago too, and she was stonecold sober then.

“Okay.” She nods and tries to get off of the barstool, wobbles quite heavily. “Take me home, Peralta.”

He snorts a laugh and obviously swallows down some sort of joke as he pulls her into a standing position, their hands still locked together. She thinks she imagines it at first, but even after she’s sobered up the next day, she remembers those three short, tight, almost painful squeezes before he let go and steered her to his car.

She doesn’t have much time to think about it, or about how she basically held hands with her best friend while both of their partners were out of town, either. Or how he helped her into her apartment and waited until she was showered and had downed some water and aspirin before tucking her into bed. She can’t think about any of that, because she has to get ready for court.

And when she sits down in the witness’ chair, the gang boss on the bench before her staring her down with murder in his eyes, she notices a set of dress blues in the otherwise thin crowd of people who were allowed in to watch the trial. Three rows down, Jake gives her a silent thumbs up when their eyes meet, and she feels the phantom of his hand again, squeezing hers three times before she begins to speak.

-*-

They’re gonna die. She’s certain. They’re gonna die in here, in this cramped little closet, wedged between some industrial shelving and a broken down sink.

Jake had pulled her in and locked the door behind him, squished her against the wall and himself against the door, and killed the radio on her shoulder as well as his own. The last thing they’d heard crackling through it was “four officers down”. Someone had fallen behind her when she ran for safety, and for a second she thought it had been Jake. That he was standing here now, almost pressed against her in the tight space she would usually panic in, that she could feel his erratic breath on her ear, his racing heart under her hands, was pretty much the only comfort she had left.

She wonders how long it’ll last.

The mission had been an absolute bust. They had expected a gang. They had not expected a well-armed mafia. And now officers were wounded, or dead, and they couldn’t use their radio to find out anything, for fear of being discovered. She can hear gunshots and shouts from further away, and it’s only her paranoia that make them sound as if they're getting closer, but Jake is listening just as intently. Amy thinks of Rosa and Charles, who were on the other side of the building. She thinks of Terry, who’s probably trying to reach any of them by radio from his station in the surveillance van. She thinks of Holt, and can’t see where he might be right now, still next to Terry or commanding whatever backup might be coming in or-

She feels Jake’s hand wrap around hers, still pressed against his chest, and realises that she’s been hyperventilating. If she gets any louder, she’ll give away their position. His forehead against hers is cold, colder than he usually is, clammy with sweat, but the simple pressure of it helps her focus. She can hear him breathe deep, slow, exaggerated, and understands that he’s doing it for her. He probably thinks she’s having a panic attack because of her claustrophobia, or maybe all things at the moment combined. He’s not that far off. She breathes with him, feels the air from their exhales swirl between the few spaces were they don’t connect. There aren’t many. If she looks up, she could kiss him. She’s not quite that sure that she’s going to die in here anymore, but she would definitely hate herself if she did and never found out what that felt like, or if her last kiss on Earth was really from Teddy the night before they broke up. But when she moves her head, she meets his eyes instead, pupils blown wide in the darkness around them. He looks scared and terrified, and his heart under their combined hands is still racing, and the last thing he needs is for Amy to confuse him before they go out in a hail of bullets, action-movie-style, which he’d probably love if it wasn’t so real right now. She wants to say something, anything to calm him down, but she can’t speak, and not just because there are footsteps approaching outside their door.

She feels his hand tighten around hers, three times, faster than before. And then he pulls her into a close hug when the door behind his back opens to reveal blinding light, and she realises he’s shielding her, has been ever since he pushed her first into this storage space. He only lets go when they both hear Terry’s voice, and the Captain’s, the first telling them they are safe, the second immediately trying to update them on the situation with the SWAT team. He holds her hand a second longer than the rest of her, and the three squeezes that follow are far softer and slower than the ones before.

-*-

Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of their friends has said, and she feels his hand slip into hers under the table. For only a split second, she’s tempted to pull her hand away. It’s still so new and shaky and unsure, their whole thing, yet at the same time it isn’t. It’s been growing for so long, between them and around them, it feels like it’s always been there. But the rest of the squad is still pulling excited faces whenever they get a little closer, Charles still squeals at every mention of their ‘evenings together’, and Rosa has rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained a muscle the first time she heard Amy refer to Jake as ‘babe’ in front of her. It’s all a little bit embarrassing, and sometimes she wishes they’d stuck to just one of their rules, of not telling anyone until they figure it out. But then she wonders, what was there left to figure out? She was with Jake, and she wanted to be with Jake, and deep down, she could see none of that change at any point in time. Forever, possibly.

Charles is still talking, riding the wave of getting their laugh, but then Jake’s smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them. She remembers them from before, from tense moments and situations of fear, from where he’s been there for her at the worst parts. Holding on tight and feeling the three little bursts of pressure, only wondering a long time later if he did it on purpose, or if it was some sort of reflex.

She feels it again now, and she can finally hear it.

I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You. Squeeze.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #intro to cm #mindhunter #wendy carr #peggy carr

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min-arya · 3 years

Text

Change of Mind

Pairing: jimin x reader

Genre: Fluff

Note: this was my very first work last November 2020. I tried to give it an ending but, I genuinely cannot think of a good ending for this story. it sucks but whatever. pls send me your ideas aaa i would love to read them. thank you for supporting me!! i adore y'all! :) <3

You hate children.

Everyone who knows you knows that. They really can’t convince you to pick up their baby, or coo at them. They didn’t even try to hide the disappointment in their eyes when they saw you roll your eyes when their children copy you. They keep pestering you about how you hate children when one day you’re going to have one. The thought made you smirk, as if. It’s easy to say that you won’t have one because you don’t have time as a single busy woman. And also, they’re pretty loud and dumb. They’re always so dependent; can’t do things on their own.

“I think you’re being too hard,” your brother, Namjoon, said. He was a married man for 4 years now. You can see the dark bags in his eyes as he looked at you in concern. You rolled your eyes as you already know where this is going. “They’re just kids,” he added.

“We’ve had this conversation for a long time, can’t we drop it already?” you said a little loud out of frustration. Namjoon shushed you, scared to wake up his cranky daughter. By the way, you were at their house because it was your pregnant sister-in-law’s birthday. They invited you this morning, and you decided to drop by for a little greetings and told her that your gift will be a little late, which she didn’t mind. “ughh! It’s getting late. I’m going home.” You said irritatedly.

“Okay, so you see, I have a very important meeting tomorrow,” he began. You know something was off, and you’re not going to like it because of the way he slowly and carefully stated his words. You don’t want to hear it, honestly. But you didn’t and can’t cut him off because first, it’s disrespectful; after all, he is the oldest, and second is that, he beat you to it. “I need you to attend the family day in Miyoung’s school.”

You were bewildered, maybe beyond that but, you were. He knows that you hate children, why would he do that? Is it because you’re the only one who is free on Fridays? That’s not even an acceptable excuse. You hated children! You expressed countless times of how irritating they are, how can your niece be any different? Is it because he raised her? You looked away for a second, not knowing what to say. You brought your gaze up, about to protest until you caught a glimpse of his tired pleading eyes, you had no choice but to comply. “Fine, but you owe me 50 dollars,” you agreed with a groan.

Namjoon smiled weakly, knowing his pregnant wife doesn’t have to stress herself up for this school activity and get all the rest she needs. “I’ll double it if Miyoung comes home with a smile.” He said, playing along with his sister’s antics. “By the way, it starts at 8:00am. Don’t be late.”

“Fine,” was all you said standing up to reach your bag. “I’ll be here tomorrow, 7:00am sharp. Thank you for the meal, Oppa. I’ll be going now.” You stated, from you professional voice to a surprisingly calm voice after the news of babysitting your niece.

Tomorrow is going to be a long, long day.

You finished your morning routine with a groan and a pep talk. This is only for today. This is only going to last a few hours. After that you’ll have the peace away from children. After that pep talk, you left your garage to go to your brother’s house to fetch your niece. You internally wished she’s not as annoying as any other kids her age.

You arrived 15 minutes later. Seeing how your niece is crying in front of a kneeling Namjoon made you realize that she hates this idea, too. She’s scared of you, that’s for sure. But, what can you do? Imagine your babysitter hates children. Damn.

“Why can’t you go instead, Daddy? She hates me, I know it!” your niece said as she started to sob louder, not stopping any sooner no matter how much your brother is trying to convince him.

“She doesn’t hate you, baby. She’s just jealous because she’s old and lonely.” He said as if he didn't know you'd already arrived. You scoffed loudly at that. It was almost funny. You…jealous of a kid? Pleaaaaase. “It’s only for today, Miyoungie. I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’ll get ice cream after this event is finished.” He ended, knowing his daughter is a weakling for ice cream.

“Fine.” She stubbornly said. Angrily stomping to the shotgun seat of your car.

