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literaila · 1 year

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the luckiest

part one.

summary: you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you.

warnings: past trauma, death, grief, self-conciousness, there’s a fire, and spider-man, fluff, angst, all that

a/n: so technically i lied because it’s 3 in the morning. but here you go. disreguard all of the bad parts until i have a chance to go throw and fix it tomorrow. love ya

the weekend after peter came over to your apartment, you were filled with the overwhelming realization that he was your friend.

that he wasn't going to put a label on it, and neither were you, but he still meant a lot more than you'd intended. more than you could've expected.

and he had your number now, so he was texting you.

he was asking you how long you'd be able to survive on the leftovers he'd forced you to keep. telling you that he could feel you falling out of bed from his house.

he was there, even when he wasn't.

and you loved it. you laughed at every message he sent you, felt your chest ache every time his name appeared at the top of your screen. when he asked you what you were doing for the rest of the weekend...

you wanted to respond seconds after every message. you wanted to eagerly joke with him, scold him for thinking so little of you.

you really wanted to be peter's friend.

but the past had a hold on your heart, and it tightened every time you felt any sort of admiration for him. any desire.

so you couldn't be. and you ignored his texts.

it wasn't often that you really thought about it.

you tried to keep the memories out of your mouth, the guilt out of your chest, and the words away from your head.

you tried so hard to just forget everything that had happened. everything that you'd done.

but the images flooded your mouth like water.

they took up any capacity to breathe, any sense of control you might have had.

and you knew, you knew that it wasn't fair for you to try and forget. that there were people--so many other families--that could never forget. that would live with your mistake, your happenstance for the rest of their lives.

and you tried not to think about it.

not to count the days since all of it had happened. not to track the years since it'd started.

but it was three years since you'd mistakenly walked into that building.

three years since you'd allowed yourself to sit comfortably within the public eye and not watch everyone else.

two years since you'd had a friend.

it was easy to push people away. when you were so angry at yourself that you couldn't stand to be talked to, that you had no more idea how to laugh, or want to care about the people you loved. when you started pushing people away, they let you.

and if they pulled at all, they'd come to learn that you were a lot stronger.

so, now, three years later and almost a year into your tragic decision-making, you hadn't wanted to think about how much you'd been craving.

intimacy, in any capacity. someone to laugh with besides yourself.

someone to look at and understand.

to watch the flicker of someone's eyes and be allowed to ask about it, to know what they were thinking about.

you hadn't had a real friend in three years.

there were your old neighbors that invited you to parties, brought you leftover desserts, and flowers when they'd heard what happened.

the girls that had offered themselves up willingly, just if you needed anything.

and then you moved.

in the last year, you'd spoken to hundreds of people. you'd thanked every person that held a door open for you, said excuse me every time you walked by someone just a bit too close. you laughed at strangers' jokes while waiting in line for lunch. you'd said happy birthday to your coworkers.

but you hadn't said a thing to any one of these people.

you hadn't reached out and stuck yourself to them, like some type of syrup, wanting to seep into their pores and discover the very being behind all of these words. you hadn't latched your claws onto anyone, hadn't wanted to.

but peter.

peter was just an accident. he was a man who hated you, and that was okay. but as soon as that shifted into something else--like tolerance--you'd crossed the line.

you probably should have quit as soon as jameson called the two of you partners. you should have left then, but selfishly, you liked this job too much and were too comfortable to even think about walking out the door.

just another mistake you'd wound up making.

and now you were stuck; because peter was something else. he wasn't just a partner, or an acquaintance at work, or a boy that made you laugh sometimes, and texted you about the people at work when you weren't around.

he was hard and strong, bitter and bold, but so incredibly soft.

and you wanted to push him. you wanted to poke and prod at him until you left bruises.

it was your own fault for letting this need, this sort of desperation build for so long.

you'd like to believe that peter is just a coincidence. that you couldn't control who you got along with, and it wasn't your fault that he was funny or intimidating, or incredibly beautiful. you couldn't control that.

and you tried not to think about it.

but like every other time, every other mistake you consistently made--it was your fault.

you knew that.

there was a day when you stayed late in the office.

overtime wasn't a thing at the bugle, but being reprimanded for turning something in late definitely was. and you'd been... slightly distracted the past couple of weeks.

so you're sitting in the dark--with only the flashlight on the phone to find a spare pencil--typing to yourself, and humming.

you'd moved from the cave, as wonderful as it was, to sit in a comfy chair that one of your coworkers had spent way too much money on.

but no one else was there, so you don't think they’re going to mind.

you're going over your own writing, trying to answer emails, and fix any mistakes you'd left behind all at once. you don't want to head home, with all of those people as collateral damage, so sitting here with your computer in your lap wasn't a bad way to spend the night.

it was almost calming. if the building sunk into the ground, you’d be the only one there:

but about forty-five minutes into this, the elevator chimed.

and you knew enough about this building--about the stabilizing structures, the pillars, and columns that kept the walls standing, the schedule of every person that worked here--to know that it wasn't just a janitor coming to clean. you’d studied the floor plan in many reckless hours, and gotten a copy of the building records. you could trust yourself on this.

and besides, jameson believed in taking responsibility for your own messes, which means avoiding the bathroom at all costs.

so, you look up, dimming the light on your computer. it was stupid of you to move from your desk into the open office space, but the back support was a little too good to pass up.

you bite your lip while you wait for someone to walk around the corner.

luckily, you're met with hanging limbs, a t-shirt and jeans, and completely messed up hair.

peter, with all of his casual walking and leaning against walls and coming into the office at six.

he doesn't seem to notice you there, even though you're right in his eye line. he's groaning to himself, bending down to stretch his back, and trying to fix a shoe that slipped off.

he was completely oblivious. but you sort of appreciated the moment you’re allowed to stare.

a moment to notice how disheveled your usually calm, usually controlled coworker was.

you squint at him, testing to see if you're just hallucinating.

but peter is moving around in the dark. he's grabbing something off of his desk--you hope--and being almost perfectly silent as he does it.

and then, as soon as he finally slips his shoe back on, he looks over to you.

"mother hubb--" he gasps while holding a hand to his heart. "why are you sitting in the dark!?"

you lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "why are you jumping around the office like a college student waking up at someone else's house?"

"first of all--"

you smirk at him.

"i don't like that comparison. second of all, i forgot something here, and i need it."

"what'd you forget?"

peter's face falls--or at least, that's what you think you see in the dark. and then he looks over to his desk, mouth opening, and closing as he reaches for something. "my--my water bottle."

you blink at him. "you needed to come back for your water bottle? it was that important?"

"it's an emotional support thing," peter shakes his head, frowning and scratching at his neck. "i don't need to explain this to you. what're you doing here?"

"working."

"it's 6:11."

"some of us have actual deadlines."

peter scoffs, grabbing his water bottle off of the desk, and walking over to you. "this isn't your chair."

"i'm borrowing it. this is good representation of teamwork."

peter sits down in a chair next to you, getting far too close for comfort. "what are you working on?"

he turns your computer towards himself, scrolling with his ring finger and thumb.

"it's just some mistakes i need to correct."

peter frowns. "this is the article for the bakery on 51st."

you nod.

"this isn't due for at least another week. jameson hasn't even asked me or any of the other photographers to get a cover image."

"well, i like to be on top of things, peter," you say, stealing your computer back. "i'm sure that's very unfamiliar to you."

"why are you here, kid? you don't need to be working on this."

and his words are soft and considerate, but all the same, they feel like ridicule. the judgment coming out of peter's eyes reminds you of a particular day from months ago.

"why are you here, peter?" you ask, frowning. "you could've gotten that tomorrow. you hate this place, why would you bother coming here when you don't have to?"

peter clears his throat, pushing his chair away from you, and tapping his feet against the floor.

you recognize this move now--now that you've known him for months and actually heard the thoughts coming from his head. he's stalling. or trying to come up with something to say.

doesn't matter. you just know that he's hiding something.

"it's not that bad. i just... needed to get out of the house, i guess. needed to get out of my head."

and even though you're almost sure he's lying, you nod. if anything, you can completely understand that. even his presence here, you know, is a bit nerve-wracking.

"so you came here?"

at that peter hits your foot with his. he's smiling that half-smile. "well you're here, aren't you?"

you almost have to close your eyes.

"you didn't know i would be here."

peter tilts his head. "maybe i was hoping."

and then he stands up, closing your computer for you. "c'mon," he whispers to you, breath just inches away from yours. "you can work on this tomorrow. i'll even help if you want."

you laugh at the idea.

but peter ignores it. "let's go get something to eat. if you're gonna work on anything tonight let it be your eating habits."

"i don't appreciate that," you tell him, but stand up anyway.

and when peter walks out, so do you.

monday morning, you wake up to your first alarm.

your eyes open and you stare at the ceiling, wondering when this had happened.

when you'd stolen your own control right out of desperate hands.

and you wait in bed, for an hour, as each alarm chimes; loud and broken. you stare at the ceiling and allowed yourself to feel bitter.

and then you got up out of bed and left the house thirty minutes early.

it was completely unnecessary to be at work before the sun could, but you couldn't sit at home and wait.

so you sit at your desk, watching the water leak from the ceiling.

you know that this isn't just a strange morning, and you hadn't just felt like getting to work early. what you really wanted--want--was to avoid peter. to not have to walk past his desk and whisper good morning to him.

you want to act as if you'd never done any of that in the first place.

but you can't make peter feel the same, and you don't want to.

so when he comes up to your desk around eleven, smiling and tapping on the back of your computer, you have to look up.

you meet amorous brown eyes, honeysuckle, and driftwood.

peter tilts his head at you, asking you a question without asking.

last week you would've been overjoyed.

but today, your eyes sting.

"peter," you say, "hey."

you watch his face twitch, and he almost frowns but seems to catch himself before he can.

"what are you working on?" he asks, coming to lean over you so he can stare at your computer.

and so he can make you feel even more claustrophobic than you already had.

"i'm covering for lindsay and finishing an article for her."

"does jameson know that?"

"yes, peter, i don't offer my talents for free," you say softly, trying not to feel his breath on your neck or his eyes on the side of your face.

he chuckles in your ear, almost inaudibly. "have you eaten lunch yet?"

you turn towards him--mostly to get away from his proximity and to force him to stand up--and shake your head. "no. no, i haven't had time."

peter's eyes are bright and foreign. "do you want to come with me to get some coffee at smooth brew? i didn't sleep great last night, and the mediocre company-supplied coffee isn't cutting it."

you take a deep breath in. you're looking at him because you can't look away. and you can see the circles under his eyes, the slight yellowing of his skin in certain spots. the scar he has under his chin.

you're trying not to frown.

peter is smiling at you. he's smiling that smile that you can't actually believe exists, that feels simultaneously wrong and right on his face.

the smile you've only seen him give you.

and then you sigh. "can i--" you stop, swallow, tell yourself that this isn't worth it. "can i take a rain check? i'm supposed to finish this by the end of the day, and jameson keeps nonchalantly walking by my desk."

"was he whistling?"

"twinkle twinkle little star."

peter's smile falls just enough for you to notice. "ouch, " he says, leaning back and walking around your desk. "that's okay, some other time."

"sorry," you add, like a squeak. and then you mentally berate yourself.

"don't worry about it," he whispers. then tilts his head, still observing you. "do you want me to bring you something back? a latte?"

his hand is out and reaching toward you, he's trying to climb his way back in.

but you'll be damned if you lose peter just out of desire.

"no, that's--" you smile at him, fake and wide. "thank you, peter, but no. i'm okay."

"okay, well..." he blows a breath out, taking a few steps back. "don't work too hard. and don't let jameson see your candy stash."

"never."

peter grins at you for just a moment, and then he walks away.

on tuesday, your chest hurts so bad that you can't take a deep breath.

your limbs laugh and laugh, and your head pounds to the rhythm of someone else's heartbeat.

you call in sick, deciding to give up.

on wednesday, when you wake up you have an email from jameson, notifying you that you'll be taking over an interview for cathy--who apparently, has hay fever--and going to the art museum.

he tells you not to bother to come into the office, and that he'll lighten the article load for the rest of the week so you can get everything done.

he's not asking.

so, you're interviewing with the director of the art museum about a new monet exhibit, and you're going to be accompanied by everyone's favorite photographer.

peter parker.

"hey, kid," peter says, as you fiddle with the visitor badge you're supposed to be wearing.

you don't typically handle giant, public places well.

"hi," you mutter, trying not to look around.

but the museum is huge. it's long and wide and there are so many walls, so many different pillars that could fall on you any moment.

you try not to let it show on your face, how nervous this is making you. you wonder if you could ask the lady at the front desk for a building layout.

wonder if jameson has teamed up with the world to ruin your life.

"you okay?" peter asks, nudging you with his arm.

"what?"

"where'd you go?" he says, amused.

"oh, i'm--just, i didn't get a lot of sleep last night. sorry."

peter laughs and begins to walk up some stairs--stairs. "don't apologize to me. you going to be okay during the interview?"

"yeah, cathy already had a list of questions prepared, so..."

peter shakes his head, looking back at you. "no, i meant, are you feeling alright?" he stops, studying your face and your eyes and every inch of your skin. he's practically burning you. "you were gone yesterday."

"i didn't feel very good. i'm better today."

"you sure?"

you nod, looking away from him, and then you step past him and begin walking up the stairs.

he can take pictures and you can take notes.

it doesn't have to be anything more.

peter waits for you to pack up so you can both walk out together. he's smiling when you look towards him, gesturing towards the hallway you might've come from.

you're hoping that he knows the way out of this maze because you definitely don't.

"how'd it go?" he asks you after you've been walking for a minute or two.

"oh, um, okay, i think. cathy's questions were a bit unorthodox--"

"'do you think monet would appreciate his art being displayed in your museum?'" peter mocks, recalling one of many slip-ups you'd made earlier.

"yeah," you snort. "so i had to improvise. but i don't think they'll be calling jameson about any problems."

"except for when you almost ripped that painting in two."

you scowl, not appreciating his reminder. "i tripped."

"into something that costs over a million dollars. probably more."

"it didn't break," you excuse, glaring at him and walking in front.

but peter catches up because his legs are abnormally long, and he's bumping into you every couple of steps, his hand brushing your arm, his shoulder grazing yours.

he's so close, but you couldn't feel any farther away.

and you know that you shouldn't, but you can't really stop yourself from asking, "get any good pics?"

peter raises a brow at you--which you are definitely not looking at. "nothing new, obviously, but some of them will work. i have to go and edit out all the people walking by."