Namjoon walked towards you with a paper bag in his hands. “Here’s her costume, by the way. I think the event ends at 3pm. It’s only 7:15, have you had your breakfast?” he rambled. Even though he was annoying most of the time in your childhood, he was, no doubt, caring.

“I’m fine. Has she had her breakfast or do I need to drive her to McDonald’s?” you smirked victoriously, proud at your comeback sass. It didn’t last long though after Namjoon playfully smacked your head with the word pabo leaving his mouth. “Anyway, we’ll be going now. Don’t worry, she’ll be safe.

Namjoon handed you the paper bag filled with clothes and lunch box for two before walking towards his daughter, kneeling to her height and hugging her. He whispered something to her tiny ear before she nodded. He wiped her tears away. He opened the door to the passenger’s seat of your car, making sure he fastened the seatbelt as he closed the door gently, not wanting to startle his daughter.

You went to the driver’s side to finally start the car. You badly want to end this day. You glanced at your niece who was sulking beside you. I mean, who could blame her tho? This was so unplanned. She already informed her dad about this last week. And now, he’s telling her that he won’t be able to attend so he needed you as a substitute guardian. Isn’t that a little heartbreaking? But, anyway, your niece just wants to get close to you.

“Are you ready to go, kiddo?” you asked in a surprisingly calm manner. You saw how she nodded cutely. So you reached for the clutch and got ready to go.

The silence between you was pleasant, it surprised you. Everything about today surprised you.

You feel the stares Miyoung was giving you. They weren’t out of hatred or adoration. It was out of curiosity. Maybe something about you fascinated the toddler’s tiny mind. ‘What did Daddy mean when he said that she is lonely? Is she sad? Is that really why she hates me? Is she going to eat me?’

“What is it?” you asked, growing frustrated by the curious glares she gave you. She looked away, and shrugged.

“Daddy said to not cause you any trouble. If I do, you’re going to eat me. Is that true, Aunty?” she said with a slightly shaky voice. So that’s how he raises his kids huh. “Please don’t eat me, Aunty.” She faced her body towards you with her hands clasped together, practically begging.

It was cute, no doubt. Is that what Namjoon whispered to this baby? You laughed at the thought. For the first time in, like, your whole life, a child has made you laugh. Your niece’s eyes widened at your laugh. The tiny toddler is overthinking too much for her tiny mind to handle. She now thinks you’re really going to eat the sweet sweet child.

“What?! AHAHA. NO! Of course not. Why would I eat you? I don’t eat children, that’s gross.” You said between your laughs. Feeling the atmosphere between you lighten up. This day was going better than you thought it would be.

Maybe kids aren’t so bad after all.

After a few hours of meeting (more like seminar or something) with the parents and this really charming teacher, accompanying Miyoung to eat her sandwich and her meal but she offered you her sandwich because you don’t have anything to eat even though you have money but she insisted so you accepted, and phone calls from your work, it is time for the little performance the toddlers from this said kindergarten prepared for their ‘parents’. So that’s the costume for, now I get it. You thought as Miyoung came up to you and handed you the video camera that you didn’t know that she had. Maybe Namjoon packed it since he couldn’t go.

The performance was good, entertaining even. You felt like a proud mama cheering for her baby while holding the camera. It surprises you on how you reacted, you seemed really fond of the child, and you were though.

After the performance was done, the crowd dispersed into sections, making the columns and rows you all formed a while ago a mess. Miyoung rushed into you and held your hand. And suddenly, your phone rang. You let go of your niece’s hand to reach for the phone in your right pocket.

It was no surprise that it’s your boss. “It’s me, Sir Kim. What seems to be the problem?” you said. What could be the problem? Mr. Kim always bothered you, like he was really annoying. And now, you’ve filed your one-week leave and yet, he’s still bothering you and bombarding you with work. Man, he’s the worst.

“Nothing, I was just saying you got the promotion. Have fun on your leave.” With that, he hung up. Maybe he’s not so bad after all, pfft. That was amazing news, so amazing that you decided to take Miyoung to an ice cream parlor yourself and treat her with her favorite ice cream that you had no idea of.

You were happy, so happy that when you put it back to your pocket and reached for your niece’s hand, she wasn’t there.

Oh no. I’m doomed. Namjoon’s going to kill me. You thought as you started formulating a plan on searching for Miyoung. Internally panicking. What to do? You scanned the whole area to see if someone found Miyoung. Unfortunately, the messy crowd started to disperse slowly.

The pounding of your chest, beads of sweat start forming on your forehead as you spin around trying to look for a familiar small girl with a yellow humongous ribbon on her head. You were out of luck. Stupid phone call. Stupid promotion. Stupid boss. Stupid life!

You approached a middle-aged woman who looked like a principal in this kindergarten, thinking it would help you search for your niece. But then, an unknown number called you. Anxiety filled your stomach, a slight ringing in the background was heard, then silence.

Oh no, is Miyoung kidnapped? Are they going to ask me for ransom? Why is this happening? You thought as your shaky hands answered the phone.

“Hello? Hello, Miss?” a sweet honey-voiced man talked through the phone. He didn’t sound like a mysterious criminal, did he?

“Hello? Who is this?” you cringed at how shaky your voice was, you should’ve sounded tough not like some scared girl.

“Oh, where are my manners! I’m Park Jimin, Miss. Kim Miyoung’s teacher. I found your business card on the child’s ID. Don’t worry she’s in good hands but, be sure to pick her up though. We’re at the teacher’s faculty. I’ll hang up now.” He started, sounding so sure and professional.

You have finally arrived at your destination, the teacher’s faculty. You see Miyoung, sitting on a chair with a chocolate in her hand, eating happily while she swings her feet.

A man approached you, just as you reached to Miyoung. The man smiled down at you. “You must be Y/N. Miyoung’s this way.” With that, he led you to the faculty room that your niece was staying on.

“Aunty!” she shouted as she jumped off the chair, ran to you and hugged you as if you were the one who got lost. “Jiminie told me that he’ll buy me ice cream if I behave until you arrive.” She said, giggling. “Now that you’ve arrived, I can finally have my ice cream!”

“Jiminie?” you asked, curiously. “I thought he was your teacher?” you added.

“Yeah, but he’s daddy’s best friend so it’s fine.” Huh, that explains it. “Come on, Jiminie. You still have to get me ice cream.” She said as she skidded away from you and closer to the teacher who happened to be your brother’s best friend.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to you, almost stumbling at how much height difference they have. “Woah, easy Miyoung.” The teacher said between his laughs. He genuinely seemed to be enjoying kids his whole life. Heck, why would he even be a teacher if he doesn’t?

You didn’t think you could handle being in the same room with someone the total opposite of you yet, here you are. Everything about this day seemed to surprise you. “Wait, are you even done with your work? We don’t want to cause you any trouble.” You said. Well, that came out wrong. It sounded like you didn’t want to be with him. Wait, no…not really. It's nice having him around, maybe cudd—NO Y/N, you just met hi—

“Y/N? Y/N, right? I was just telling you that my shift was done half an hour ago.” He said, interrupting your internal rumbling. You looked away from the scene of trees swaying with the wind to glance at the handsome guy looking at you in concern. “Uhm, shall we take your car or mine?” he asked, fidgeting the keys latched to the belt loop of his pants.

“Uhm, I’m not sure. Huh, I guess I haven’t thought about that. Miyoung?” you looked away from the stunning man to look at your side thinking that your niece might be by your side. But sadly, she was long gone to her teacher’s side, trying to pull his weight away from the direction of your car.

“Let’s go to Jiminie’s car! His car smells like vanilla and strawberries!! C’mon c’mon!” She squealed to you while pulling on her teacher.

You shrugged. So much for an ice cream, you thought as you followed the two.

The whole ride was surprisingly pleasing. Miyoung was right, his car smells good. Strawberries and vanilla.

You glanced to your left, looking at his hand at the clutch lever. By the way, you were on the passenger’s seat since Miyoung insisted that she needed space. You became silent, staring at your niece. What did she mean when she said she needed space? Is she trying to sell you out? You thought as you continued to watch her looking around, trying to find something. And then, she pulled a blanket from the back of the car. She happily hugged it before spreading it to cover her tiny body. She sat up again, reaching for a certain purple pillow.

To say that you were confused was an understatement. You reached for the door handle of the passenger’s seat before boarding. You finally noticed that Jimin was watching the whole scene. He explained that he was the one who Namjoon asked to drive her daughter. And that today was different since he had to assist and entertain parents so he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Miyoung. You nodded in understanding.

“We’re here,” you snapped out of your daze when you heard his sweet honey voice rang throughout the car. You turned your body to look at your niece, you noticed that she’s still in her mini dreamland. You unbuckle your seatbelt before going around the car to wake Miyoung up. You opened the car that was facing the top of her head, noticing the slow but calm pace of her breathing while she sleeps. Just as you lifted your hand to shake her shoulder awake, a hand grabbed your wrist. “She gets cranky if you shake her awake. Let me do it,” he said before letting you go slowly.

You step aside to give him a way to Miyoung’s head. You tilted your head to the side to watch what he was doing. He was stroking her head gently as he whispers into her ear. It freaking worked. She sat up while rubbing her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her off his car. She looked at you before waving her hands enthusiastically before yelling, “Hi Aunty.” You waved back before walking to Jimin’s side.

You leaned towards him to give him a compliment, “You’re really good with children.” He looked down at you before facing forward, smiling adorably. He mumbled a small ‘thank you’ as he led the way.

You finally reached to Miyoung’s favorite ice cream park in front of a park. The place was spacious yet, simple. Groomed trees around it, benches and a playground. It’s the perfect destination to couples, and couples with children. That’s probably why this is Miyoung’s favorite place.

Jimin sets Miyoung down as he goes to the counter to place an order. You saw how Miyoung immediately ran towards the playground, communicating with some kids her age. You turned your head towards Jimin who was looking at you, “Yes? Is there something wrong?” you asked him.

“Uhm what flavor do you want? My treat,” he said, pulling out his wallet. you held out your hand, about to tell him that he didn’t need to buy you an ice cream, He was persistent as he said, “don’t worry, it’s on me.”

“Cookies n’ cream,” you mumbled while looking down. He nodded then faced the cashier attendant. You unknowingly pouted when you noticed they were close to each other, whispering something between themselves. You saw him moved away, shaking his head as if he was denying something. You turned away towards the playground, just to forget the scene and also, to keep an eye on Miyoung. She seemed to be enjoying her life as a kid. Lucky.

Jimin shyly cleared his throat, snapping you out of your daze. You noticed he was holding two cones. He handed you the cookies n’ cream flavor, before turning back to get Miyoung’s favorite ice cream. “Thank you, though you didn’t have to,” you said, as you gave him a genuine smile.

“Nah, I wanted to,” he said as he giggled slightly. You two walked side by side towards the playground. You sat on a bench while munching on your ice cream. He called your niece to give her her ice cream. She ran towards him immediately before going back to the playground. Jimin sat beside you as he started to devour his ice cream. “So, Namjoon-hyung’s sister?” he started, facing you.

You snorted lightly at how awkward he sounded when the question left his mouth. He looked at you, amused. “Yeah, and you’re his best friend?” you said with just right amount of sass while you raised your eyebrow at him. “How come I’ve never heard of you before?” you asked with genuine curiosity as you faced the scene before you.

“Hmm, probably Namjoon-hyung forgot again. You know how he forgets stuff like that.” he said facing the same directions you’re looking at. It’s hard not to notice how the air around you is claiming, and the getting-to-know conversation the two of you are having feels like two best friends catching up with each other. It was nice. “I heard that you hated children. Why is that?” he suddenly asked, catching you off guard.

You shrugged. You were about to answer but a detail on his sentence stopped you. “Hated? What do you mean? I still hate them.” you said, calmly. You inhaled before talking, contemplating what to say. “Well, I just don’t like how high-maintenance they are. They always demand attention and can’t do things on their own. But, I can stand children; just don’t let them copy me. I hate how they do things I do.” You finished your rant with a sigh. You turned your head to Jimin who nodded in understanding, he looked amused. Fuck, I sound like a child.

He let out a short laugh as he leaned towards you. “Same, but I find it adorable though,” He said, trying to ease himself. “To answer your first question, you seem too fond of Miyoung, so I assumed that you have changed your mind,” he ended before proceeding to continue his ice cream.

“what? I mean, she’s a great kid...she doesn’t annoy the hell out of me,” you replied with a shrug. “Well, what about you? What’s something about children that fascinates you that you chose to be a teacher other than every other career that you can have?” you questioned him. You were grateful that he didn’t hate you for hating something he finds adorable.

Jimin looked towards the playground, thinking deeply for a wonderful example. “I love how innocent they are. They don’t have to worry about anything. All they want and need to do is to be happy and enjoy their childhood. And, I want to be a part of that wonderful memory.” He said as his eyes glowed in adoration of the kids playing with your niece. Laughter was heard as you two talked. “And then, there’s just the hint of pride whenever they achieve something. Even the tiniest victories, they’re so happy,” he added. He was shaking his fist adorably as if trying to contain his excitement.

“I think you’re going to be a great dad in the future,” you complimented, giving him a sweet smile.

“Thanks, I think you’re going to be a great mom too. Someday, he said.

An unfamiliar warmth swells up to your chest as you took in his words. “Yeah. Someday.”

#jimin x reader #bts jimin #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #jimin x army #bts x army #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts fluff #jimin fluff

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Princess Part 6

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Link to Part 5

Parings: Regulus Black. Mentioned Sirius Black x Remus Lupin

Rating: Explicit- smut warning

________

“It's Christmas Eve tomorrow. I still have to get your mother’s present.”

You said as Regulus pushed a small path through the hordes of people that were out snagging last-minute gifts.

“I figured that you would have had everything done weeks ago.”

Regulus commented, rolling his eyes as the fourth person ran into him. You wrapped your arms together around his to prevent separation.

“Well, I would but she’s been hovering over me since we returned home. It's hard to buy a present with her breathing down my neck, however, I could have turned around and asked her if she liked whatever the item was.”

Regulus smirked.

“Father got her a nice necklace and diamond ring this year. I thought last year’s gift to that self-help seminar was a wonderful gift. Father was right. Mother needs to get out of the house more and network with other basketcases.”

“Regulus.”

You said his name with a sly smile remembering last year’s horrible Christmas disaster when Orion gave Walburga those tickets to that seminar. Walburga didn’t speak to Orion for three weeks. She, instead, insisted upon following Regulus and yourself around questioning everything that the two of you were doing?”

“So, is this what teenagers are doing today?”

“Regulus, do you really have to play quidditch? What if you fall or hurt something?”

“Where is your jumper?”

You could still hear her shrieking in your mind. Both Regulus and yourself had politely dealt with Walburga’ meddling. The two of you were too polite to say anything to her. It wasn’t until Orion came home with jewelry did she start speaking to her husband again.

Even Kreacher was delighted for his mistress and master to be speaking again. The poor elf had taken refuge under Regulus’ bed resulting in sex not happening.

“Master and mistress, just pretend that Kreacher isn’t here.”

Both Regulus and yourself were looking at each other with disturbing expressions and given up on whatever thought of sex that was once had.

“I know what you are thinking about and Kreacher is not living under our bed for three weeks again.”

Regulus whispered, rolling his eyes. The two of you had finally gotten to a place where people weren’t running into you. Regulus pulled you closer to him.

“Yes, we don’t need a house-elf living in our room again. That was awkward.”

Regulus glanced over his shoulder. His eyes had stopped on the candy store that had the one type of chocolate his mother enjoyed.

“I’m going to run in there quickly. Mom needs her chocolate fix. Are you coming?”

You shook your head upon realizing just how many people were in the store.

“Go ahead. There are too many other humans in there. I’ll wait for you here.”

Regulus shrugged and disappeared into the shop. You took a breath and looked down at your watch. 7:30...Walburga was probably wondering where the two of you were. Forget the fact that Regulus and yourself were almost adults. Walburga, after Sirius’ departure, turned up her worrying over Regulus (and yourself too) to new heights.

When Regulus’ dark mark started burning and he had to leave, Walburga turned into a worried child whose blankie was in the wash. She would pace the floor until her son returned home. Her out of character behavior was never mentioned, however. If someone mentioned Walburga acting differently over Regulus now, she would deny it.

“Y/n?”

You looked up the moment that you heard your name being called. The moment that you met the source, you froze seeing Sirius standing in front of you. A few feet behind him stood James and Lily Potter.

It had been ages since you had seen or spoken to Sirius last. After he ran away, Walburga made it crystal clear that she didn’t want Regulus or yourself speaking to him. Regulus was just fine obliging to his mother’s request. Your lover wouldn’t admit it but he was devastated by his brother leaving. Sirius leaving was, in Regulus’ mind, Sirius saying that he didn’t care for him anymore. It was harder for you to stop talking to Sirius cold turkey. The two of you had always been friendly. You were the go-between when he was having issues with his brother or mother.

“Hello, Sirius.”

You said, softly before looking around to make sure that Regulus wasn’t coming back. Regulus would be livid if he saw you speaking to Sirius. Livid or jealous...which one it would be was yet to be determined. Regulus has always been jealous of your friendship with Sirius. Why, you weren’t sure. You had been dedicated to Regulus since day one. He was the one that you played wedding with. Regulus was the one that you followed around like a shadow and vice versa.

“It's good to see you! It's been a long time...I heard that you agreed to marry Regulus.”