"even the man with the parrot on his shoulder?"

peter stops walking, turning towards you. "wait. that was an actual person? not just another display?"

you laugh and peter smiles and everything feels fine.

and so ridiculously wrong.

you're quiet for a bit, trying not to think about the ceiling collapsing on you both, or the bridge you're walking on beginning to crack. you're keeping track of the nearest fire exits, and looking for rooms you could hide in if anything happens.

because it might.

you try to keep this indiscreet, only looking behind you every few minutes or so.

peter clears his throat. "do you want to go get something for lunch? there's a good diner just around the block."

you squeeze your eyes shut. this is another hand held out, another thing peter wants you to grab onto.

but there's that pounding in your ears, that heartbeat that you can't let fade.

and you'd like to explain to peter that he should keep his distance. that you can't do this with him, and that it's all of your fault. you want to apologize for letting it get this far.

instead, you say, "i have to go edit an article that i was supposed to be doing today."

"oh, okay." peter nods his head and doesn't say anything else.

you let him walk ahead of you, praying that nothing will happen as long as he gets out first.

and then you leave him behind.

that night, you finish editing the article that you and peter are supposed to work on that week.

you write descriptions and attach them to the file peter sent you with his pictures.

and then you email jameson, telling him that you can't make it to work for the rest of the week.

your hands are shaking and your apartment suddenly feels much too large for you to be in.

suddenly unsafe for every other person that lives here.

you close your computer and crawl under your covers.

and you try to sleep but you keep hearing them scream in your ear, blaming you.

your eyes are stuck in one place when you hear the knock on the door.

they are picturing a girl falling from a cliff, a boy riding his bike, a mother screaming, and a child crying.

you keep hearing someone whisper in your ear, someone begging for your help.

but all of this is interrupted when someone pounds on your front door, shaking the walls and causing you to really open your eyes.

you're thinking to yourself that they'll probably leave if you don't answer--that they'll walk away and you'll be alone again--but then you're thinking about falling down the stairs, about having no one to help.

and so you get out of bed, feeling yourself shake with the effort it takes.

you answer the door, uncertain of what you're expecting.

but it's definitely not brown eyes, not a frown that you've come to covet in more than just dreams.

you suck in a lazy breath, feeling your lungs freeze. "peter. what are you doing here?"

even you can hear how labored your voice is. how damaged and rotten it's become in its misuse.

peter is wincing, and you don't know what else you're supposed to say. maybe neither does he, because instead of answering your question or greeting you with a casual smile he's become more comfortable with, he just walks right past you.

into your apartment--the one place you're supposed to be safe.

even just being in the same room with you, breathing the same air, and seeing the same images feels dangerous.

peter is scanning the area. he's looking around like he can't stand to look at you.

but then he does. "what's going on?"

his voice is rough and his words are fast.

you can't let yourself meet his eyes. "what?" you whisper, looking back to the door.

you could just leave. you could walk out and keep him away forever.

"what is going on?" he repeats, but sternly. like a parent lecturing a child.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "peter, i don't..." you shake your head, eluding the idea of anything being wrong. there's nothing wrong except for the fact that he's in your apartment. staring at you.

seriously staring, because his brown eyes are burning a hole in your smile. they are ruining every ounce of control you still have. "what happened?"

these words are softer. a parent concerned.

you shake your head, brows furrowed. "nothing happened, i'm just--"

"what did i do?"

you swallow, confused and broken and terrified of his voice.

peter is in your apartment. he just won't let go.

"i've been--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i've been trying to remember. trying to think of what happened last week, or the week before, but i can't--"

he looks at you.

his eyes are haunted by something that you put there. a ghost that you've given him.

"i can't think of anything. we were--just, just fine. we were laughing and teasing each other and i thought that." peter stops, closing his eyes. he licks his lips and looks at the ceiling. "i don't know what i did. but whatever it is, i need you to tell me."

"peter..."

his face is concerned and his shoulders are tense as he looks at you. "i need you to tell me so i can fix it."

and all you can think about is whiplash as a car hits a sign. the feeling of snow covering your lungs. all you can see is a woman with tears running down her face, and a hand that can't move. a building that can't stay up.

you're not sure what to do. how to get him away from all of this before it goes too far.

you can't talk to him, and you can't be around him, and you can't keep looking at his lips like they're something you deserve--

"there's nothing to fix, peter," you whisper, repeating the words to yourself. "you didn't do anything."

i did.

"then why are you avoiding me?" peter says, shaking his head. "why aren't you coming to work?"

you look at the ground, thinking about it falling while you're both standing there. you scratch your neck, rub your eyes. "i'm not avoiding you. i just haven't been feeling well, and i, well, i'm not sure what's wrong. but it's probably contagious so--"

"then why haven't you called me back?" he whispers, but bitterly. "why didn't you come to smooth brew yesterday? why didn't you let me know that you were going to be gone?"

you sigh. "i forgot, peter, i'm sorry.”

"you didn't forget," he argues, and his breath matches yours. his sighs sound so familiar. "you're still avoiding me. you won't even look at me. so, just tell me what's going on. whatever it is--"

"there's nothing, peter, just..." you stop, staring at the ceiling in hopes that it might disappear. "just nothing."

you think about swallowing your lies until they suffocate you.

there's just so much.

peter is staring at you. he is waiting for something more.

"thank you for checking on me," you whisper, after a moment. "i appreciate it. but honestly, i just need some sleep, so you should probably go."

"are you serious?" peter asks, and it doesn't even sound mean. it doesn't sound like any voice you've ever heard from him. something desperate. "have you looked in the mirror at all? have you seen yourself?"

"of course, i've--"

"because you look like a ghost. you look like half a person. your eyes are glazed over, and i'm not sure that you're even listening to me. you look like a statue."

beautiful and wrong.

"peter, i don't know what you want from me."

he clenches his jaw. "i want you to talk to me, y/n. i want you to tell me what's going on, and stop pretending like i don't know you, or i don't care about what you're going through. you think it's easy to watch this? to know that something is going on but that you can't trust me enough to tell me?"

"i trust you."

"then tell me how to help," he pleads. "tell me what i can do."

"nothing, peter," you finally crack, eyes meeting his, heart clenching around something that has never been yours. "i can't do this. i can't--i can't, peter."

he's frowning. he's the same man you met nine months ago. "you can't what?"

"i can't do this. whatever this is, whatever we--" you gesture between the two of you with a hand that isn't yours. "i can't do it. i won't."

"you can't do us?" peter repeats, his voice almost stagnant.

the air has stopped moving, and it's your fault. it's all your fault that he's here, that he's looking at you like you've just stolen something important from him.

"i can't do this with you. i can't be your friend or anything else, and i can't have you here right now. i can't let you be here."

you can hear a little girl screaming. you can see a woman you don't know falling.

"why not?" peter asks, no fight left. "what can't you do?"

"i can't let you get hurt because of me."

peter's face goes blank. his eyes stop. "what?"

"peter, if something happened to you, if anything happened--" you stop, shaking your head. "i can't watch that. i can't be there."

he takes a step toward you, hand reaching out like it always does. "what do you mean?"

you take a step back. this dance is one you're familiar with. you trip over your own feet.

"remember what you said about me, that day at the coffee shop?"

peter blinks at you, shaking his head.

"you said that danger was attracted to me. that i was reckless," you swallow, looking at the door like it might call to you. "you're always saying that i'm reckless.

"what does that have to do--"

"you're right, peter. being around me is reckless. being around me is dangerous."

he's frowning. he waits a couple of seconds like the words might start to make sense. "no, it's not."

"really?" you laugh, throat raw and hurting. "how about you talk to any one of the people that i've killed, then? you might want to ask them if you're so sure."

peter stops.

"when i was five," you continue, walking towards him, "me and a girl from my neighborhood were playing tag. we were running around a glass table, and she slipped and cut her arm open, shattered her elbow."

you take a breath in, listening to the voice in your head begging you to keep going.

"and then when i was eight, a classmate got a concussion while we were sledding. i was in the front, but he hit his head.

"when i was ten a friend's parents were driving me home from a sleepover and we hit a sign. all of them--my friend, her mom, her dad--had to go to the hospital. her dad, who'd been driving, was in the icu for three weeks. but i was fine."

peter's mouth opens, but you stop him before he can interrupt.

"ithe older i got, the worse it was. my mom died when i was thirteen. she had appendicitis. she was so busy taking care of me, making sure that i was fine, that she ignored the stabbing pain in her abdomen. she thought it was just indigestion. her appendix burst on the way to the hospital."

you stop, looking around your apartment, at bare walls and ghosts of people that still follow you. "my dad died a couple of years ago in an oil rig accident. i'd gone to see him that day."

peter is staring at you. he is breathing. and he doesn't say anything, because maybe he doesn't need to. maybe he already understands what you're trying to say.

maybe he should run out the door right now.

"you called me clumsy. and i am, but i'm also incredibly unlucky. it rains when i go outside, the power goes out when i walk into the building. i get the worst desk in the office, with a leaky ceiling. i get sent the wrong email about a meeting and walk in late."

"none of that--"

"all of these things, peter, they're not coincidences. eventually, when so many bad things happen to the people you love and not you, you have to look for a common factor."

"and you think it's you," peter finishes. "you think it's your fault."

you shake your head, and there are tears in your eyes. "i know it is. because it's not just the people i know and care about. three years ago, i went to see a movie. and in the middle of it, i decided that i wanted to leave. that it wasn't good enough to stay for. it was april, one of the days that electro attacked the city. i left the building right before he could do anything. i was standing there while everyone still in that movie got electrocuted."

you can't look at peter, but you can feel him there. you can feel his presence like a knife in your back.

"i need you to go, peter. because whatever sort of bad fortune i am, i won't let it happen to you too."

peter makes a noise. "it's not your fault that any of that happened," he says, "you couldn't control any of that--"

"exactly. i can't control it. that's why i stay away from everyone in the office, why i show up late, and why i've been staying away from you. if i'm around, and something bad happens..."

peter is right in front of you, he is taking your hand, leaning down, and cradling your cheek. "nothing bad is going to happen," he promises. "i would rather have you and the risk of breaking a few bones than not have you at all. anything else."

but just like you can't trust yourself, you can't trust peter to understand.

so you push him away, feeling barren and cold inside. the voice in your head is gone. the images have faded away. "i'm not going to let you do that. i won't."

"i'm stronger than you think--"

"peter, i appreciate you caring so much. and listening. and just... being here. but i couldn't mean it anymore when i say that i need you to go."

you meet his eyes, poison trickling down your face. "please."

and then you walk away, back to your cave, and leave peter standing in your apartment, all alone.

it's for the best.

you have to go to work on monday.

if there's one thing you want, it's this job that you like. that you're good that. that you can do without worrying about it.

and you can't lose another thing right now.

you can't.

so you go to work on monday, wearing clothes that scratch your skin, watching people with a bitter feeling in your chest.

any one of them, you think, all of them get to make friends and be around boys they like and...

all of them.

but you sigh anyway, go back to your desk, and sit there. you don't think about peter.

you don't deserve that.

"oh thank god," is the first thing you hear when you walk into the breakroom.

you've been staring at your feet all the way here. you've been trying not to look at peter's desk. trying not to find his eyes and accidentally smile like you would’ve last week.

the floor needs to be vacuumed.

but now you look up, frown on your face. there are three women there, all older than you, all mostly nice.

beth, jade, and rita.

and they're all staring at you.

you clear your throat. "sorry?"

one of them laughs. jade. "we were just talking about you and that young man. we're just glad you're back, finally."

"oh. thank you?"

"honey, he's intolerable as it is, but when you're gone he's a nightmare."

you frown, blinking at all of them. but the other two are nodding. "peter?"

"who else? on friday he almost broke the fridge trying to get his lunch."

beth chimes in. "on thursday he kept slamming the drawers at his desk. i could feel it from my desk. all day, just opening and closing. i genuinely thought he was going insane."

"yeah, he was at the copier while i was picking up a fax from an office downtown, and gave me the nastiest glare i've ever seen. and i don't even think he noticed that he was doing it."

jade laughs again, looking back to you. "that boy is polite enough, but we all know to avoid him whenever he's around."

you swallow, stumbling over some words. "that--that doesn't sound like peter."

all three of them laugh, creating their own chorus.

"well, of course, you would say that."

"yeah, he adores you!"

"you're the only person i've ever seen him smile at."

you take a step back, suddenly not hungry, suddenly not wanting to be at work at all. "what?"

and then they laugh again.

you're rushing out of the building at one.

jameson called you into his office--and by that, of course, he emailed you to come in. and then he asked you why the hell you were still there, and not at the exploration building, interviewing the president of the experimental medicine about the new nerve generator.

which, obviously, you didn't know about.

but jameson says peter is waiting, and you're out the door.

you're walking to the building, only a couple blocks away from the office, and thinking about how you're not supposed to be doing this.

you can't believe that you're covering for another coworker.

but you go anyway because you don't want to leave peter hanging. because you can't not go.

and when you walk into the building, you can see him there, waiting with his camera in hand, tapping his foot anxiously.

his backpack looks out of place between all of the briefcases.

he sees you too, but he doesn't wave.

"hey," you say, walking up to him. your voice is an out-of-body experience. "sorry i'm late."

"we're supposed to be on floor fifteen in two minutes."

and then peter walks away, leaving you to stand there, watching him go.

you and peter aren't making eye contact.

you're standing right across from each other, listening to this very smart, very nice man explain to you how all of the testing works in the building, and something about dna that you don't understand. but you're looking at peter.

and you're not really listening. your hand is writing down his words, but your mind is on brown eyes and flickering glances.

this isn't fair, you're thinking. there's a sting in your stomach, the punishment of double standards.

"wanna see the lab?" dr. hazzen asks, and you smile and nod.

peter is taking pictures of the wall.

you follow this man and your instincts, and you're standing right next to him. you can feel his body warmth, you can feel his aggravation from two inches away.

peter smells sweet. like some sort of candle you'd light in your house to get rid of everything else.

he's not smiling today. you're not missing it.

it's only a couple of minutes later when he finally looks at you, his eyes wide, his hands immediately falling inches above your waist.

the fire alarm has gone off. the sprinklers in the building are drenching you, and making peter's hands feel like an itch you can't scratch.

"what?" you look up, then down, then towards the door. "dr. hazzen, is that normal?"

"i'm sorry to both of you," he answers, looking towards the door. "my assistant will show you the way to the emergency exit. i have some things i need to attend to."

and then he's gone and this woman is ushering both of you out of the room, apologizing for the inconvenience.

you'd like to tell her that her mascara is running from the water. you'd like to ask her how to get the hell out of here before--

"you okay?" peter whispers in your ear, his hand keeping you next to him, covering your shoulder.

"do you think it's this floor?"

peter's face is still. "probably not. i didn't see any chemical testing in the lab."

"could someone have set a fire?"

"i don't know." peter looks around, at the people crowding around the door to the staircase, to the concerned look on dozens of faces.

but you're looking at him.

"peter?"

"i have to--" he looks at you, letting you go. "i left something in that room. i have to go get it."

"what?"

"i'll be right behind you," he promises, and then he's walking through the crowd, ignoring your calls after him.

"peter! c'mon, we can't stay here!"

but even you can't hear your voice amongst the others. against the siren that's flashing in your eyes, blaring in your ears.

and within ten seconds, peter has disappeared from your sight.

you try to push through the crowd, crawl your way back to him, but you can't get through all of the people giving you glares, all of them forcing you along.

and you know it then.

it's all happening again.

you manage to push yourself so close to the wall that you can't breathe.

you've managed to make every single person in this building angry at you, but you'll be damned if you make it out of this--like you always do--and peter doesn't.

you're not going to let him stay behind while you go down, escaping with everyone else.

and you can't believe that he was stupid enough to turn back around.

but now you're doing the same, walking back up the stairs and calling his name.

you're thanking dr. hazzen for not being on the thirtieth floor.

by the time you make it back up, you're out of breath and shaking from the water. but you don't hesitate to burst through the doors of the lab, searching for anything that looks like an idiot of a man.

brown hair, brown eyes, and an absolutely brilliant smile.

an attitude, and a sincerity you can't believe you've been allowed to feel.

"peter?" you call out, walking through another door. looking for a backpack, a water bottle, a camera on the ground.

but you don't see anything.

and you don't know where else he would've gone, why he would have gone anywhere but here, in this room, where he'd recklessly run back to.

"peter?" you say again, pushing a door that refuses to open, looking at the floor for any spare keys around. for any single thing to help you find peter parker.

you push even harder, muscles aching.

and then the door opens all on its own, and you're slipping, bumping into the chest of the person who's opened it.

you're being blinded by bright colors you've never seen in person before.

a strange voice says "what are you doing up here?" there’s a sigh, a groan, or something else. “don’t you know that you’re supposed to follow the crowd of people running out of the building panicked?” but you're barely listening

"spider-man?" you say, muffled and shaking, pushing your hair out of your eyes so you can look at him properly.

but even this surreal moment--where you meet the guy that's supposed to be saving everyone in this building--does nothing to deter you from getting back to peter.

"i have to--" you gasp out, pushing behind him. "my friend is still up here. he came looking for something. i have to find him."

"whoa," spider-man pushes you back, needing nothing more than a hand to do so, he grips around your arm so you can't squirm away. "there's no one back there, i already checked."

you shake your head. "i don't know where else he would be. he promised he'd be right behind me."

spider-man seems to be looking right at you. he seems to be grumbling to himself. "we have to get you out of here," he says, looking around for a door he can push you through.

"i'm not leaving without peter."

you're staring at him with a glare in your eyes, with a finality in your voice. spider-man could glue you to the ceiling and you'd still find a way to get out, to find the one person you care about in this entire place.

"i'll look for him, i promise," spider-man is saying, voice muffled in your ear. "but you've got to leave the building, sweetheart."

"not until he does."

the superhero sighs, putting an arm around your waist so he can push you out of the doorway. "let's go--"

but you don't hear the rest of the sentence. you don't hear anything more.

you can only feel a ringing in your ears. a sort of silence that stops everything, leaving the world to be nothing a mere figment of your imagination.

you can only see spider-man as he leaps towards you.

and when your head falls back, your eyes close in succession.

you wake up to banging in your kitchen.

you're laying on your couch, shoes off, head carefully rested on a throw pillow.

and your neck hurts. your body aches, like you've forgotten just how much physical strain you've been putting on it.

you wonder if it was all just a dream. if you imagined seeing peter again if you imagined meeting spider-man.

or maybe you died, and this is the only home you have left to return to.

either way, you're not sure what that sound is.

but something falls on the floor, followed by an angry noise, and then you hear the faucet running.

there is someone else in your house. and you have absolutely no idea who it is.

if this isn't a dream, then you shouldn't be at home right now. you shouldn't even be alive after what happened in that building. you shouldn't be thinking of anything else but--

"peter," you say, just remembering, just realizing what the whole point of all of this was.

you don't know if you ever found him. you have no idea if he's alright.

so you're sitting up, looking around your apartment, and moving to follow the sound of whoever's in the kitchen.

but a hand stops you, cautious, keeping you from running into the counter. "you shouldn't be standing up," a voice says, and then gently--or maybe not--leads you back to the couch.

you're not sure that you can believe what you're seeing.

spider-man, in your apartment, absolutely drenched, holding a bowl and a cloth.

spider-man, standing right in front of you.

"i'm dead."

you hear a sharp intake of breath. spider-man makes you lay back down, setting his bowl and cloth down on the coffee table beside your couch.

he leans down, and he must be looking into your eyes.

"you're okay," he says. "not dead. you're going to be fine."

"how did i get here?" you ask him, not bothering to process anything he said. "why are you here? what happened? did peter--"

"slow down. you just woke up." his voice is soft and chiding, and he hands you a glass of water, tipping it toward your mouth so that you'll drink some of it. "good. now, let me make sure you're--"

it's then that you almost fall off of the couch, vision blurred, equilibrium completely removed.

"jeez," spider-man is saying, keeping your shoulder up, making you lean back. "could you be any more out of it?"

"probably. where's peter?"

he sighs, taking the towel he brought over and dipping it in the water. "lay back," he tells you.

"this is crazy," you say, instead of listening. "i don't even know who you are."

"really?" the man asks, voice somewhat amused. "because you had a little starstruck moment back at the lab."

you blink. "that actually happened?"

the man chuckles instead of answering, and he wipes your face with the cloth. you can hear him breathing in and out, you can feel your own heart rate rise.

spider-man freezes, tilting his head toward you. "what?"

"did--" you pause, the answer already coming to your lips. you already know, but you have to ask anyway. "is everyone okay? is--"

is peter alright?

he stares at you for a moment, thumb rubbing over the skin of your neck, drawing circles over your pulse.

and then his warmth is gone, and spider-man is leaning back on his heels, raising a hand up to his face, pulling at--

oh.

as soon as the mask moves above his nose you already know what you're about to find. you already know what's happened.

you don't need an answer, or a superhero, or a goddamned article to tell you what happened.

you're looking at this man, at this--brown eyes and full lips and a tight expression on a sinisterly structured face.

a bruise on his cheek.

you reach out to graze your finger over it.

and you can't think of anything to say.

peter swallows. "i was going to leave before you woke up." his voice is raw, and you can't believe you hadn't recognized it fifteen seconds ago. "but i--i just wanted to make sure that you were alright. that you would..."

there's a moment. a silence so loud it bursts your eardrums.

"you hit your head pretty hard. i'm not sure what caused both of us to--anyway, i was worried that you got a concussion. or something else. but i wasn't, uh, i couldn't bring you down to an ambulance without carrying you through the crowd. so i just came here."

your mouth opens. "peter?"

his eyes close, and you finally notice how tired he looks. how worn his skin is under the mask.

peter parker is sitting right in front of you, in your apartment.

peter parker is spider-man.

"i don't expect you to..." peter laughs. "well, any reaction really. i know we've talked about, um, me, before, but this is--it's just different. and i don't have to stay for much longer, i just want you to drink some more water and stay awake for longer than ten minutes."

"i've woken up before?" you ask.

peter's lip twitches and that's answer enough.

"...how?" you whisper, looking up and down his face, watching his eyes follow your every movement. "why?"

peter breathes in, standing up and lifting your legs from the couch so that he can sit next to you. "it's a long story. probably one you shouldn't hear with a concussion."

"my head feels fine. i'm just confused."

peter nods, and he's not looking at you anymore.

but you can't look away from him. you can't help but notice the similarities between his suit and his face, the mask he's left on the floor, and the voice that you've heard on video so many times, the laughter in your ear, and--

you never even realized. it seems ridiculous now.

you clear your throat. "i'm sorry for following you. i didn't know--" you rub a hand over your eyes. "i didn't realize it would cause you more trouble."

and peter smiles. it's that same one he gave you when he apologized the first time. the same sort of olive branch you refused to see.

"it's okay," he says. "i would've come back for you, too."

the two of you sit for a while. peter doesn't speak, and neither do you.

instead, you listen to the way he breathes. you watch his face as he thinks, noting the little wrinkle between his brows, and the slight twitch of his lips every couple of seconds.

you've seen his dimples before, but somehow, you've never had the chance to look at them.

you feel ridiculous. you feel absolutely stupid for ever following him up there, for not realizing weeks ago, for letting yourself get so close to him that--

the guilt swirls in your chest. you shouldn't have gone to that interview. you shouldn't have gone to work at all.

"hey," peter interrupts your train of thought, tapping on your calf. "don't worry about it. everything is fine. no one was hurt, and the police are already dealing with the damages to the building."

you bite your lip.

peter blinks at you, moving a little closer so he can properly observe your eyes. "it's not your fault," he tells you, slowly.

the words are like a hammer pounding on the nails in your chest.

"i know you think this is just another example of you radiating danger--" peter says the words like they're ridiculous, like they're just some idea from a story a kid has written. "but it's not. it was an accident. and everything is fine."

"you can't know that--"

"i can," his voice is a bit louder than yours. "because i know you. and i know that bad things happen, and sometimes it's no one's fault."

you swallow and look away from him. from the eyes that are trying to convince you. plead with you. "peter, i don't think--"

"are you feeling alright?"

your brows furrow. "what?"

"are you feeling alright? because i want to talk to you, i want to explain some things to you, but i need to be sure that you're going to hear it. that you can listen."

you look back to him, confused.

"do you feel okay? is your head hurting?"

"i--no. no, it's fine, i told you."

peter nods, and he runs a finger over the exposed skin of your leg. "okay. are you ready to listen?"

you're not. you're not really ready for anything.

but you'd give anything to listen to peter's voice for just a little bit longer.

"yes, yeah. i'm listening."

peter almost smiles.

"i want to give you an explanation," he begins. "a real reason for why i was so... mean to you, before. and it's just an excuse, really, but i think--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i think you should know."

you nod. peter can't meet your eyes.

"i was terrified of you," he says, "for a long time."

"what?"

his nose scrunches. "you're undeniably beautiful. and intimidating. and something about the way you moved around all of the people in the office, just observing, not needing to join in on any conversation to understand what was happening... i don't know; there's just something about the way you react to things."

you frown, not sure what he's meaning to say.

"yeah, like that. i tried to ignore it for a long time. to push away that pull i felt towards you. but as soon as jameson paired us up, and as soon as you started actually smiling at me, telling me jokes that weren't funny--"

"hey--"

"--but were awkward, and overbearing, and reckless... well. i couldn't just ice you out anymore, not like i did with everyone else. and i was so scared of that--of you--that i took it out on you."

his voice is soothing, and his fingers are still grazing over your skin. and you're partially sure that you've gone insane.

"peter, you've already apologized for that. it's okay. i'm not mad."

peter laughs, a bit stiffly. "that's not all," he whispers, swallowing.

you nod, waiting for him.

you don't know what you're supposed to be doing.

"i know you believe that all of the terrible things that have happened to you are your fault." he meets your eyes, pursing his lips. "and i know that you think that bad things happen when you're around."

there's a second. one moment where your thoughts are echoed against the wall, and you know that peter can hear them all.

"but i've seen more of those bad things than you can imagine. and i know--i know that there's no reason to any of them. there's no reason for people to do bad things, or hurt other people. but they do them.

"and there's no reason for the world to put so much pressure on someone so kind, and so selfless, and listens wholeheartedly to every person she meets."

peter is leaning towards you. he is breathing your air, sharing your secrets. "i've never met someone i love to talk to more. i've never met anyone that i love so easily."

you stop breathing. there is not a single thing, a single pin-prick of your lungs that might get your heart to stop beating again.

"you're not going to change your mind about all of this just because i disagree with you, i know," peter is laughing, he's laughing at you and with you and. "but i'm not afraid of getting hurt. i'm not scared to be close to you. not anymore."

"peter, you don't--"

he leans closer. he says more with his eyes than you have heard from him in the last three months. "i believe that the world is a terrifying place. and i've gotten bitter about it over the past couple of years. i couldn't--i can't understand how great people can be treated so badly, and cruel people can have everything they want. i don't know why, and i don't want to. but you are a person that i know i can trust, without even knowing you. you're someone that i can laugh with, and someone that has turned the world back into something i can believe in."

peter pauses, you pause. and everything stops. "i believe in you," he says, "even if you don't believe in yourself."

his eyes are unbelievable. his voice is overwhelming, and you don't know how, you're not sure how any of the things he's saying can tune out the cruel words you can hear yourself whisper.

but he does. easily.

and this smile that he has on his face, it's one that you've been craving for weeks. one that you've so desperately tried to hold onto, even when you were pushing him away.

"you believe in me?" you repeat, voice breaking.

peter's smile widens. "i do," he says. and he's an inch away. "sweetheart?" he asks.

and you nod.

"can i kiss you?"

peter is close enough that his words are attacking you. his words are terrifying.

but looking at him, listening to him, and feeling the way he's staring at you.

you know that peter has more than enough courage for both of you. you know that he's strong enough to take whatever you can't control.

when you lean in, lips meeting his, you feel luckier than every other person.

peter is there. he is smiling against you.

you're awake, finally.

i’m thinking one more, very shorter, part. maybe peter pov?

let me know what you thought of it! thanks for reading.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @petersirius

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year

Text

TO LOVE IS TO BE LOVED (TOUYA x READER)

part 6 of the series: to love is to…

"And what kind of madness is it, anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally unable of loving you back?

Are you sure—one would like to ask—that it cannot love you back?”

- Bluets, Maggie Nelson

“We can’t keep doing this.”

The words are not new—to you or from him. Tonight, they cut through the silence that rocks you to sleep in the midnights of your bedroom.

Your phone read a blurry 2:41 AM when the familiar rhythmic knock on your window pulled you from your slumber. Touya crawled through the half-open sill with ease. No words were exchanged when he tracked his clunky boots across your home. Dirty and soiled with mud and guilt alike.

The routine had unfolded as it usually does, seamlessly and like the back of your hand. Touya throws his shoes clumsily by your door and sits wordlessly as you pick and prod at the newer burns and cuts decorating his face. He doesn’t say anything when you reheat your dinner leftovers and put them on a plate in front of him. And you don't say anything when he goes to shower and you hear him emptying his stomach into the toilet.

It's normal, it's your normal, and while it isn't ideal, it's him. You don't care how it is, you just care that it is.

And now in bed, Touya utters ther recognizable words as he fights off sleep in a guilty haze.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

After a moment of his words lingering in the open air, he feels your voice vibrate his side, “M’not having this conversation again. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t keep doing this to you,” he persists, voice devoid of any emotion though you know he feels anything but barren.