You could tell Sirius was struggling with the subject. There had always been a part of Sirius, whether he wanted to admit it or not, was sour that you didn’t “choose him.” After all, you had been meant for Sirius in the beginning. When you took to Regulus that plan was shot to hell.

“Yes, we are getting married after school is over. How have you been?”

You asked, changing the subject. Sirius shrugged.

“You know me...just going about here and there. I’ve been doing some traveling. I have a question and it's a bit awkward to ask but I need to know…is Reggie really a death eater? As the person that knows him the best, I figured that you would know.”

You blinked a few times seeing Regulus step out of the store. His eyes instantly narrowed on his brother as a cold glare set on his face. Sirius noticed it too.

“We don’t have much time. Blink once for yes and twice for no. I won’t tell him a thing.”

You blinked twice. Sirius put his head down, knowing that it was a lie. The moment that he looked back up, you blinked once. Sirius wanted nothing more than to offer to help keep both Regulus and yourself safe. He wanted to get his brother out of that mess but he knew Regulus would never say yes to him or the order.

“Look who it is.”

Regulus said coldly as he finally reached you. His arm went around your waist as Sirius met his eyes.

“Regulus, it's good to see you.”

Regulus only stared at Sirius. He made no move to speak to his brother. It didn’t matter deep down that Regulus wanted to talk to Sirius. He wanted nothing more than to beg his brother to forgive him for being so cold but that wouldn’t happen. Regulus was “the good son” and his parents were counting on him.

“We should go, Y/n.”

Regulus said before wrapping his wrist around your hand and tugging you with him. Sirius held his hands up.

“So you aren’t going to say anything? You’re just going to stand there like some kind of zombie?”

Regulus turned.

“You don’t deserve a moment of my time.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the hurt expression on Sirius' face as Regulus tugged you along with him. There had been many run-ins with Sirius when he was still at Hogwarts that resulted in Regulus hexing his brother. Many MANY times you were pulling Regulus away as he shouted any insult that he could at Sirius. When you couldn’t get him away it was Evan and Snape hauling him off.

“Can we slow down?”

You snapped as you almost lost your balance for the third time. Regulus turned and glared down at you with jealousy in his eyes.

Lovely…

You thought. It was going to be one of those nights. Nothing that you had to say would please Regulus at the moment. It didn’t matter that it was his engagement ring on your finger or that you were chasing after him. All that Regulus could think about was the fact that you were supposed to be Sirius’ betrothed. The insecure side of him questioned in you or Sirius actually cared for each other and was just too good to say it.

“Let’s just go home. We don’t need to talk.”

Regulus replied before turning and starting back in the direction of Grimmauld Place. This time his hand wasn’t around yours making sure that you didn’t get pulled off. Regulus had shoved his hands in his pockets and reminded you of a jealous child.

“Fine.”

You commented before following him. If he wanted to be difficult then you would let him.

Thankfully Walburga and Orion were in bed when the two of you arrived home. You immediately followed Regulus to your shared bedroom. He took off his jacket and tossed it carelessly on the floor.

Shaking your head, you reached down to hang it up.

“Leave it. That’s what Kreacher is for.”

Regulus snapped. You blinked a few times having to bite your tongue. There were a lot of things that you could say to Regulus at the moment but you didn’t want to sleep alone or end up sleeping on the sofa.

Regulus had started the fire in the fireplace before sitting down on the sofa to glare coldly at the flames. He knew that he was being childish but he didn’t care. You didn’t seem to realize how much Sirius still hurt him. Seeing you talking to the jerk with none other than James-Fucking-Potter close by was enough to make the jealous little shit in Regulus come roaring back with a vengeance.

You gave Regulus half an hour to “get over himself” before plopping down on his lap in emerald green lingerie that left little to the imagination. Regulus was still scowling as he looked you over. You sighed.

“Stop acting like a child Regulus Black. I’m your fiance and you know it.”

Regulus sighed.

“If you weren’t my fiance I would be worried about you sitting on my lap dressed like this, princess.”

You smiled. There was your prince charming.

“I was saving this for our wedding night but given our current situation I figured this would be better than me just rolling around naked on your lap.”

Regulus reached up to stroke his hand over your cheek.

“You don’t see how he looks at you.”

You frowned.

“Are we still talking about Sirius?”

Regulus nodded.

“Uh-huh. He looks at you like you’re something to eat. I see how his eyes roam over your body. He doesn’t seem to understand that you are mine.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into the kiss Regulus’ lips. He didn’t stop you. The kiss was tender for a moment before leaning backward further on his lap. You knew that you would tell him all about Sirius dating Remus Lupin. Why this was so lost on Regulus was still a mystery. You could have picked those two out as lovers without either of them saying anything.

“I assure you that he sees me as nothing more than a friend. Reggie, he knows that I am devoted 100% to you. He’s known it for a long time. Besides, I don’t have what Sirius needs. I’m made for you.”

Regulus had to grin at that though. Hell yes, you were “made for him.” Your bodies fit together perfectly. Everything about the two of you went together.

“Princess, you’re killing me.”

He groaned as you wiggled your ass on his now prominent erection. You giggled before kissing his bottom lip.

“I’m down for some nice jealous sex.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow before harshly pulling your upper body against his.

“Well, then love, you are in luck. All of your slutty self is all mine.”

He growled against your lips before possessively kissing you. You reached up tangling your fingers in his curls. Resisting the urge to start tugging, you instead stroked your hand through his hair earning a moan from your lover.

Regulus’ hand had fallen to your ass and roughly squeezed your plump flesh. He gently pushed you backward on his lap.

“I believe we should take this to our bed.”

You didn't wait to be told twice before getting up and hurrying to your shared bed. Regulus had gone to the door to lock it. The last thing that he wanted was his mother walking in and screaming when she realized what was going on. He turned to look at you as you pulled back the heavy duvet and blankets.

Your foot became stuck in one of the soft blankets resulting in you slipping. Regulus had rushed forward and caught you.

“You’re so clumsy. If I wasn’t around to catch you all of the time, you would forever have broken bones.”

“Yes, lucky for me.”

You said, kissing him and laying back on the bed. Regulus shook his head and began to undress. Your heart began to pound the moment that you heard Regulus’ belt unbuckling then the loud noise it made upon hitting the hardwood floors.

Regulus was on top of you before you were able to formulate another thought. His hand immediately went between your legs and shoved the emerald thong to the side.

“Oh, look at that, you are wet...just as I suspected. You’re so wet and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

His voice was almost mocking as he glared down at you. You knew that game that he wanted to play now and as messed up as it sounded, you were excited.

“Why wouldn’t I be wet for you?”

You squeaked when Regulus shoved his index and middle finger inside of you.

“You could be wet for him too.”

“It's always you, Reggie. I only want you.”

You gasped as he scissored his fingers. Regulus didn’t reply. It wasn’t until you reached out to wrap your hand around his length did he push you away.

“No touching.”

Regulus leaned down and smothered his face in your neck. You swallowed as he bit down. A pornographic moan left your lips as he continued to manipulate your already spasming core. Regulus’ breath on your neck was hot as he sucked love bite after love bite onto your neck. There would be no mistaking on whose woman you were.

You whined the moment that his hand left your body. His grey eyes silenced you with one disapproving look. You fought back as he tugged the emerald thong off and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Now, where were we?”

You wanted to scream to answer the question...Right here! We were right here! Just touch me! Anything!

You knew that, however, would get you nowhere. Regulus would probably get out of bed and leave you moaning for him. He wouldn’t come back to you until he was good and ready.

“You’re such a good girl, princess.”

Regulus praised you as he took his length in his hand. You moaned as the tip rubbed over your clit then down to your entrance multiple times.

“Reggie, don’t be a tease.”

“Who said that I was teasing?”

Regulus replied. His face was dead serious. He had returned to his stoic reserved nature as he continued his game. A loud moan escaped your lips as Regulus shoved in. His hand instantly clasped around your mouth.

“Hush now. Mummy will hear us.”

Regulus whispered before giving you a little grin. He knew exactly what you were thinking about. That little comment alone brought back memories from years past. Regulus would make that comment when the two of you were early teens and started messing around. Gone were the days where Regulus could get off by seeing you naked. You could simply take off your shirt for him and let Regulus put his mouth or hands on you. He would barely touch himself and come. Now things were different. You had to work to make Regulus come.

“You’re a fucking tease.”

You said with a giggle as you took his hand in yours and brought it to your lips. Regulus leaned back on his heels but made sure to remain snuggly inside of you. His eyes winded as your mouth wrapped around his middle and index finger. You sucked the digits like you would if they were his cock.

“Love, you call me a tease.”

“Then fuck me…”

“You asked for it.”

Regulus hissed before pulling out and slamming back into you at a furious pace. You couldn’t help crying out as he ravaged you. Regulus didn’t care that the headboard was slamming into the wall and that you were screaming. Too much blood had already left his head to leave him incapable of thinking of anything other than fucking you. His goal was to leave you so sore that you couldn’t put your legs together the next morning.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, leaving you light headed as your body began to spasm around Regulus’ length. As much as you enjoyed sensual lovemaking, you equally enjoyed Regulus using you as his own personal toy.

“I need to come.”

Regulus groaned. You moaned at his words alone. Your body tightening was enough to push Regulus over the edge. His body shivered as he emptied inside of you.

“Come, love.”

He choked out through his own orgasm before teasing your clit with his fingers. It took two or three circles before you were coming screaming his name like a prayer.

Regulus was the first to pull out. His come coated your thighs as he leaned down for a kiss.

“Shall we have round two?”

Before you could respond, someone was pounding on the door. Regulus’ face went scarlet as he looked down at you. Your eyes were wide as Orion’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Okay, you two...we have heard enough for one evening. Go to sleep!”

_______

@amelie-black

@realgaytrash

@scarletscross

@truly-insatiable

@swinginsoulbailiffrascal

@velveteencurls

@spiderxalmighty

@sunles

@brokencasbutt67-writer

@authoressskr

@fandom-trash-worth-it

@hankypranky

@li0nh34rt

@tas898

@maggioli-m

@marichromatic

@stuckinsaudi1

@knight-of-gleefulness

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts

@shaylybaby2032

@emiwrites3reads

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@sprnaturallover

@wontlookaway

@mycuddlycorner

@shitfaceddaniel

@wontlookaway

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 1.5

portraiture and speculation

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, slight angst, swearing, and idk libraries?? ‘Tis not a heavy one

AN: So this is a mini-chapter, entirely Levi’s POV, hopefully to give some more background/insight into what homeboy’s thinking. And we get some Hange in this chapter which I had so much fun writing:)) Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter and again, please don’t hesitate to reblog/comment/send in an ask with any suggestions, questions, or feedback!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1 here)

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture came next. Artists aspired to elevate the importance of…

Levi takes a slow sip of tea while his eyes glide over the article in front of him: the latest reading for his European Art History class. His mouth twitches at the bitter taste of over-brewed Earl Grey. The library cafe never seems to be able to get tea right, but he was desperate for some caffeine to push him through a couple more hours of studying.

...female members of the royal family have been depicted as goddesses…

Fuck. Levi’s brain had gotten away from him again. I have no idea what I just read.

With a deep sigh and adjustment of his posture, Levi starts the paragraph again.

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture…

The portrait in his room flickers into his mind’s eye. Nearly complete, his mother’s smiling face stares back at him. The stormy grey of her eyes had taken Levi a week to remember and another to perfect. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he sits cross-legged on his bed facing her and wondering if it’s truly an accurate depiction. In his best memories, she is warm and smiling and beautiful. Levi can’t help but wonder if somehow he’s written over his mother’s true features with an invention of his own; some sort of collage of the kind women in his life. He had caught himself painting Hange’s wide smile instead of his mother’s once, and he hadn’t worked on the portrait for a month after. If he was going to ever do it justice, he had to be certain it was as close to his actual memory as possible.

The end of the page jars Levi out of a reverie, and once again he hasn’t retained any of what he just read. Leaning back in his chair with a frustrated groan, he allows the ambient noise of the library to drift back into his consciousness.

The beeping from the front desk as a librarian scans books. The thunk of someone’s metal water bottle on a table. A spirited discussion between two professors in line at the cafe. Levi can feel his will to work slipping from his grasp with each passing moment.

“No use trying to study with your mind caught up in more important things,” your voice seeps through the cracks of his work ethic. It had been six weeks into living with each other when you caught Levi staring into space at his desk instead of working yet again and decided to do something about it. Your pretty hands had guided his own away from the laptop and closed it with a finality even your obstinate roommate couldn’t argue against.

“We’re going out for sushi,” you’d insisted. “And then you’re going to watch your favorite show and go to bed.”

You were right. It’s exactly what Levi needed, both then and now.

“Hey, shortstack!” A pair of hands lands heavily on his shoulders, and Levi has to quell the urge to break Hange’s nose with the back of his hand. He settles for a steely glare over his shoulder, greeted by her energetic grin.

“If you touch me without warning like that again I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital.” Hange doesn’t seem perturbed by his deadpan delivery, but nonetheless removes her hands and holds them up in surrender.

“I come in peace! Just thought I’d say hi before my lab.” She pulls out the chair next to him and plonks down but doesn’t bother to put down her backpack or unwrap her scarf. “How’s the studying going?”

“I was just finishing up. Can’t concentrate in this environment.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings.

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to find you here, actually, don’t you usually hole up in an empty studio?”

“Eh, figured a change of pace might help. Clearly not.”

“Great, then you can walk me to class! I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Hange bounces out of her seat and flits her gaze around the library as Levi packs up his stuff.

As they leave the library together, frigid winter air swirls around them, kicking up a flurry of snow from the snowbank by the sidewalk. Levi zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands into its pockets. Hange is unusually quiet as they walk towards the sciences building. Levi hazards a glance and sees her deep in thought, chin tucked into her scarf and glasses fogged with breath.

“So are you gonna tell me what you wanted to talk about or am I supposed to guess?” He nudges her with an elbow and she jumps.

“Oh! That’s right. It’s about your delightfully brilliant roommate,” she starts, grinning at Levi once more.

“What about her?”

“How has she been doing? Y’know, since the breakup?” Hange’s tone is almost too casual, and it makes Levi take a second to carefully consider his answer.

“She’s been fine, I think. Going to class, eating, studying.” He pauses to think again. “She has been staying up late a lot. Why do you ask?”

“That’s just it, she looked exhausted this morning in our seminar. Like she hadn’t slept at all.” Her quizzical gaze is fixed on him as he considers this.

Come to think of it, you had been looking quite tired recently. He had attributed it to upcoming exams, but it could certainly be deeper than that. For the past two weeks since the breakup, Levi had noted light from under your bedroom door every night as he went to bed. And yet, you were consistently awake before him, already on your first or second cup of coffee.

“You’re right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he affirms, setting his mouth in a thin, worried line. While Levi was no stranger to insomnia, he did have strategies to help himself get enough sleep even when his mind couldn’t rest. Chamomile tea, meditation, sleeping pills when it really came down to it. Does she have those resources? he wonders.

They arrive outside the sciences building and Levi stops just short of the stairs, Hange turning to face him.

“Will you check up on her, please? Make sure she hasn’t actually been turned into a vampire?” Her tone is joking, but Levi can see the worry behind Hange’s eyes as he gives her a nod.

“Of course. I’ll text you later. Good luck in your lab.” He waves her off as she practically skips up the steps, giving him an impish salute.

“Have a good one, shortstop!”

As Levi turns back to begin walking home, worry sets in his chest with a winter-like frigidity. He thought you had been doing fine.

I thought she was glad to be rid of that jackass.

-- (read part 2 here)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe #swearing #alcohol #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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silvermoongirl10swfics · 3 years

Text

Learning to deal with emotionally crippling pain

For @codywanweek 2021 Day 2: AU (Modern University AU.)

You can also read this fic here on A03.

(The title of the fic will make sense after reading the fic.)

This is set at Manchester Metropolitan University in the UK, where I went to uni. As I wanted to combine the uni I loved going to with one of my favourite ships.

No major warnings, but there is a slight, non-graphic, description of how bodies were buried during the Black Death (this may seem very random, but I don’t want to gross anyone out.)

(I was inspired by @catawampuscorner drawing adorable baby clones in animal onesies, the cuteness now lives rent free in my brain and my brain desperately wanted to add baby clones and baby Jedi in animal onesies to this fic due to their wonderful drawings of the baby clones. So, I have referenced codywan and some other clones being youngsters in animal onesies near the end of this fic.)

Also Wolffe and Fox are twins because I thought of the idea about a month ago and loved it so much.

Cody hefted his kit bag onto his shoulder and nodded in thanks to the bus driver as he stepped off the bus on Oxford Road. He turned hearing a loud thump and rolled his eyes, Fives had, against Cody’s and Rex’s advice, decided to sit on the top deck of the double-decker bus while carrying his heavy rugby kit bag. Unsurprisingly Fives stumbled and hit the wall of the stairs as he tried to walk down the steep steps, his bag over balancing him. Rex threw out an arm to steady their younger brother and then the two of them joined Cody on the pavement.

“We did warn you,” stated Rex with a roll of his eyes.

“Whatever,” griped Fives. Without another word, Fives was walking through All Saints Park, no doubt heading back to the student halls where he shared a flat with his twin Echo and six other first year students.

“I really hope Echo is better soon. I don’t know how much longer I can take Fives in this mood,” sighed Rex shaking his head.