With a sigh, your head is lifted from his side and finds its home resting on top of his torso. Your ear pressed against his stomach, you can hear his insides digesting what’s left inside of him. It's a bittersweet reminder that he’s alive; tangible and real according to all of your senses.

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you gently remind him.

“I’m ruining you,” he repeats the script he always finds himself reciting, “by letting you love me.”

When I know I’m gonna leave, he wants to scream. When I know I'm dying.

“Touya,” you breathe, and he winces. The name is new, to your lips and to his ears. “You don’t know anything,” your words seem to answer his thoughts.

“I know you probably deserve someone normal,” he spits out the word like it's venomous on his tongue. “Some bitch of a businessman with a 401k who can hold down the hot meal you make em’ without throwing it up.”

His eyes aren’t on you, but instead focus on the speckled drywall of your ceiling. He exhales and you watch the grey smoke slip from his mouth like a ghost, the cigarette in his hand held far away from you as he clicks the ash against your bed frame.

“Deserve someone who doesn't show up at your window in the middle of the night all bloody and filthy. Someone who can at least pay you fuckin’ rent if they cant give you a place of their own.”

You hate the way he thinks about things. How he views this, the love for him you refuse to tuck beneath your pillow, as an exchange of goods or a favor you decide to spare him.

You pluck the cigarette from his hand and press it against the edge of your window. Touya doesn't resist, but his eyes flicker to where the end of the stick glows red between your fingertips.

“You’re always talking about what I deserve,” you note. “Have you ever wondered what I want?”

He pauses in thought.

“Don’t know why you’d want anything fuckin’ less than that when you—”

“I want,” you interrupt, “to love you, how I am right now.”

Your hand finds his cheek and gently turns it to face you.

“I want to hear you come in through the window on rainy nights and track your ugly boots through the hallway. And I want to clean up the mess the next morning. And I want to cook for you and watch you eat it because even though it’s short-lived, it still fills your stomach.”

Touya feels the building of tears that can never come beneath his lashes as he watched your eyes scan his face with adoration.

“Because it’s you, and it feels like you. And if this is how I’m able to get you, then I’ll take it ten times over.”

A kiss is placed on his lips; it tastes of ash and mint and love, and though he should know what the latter tastes like, he overwhelmingly does.

“Because I want to,” you whisper with a smile, one that Touya can barely see through the dark but ignites him like the sun all the same.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird,” he whispers into your mouth.

If anything, your smile grows. “Thank you.”

Your head is returned to his chest with ease and he can’t help but scoff at the situation at hand. His hand finds refuge in your hair and its the softest thing he’s ever known.

“There’s somethin’ seriously wrong with you.”

“Don’t care,” you retaliate with ease. He feels a kiss on the scarring of his chest before you speak up once more.

“So just shut up,” kiss, “let me love you,’ kiss, “and go the fuck to sleep.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

The lack of light in the room doesn't seem as intimidating as it was a few moments ago. If anything, it feels comforting. Like a blanket that can shield his childish blush and contrary scowl.

“And if you hate the window so much,” your hushed voice is the last thing Touya hears that night, “just use the spare key next time.”

#to love is to...#touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi x reader #touya fic #dabi fic #touya x you #dabi x you #touya angst #dabi angst #touya fluff #dabi fluff #bnha x reader

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avengersfantasies · 9 months

Note

hii!!!! can I send a request? if so can I request a Bucky Barnes x reader fic? maybe where reader and Bucky live together but reader has some eating issues that they haven't told Bucky about and he finds out one day. like maybe a hurt/comfort? If not that's totally fine im just in recovery right now and just needing some comfort rn ty!! <33

Summary: After eating dinner one night, your roommate, Bucky Barnes, discovers what you have been keeping to yourself.

What to expect: eating disorder (bulimia), fluff

taglist: @pattiemac1 @justsebstan @winterslove1917 @crist1216 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @kandis-mom @vonalyn @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @gojoismysensei @itsafamilyshow @casa-boiardi

Join a taglist here

Submit a request here

You walked in from your date – the smell of your roommate’s cooking immediately hitting your nose. It smelled amazing. Everything Bucky cooked was phenomenal.

“Welcome home!” the soldier called out from the kitchen. You flashed him a quick smile as you walked in and sat down at the bar. “How was the date?”

You sighed. “It was…okay, I guess,” you answered.

Bucky nodded and tasted the sauce he was finishing up making. “You hungry?”

“I’m good,” you exhaled. “Had a lot to eat at the movie.”

He looked at you suspiciously. “What all is there to even eat at a movie?”

You chuckled and shook your head – walking off to your room without responding. You knew full-well that you hadn’t actually eaten anything at the movie except for a few bites of popcorn. You got into your bedroom and started to change into some comfortable clothing, and the familiar sound and feeling of your stomach growling echoed loudly. You ignored it – continuing to change into your sweats and get comfortable in bed. You lay in bed scrolling on your phone and laughing at videos posted by some comedians you followed. After a handful of minutes, however, it became too much. Annoyed, you got out of bed and headed to the kitchen where Bucky was cleaning up and putting away leftovers. Without a word, you opened up one of the cabinets and grabbed a plate – stacking it with food and putting it into the microwave.

“Thought you weren’t hungry,” Bucky reminded you.

You shrugged. “Yeah, well…smelled too good.”

You gave him a soft smile as you went to the other side of the bar to sit and begin eating your meal. It was delicious, that much you had to admit. If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that Bucky knew how to cook a homestyle meal.

“It’s really good,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you…it’s one of my mom’s recipes.”

Hearing those words and knowing what you were going to do once you finished eating caused a wave of guilt to crash over you – causing you to look down and eat smaller bites. His mother…the woman that he no doubt loved more than anything in the world, the one he had lost when he was a young boy had created the recipe for the food you were eating, and you knew that as soon as you finished, you’d be throwing it up. Were you insulting her? Him? If he knew what you did after every meal, would he be angry with you? How many other times had you thrown up food that came from his mother? In the end, it didn’t matter. You weren’t strong enough for these thoughts to stop you from doing what you’d been doing for years.

“Thank you, Buck,” you smiled – putting your now-empty plate in the dishwasher and heading to your room. “Goodnight!”

“Night!” His voice was happy, and he felt accomplished having made one of his mother’s beloved recipes and having it turn out good.

You locked yourself in your room before bolting to the en suite and locking that door as well. Almost on instinct, you threw your body to the toilet – forcing yourself to throw up everything you had just eaten. You always sobbed quietly as you regurgitated your meals, but this time was different. This time, you sobbed loudly – not caring if anyone heard you. The food kept coming, and each morsel that left your body caused more guilt.

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door. “Are you okay?” You didn’t answer, too upset to respond to him. At this point, you didn’t care if he found out what you were doing…if anything, a part of you wanted him to find you. Some part of you needed him to. Hearing more of your sobbing and puking, Bucky easily broke the lock on the bedroom door and entered – making his way to the bathroom and breaking that lock as well. “Hey, hey, hey,” he spoke softly – kneeling down next to you and rubbing your back. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you sobbed – looking over at him with tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Sorry? What’re you sorry for?” he asked frantically – desperately wanting to figure out what was happening. “Did something make you sick?”

You let out another sob. “I’ve been sick, Bucky.” His eyes searched yours for some sort of explanation, but the more you sobbed and gasped, the more he understood. Soon, the realization set in.

He pulled you close to him – wrapping his arms tightly around you. “How long?”

“Since high school,” you cried out.

He kissed the top of your head – resting his cheek on the same spot. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” A tear escaped his beautiful blue eyes and landed in your hair. “I should’ve realized.” The feeling of being wrapped in his arms brought you a sense of calm – a feeling that everything would be alright. He wasn’t angry that you had just thrown up the food that he had worked hard on making. In that moment, all he cared about what you. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You shook your head. “No…please.” Bucky stood up and grabbed a wet washcloth and got your toothbrush together – helping you get up from the floor and clean up. He flushed the toilet while you brushed your teeth, and once you were done, he carried you to your bed. “Please stay…” Your voice was hoarse and weak as you practically begged the soldier to stay with you. “I can’t be alone.” Bucky nodded and lay next to you – pulling you close to him and rubbing your bath with his metal hand. The coolness of his arm soothed you enough and helped you catch your breath. “Please help me.”

“I’ll do anything you need me to do,” he promised – placing a gentle kiss on your head and holding you as you fell asleep from exhaustion in his arms.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sergeant james barnes #sergeant james buchanan barnes #send requests #requests open #taking requests

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idontknowreallywhy · 7 months

Text

A particularly lovely chord progression somehow ended up with me driving a wedge between Earth and Sky and I promised I’d try to fix it.

Super long car journey today presented an opportunity but events got away from me and I accidentally made it worse. Oops… um… I’m sorry? Apologies to @ajpendragon @alexthefly @astranite @janetm74 @sofasurf and anyone else who asked for a fix and will remain disappointed for now…

Piano Angst - the aftermath

It had been nearly a week and Scott felt like he was missing a limb.

Virgil was definitely avoiding him.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen each other - they’d worked together perfectly normally on several rescues. They’d both joined in the usual banter over mealtimes. There had even been a family film night - albeit, instead of joining Scott on their usual couch, Virgil had squeezed in with the Tinies and spent the evening competing with Gordon as to who could wind up Alan the most about his movie choice.

But they’d not been alone in the same room. At least, not for more than the few seconds it took for Virgil to make some excuse and leave it.

He’d even apparently conscripted Gordon into constantly keeping him company whilst he did maintenance on Two. Despite all Scott’s loitering around the hangar, the Fish never seemed to get the hint to make himself scarce. Except that one time when Scott had hinted at the availability of leftover pizza in the kitchen but then Virgil had raced off hot on Gordon’s heels. Which would not have been of any note whatsoever if it hadn’t been for that momentary flash of panic Scott was sure had crossed Virgil’s face as Gordon jumped to his feet.

It wasn’t just the lost chance to really TALK to his brother either. There was a physical distance too which was almost more painful. It turned out that Virgil’s elbow nudges at dinner, his arm across Scott’s shoulders as they walked across the lounge, his habit of stretching out and throwing his feet over big brother’s legs when they had a moment to chill together on the couch… these felt as natural and as essential to Scott as eating or drinking and he missed it more than he could have explained. It made his jaw hurt.

He had figured he just had to give Virgil time and be available when he was ready. So he’d made a conscious effort to *not* be working whenever they had downtime, hovering in the communal areas and looking un-busy. He rushed through the paperwork later, once everyone was in bed and then stayed up for hours each night studying the last couple of month’s worth of mission logs and recordings, desperately trying to work out what had triggered… whatever it was… the other day.

He’d been lying, Scott was certain of that. Ironically that certainty had made him very uncertain of everything else - Virgil never lied to him. He was awful at it. Honesty usually shone out of his big puppy-like brown eyes. When he was withholding something they were clouded with guilt.

But to invoke their mother’s memory as a cover-up?

It must have been serious.

His research efforts turned up nothing at all out of the ordinary other than it had actually been a pretty successful run of rescues, a bit of a reprieve from the average. He couldn’t find any aspect of the scenarios they’d faced that seemed like it might have particularly upset his brother.

It had to have something to do with him. Virgil was acting perfectly normally with everyone else. He re-listened to every interaction they’d had over the comm. Had he been too brusque in directing the rescues recently? Was his tone wrong? He didn’t think he sounded any different although after a while his own voice really began to grate on him. Virgil’s responses seemed normal and he didn’t appear to react to anything in a negative way. Perhaps his brother was maybe a little quieter on the comm than usual… should he have noticed that sooner?

Or had he embarrassed him by making it clear he’d noticed him getting carried away that afternoon? But Virgil had never seemed to be worried about Scott witnessing his piano binges before - most of the worst more-recovery-than-rescue missions had been thrashed out on the piano over the years… No. The only way to find out was to ask him directly.

He hovered at the door of the hangar, took a couple of breaths to slow his galloping heart rate and pushed it ajar. He could hear Gordon talking at a mile a minute about something to do with aquaculture and Virgil was leaning up against a pod module with a politely interested look on his face. His eyes flicked briefly over to his eldest brother but didn’t linger, instead focussing firmly back on little brother with renewed focus.

Scott felt rather like he’d taken a grapple to the chest and backed out, closing the door softly behind him. He ignored the elevator and elected for the long slow trudge up the stairwell. By the time he made it to the lounge his vision was blurry and he had reached the limit of what he could bear. He found a sheet of notepaper from the desk drawer and scribbled a note. He folded it precisely in half, opened it again and checked it, then refolded it, running a shaking thumb among the edge. He tucked it underneath the door to his brother’s bedroom on the way to his own.

Virgil, I’ve upset you and I can’t for the life of me work out when or how it was in order to apologise properly - but please know I am so sorry.

I’ll be on my balcony the rest of the evening if you want to talk.

I miss you. S x

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #thunderfam #thunder angst #angst #earth and sky #earth&sky #piano angst #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #music is everything #scott tracy needs a hug

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thepenultimateword · 2 years

Note

May I request a continuation of 'Second Love' pls???😳

Part One, Part Two

"Hello, darling."

Villain gave the headstone a fond pat before gathering the withered violets from their vase and tossing the old, browning water onto a neighboring grave. He set the vase back in its spot, marked by the brown ring left behind on the stone, and plopped the fresh bouquet in the old one's place.

"Sorry it's been a couple months." He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and filled the vase halfway with cold, clear water, adjusting a few stems until the flower arrangement was good enough for Other Superhero's resting place. "I've been busy with the power inhibitor. And guess what? It's almost done. Just a few more bugs to work out, and I'll be ready. So. Cross your fingers for me up there, eh?" He chuckled weakly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet to bundle up the old flowers into his hands. They crinkled in his twisting fingers.

"What's that?" Villain said as a light breeze hissed past his ears and carried away a few crumbled petals. Sometimes it was easier to pretend a conversation than to just sit here and stare at the grave. "Anything else new? Well, remember that really annoying hero I told you about a while back? The stupidly determined one? Well, she's still coming around. I think she's actually invincible. I threw a brick at her head the other day. A brick! She didn't even flinch. In fact, she broke my brick."

Villain sighed, throwing back his head to look at the wisps of clouds overhead.

"She's such a mess: clumsy, awkward, never admitting to her mistakes. Even when she wins it’s an accident. I don’t even know how she passed the exam. …I suppose she does have the rare quality of never giving up. No matter what I say or how hopeless it gets, she keeps trying. And she has a good heart. Even if she’s bought into the agency’s garbage, she wants to do the right thing. And…”

A smile had begun spreading up Villain’s jaw but he quickly quashed it, a stab of guilt lurching his stomach.