“You and me both,” agreed Cody with a nod of his head at his younger brother.

Cody was the eldest of the four brothers, and was currently in his third and final year of studying his undergraduate history degree at Manchester Metropolitan University. Rex was eleven months younger than him and was in his second year studying law, Echo and Fives were their younger brothers who were twins. The family hadn’t thought that Fives was interested in going to university, which was fine with them as they didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t want. But when Echo announced his intention of going to study mathematics at the same university where Cody and Rex were studying, Fives suddenly announced that he was also going to Man Met to study physiotherapy. The twins were in their first year and two years ago, at eighteen, Cody had thought he would be getting some peace from his three younger brothers, in the end he only got one year of peace before his brothers joined him in quick succession. But thankfully he only had to put up with living with them when they were all home for the holidays. As Cody shared a one-bedroom flat with his long-term boyfriend Obi-Wan who had also chosen to study at Man Met, also in his third year, studying English literature. Obi-Wan and Cody had been best friends since their first day at primary school aged four, later confessing their romantic feelings for each other when they were sixteen, both coming down from the stress of getting their GCSE results. They hadn’t actually told each other where they were applying for university, not wanting to influence each other’s decision. But they still ended up at the same university anyway, not that Cody was complaining.

Like Cody, Obi-Wan had not been able to escape his younger brother. Anakin was friends with Fives and Echo as they were the same age, Anakin was in his first year studying engineering at Man Met. It was funny to Cody, because Echo and Anakin’s subjects were in the same faculty, they often saw each other as their lectures and seminars took place in the John Dalton buildings, whereas Fives went to lectures across the main road on the slightly smaller campus in the Brooks Building. Fives had always been protective of Echo, his reasoning being he was the older twin so had to look out for Echo. But after Echo got hurt in a car accident when they were fifteen driving home with their dad, Fives had grown even more protective, somehow blaming himself because he wasn’t there in the car with Echo. The youngest of the four brothers hadn’t been seriously hurt, but the accident had gained him a constant shadow. So, when the twins applied to the university, they looked at the map of the two campuses and picked Oxford Court for their student halls accommodation because it was pretty much in the middle of where the two of them would have their lectures and seminars.

With another look in the direction Fives had gone, feeling a rare moment of relief at seeing his brother walk away. Cody loved his brothers, but because Echo had gotten injured in their last rugby game, he couldn’t take part in practice and it had left Fives in a mood for the past week. Neither Echo, Cody or Rex could seem to talk Fives out of his mood, leading to Cody thinking he may have to call their parents to talk some sense into Fives. But he didn’t want to worry his mum, which is what would happen if Cody had to tell her Fives still wasn’t okay a week after Echo badly spraining his ankle. So, Cody’s only other option would be to call his twin cousins, Wolffe and Fox who were both in their third and final years of studying at the same university in London. Wolffe was studying sport science, while Fox was studying history like Cody, but with more of a focus on medical history while Cody preferred military history.

Wolffe and Fox were the closest cousins Cody and his brothers had, due to their parents all moving to Britain from New Zealand due to his father and uncle getting jobs with the same tech company before Cody, Wolffe and Fox were born. Leaving the rest of the aunts, uncles and cousins back in New Zealand with their grandparents. Cody then reflected, calling the other twins might not be a bad idea. Wolffe would be gruff but caring in talking to Fives and if that failed, Fox would just beat sense into him either verbally or physically. With there being direct trains from London to Manchester, Cody wouldn’t be surprised if Fox came in person to beat some sense into Fives. Fox had no patience for Fives’ protective older brother routine of Echo and that was down to Wolffe being protective of Fox. Which he hated, but to be fair to Wolffe, he was fully justified going by the amount of coffee and lack of sleep Fox was powering through to work on his assignments and dissertation. Despite the fact it was still January and Fox had three months left until he had to hand in his dissertation.

Thinking of dissertations, Cody waved goodbye to Rex and headed towards the cafeteria in the Business School building to get some tea for his boyfriend. Once he acquired the tea in a take away cup, he went next door to the library where Obi-Wan was working on his dissertation, thankful that their university library allowed food and drink as long as it was silent. Fox was insanely jealous as his university library forbade any food or drink to enter the building, meaning Fox was deprived of his precious coffee. Which was why Wolffe pushed Fox to work in the library as often as he could. Cody didn’t mind plying Obi-Wan with tea, because while he could say Obi-Wan was additive to his tea, he didn’t drink any caffeinated tea two hours before going to bed, unlike Fox who was known to drink a mug of coffee before going to bed if Wolffe hadn’t managed to stop him. It was a wonder Wolffe hadn’t gone grey with the amount of time he spent worrying over his twin brother.

Cody scanned his student card to let him past the barriers and started walking up the two flights of stairs to the floor Obi-Wan liked to work on. The library was massive, with its different wings and five floors, but Cody was glad it was so big because it could be divided into silent study areas and group study areas, where you could talk so long as you were quiet. Obi-Wan, like Cody, hated working in complete silence and in their first year they found a nook between some shelves that had a table where they could bring their own laptops to work on their essays together. But were conveniently close to university computers so they could log on to print their work if needed. It was also a space their brothers had been unable to find them in, although Cody was fairly certain Rex knew where he liked to work, but was kind enough to leave him alone. Anakin, Echo and Fives would not be as considerate.

He walked through the doors into the study area and walked halfway into the big room with its rows of computers and shelves of books, until he found Obi-Wan hunched over his notes and two books he was using for his dissertation. Cody silently reminded himself that he was due to meet with his dissertation supervisor tomorrow to check the progress on his second chapter. He placed the cup of tea on the table beside Obi-Wan’s laptop and pressed a kiss onto the mess of copper hair, noting that his boyfriend hadn’t shaved again, making him wonder if Obi-Wan was committing to growing a beard. If he did, it would be because Obi-Wan was fed up of people thinking he was sixteen or seventeen, rather than being almost twenty-one years old, something that delighted Anakin to no end. Obi-Wan slowly sat up and blinked owlishly at him and rubbed a hand over his face. “Rugby practice is over already?” he asked in confusion as he looked at his watch.

Cody snorted in amusement, “thankfully yes.” Obi-Wan had come to the library just after Cody left their flat for practice, that had been two and half hours ago.

Obi-Wan reached for his tea and sighed in pleasure when he sipped on the hot liquid. “Fives still in a mood then?”

“Yes,” he sighed in exasperation as he sat down beside Obi-Wan and putting his kit bag on the floor with a roll of his shoulder.

Raising a knowing eyebrow over the rim of his cup, Obi-Wan asked. “Are you going to call Wolffe and Fox?” Cody nodded in agreement, smiling to himself, happy at how easily Obi-Wan fit into his family. Obi-Wan, Cody, Wolffe and Fox had all gone through school together. Obi-Wan and Anakin’s dad, Qui-Gon, was a friend of Cody’s parents and often came over for dinner. According to his dad, Cody’s mum and Qui-Gon had been having wine nights when they lamented over their empty nests and how it was unfair how quickly their children were growing up. While Cody’s aunt just laughed at them because Wolffe and Fox had left home for university almost three years before.

They lapsed into silence, and Cody just let himself day dream as he listened to the clack of Obi-Wan’s keyboard. He also ran through a mental list of things he needed to do for his dissertation and thought he could do with another trip down to London to go to the National Archives again for some more primary sources. His phone buzzed and Cody snorted at the text message from Echo.

[Echo] Fives is in SUCH a bad mood! Please help me!

[Cody] Sorry Echo. Rex and I had him for two hours, we need a break.

[Echo] WORST BIG BROTHERS EVER!!!!

[Echo] I hope you marry Obi-Wan so I can adopt him as my favourite older brother.

[Echo] You know what. I’m not waiting until you marry him. He’s my favourite brother now.

Cody chuckled to himself, he couldn’t argue with Echo, Obi-Wan was his favourite person too.

[Cody] What WILL Fives say?

[Echo] Right now I don’t care. He’s driving me INSANE!!!!

[Cody] I was going to call Wolffe and Fox to see if they could help.

[Echo] PLEASE!!! I am BEGGING YOU!!!!

[Echo] You know what?

[Echo] Just skip straight to Fox.

[Echo] And record it. I want to relive that future moment for forever. Fox’s position as my favourite cousin will be secured.

Cody snorted in amusement again, Obi-Wan turned to him in question. So, Cody just showed him the messages and Obi-Wan shook his head in amusement, but he blushed slightly. No doubt due to Echo’s comments on Cody marrying Obi-Wan.

“Echo wishing harm on Fives. I never thought I’d see the day,” commented Obi-Wan, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter. No doubt remembering the times Fox lost his patience with bullies and idiots they went to school with and just went for them. Their aunt had to give Fox the disapproving lecture, but she also slipped Fox money for standing up to bullies for other kids. So, Fox’s handling of bullies and idiots had never been stopped, only been encouraged.