"I’m sorry. Is this weird? I know it's only been two years. For some people, that's a long time, and for others, it's no time at all...and...I love you so much." Villain hung his head. How should he continue? What was he actually getting at? Whatever it was, it seemed a dangerous thing to put into words. A dangerous, traitorous thing.

"I’m not saying I have feelings for her," he clarified quickly. "I barely know her. And our plan is and always will be my top priority. But…sometimes, when she’s around…I don’t ache so much.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his palms into eyes long dried of useless tears. “I don't want to make the wrong choice.”

The wind ruffled villain’s clothes, this time strong enough to tear the dead violets completely out of his hands. They carried halfway across the cemetery and scattered amongst the other headstones.

Villain blandly watched them go, then tipped his head up toward the sky and closed his eyes, letting leftover winds caress his skin.

"I miss you, darling."

***

"Could you not stare like that?" Re-Re said, sliding his dessert protectively out of Hero's line of sight.

Hero cocked her head to the side and summed up a confused expression. "I don't know what you're even talking--" She gave up before the sentence was even through, leaning in closer. "Just one bite?"

Re-Re frowned, successfully battling her unbreaking stare for a full minute before sighing and shoving the plate toward her. "Is this why we have brunch every month? So you can continue to break my spirit?"

Hero snatched up her fork and cut off the front corner of the flan with its edges, scraping up a little syrup off the plate before shoving it happily in her mouth. "Don't be dramatic."

"It's sort of my thing," her ex-nemesis said. "If I'm not going to commit crime anymore, I'm at least going to be a villain in my heart."

As if to punctuate this statement, he waved his hand subtly toward the waitress and her big tray of coffee mugs and juices. The tray re-winded to three seconds beforehand. The waitress did not.

For a single moment, the tray hung in mid-air, the waitress staring at her empty hands in utter disbelief. A moment later, the tray crashed into the ground, shattering glasses and spilling puddles of drinks everywhere.

Re-Re covered his mouth with one hand and cackled quietly to himself.

Hero raised her eyebrows disapprovingly. "Technically, I could write you up."

"For a joke?"

"If a retired villain slips back into crime--"

Re-Re rolled his eyes. "Oh stop being so good all the time. Sir Redo-Rewind is retired. That's that. I'm just scratching an itch." Then, maybe to redirect her attention from him, he said, "How's the new nemesis? Villain, right? Scarier than me?"

Hero smiled. "Never. Just different."

Re-Re slid back his dessert plate. "Be honest, everyone knows Villain is another level. Even us villains. How's it been?"

"Well..."

Sort of embarrassing. Villain didn't stick to any sort of script. He didn't share anything either. In fact, he mostly ignored her unless she got close enough to prompt him into action. When she got this job, she thought it was a big deal. That maybe the agency was finally recognizing that she could do a good job, but now she wondered if she was just keeping Villain distracted from everything he'd rather be doing.

"I don't think his heart's in it," Hero said finally.

"Not all villains buy into theatrics," Re-Re shrugged. "Some honestly just want to do the job. It's nothing to do with you."

Hero knew that. Of course, there were different levels of villains, those who looked for attention and those who actually liked mass havoc, but the issue with Villain was she didn't know what he wanted. Aside from being alone and making machines.

"Ok, yes," she consented, "but honestly, I'm not even sure what I'm stopping. He's always just...sitting there. Tinkering. But the agency says the job requires an everyday raid, so I have to be doing something, right?"

Re-Re shrugged. "I never met Villain personally, too big a fish for my pond, but I mean, the agency killed his wife. So yeah, I don't think he's just sitting around. Villains aren't exactly in the habit of forgiving."

"What?"

"Oh it's a whole thing: 'Stab a villain in the eye, and all you're life you'll be blind.' Basically, whatever you do, we'll bring it back tenf--"

"No, not that," Hero interrupted. "His wife. Other Superhero. I knew she died, but what do you mean the agency killed her?"

"Oh." Re-Re shrugged, scooping up another bite of cake before leaning against the latticed back of his chair. "I don't know the exact details, but it's a big rumor. Basically, Villain had defected to the agency, was doing missions with them and everything. But when he and Other Superhero were sent on a mission together, something went wrong. Other Superhero got hurt, but instead of pulling out, they were told to prioritize the mission. I guess Villain was pretty vocal about turning around but the agency dismissed it as deception. Because of his background, I guess maybe they thought he was lying to help other villains? Anyway, later Superhero was too injured to escape the mission. When Villain was the only one who survived, the other heroes blamed him, even accused him of leaving her to die on purpose."

Hero gaped at Re-Re in shock. The agency... Villain... What?

"B-but the agency always said they got into an accident."

Re-Re shrugged. "I'm only saying what I've heard."

Hero wanted to reject it immediately. There was no way that the agency would force an injured superhero to continue a mission. Even if they hadn't trusted Villain, wouldn't they have trusted Other Superhero? Did Other Superhero bluff about her condition? Or had she begged to be removed too?

If Hero was being honest, there was a lot of pressure for results from the agency. Backing out of a mission or rejecting an assignment was definitely taboo. It got you labeled as weak or in conflict of interest. A strange sense of respect came with almost dying for the cause. And if Other Superhero had been married to a villain, she would have had a lot to prove to her peers.

Hero suddenly felt sick.

Poor Other Superhero.

Poor Villain.

To have his own pain disregarded and be pinned for the whole thing.

"I...I have to go," Hero said.

Re-Re stood up along with her. "I didn't upset you, did I?"

"No. I... There's just something I think I should do."

***

Villain had just slipped his shoes off when a heavy knock on his front door brought them back to the entrance. The last person he expected to see through the peephole was Hero.

What was this? A new tactic? Didn't she ever take a break? Villain really wasn't in the mood to fight right now, but he had a suspicious feeling that ignoring the hero would only prompt her to find another way in, and he was more sick of fixing things.

He swung open the door with a heavy sigh already drifting from his lungs. "Let me tell you upfront, I'm not doing anything villainous today."

Hero gave a small little leap at his abruptness, but it didn't stop her from immediately shoving a massive bouquet into his chest.

Villain blinked at the arrangement of purple hyacinths, zinnias, and lemon balm, taking several moments to register what was happening and grasp the wrapped stems.

"I'm sorry," Hero said, looking up at him with earnest eyes. The look itself wasn't abnormal, they were usually filled with an earnestness to do what was right, but for the first time, that dedication was aimed toward him. "I asked the flower shop to put together something for grieving. I'm not sure what they all mean, but I know zinnias are for absent friends. I didn't really know Other Superhero, and of course, they were more just a friend to you, but I still feel-- Hey, what's wrong. You're really red."

Villain touched one hand to his cheek. Sure enough, his face burned as if on fire. What was Hero thinking, getting him a gift like this? Didn't she see it was too late for grieving flowers? That they could easily be misconstrued as something else? And yet, it might be the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a long time.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, bringing the flowers to his nose to hide the greater portion of his blush. Yes, it was a nice gesture, but why did he have to feel so flustered? "Thank you. D-do you want to come in?"

Villain cringed inwardly as the words left his mouth. He was supposed to be avoiding everything agency related, not inviting it right back into his life. Hero was no exception.

"Oh..." Hero hesitated a moment, but then said, "Sure!"

Villain's heart pounded a little faster as he stepped back and widened the door opening for her to step through. And this time, he could not ignore it.

...

I did it! I finally finished one of my original requests!

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @last-ditch-entry @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villainy @distractedlydistracted

#hero x villain #writing snippet #creative writing #heroes and villains #villain #heroes and villains community #fiction #second love #villain x hero #hero and villain

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void-tiger · 7 days

Text

…the difference between me and my allo friend… she already has a friendship with her crush. Her crush jokes and texts and visits her back. He’s even hugged her. And if he isn’t attracted to her back, she’ll throw all that away. Is there ANY consideration for his feelings at all?!

While me? I will rip out my own heart by keeping my distance if that’s what would be needed from me—because of a lack of interest, or because things are just complicated; there isn’t a lack of interest back. The opposite, apparently. There’s an Old Guilt about Yet Again feeling unable to reciprocate back the way they wish to…when this whole time all I’ve wanted was to try and find a middle ground. I will aggressively and persistently defend the right to JUST friendship and gently but firmly tell everyone to Leave It Alone, Stay Out Of It, Don’t Pressure EITHER Of Us. Because actual trust and respect and building a solid friendship at whatever level the other person either wants or can offer back…that means more to me than “I’m romantically attracted to this person emotionally and if they feel the same way I’d be open to exploring that with them at whatever point in the future.”

I…dunno. Maybe it’s just the difference between allosexuals and asexuals. Or Lust/Infatuation and alterous/queer platonic attraction. I won’t claim that I’m immune to limerence because…I’m not. But the kind I experience isn’t built upon The Idea of a person and what they look like…but my brain refusing to not get hyperfixated on someone and struggling to pry its jaws open to Let It GO, and…hope, I guess. Hope to finally actually be accepted and not containing myself so tightly inside.

Who someone actually is, if we have a spark of a platonic rapport (over QPR or romantic), matters more to me than an Idea of them, how they look, etc.

And it’s hard to not feel exasperated with apparently…this isn’t how people experience things. I’m always worrying my desire for a connection is too heavy and ultimately selfish. Even as…I really Don’t Care what sort of relationship I have, I just want to discover what it is and fortify it then privately compartmentalize anything leftover. While the majority of people…really don’t take someone’s feelings into consideration at all. It’s only how they feel and how the object of their attraction makes them feel.

…how am I supposed to not feel completely furious about this utter objectification regardless of someone’s gender and sexuality being considered the Acceptable Norm.

Especially when I have always had to fight so damn hard to even have friends and platonic intimacy with friends. Forget when I do have “extra” platonic attraction at play as well.

#tiger’s roar #don’t mind me. it’s just ANGY Ace Time #and I DO have the respect and care and dare I say it affection and attraction more or less returned #but like. I had to fight SO FUCKING HARD for it #harder than anyone else would’ve bothered to #…but the draw just Wouldn’t Go Away and the Draw even existed at all because they ARE someone who’s acted like they yearn for that too #that they are kind. and accept me. and have similar/same interests and to some degree a similar sense of humor #the tension…is circumstances. and misunderstandings for like. 2.5 years. but I think I FINALLY got those resolved #because…I am. stubborn like that. if I’m not told No each time I Check For A No. if I can accept I’m Not A Bother #then…yeah. I’m gonna put energy into exploring for a middle ground and defending the right to friendship and understanding/accepting #in addition to the selfwork I’m going to keep on doing. for my own healing. my own future self.#but especially when it might/is affecting other people #’iT’s nOT tHAT dEEP TiGER!!’ okay but LISTEN. I have A LOT of trauma to resolve and yearning for connection to deal with #and social skills to be stuck practicing very much delayed because my developmental environment STUNTED them #but the pain of Not Dealing With It is poisoning me so…I HAVE to deal with the extreme distress of taking that on #so…yeah. it IS That Deep to me #and when people just…take the friendships they already have for granted… BRUH.

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corpseglider · 4 years

Text

pairing .. corpse x girlfriend!reader (fem)

summary .. in which you’re very crafty and corpse loves rings

part two .. read here

the first flower.

“Hey, Corpse?” You called from the kitchen, signaling with your voice for your boyfriend to make an appearance as your hands were very clearly full and preoccupied.

You’d been working on your own personal craft project for about an hour now, your hands being very tired, along with your drooping eyelids. You’d barely managed to get anything done with your lack of creativity and skill.

Some people were meant for the fine arts—you, however, were not one of those people.

The island counter was a complete mess, an array of flowers and string were sprawled across the dark granite, sprinkling little bits of nature around the normally stark room.

You, yourself, looked like a mad woman. Little bits of leaves and excess petals were stuck to your clothes, hair, and face. If you’d walk outside, any stranger passing by would assume you were a wicked florist.

“Yeah?” Corpse called out from his gaming room, currently in the midst of streaming but he always made time for you. “What is it, beautiful?”

He stopped before fully walking into the kitchen, taking in the chaotic sight before him, before a bright smile lit up his face.

Corpse let out a bellyaching laugh, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You relaxed against his chest. Sighing in content as he gently picked away at the leftover flowers, throwing them to the counter in a careless manner.

He then took notice to what you had actually created, picking the only well made item up in the air and into his line of vision.

“You made this?” He asked, an expression of pure awe struck his features. He turned it around in his hand, getting a good look from every possible angle.

You nodded your head, taking the craft out of his grasp and into your own. “They’re rings, you see?”

“I saw something about them online and I thought I should give it a try.”

Corpse took your hand and raised it above your head, spinning you around to face him. He rested his forehead against yours and pressed a light kiss to your temple.

“I love it.”

You kissed him again, this time on the lips, before taking the ring in your palm and sliding it onto his pointer finger. “Good, because I made it just for you.”

“So you’ll always have a reminder of me during the bad times.”

He tapped your chest, right above your heart, proceeding to tap his own right afterwards. “I love you.” He whispered, not breaking eye contact for even a second. “With all of my heart.”

You smirked, pulling him in for another kiss, “As you should.”

the second flower.

You mentally cursed at yourself, accidentally walking into the night side table as you attempted to find your way around the bedroom in total darkness.

It’d been about two hours since you had woken up to work on Corpse’s birthday surprise, wanting the gift to be entirely perfect.

Replicating the original flower ring was much harder than you’d anticipated. Not having any material to base the new item off of was a real setback, but you had no choice as the first gift had died not even a week after it’d been worn.

Corpse was devastated when the flower wilted, having no way of staying alive without nutrition and a water source. He showed it to you, full of guilt for allowing your hard work to go to waste.

Although you reassured him that there was nothing he could’ve done to save the fragile flower, he still chose to keep it in his wallet. He said it was his lucky charm, not that those even existed.

But you thought it was cute. You love it when he expressed his love for you, even when it was in the simplest of manners.

Which was exactly why you’d woken up early in the morning to make Corpse’s birthday gift perfect. He deserved more than the best, and you were making sure that that was what he received.

“Corpse, wake up.” You said, softly shaking his shoulders while pressing kisses all over his cheeks. “Wake up, love.”

He groaned, taking his pillow and pressing it over his face. Though the look of low energy oozed from his aura, he made sure to give your hand a squeeze, giving you the sign that he was listening.

You proceeded to slip the new ring onto his middle finger, the familiar feeling causing Corpse to peek out from underneath the safety of his pillow.

He stared at the gift, fully processing the fact that he’d been sleeping without you, before yanking you with his grip and into the security of the comforter.

Corpse held your face in his hands, rubbing his flower dawned finger against your cheeks. A tired smile graced his lips, silently thanking you with the serenity of the sunrise beside you.

the third flower.

You knocked on the door of the gaming room, careful to make sure that it was an appropriate time to enter.

Interrupting Corpse’s streaming or recording hours was one of your least favorite things to do, accidental or on purpose. Corpse, of course. said he never minded, but getting in the way of his work would never be your intention.

“Come on in, Y/N!” He replied cheerfully, clearly in the middle of a livestream, but happy to hear that you wanted to visit him. “Say hi to the fans.”

You leaned into his mic, tapping it like a beginner to see if it was working. “Hi guys! Just popping in for a second to give Corpse a little present!”

Corpse’s ears perked up at your announcement. He sat patiently, looking at you with an adorable expression as you held your hands behind your back to add a bit of drama.

Slowly, you held out your lightly clenched fist above his open palm, dropping yet another flower ring onto his soft skin.

His eyes sparkled at the sight, bouncing slightly while he waited for you to do as you’ve always done—the very important job of sliding the ring onto one of his fingers.

You instinctively placed the item on the next finger over, which coincidentally happened to be his ring finger. He held his hand up to you, giving you a good look at your hard work.

“You’re amazing,” he smiled, his mic having been muted since you had finished saying your piece to the viewers. “You’re actually the greatest thing in my life.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your eyes at his exaggeration. “And you’re the most dramatic person in my life.”

Corpse laughed, returning to his stream after leaving his fans waiting for five or so minutes. You lingered in the room for a while, admiring his strategy and comfortability with his watchers, before leaving to get some of your own work done.

“What was it that Y/N gave me?” You heard Corpse say out loud as he read one of the comments after being killed early on in the round. You were sitting in the living room, realizing that you’d left the door wide open after you had left.

“She makes the cutest little flower rings for me. Hold on, I’ll post another picture of my hand so you guys can get a look at it.”

You clicked on Instagram as the notification that he’d posted popped up on your phone, liking the new photo without hesitation. Comments had already flooded the picture, all of them saying the exact same thing.

@user: is that ring on your wedding finger?!

@user: i think we lost him for real this time guys :(

@user: congrats on the engagement!

You laughed as you read the absurd conclusions that the viewers were jumping to, amused and grateful for their unconditional support of your relationship with Corpse, before a gasp escaped your lips.

@corpse_husband: guys were not engaged rn, but we will be once i finally figure out how to make these flower rings myself

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

#corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband imagines #corpse husband oneshot #corpse husband fic #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse husband #corpse #among us x reader

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nejibaby · 3 years

Text

Burn

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Summary: For Ace you’d do anything; even set yourself on fire if it meant he’d be safe, happy, and most importantly, alive.

The Sun - Part 2

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I’ve finished this and it has finished me. That’s all I wanted to say. 🤐 Jk... English isn’t my first language and I haven’t proofread this so I’m sorry if there’s grammatical errors and typographical errors. Also, I’d love to hear what your thoughts are on this 🥺✌🏼

There’s something about Ace that makes you so attracted to him. You couldn’t really pinpoint what it is. You aren’t sure if it’s his boyish smile, cocky smirk, lovely freckles, lean figure, easygoing and carefree attitude, the generous compliments he gives, or all of the above.

The dynamic between the two of you is almost like how a moth is attracted to a flame. But then again, Ace isn’t merely a flame. He’s more likely the sun — bright, warm, and all-consuming.

However, you can only ever get so close to the sun before you actually burn.

It was only in hindsight that you realize you should’ve kept your distance with Ace.

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten through all the trouble of fighting against the bandits that started a brawl with the Spade Pirates at your hometown. Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen for Ace’s compliments on your skills on using knives as weapons. Maybe you shouldn’t have accommodated his curiosity on how to wield it. Maybe you shouldn’t have held his hand as you tried to show him the proper way of handling the knife. Because quite frankly, that one touch had sparked something in you. And it was that touch that started this whole mess — the mess of falling truly, madly, deeply in love with Portgas D. Ace.

But Ace only sees you as a crewmate of the Spade Pirates and later on as a subordinate when he became the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.

Unfortunately, you know that’s all you’ll ever be.

You can tell that Ace has no interest in falling in love — at least not yet; not until he achieves his goal. And you hate to admit it, but even after all the years you spend following him, you still have no idea what his true goal is. You aren’t even sure if you’ll ever find it out. Because unlike you, Ace knows how to keep a safe distance from people.

There’s only one time that Ace allowed himself to blur the lines of friendship, and it was when you were both too drunk after celebrating a successful mission together. Somehow in the middle of your conversation, in a drunken haze, he leaned into you and kissed you on the lips. And as expected of you, you kissed him back with equal fervor.

That night, you have learned that fire is quite a fitting power for Ace. If his lips were fire, then your blood was gasoline. His kiss ignited everything in you until you’re fully consumed by him.

The next day came by way too quickly, but… he had no memory of what had transpired, and you wished it was the same with you. It would’ve been easier to live in blissful ignorance, but instead of that, you’re left to treat the burns that Ace unknowingly left in his wake — not physically, of course, he would never hurt you that way, but it doesn’t exactly hurt any less.

No matter how hurt you’ve been that night, you didn’t really stay away from Ace. You’re just so stubborn and unrelenting that you continue to tredge the line that Ace has so clearly drawn.

And it’s because of that attitude that you have taken it upon yourself to find Ace and stop him searching for Teach. Marco couldn’t stop him, maybe even Deuce wouldn’t, but you might be able to, because you aren’t afraid to burn, at least not any more than you already have. And this makes all the difference between you and Ace’s friends, although he has yet to realize that.

You find Ace in Mock Town. He’s walking the street with his back to you.

There’s no doubt that you’re extremely worried about him but with how long you traveled just to get to him, you have started to feel angry because of his reckless actions.

So instead of calling out his name to get his attention, you grab one of the daggers strapped to your legs and throw it at him. With Ace’s logia-type power, it only goes through him. Ace doesn’t even stop walking.

Since his back is facing you, you couldn’t tell what type of look he has on his face, although you’re willing to bet your life that he has an arrogant smirk on his face. You’re tempted to throw another dagger at him and use your haki, but that would be too much; your intent is to get his attention, not to hurt him, no matter how annoying he can be.

The dagger lands a few feet away from Ace and he walks up to grab it. He tenses a bit after he crouches down and picks it up. You know he recognizes the unique handle of the weapon. Before you know it, he turns his body around to find you, sporting that awfully breathtaking smile that makes you go crazy.

For a moment your anger dissipates while your heart stutters across your chest. You wonder, “Why does the sun still bother rising when Ace obviously shines so much brighter?”

But your thoughts are cut off when all of a sudden you’re tackled into a hug by Ace. Your mind automatically goes blank.

You have no problem with skinship and Ace doesn’t mind too, but a hug certainly isn’t how the both of you greet each other.

The hug is short lived as Ace pulls away before you can even wrap your arms around him. He then proceeds to throw his arm over your shoulder. He starts walking with you across the town, the grin on his face never leaving. “Ya know, I just saw my brother a while back in Alabasta!” He happily tells you.

You’re happy for Ace, you really are, but you have to admit that you’re a tad bit disappointed. You’re disappointed that his excitement isn’t because of you; it’s more like leftover enthusiasm he had after seeing his little brother. But you chase those thoughts away immediately, knowing full well it’s unreasonable for you to expect something like that from Ace.

He continues telling you about his brother and his crew with that proud expression reserved for talks about Luffy. With the way he’s animatedly speaking, you couldn’t help the smile form on your lips. It’s at this moment that you realize that you’d do absolutely anything and everything for Ace to be happy and remain happy.

You’re listening intently as he recounts every single thing that happened during their encounter. By the time he’s done, he turns to you and asks, “Oh, by the way, what’cha doing here?”

You shrug. “I came to get you,” you casually say.

He retracts his arm that’s draped on your shoulder. He drops his smile as well. “No.”

“Stop making a fuss, Commander. Pops wants you back on the ship.”

“I said no. I’m going to find Blackbeard and teach him a lesson.”

You grit your teeth at annoyance while Ace stares you down. Noticing the people listening in on your conversation, you stride to Ace, use your haki to grab his wrist, and then lead him to an abandoned alleyway. The touch immediately quickens your pulse rate, but you don’t let it waver you.

You let go of his wrist once you reach the alleyway. When you turn to face him, you can instantly tell that he’s taken aback by your actions. It’s not often you act like this when things don’t go your way after all.

“Commander, come back to the crew,” you say once again.

“No!” He stubbornly says. You can tell he’s getting angry by the flames that started appearing on his shoulders. “Teach broke the iron rule in the ship! Thatch won’t be able to rest peacefully and Pops—”

“I know, Commander!” You raise your voice. “I know this!”

“Great! Now let me be,” he says as he turns his back to leave.

“Goddammit Ace! Why are you doing this again?!” You exclaimed, clenching your fists in the process. Ace stops in his tracks upon hearing you. He’s surprised that you’ve addressed him by his name. “Why are you so dead-set on carrying the burden alone? Can’t you see how reckless you’re being? You’re diving headfirst into something dangerous!”

“Do you think I’m weak?” He asks, still with his back to you.

“No.”

“Then trust me on this.”

You scoff. “Not everything is a matter of strength.”

Ace pivots his body so he’s facing you and then he leans against the wall. He crosses his arms and gives you a look to continue your speech.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that we want to avenge Thatch as well? I know you two were close since you’re both Commanders, but we were close too!”

“I’m Teach’s Commander, that’s why I have to—”

You don’t listen to him speak, opting to continue what you’re saying. “Thatch was like an older brother to me. But I lost him. I don’t want to lose you too,” you whisper almost inaudibly. “Because I love you…”

Ace freezes at your declaration, but he’s quick to recover and says, “You know I love you too.”

You sigh and look at him in the eyes. Tears are forming in your eyes, making Ace look blurry. “But not in the same way, right?”

Ace goes silent. But his eyes could communicate with you in ways you’d never understand. His eyes never lie, and from them you can clearly see the guilt of not being able to reciprocate your feelings.

Oh, how things change so quickly. Back then, you’d be ecstatic whenever his eyes would land on you. Back then, you’d do anything to keep his eyes on you a little longer. But now, you just wish he stopped looking at you with those eyes.

“I’d die for you,” he says after a while, as if it’s the answer you’re searching for.

This would’ve been such a romantic thing to say for others, but it doesn’t hold the same weight if Ace says this. You know he would risk his life for anyone on the crew, not just you.

“But that’s the thing. I don’t want you to die for me, I want you to live, even if it’s not for me or with me,” you exasperatedly tell him.

Ace’s eyes widen, almost as if you’ve reached something deep inside him with what you’ve just said.

“I knew it from the beginning that you don’t love me the same way, so it’s fine. But that doesn’t matter.”

You try changing the topic in order to shift your focus, “Listen, Commander, I’m not telling you to sit still and forget about Teach. You said so yourself, you’re his Commander, but you’re my Commander too, along with the rest of the Second Division. And right now, we need you. Hell, even Pops needs you.

“I know Pops won’t let Teach get away with this either, but he knows this isn’t the right time yet. Let’s gather intel first, before doing anything.”

Ace remains silent, obviously thinking about what you’ve just said.

“Does that sound good, Commander?” You ask quietly.

He nods his head slowly.

You hum. “Alright. Now that that’s settled, let’s head on to your Striker.”

The walk back to the port is unusually silent. Ace has one of his hands in his pocket while the other on his hat. You, on the other hand, are staring straight ahead, recounting the conversation that has just happened.

Truthfully, the conversation didn’t go as you planned. You’re certain that convincing Ace would be so much harder. In fact, you’ve readied yourself to pick a fight with him if he didn’t want to go back to the crew.

You’ve prevented the fight from happening at the expense of your stupid confession. And you aren’t sure if it’s for the better or for the worse.

A part of you knows it’s for the better, because this way Ace would be safe. But the pain coursing all throughout your body and the tears that you’re trying so hard to hold back makes you doubt it a little bit.

By the time you both reach the port, you head on straight to your boat and grab the supplies you have already separated for Ace. You throw the sack at him and he catches it with ease.

“You have Marco’s vivre card, right?” You ask.

He nods.

“Good. Just follow that. With the Striker, I’m sure you’ll reach the crew in a week or two.”

“You aren’t coming with me?”

You shake your head. “No. I actually have another mission to do,” you lie. You raise your right hand to point to the town. “Actually I’m heading there right now,” you say as you slowly walk backwards away from Ace. “So, see you in a month, I guess?”

You turn around to head back to the town, but Ace grabs a hold of your hand. “Wait!”

Ace isn’t using his powers, but why does his touch burn?

You look back at him, but your eyes refuse to meet his, so instead, you stare at the knife safely strapped on his hips. It’s the knife you originally owned but you have given it to him as a sign of your loyalty when he became your captain.

He removes his hold on you.

“What?” You ask.

“I can help you with it and we’ll—”

“No, don’t,” you sharply say.

Ace flinches at your tone.

You internally scold yourself for your hostility. Ace doesn’t deserve this. It isn’t his fault he doesn’t like you the same way. You sigh, “I’m sorry. I’ll just… see you off first before I go do this mission.”

You don’t leave any option for him so he has no choice but to comply. You can only watch in silence as Ace prepares to leave.

The truth is that you don’t have any mission aside from bringing Ace back to the crew. But you know Ace, you know that he’s not going to be able to stop thinking about Blackbeard and his deed. He won’t ever be able to rest properly and peacefully if no one’s going to continue this search. So for once, you’re shouldering this task for him.

It’s a dangerous mission, you’re aware. Espionage isn’t exactly what you’re best at. But for Ace you’d do this. For him, you’d set yourself on fire if it meant keeping him safe. For Ace you’d even die as long as he lived.

Once he has safely boarded on his raft, you both bid each other goodbyes. Even if you’re determined to get back to him, somehow it feels like this goodbye is going to be the last. And yet, you watch him go along with the sun.

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with. Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

#bts x reader #bts x reader smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #the gentlemen #tgm #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Alien Blues

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none! sfw. romantic/platonic(interpretable). mainly fluff. mentions of overworking and death, but nothing graphic. gn!reader

Notes: touch-starved Gojo

Word Count: 2.3k

Gojo doesn't get a lot of downtime in his line of work.

It comes with the job. Sorcerers don't exactly work a 9 to 5. This line of work is far from a normal one. Curses don't exorcise themselves, nor do they pick convenient times to show up. He usually has his hands full; be it taking down curses, or dealing with his students. A guy like him really can't take a vacation.

Despite going to the same school—and being only a year younger than him—you didn't meet Gojo until well into your adult life. After graduating, you went off on your own. The typical way of life for sorcerers wasn’t for you. You really didn't want to work with—or under—any of the major clans. At that point, you just wanted to do your own thing. To hell with the school; you’d be fine on your own. And you were.