“Oh, Echo can be pushed to it,” chuckled Cody, recalling the few times Fives had made Echo lose his temper. Echo was a nice and quiet person, which also made him one of those people you did not want to make angry, because when his patience snapped. It snapped. He could be worse than Fox, and that said something.

“By the way, your dad text me. He’s invited me to a family reunion dinner in a month’s time. So, is anyone coming over from New Zealand?” Obi-Wan asked as he started to tidy his books away and turn off his laptop.

Cody nodded. “My grandparents are coming over in three weeks and are staying until the summer as they want to be here for mine, Wolffe and Fox’s graduations. Then a few of the cousins are coming over in the summer.” He smiled to himself; it would be nice to see his family members again. They all saw each other every year, one year Cody and his family would fly out to New Zealand and the next year the family would fly over to Britain for a few weeks. With all of the cousins now at university, it made sorting out reunions easier due to the longer holidays they all had.

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled with amusement again, “anymore family arguments to look forward to?” he laughed.

“Probably,” Cody sighed as he rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan had come out to New Zealand with him last summer and witnessed some truly spectacular family arguments and rather silly ones as well. The most prominent being about Fox and Echo’s names.

When Fox had been a toddler, he and Wolffe had been put into animal onesies (Cody and his brothers also shared that misfortune with their cousins, but the less said about that the better), Wolffe into a wolf onesie and Fox into a fox onesie. Ever since Fox wanted to be called Fox, as he hated his proper name, the name being Frederick. If anyone ever called him Frederick when he was a small child he bit them, leading to his parents to tell their school when they started that it would be best if they didn’t call Fox Frederick for the safety of their own fingers.

Then when Echo had been four and in school, learning about words that began with the letter E, he heard the word Echo and wanted to call himself that, because he didn’t like being called Eli. Cody’s mum had tried to tell Echo his name was Eli, but Echo said Fox picked his name, so why couldn’t he? Cody’s mum tried her hardest to get Echo to forget about calling himself Echo, seeing as he was named after his mum’s father-in-law Elias and didn’t want to offend him. But Echo just started repeating everything everyone said, until the point their dad begged their mum to just let Echo call himself Echo. Fives didn’t want to be left out, and chose the nickname Fives, but he wasn’t involved in the arguments because he let their grandmother still call him Felix. Echo and Fox on the other hand, both refused to answer to their given names. And Obi-Wan had witnessed their grandmother once again getting annoyed when Echo and Fox didn’t answer her when she called them Eli and Frederick. That was also the visit where Obi-Wan learnt just who Echo and Fox inherited their stubbornness from. Grandpa Elias was not offended and found the whole thing hilarious and continued to congratulate Echo on his name every time he saw Echo. Cody was also convinced, his grandmother only continued the argument for the sake of it, he had seen her handwriting in birthday cards calling Echo and Fox by their chosen names. But she still wrote Eli and Frederick on family Christmas cards, again probably just for the drama.

But some uncles and aunts were not happy with Echo and Fox changing their names, albeit not legally, because other cousins began following their lead. Namely their four cousins who were all siblings (two sets of twins), Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech. The four of them changing their names and even happily calling themselves the Bad Batch at family gatherings much to the ire of their mother. Fives was blamed for their collective nickname, as Obi-Wan found out and thought it was hilarious. The Bad Batch had invited Echo to play with them when they were small, and Fives who had not been invited to play had been jealous and called them the Bad Batch, the four of them had loved it and adopted it as their group name.

Obi-Wan started to laugh quietly to himself as he put his laptop away in his bag. At Cody’s questioning look he smiled and said. “I’m just wondering who will be the first to say something to disrupt family dinner. Either you, your brothers or your cousins will say something. You have done ever since the first family dinner I was invited to when I was five.”

Cody smirked to himself and nodded, “honestly I’m expecting it to be Fox again. You know he deals with stress in the weirdest ways.”

“You mean like putting everyone else off their food?” teased Obi-Wan, his eyes glinting at the memory of the last dinner everyone had together.

Over the four-week long Christmas holiday, Cody’s parents had hosted numerous family dinners, wanting to spend as much time together as possible. As it was understood with Cody, Obi-Wan, Wolffe and Fox graduating university later that year, they may not get to come home as often anymore. Also, as Cody’s uncle and aunt lived next door to them and Obi-Wan lived five houses further down the road, it was very easy for Cody’s uncle and aunt, Wolffe, Fox, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon and Anakin to join their family for dinner. Which also meant, Cody and Obi-Wan had to suffer the embarrassment of watching Qui-Gon and Cody’s mum tearfully looking at photos of them growing up, mourning the loss of their ‘little ones’. While Cody’s aunt sipped on her glass of red wine and cackled at them, saying it was better to have both her kids leave the nest at once, as she didn’t have to go through kids moving out more than once.

Cody had also been horrified to learn there existed a photo of him in an animal onesie after all, and to make it worse, he was four in the photo. He was at school, but because his mum wanted a picture of all her boys in their animal onesies, he had been put into his old lion onesie (mane included on the hood) that was getting too small for him. But it had interested him to see it was a group photo of all of them sat on the living room floor. Obi-Wan was also in the photo, in a onesie that resembled the fictional varactyl creature he had been obsessed with when he was four. His unimpressed look matching Cody’s, in the photo both of them had their arms crossed as they glared at their parents off camera. Wolffe and Fox were also in the photo, but too busy pulling on each other’s hoods, Wolffe almost taking off one of Fox’s onesie’s ears. Rex, at three, was happily beaming at their mum in his elephant onesie that included a small trunk attached to the hood. Leaning against Rex on his left was Anakin, who at two, was too busy trying to eat his own foot as he sat in his dog onesie. On Rex’s right was the little twins, Echo beaming at the camera in his giraffe onesie as he lifted a hand up to squeeze the felt face of the giraffe attached to the hood and Fives, in a moose onesie (seriously where had his parents found these?), was busy trying to grab one of his felt antlers and eat it. Apparently, their parents had kept all of the onesies, what they planned to do with them Cody couldn’t guess.

But while the onesie group photo had been embarrassing, it hadn’t put anyone off their food. No, that came when Cody’s dad asked all of them how university was going. Everyone listened as one by one, all the boys explained what they had been doing. The adults patiently listened as Cody, Obi-Wan, Wolffe and Fox talked about their dissertations and skilfully manoeuvring the conversation so as to avoid third year meltdowns as the families had taken to calling their tearful, stressed rants. While Rex, Anakin, Fives and Echo stared at them in dawning horror as they realised what was in their immediate future. Fox had given Cody advice on where to find primary sources, as Fox was writing his ten-thousand-word dissertation on the Black Death and at this point, was basically an expert on where to find medical documents from varying time periods. Which was immensely helpful for Cody because his dissertation was on the treatment of shell shock in the First World War.

Dinner seemed to then settle, with all the boys commenting on funny or interesting things they had heard at university. When Fox piped up, “I was reading a chapter for my dissertation when the author commented that they buried people who had died of the Black Death by lying down a layer of bodies, then a layer of soil, another layer of bodies, more soil, more bodies and then the final layer of soil. It was interesting that the author used the analogy of the bodies been buried like how you make a lasagne.”

Everyone stopped, many of the people gathered around the table stared at Fox, with forks paused in the air. Fox, oblivious continued to eat his dinner with a smile on his face. Which was lasagne. Wolffe just shook his head and sighed in exasperation as he stopped eating his portion of lasagne and instead reached for a piece of garlic bread. Obi-Wan, taking interest in the analogy, was asking Fox if he had come across any other analogies like it. Rex, Echo and Fives dropped their forks and looked at their food in faint disgust. Qui-Gon and Anakin, who normally didn’t find anything disgusting, looked down at the lasagne on their plates in muted horror. Cody’s parents and uncle just sighed, with his uncle massaging his forehead in exasperation, while Cody’s aunt lifted her wine glass up and saluted Fox with it before taking a sip (Fox was a lot like his mother). Cody raised an eyebrow at his cousin, Fox smirked and then reached for the serving dish in the centre of the table. “Oh, no one else wants anymore? Guess I’ll finish the lasagne up then,” Fox stated with a mock innocent look on his face. Wolffe just sighed again and thumped his head down onto the table. Leaving Cody with the impression that Fox was hungry and saw how quickly the food was disappearing and decided to take matters into his own hands.

As Cody and Obi-Wan walked out of the library holding hands, Cody turned to Obi-Wan and smirked. “It is safe to say, lasagne will not be on the menu.”

Obi-Wan laughed loudly as they made their way into the cold air outside, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. Obi-Wan also admitted that neither his father nor Anakin, had been able to eat lasagne since that dinner. Anakin had seen lasagne being served for lunch at the university one day and had practically fled the cafeteria.