You spent much of your time exorcising curses across the world, traveling from place to place, not staying in a single town for very long. A lot of it was freelance work. Such jobs were typically frowned upon, or at least looked at strangely. But it really didn't bother you. On your own you were powerful, and an impressive fighter, but you were working in a world that didn't accept you.

So you said to hell with fitting in.

Doing your own thing was the best decision you’d ever made. To this day you’ll stand by that. The jujutsu world is meant for people like Gojo. It demands so much more from you, and in return gives a whole lot less. It demands perfection from you—maybe even more—while he’s the set standard for this perfection. You hold no ill will towards him for it. He didn't make things this way. But it's hard not to envy him at times.

When you came back to the school, you were first assigned a teaching job.

Although you were a talented sorcerer, it was clear from the beginning you weren't meant to be a teacher. Your teaching style was viewed as a bit harsh, as you tended to just throw your students into a situation and let them figure things out for themselves, correcting them where needed. Overall you weren't a bad teacher, but your students got sent to the infirmary often. And by often, it was nearly every day. You just wanted them to be capable. You wanted your students to be prepared. To be the best of the best. How are they supposed to improve if they don't have experience?

To be fair, your students were some of the best in their grade.

For the most part you substitute if needed.

Upon first meeting, he was too eccentric for your tastes. Really, you found him annoying. Your first impression of Gojo was that he was full of himself and out of touch with the world around him. His first impression of you was that you were stuck up and a bit of a bitch.

There wasn't one thing that changed. Maybe he wore you down to the point where you tolerated him. He likes to think it was because of his charming personality. You know otherwise. His charms rarely work on you; if ever. Over time you found yourself less and less repulsed by him. The two of you bonded over harassing Nanami. On your own you weren't much trouble, but when paired with Gojo, Nanami learned to stay out of your way. If you let him. Usually you tracked him down. Your sweet tooth was just as insatiable as his. When you first took up baking, he was always nearby, wanting a taste. You’d drag him along to see new movies or shows or anything you’d think he’d like. He likes co-existing with you. The two of you don't have to even be doing anything. He can sit for hours with you by his side, doing absolutely nothing.

You've gotten to the point in your relationship where you show up unannounced. It's payback for all the times he’s come to your apartment, claiming he has some work for you, only to stay and raid your fridge, conveniently forgetting what he had to tell you. Yes you have scared the absolute hell out of Megumi on several occasions. In Gojo’s defense, he likes your cooking.

He’s not used to having you stay in one place for so long. You’re not used to it either. It feels strange sticking around Tokyo for so long. You hate feeling trapped more than anything. Maybe that’s why you moved around so much. Maybe you’re getting sentimental the older you get. For the first time in years, you feel truly at home. Gojo is one of your closest—if not your closest—friends, and there’s not much you wouldn't do for him.

You guess this is home. The end of the line, or whatever. You don't see yourself leaving for a while.

It's well after dark by the time he gets home.

The place was empty when you got here. Megumi must be out with friends. He's a strange kid. Strange circumstances lead to strange adults—or almost adults in his case. You try not to judge him too hard. You don't have a whole lot to say on his… situation.

He notices your form curled up on the couch, your face illuminated by your phone screen. The tv plays some horror movie you’ve long stopped paying attention to. Your face lights up when you see him.

His hand briefly touches your head, messing up your hair. He looks tired. There's dark circles under his eyes. He was gone for a while this time.

“I brought takeout,” you say, gesturing to the fridge, “I wasn't sure when you’d get home so I put it in there.”

“Did you eat already?” He asks. He makes a note to pay you back for the food later.

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” You say.

A bit of guilt hits him. You really didn't have to wait for him. You know his habit of being chronically late. He says he’s fashionably late, to which you reason he is never fashionable ever. He actually seemed a bit bothered by that one, which only made you tease him more.

Momentarily he disappears into the kitchen, returning with your food. You have his order memorized. There's only a handful of things he’d get anyway. He’s not a picky eater, and usually gets what you get. Pick one of about three things and he’ll probably eat it.

The food is still good even while cold. Gojo talks about his recent job while you eat. He says it was nothing special. But he called Nanami for backup, so you know that’s a lie. He hardly touches his food. Since when doesn't he want to eat? The guy has a pretty impressive appetite at times. Seriously, he could eat you out of house and home.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You nod.

He clears away the empty takeout containers from in front of you, returning the leftovers to the fridge.

When he returns, he sits next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. The leather is an ugly shade. You’re sure if it weren't for Megumi, he would have bought something much worse. His taste—in everything, really—can be tacky. You make sure he knows this. Always have to keep him on his toes. Nanami is right about some things. You never take Gojo’s side for too long.

“You were gone for a while this time.” You say.

A smug looking grin spreads across his face. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes and groan. “Sounds like you were worried about me.”

Really, you could worry yourself sick thinking about him. It's hard not to. Everyone has their limits, and you constantly wonder when he’ll hit his. Strongest or not; he’s human after all.

“Of course I worry.” As much as you hate to admit it, you care about him. You won't say it. It feels like bad luck to say it out loud.

He knows. He feels the same way. Over time he’s grown jaded and angry with the way things are. He tries not to worry too much about you. This life isn't an easy one, but you can handle yourself. He knows that. Years on your own have proven you're not only a capable sorcerer, but a talented one. The strongest doesn't need to worry about himself, so much as the people around him.

In a weird way he’s proud of you.

You open your arms, instinctively he goes into them.

You pull his head to your chest. He does little to fight against you. Hell, he practically leans into your touch. You take his glasses, setting them on the table beside you. His eyes close when your hands move to his hair, gently pulling it out of his eyes. He’s not quite sure what to do with his arms. Eventually he settles on resting them at his sides. One snakes around your stomach, coming to rest on the fleshy part of your hip. You're awfully comfortable to lay on, he notes.

Your movements are familiar, and oddly comforting. He makes note of the way your heartbeat suddenly drops off, before picking up in pace. From the smell of your shampoo, to the sound of your breathing. He can only describe it as home.

Lots of people will die in this line of work, but he has faith you’ll always be around. You’re too stubborn to die.

Touch in a sense like this is almost foreign to him. Touch in a non fighting context is just bizarre. He never de-activates infinity long enough to get hit. He's had his fair share of one night stands. Hell, he could have anyone he wants. He’s had everything and anything in between. Men and women across the world either want to be him, or be with him. But this—intimacy like this—is strange. The others get kicked out the morning after. But you’ll always be around. He likes to think he’ll be around for you too.

Maybe he’s more touch starved than he thought.

He’s Satoru-fucking-Gojou, a man like him doesn't get touched starved. He feels a wave of shame at his reaction. His face burns. His pride won't allow him to admit how much he enjoys this.

It's the first time you’ve held him close like this. The action is so oddly intimate and it’s not even in a sexual way. Your movements are familiar. He fits so nicely against your chest, he notes.

He practically purrs in delight as your fingers brush a sensitive spot towards the back of his head—where his neck and shoulders meet—sighing softly. Goosebumps rise along his exposed flesh. You take note of his reaction, and focus on that spot more, dragging your fingers across his skin. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. His eyes close as he leans into the crook of your neck.

"Do you want to watch something different?" You ask.

His heart nearly stops when your hand moves to cup his cheek. His face is warm. He's a wimp when it comes to horror movies. He says they don't scare him. They do. You’ve spent plenty of night sitting next to him, watching his body tense with terror.

He wasn't paying attention to the tv until now. He shakes his head, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground and not the screen.

"This is fine." He says.

"You sure?"

He nods.

He fights sleep as long as possible, but eventually he'll have to give in to it. You’ll be there long after he’s fallen asleep. Maybe even after he wakes up. His head nods, his eyes struggling to stay open. His breaths even out, his chest rising slowly.

You're not really sure what to do once he falls asleep on you. Your position isn't the most comfortable, but you suffer through it so as to not wake him up. If he’s fallen asleep on you, then he definitely needs the rest. He’s a light sleeper anyway. Any movement would be sure to wake him up.

It’s not long after that his body heat—and the sound of his steady breathing—lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to a blanket haphazardly tossed over the two of you. The tv is off. Two glasses of water are set out on the coffee table, condensation collecting on the outside. Megumi must have come home. Gojo's drool collects in a small pool on your collarbone, which is a bit gross. You use the corner of the blanket to wipe it away. It’s a bit odd seeing him so at-peace. It's rare he even lets his guard down. You rest your chin on the top of his head. His hair is soft, and tickles your neck. The sight of him makes your chest swell with affection. The intimacy of it all is enough to overwhelm you. It's been a while since you’ve cared so much about someone.

It's nice having him home.

He stirs, stretching out a bit like a cat. You card a hand through his hair. He grumbles something in response. Probably a weak “what?” Your joints are a bit stiff from staying in the same position for so long.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask.

He sleepily mumbles an answer—one which you don't understand. It's just as legible as the first. His eyes don't even open. You take it to mean he wants to go back to sleep. You pull the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it under his chin. The sun is still barely up. You’re not in a rush to get up. You don't have anything to do today anyway, work can wait. If Nanami calls, you’ll just ignore him. You could stay in all morning if you wanted.

And you just might.

Come hell or high water, you’re staying on this couch.

In a bit you should get up and start breakfast. Most of the food in the house is for Megumi, but there should be enough to make something small. Pancakes sound nice.

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #sfw #fluff

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silversatoru · 3 years

Note

Hello! I wanted to request for a chubby reader x Levi oneshot. I feel like there aren’t many stories that have chubby readers ): As for the storyline, I’m not sure if it falls in the angst or hurt/comfort category. It would be the reader feeling insecure about themselves because they have a harder time training than the others (them blaming it on their own weight) and seeing how everyone is much thinner than them, they start avoiding food. To not make it look suspicious, they’d go into the kitchen alone and put the food away along with the left overs. The reader would act normal with Levi and he doesn’t suspect anything at first. Later on, the reader would push themselves harder to the point where they’d train on their own whenever they had to chance so they can lose weight and improve their training. At this point, Levi starts noticing the reader looking paler than usual and the slight difference in their weight. One day during training, the reader ends up fainting from exhaustion and dehydration. They wake up on Levis’s bed with him looking over them. He asks what happened and the reader lies by saying they didn’t drink enough water. Levi calls it bs and ask if they think he’s stupid and goes on to tell them about how they noticed the reader sneaking off into the kitchen with a plate and coming out without it. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but he started putting the pieces together. They end up telling Levi the truth, the way they feel towards themself and how they don’t like the fact that they’re bigger than Levi. He comforts the reader and lets them know that they’re an idiot for thinking that way, etc. Thank you! I’m so sorry if it sounds so cheesy!

hello dear!! i dont think your idea was cheesy at all, i love it actually. these kind of issues live very close to my heart, so writing about them is always really fun for me. that being said,, this fic definitely got very dark and very real, and i would advise everyone to read the warnings before deciding to read this <33

empty

levi ackerman x gn!reader

synopsis: levi catches you skipping meals and does what he can to help

tags/warnings: eating disorder, skipping meals, hurt/comfort, but it does have a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

Throbbing headaches and hollow, gnawing pains in your stomach — they’ve quickly become your new normal. You see everything through a hazy fog these days, nothing feels real and everything hurts but it’s worth it — that’s what you keep saying to yourself. You’re tired of lacking the same agility, momentum, and grace that your thinner counterparts have.

Your weight was always something that ate away at the back of your head, but joining the scout regiment multiplied it tenfold. You were constantly working twice as hard as your fellow scouts, and it seemed like it was never enough. Everyone around you was not only ridiculously athletic, but so fucking thin. You didn’t hate your comrades for their bodies and the way they were born, but you made up for it by inflicting all of the hate onto yourself.

You wonder if anyone notices your zombie eyes or the abnormal paleness to your face — god, you hope they don’t. The last thing you want to do is have to confront your feelings and admit what you’ve been doing lately. Every night you shamefully sneak back into the kitchen and pour your plate of food into the large pot of leftovers. You pick at food here and there when your friends are watching, but behind closed doors you haven’t eaten much of anything lately. Your body is running on empty, and it’s only a matter of time before it fully catches up to you.

You hear your last name echo from across the training fields, slowly turning around to see an angry captain sulking towards you. His face was twisted into an unpleasant grimace, his eyebrows knitted together into what almost looked like concern.

“I’m excusing you from the remainder of training, leave,” his words were flat, but there was a subtle emotional edge.

“Sorry, what?” you gave him a confused look — Captain Levi never excused anyone from training, not unless they were practically on their deathbed.

“Go home, and eat a big dinner tonight, your energy has been less than adequate lately,” his face softened slightly, “I expect you to be back to normal by tomorrow. Your skills and abilities are needed here, so go get some rest and be better tomorrow, yeah?”

“But, I-,” you stammered, trying to come up with some kind of valid excuse.

“That’s an order, cadet”.

His words surprised you, and before you could even rack your brain for an appropriate way to respond, he was turned on his heels and walking away. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry and stuffed full with anxiety.

Reluctantly, you followed his orders and made your way back to the Scout’s base early. You grabbed a stack of fresh clothing from your room before heading to the showers and scrubbing yourself free of all the sweat and grime from training. You were careful to avoid mirrors when you navigated bathrooms, and tonight was no exception, your eyes glued to the tiled floor. After showering, you hesitantly walked to the kitchen, preparing a plate of food and bringing it back to your room.

That food stared you in the eyes for hours, taunting you and teasing you and making intense nausea creep up your spine. Tears were stinging the backs of your eyes and your lungs were shaking with heavy, anxiety-filled breaths. You couldn't do it, and you were overwhelmed with shame and guilt. If you couldn’t do it for Levi, you were hopeless that you’d be able to do it for anyone, never mind for yourself.

After making countless pitiful attempts to take a bite of your untouched meal, you decided it was going back into the leftover pot — just like everything else. The other scouts should have returned and been sleeping by now anyway, you’d just silently creep down the hallway, dump the food, and creep back, no harm no foul.

Except for that a certain short, dark-haired captain was standing at the end of the hallway — you didn't notice him, but he certainly noticed you. A boiling anger rippled up inside him as he felt an overwhelming disappointment in your actions. He’d been suspecting this kind of behavior for a while now, but watching you tip-toe down the hall and into the kitchen with an uneaten plate of food confirmed all of his suspicions.

You could barely crawl out of bed the next morning, your ribs aching and your head pounding with a dull pain. You grasped at your tall dresser, catching your balance as you dangerously swayed back and forth for a few seconds. After regaining consciousness and stability you carefully changed into your uniform, having to stop and take breaks every few seconds because you were running out of breath. Your body felt utterly devoid of any kind of energy, and you wondered — when was the last time I actually ate something?