Together they walked to the bus stop that was less than a minute walk from the library and sat in contented silence as they travelled from campus on the short bus journey to their flat. Their shoulders knocked gently together as they swayed as the bus pulled in and out of bus stops. Their hands were still clasped together, and Obi-Wan was looking out of the window with a smile on his face as he watched people go about their day. Cody found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Obi-Wan’s face, watching as his eyes crinkled as he smiled at the sight of a giggling child play peekaboo with their younger sibling. The bright winter sun turned Obi-Wan’s copper hair into flames and it was a sight that always memorised Cody without fail. It was the sight that led to four-year-old him talking to Obi-Wan on their first day at school because he had never seen someone with the same-coloured hair as Obi-Wan before. Cody only realised they had reached the bus stop they needed when Obi-Wan pressed the button to alert the driver to stop. He reached down for his kit bag and swung it up onto his shoulder, they walked off the bus, thanked the driver and continued walking while holding hands. Obi-Wan began to talk about a book he had had to read for one of his modules and while Cody never heard of the book before, he enjoyed seeing how excited Obi-Wan was about it.

Once they got inside their flat, Obi-Wan put his bag, that contained his laptop and some books, on the floor by the door and went into the kitchen. Cody watched him for a moment, glad to see Obi-Wan was distracted making them both some lunch. Cody sat at their table and turned his laptop on and logged into the website where he was creating a photobook of photos of himself and Obi-Wan throughout their lives as a birthday present. There were hundreds of photos of them together over the years they had known each other, there were photos of primary, secondary and sixth form last days. Seeing how they had changed in those years was endearing and funny at the same time. Cody caught Obi-Wan looking over at him and Cody playfully tilted his laptop screen away from Obi-Wan’s view, not that his boyfriend could see it from where he was anyway. Obi-Wan smiled and then turned back to the sandwiches he was making. Obi-Wan knew he was getting his birthday present, just as Cody was aware Obi-Wan was also organising his birthday present, as Obi-Wan’s birthday was two days before Cody’s.

Cody checked through the photobook one last time and then seeing that everything was as he wanted it, he clicked order and waited for the confirmation email to arrive. Once it had, he closed his laptop down and smiled as Obi-Wan, at that moment, walked up to him and handed him a plate with his sandwich and an apple.

“I love you,” Cody said with a smile.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes fondly, “ah yes. You only love me for my sandwich making skills.”

“You caught me!” chuckled Cody as he held his hands up in defence. They shared a smile and then both began eating their sandwiches in earnest. They chatted about friends from home who had gone to other universities or who went into work, the friends they had made in Manchester, the antics of crazy younger brothers and they also talked about if they wanted to do a Masters degree in their subject and if they did, where should they go? As it wasn’t a question about if they would go together, even if Obi-Wan decided to do a Masters and Cody didn’t, he was still going to move to whichever city Obi-Wan chose to go to for his Masters. But Cody was also liking the idea of doing a history Masters himself. “We could go to London. Wolffe and Fox are both going to do a Masters, we could go to uni with them.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him in amusement. “I thought you loved living in Manchester.”

“I do,” agreed Cody. “But I also want some peace from my brothers.” He added with a faked whining tone.

His boyfriend chuckled and then said. “You could apply to University of Manchester. So, you can stay in the city, but be in a different university to your brothers.”

Cody rolled his eyes. “As if that would stop them just turning up on Uni of’s campus,” he grumbled under his breath. He didn’t even think moving to the moon would stop his brothers from turning up to inconvenience him.

Obi-Wan just chuckled to himself as he shook his head, having to admit that going to Uni of would not stop Rex, Fives and Echo from turning up to see Cody. Within three weeks of starting the academic year, they had already worked out what rooms Cody had his seminars in and at what time they finished, so they could stand outside and wait for him. Despite Cody never once showing them his timetable.

After lunch, Cody began looking through some books for information he could add to his dissertation, while Obi-Wan turned his laptop on to work on one of his assignments. At the sound of an exasperated sigh, Cody looked up with one raised eyebrow to find Obi-Wan glaring at his laptop screen. “Problem?” he prompted lightly.

His boyfriend rolled his eyes and stated, “I hate this. We have a dissertation and other essays we need to complete that count towards our final degree. But then we are asked to write a two-thousand-word essay on the skills we have learnt doing our English degree and how those skills can help us in the workplace. While also having to give examples of jobs that use and need those skills.” Obi-Wan growled in frustration, “it is so pointless, but we have to do it otherwise we can be penalised if we don’t. But it’s wasting our time, we have other more important things to do.”

Cody grimaced and then reached out to squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand. “I totally get your frustration. We have been asked to do the exact same thing.”

Obi-Wan just groaned and thunked his head on the table, “I hate this. This is stress I do not need.” Cody smiled to himself and with his free hand, he ran his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails.

When Obi-Wan had relaxed, Cody recalled the lecture when he had been told about the assignment and how the career’s department guest lecturer and one of his usual history lecturers asked for people to give examples of skills, they had learnt doing their degree. He must have laughed to himself, because Obi-Wan was turning his head, leaving his face resting against the table top, and gave him an unimpressed glare. “Are you laughing at my pain?”

“No,” soothed Cody, brushing the hair out of Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Just remembering what Bly said in our lecture about the skills we have learnt doing a history degree.”

“Care to share? It might help me out,” asked Obi-Wan.

Cody smirked, “we have learnt to deal with emotionally crippling pain.”

There was a pause, and then Obi-Wan was laughing, his shoulders shaking as he lifted his head up from the table and instead rested it against Cody’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s a good one. I wonder if I could get away with using it?” he mused.

“I have no idea. But like you, I am tempted to use it,” stated Cody, happy to see a bit of life back in Obi-Wan’s eyes. There was nothing more depressing that having to complete a pointless assignment when you had a hundred other things to do that actually mattered for your degree.

They made the collective decision to stop working for the rest of the day, they were both mentally tired and decided they could do with a break. So, they found a film to watch, which led to another film, which led to another, until it was time for them to eat dinner. After they had shared the cooking, eaten and then shared the washing up, they decided to have an early night. Seeing as they both had nine am lectures on campus and arranged to meet in the library afterwards before Cody’s meeting with his dissertation supervisor.

As they stretched out on their bed, Cody pulling Obi-Wan to half lay on top of him, their legs tangled together. Despite the early time of the evening, the warmth and the presence of each other led them both to become drowsy and their eyes flickered heavily.

“Good night Cody,” yawned Obi-Wan, his jaw cracking at the force of the yawn.

“G’night Obi. Love you,” Cody breathed out on a sigh, his eyes closing as he felt himself begin to drift.

“Love you Code,” mumbled Obi-Wan as he pressed his face into the crook of Cody’s neck. With his nose pressed into Obi-Wan’s hair, Cody pressed a kiss against Obi-Wan’s forehead and felt a kiss pressed against his neck in return. With a smile on his face, Cody drifted off into sleep, where university stress faded away until it captured his attention tomorrow, but for now, he was able to sleep peacefully with his boyfriend in his arms.

End note:

I would draw the photo of all the boys in their onesies, but alas I cannot draw so let the image live on in our imaginations.

Also I really enjoyed writing this AU, so if anyone wants to see more from it (including Rex, Fives, Echo, Wolffe, Fox and Anakin) let me know!

I went to Manchester Metropolitan University and as I loved it there so much, I chose to make it the setting for my AU for codywanweek. The road, buildings, halls and park are real places at the university and writing this fic has just made me want to go back there. I couldn’t come up with a degree for Cody so I just gave him my degree and dissertation focus (so yes there does exist a 10,000-word dissertation on the treatment of shell shock in WWI). At MMU we did call the University of Manchester Uni of, to differentiate between the two universities.

The Black Death lasagne analogy does actually exist in a historical book somewhere. I didn’t actually read it, but one of my flatmates in first year, who also did history, did. He was revising for one of our exams and he excitedly burst into the shared kitchen, saw me and geeked out over the funny analogy, we laughed about it, about how it was such a random analogy to use. (But after a few years I still remember it, so I guess it’s useful.) But then one of our other flatmates, who wasn’t studying history, turned around and complained at us, because she was in the process of making lasagne for her dinner. So, the reactions to Fox’s gleeful explanation of the analogy are based on truth. Our flatmate didn’t want to eat her dinner because of us. As I was writing this fic, the analogy popped back into my head and I felt it would be such a Fox thing to say.

Cody’s line of “we have learnt to deal with emotionally crippling pain” during a career’s lecture. Is something that I heard said in a career’s lecture I had to sit through in my second year. So again, something else in this fic that is based on truth.

#codywanweek2021 #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #star wars fic #day 2: AU #modern university au #commander fox #commander wolffe #captain rex #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #anakin skywalker

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