It was far enough back that you couldn’t quite remember, maybe a few days at this point, you really weren’t sure anymore. You’d have to suck it up for training though, because the last thing you wanted was to be confronted by the captain again.

You chugged back a full glass of water before lacing up your boots and throwing on a convincing facade. People don’t seem to notice something is wrong as long as you're smiling, laughing, and going along with what they say — it’s easy enough to fly under the radar of your fellow scouts.

Levi’s radar is a little sharper though, and he keeps a close eye on you from the second you walk up to the training grounds. He’s disappointed in your hand to hand combat — it’s sloppy, slow, predictable. Your hands look shaky too, and maybe it's the light playing tricks on him but it looks like the color is draining from your face.

Things are feeling deplorable on your side — you can barely stand anymore, never mind throw punches or avoid the oncoming attacks. Your vision was starting to tunnel, foggy black surrounding your periphery as you began to lose feeling in your fingertips. You tried desperately to cling onto whatever semblance of consciousness you had left, but failed miserably, your body collapsing to the hard earth beneath you.

The soft glow of warm candles illuminated the walls around you when you finally woke up from the earlier incident. This wasn’t your room, where the hell were you? You uncomfortably shifted to the side and flinched when you saw your captain sitting in a chair in front of you. His arms were crossed and one of his legs was propped on top of the other, an icey look in his eyes.

“What happened today?” His words were very short and his tone was flooded with irritation — he didn’t even give you a chance to take in your surroundings.

“Ah- I didn’t sleep well last night,” you lied, “And maybe I haven’t been drinking enough water or something”.

“I’m offended that you think I would fall for such a pitiful lie,” He clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “I saw you sneak into the kitchen last night, how long have you been doing that?”

Your eyes grew wide with anxiety, your heart abruptly dropping to the floor — you made sure to go extra late last night, why the hell was he still up?

You stayed quiet for a moment, pondering over how honest you should be with Levi right now. The two of you had always been a little closer than he was with the other scouts, but unfortunately there was no room for things like love in this world. You also assumed that maybe he never reciprocated your feelings because of your weight — but that was just more toxic fuel to the fire blossoming in your head.

“Pretty long,” you sighed, ultimately deciding to be fully honest with him, because knowing Levi, he’d continue to see right through your lies anyway.

“I figured,” He grumbled, uncrossing his legs and leaning back into his chair, “Why?”

“Everyone around me is thin, I stick out. And, I’m not as agile or flexible as the other scouts either. I just thought that maybe...,” you bit down hard on your bottom lip, rolling onto your back so you wouldn’t have to look at him, “I thought my weight bothered you too, and also that I’d be more useful to the scouts if I was skinnier”.

“You think I’d like you better if you were dead?” Levi was leaning closer now, heat boiling in his eyes, “Because that’s where you’re headed right now. If you truly think you’ll be more helpful to the scouts when you’re six feet under, you’re delusional. And who the hell gave you the idea that your weight bothered me?”

His harsh words were cold slap in the face, your eyes burning and threatening to spill over with tears. You didn’t want to die, not really, you just didn’t want to hate yourself anymore.

“No one! I don’t know, I just thought, maybe because I was bigger than you-,” You continued to stammer over your words, tears beginning to leak down your cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter,” he waved you off, not wanting to push the issue further, “You’re wrong, and I’m hurt that you’d even think that. I’ve never once thought that you were anything other than the way you should be”.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was weak and shaky, but your heart was pounding against your chest at his words.

“I’m not the person you should be apologizing to, that’s something you owe to yourself” he shook his head and stood up to retrieve two small bowls of food from a nearby table, “I brought you something to eat”.

You watched him intently, pondering over his words about apologizing to yourself.

“It’s only a bowl of soup, so you can start small, yeah?” He offered one of the bowls to you, which you hesitantly took into your hands as you sat up.

He sat down again across from you again, leaning back and taking a sip of broth from his bowl. You were grateful that he was here, that he was eating with you — it made things a little easier. You grasped the spoon in your hands and scooped up some brothy vegetables before lifting them into your mouth.

“Good, finish the bowl,” nodded at you, giving you a reassuring look and lifting his own bowl to his lips again.

The two of you ate in silence until you were finished, and then he sat the bowls back on his nightstand before finding a seat next to you on his bed.

“Stay here tonight,” he stared at you with his signature tired eyes, but there were hints of concern laced through them now, “We’ll have breakfast together in the morning”.

“Okay,” you gave him a weak nod, trying desperately to bottle up your growing emotions, but they were becoming too much to bear.

Small sobs began to rack through your body, your chest tightening and your stomach lurching with anxiety. You were experiencing so many feelings tonight — eating for the first time in days and being here with Levi, it was overwhelming to say the least.

You could barely see the captain through your blurry vision, but you could feel his arms maneuver themselves around you and pull you against his chest. You stayed like that for a while, Levi’s arms delicately holding you in place while quiet sobs worked their way out of your lips.

“You’ve dug yourself into a deep hole, I won’t lie to you,” you heard him let out a tired sigh, “And it’s gonna take time and effort for you to dig your way out, but you’ll get there. We’ll start by having breakfast and dinner together every night, how does that sound? Just you and me, no one else has to watch”.

You nuzzled a tiny nod into his chest, your tears finally running dry. It was a terrifying thought, eating normal again, but you were starting to feel hopeful that you might actually be able to do it.

And so the two of you met every morning and every evening for your scheduled meals, and day by day things began to get easier. You even found yourself staying over in Levi’s room after dinner and into the morning for breakfast sometimes. Spending so much time together was definitely pushing the two of you to address the feelings you’d been hiding for so long.

But not everything was perfect, it would be irrational to think it would be. You still have bad nights, where eating is so hard you break down into tears, and where you want nothing more than to rid yourself of the food in your system. It’s a draining process, but Levi works hard to make sure you stay on track with your progress.

It’s slow, but eventually your face starts to glow again, your skin gets smooth and soft, and the aching pains in your body start to fade. Your war with your body is far from over, but you’re doing what you can, and you’re healing yourself one day at a time.

thank u for reading this, and now i would like to give you a gentle reminder to do something nice for your body today. eating disorders and mental illnesses are huge mountains to climb over, but taking things one day at a time makes it a little easier. try and eat a meal today (even if it’s small), go to sleep early and get some rest, take a shower and rub lotion all over your legs so they feel nice against your blankets when you lay in bed. baby steps are better than no steps at all, so be patient with yourself. n go drink some water, ur body loves that shit

#attack on titan #attack on titan levi #attack on titan x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x gn!reader #hurt/comfort #angst #levi hurt comfort #attack on titan x gn!reader

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tinyboxxtink · 2 years

Text

"Betrayed" *Chapter 13*

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

Alright, here we go. The "Fix it" chapter. Which actually turns into another dilemma, but what are you gonna do?

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—----------

The Next Day

Olivia took several deep breaths before knocking on Rafael’s door, looking both ways to see if anyone noticed her. After a moment, she heard him scuffle to the door and open it ever so slightly.

“Are you–” Rafael laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Rafa look–”

“DON’T call me that,” He growled while trying to shut the door on her.

“Rafael–” She tried again while pulling on the door. “Please let me in, please,”

“I don’t have anything else to give you Liv,” He stood his ground. “I actually really and truly ruined it with Y/N, so I can’t help you,”

“I know,” She said softly.

“What?” Rafael ceased trying to close the door.

“Can I come in and talk about it? It’s freezing out here,” She gestured to the windy day.

“Fine,” He sighed and let her enter. Olivia hurried inside, rubbing her hands together to get them warm.

As she took her coat off, she glanced around the apartment. She’d never seen it like this. Dirty clothes everywhere, take out containers on the counters, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. The guilt in her rose more and more with each step she took.

“So, what did you say about Y/N?” Rafael asked her while attempting to clean up. Even though he was still upset at Olivia, his neurotic need to keep up appearances overcame him.

She noticed he hadn’t even bothered to put on pants, he was simply in a gray t-shirt and silky blue boxers. He noticed her staring and quickly grabbed a maroon robe then returned from his room.

“She came to my office yesterday,” Olivia explained while picking up the containers and throwing them away. She couldn’t help but pick up after him, the mom in her was too strong.

“To do what?” Rafael stopped tidying up to ask.

“To yell at me,” She half laughed while wiping her hands from the grease off the containers.

“Well, that tracks–” Rafael nodded.

“About YOU,” She added while starting to sit down. She was quickly greeted with some leftover garbage buried in the cushions. She tried not to make a face when he turned back to her.

“Oh good, so you both took turns shitting on me?” He laughed while sitting in his armchair across from her.

“Rafael–”

“Did she tell you what I did?” He asked bitterly. “Did she tell you how I hurt her?”

“So, you know you hurt her?” Oliva’s eyebrows quirked.

“OF COURSE I DO!!!” He yelled. “Why the hell else do you think I left so quickly?”

“Well, that was your biggest mistake,” She pointed out.

“Oh, I seriously doubt that Liv,” He chuckled sadly. “I think sobbing into her mouth about you while we were kissing for the first time was worse,”

“Well–”

“And then pressuring her to have sex with me because I was upset. About YOU,” He could barely say the words, he was so horrified.

“Yeah…”

“That's the vilest thing I've ever done in my life, Olivia. How can I face her after all that?" He asked her. He was so ashamed; he could barely look her in the eye.

“Because she loves you!” Olivia hit his bare knee in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m sure–” He shook his head with a laugh, looking away from her.

“Rafael, did you not hear what I said when I got here?” She reminded him.

“She came to your office to yell about me,” Rafael recalled. “So?”

“She came to yell at me for what I did to you!” He threw his hands up.

“What?” He looked up from the floor.

“She stood there and berated me for ‘destroying’ you,”

“You didn’t destroy–” He raspberried the notion.

“Her words, not mine,” Olivia clarified.

“Well, that makes sense–”

“She practically ripped my head off because I hurt you,” She explained.

“And then I turned around and hurt her,” He reminded her.

“And she still loves you,”

“She doesn’t–”

“Rafael!” Olivia threw her hands up. “Did you not hear me? She came down to my office and YELLED at me for hurting you!”

“I–” Rafael went over everything he could remember about that awful night. How could you possibly still love him after that? After what he had said to you? Did to you?

“She loves you, Rafael,” Olivia took this moment to sit next to him. “She loves you more than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen,”

“She keeps walking away from me–” He was thinking out loud.

“And you keep letting her!” Olivia hit him lightly.

“I know!” He stood up in frustration, walking away from her.

“Why?!” Olivia stood up with him.

“Because I’m scared, Olivia!” He turned to face her with an upset face.

“What?” Olivia scrunched her nose in confusion.

“I’m…” He put his hands over his face and held his head in them as he sat back down, this time on the couch.

“I’m scared. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared. Not even when my dad used to hit me, or when I thought, I was going to prison. At least I knew those things had an ending result one way or the other. With this, I just–I have no idea!”

“With what?” Olivia took this moment to sit next to him on the couch.

“With how I feel about her,” He sighed.

“You love her,” She clarified.

“I…” He ran it over in his head again and again. How careful, how meticulous he was about using those words.

And he remembered the last time he saw you how he had just thrown them around again and again, mocking you. It killed him. That’s now how he wanted to say those words, that’s not how he wanted you to hear them.

“You love her, Rafael,” Olivia repeated.

“.... I do,” He finally conceded with a sad smile. “I do love her,”

“So why does that scare you?”

“Because it’s illogical, Oliva!” He threw his hands up in defeat. “It’s– It’s improbable, falling in love with someone after only knowing them for a few days. I-I didn’t even feel romantic feelings for you until at least a month after meeting you!”

“You had romantic–” Olivia’s eyes widened.

“Don’t,” He stopped. “We’re not talking about that,”

“Right,” She nodded, but was still taken aback. How had she not known this?

“Wait,” She suddenly had a thought. “Is that why she hates me? Because you’re in love with me?”

“NO!!!!” Rafael boomed. “Absolutely not! I told her that specifically, you’re like a sister to me!”

“Present tense?” Olivia asked hopefully.

“...Were, a sister to me,” He snatched that hope right back from her.

“Rafa–” She whispered sadly.

“But that again leads me to my fears,” He went on, ignoring her term of endearment. “I loved you so much, without any sort of condition. To a fault! To the point that it cost me something I loved even more!”

“So–”

“So, what if that happens again? What if I lose her like I lost you?” He asked her in a hoarse voice.

“Rafael,” Olivia put a hand on his shoulder.

“That girl would go to hell and back for you, I think you know that. You put her through a horribly disturbing night, and she still came back for you. I’m telling you; I’ve never seen love like that. Ever,”

“...I know,” He looked down at the floor.

“She would never, ever in a million years hurt you the way I did,” She actually defended you while dissing herself.

“Yeah, well I thought that about you, and look where it got me,” He continued to look at the floor with a sad laugh.

“That’s the other thing I came to say,” She sighed, ready to make her apology.

“I should have never agreed to meet with you. Not like that,” She took his hand gently. “I should have met with you on my own, and given us a chance to actually talk about us,”

“Yeah well,” Rafael laughed under his breath. “Carisi should have never asked you to,”

“Wha? How did you–?” Olivia blinked in surprise.

“You’re telling me he didn’t?” He raised an eyebrow.

“He…” She sighed. “He didn’t have a choice, Rafa,”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Rafael rolled his eyes.

“Rafa, the Police Commissioner is threatening his job,” She tried to justify Sonny's actions.

“And you don’t think I’ve been there?” Rafael stood up, annoyed that Liv was defending his successor. His protege. His Judas.

“You don’t think that the Commissioner was constantly threatening my job? Threatening me? You didn’t see me throwing my friends under buses, not once Olivia!”

“He’s…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “He’s not as strong as you are, Rafael,”

“That is for damn sure,” He laughed dryly while wiping his mouth with anger. “That kid has a lot to learn about being an ADA, and he should’ve learned them from ME,”

“Alright,” Olivia stood up and put her hands out. “I didn’t come here to fight about Carisi,”

“Right,” Rafael grunted as he walked back around his couch to the foyer. “I think you were leaving,”

“Rafa come on,” Olivia whined as she followed him. “I’m trying to apologize,”

“For what, Liv? Do you even know?” He asked condescendingly.

“For everything,”

“Oh, right,” He laughed. “Everything. That’s specific,”

“I mean everything, Rafael,” She emphasized.

“What do you mean, ‘everything’?” Rafael’s eyebrow raised once more.

“I’m– I’m sorry about being so hard on you for defending Wheatly, I just–” She ran her fingers through her hair.

“Worried about Stabler,” Rafael finished her thought.

“...Yeah,” She reluctantly agreed.

“Yeah,” He shook his head with a chuckle. “I get it. You love him,”

“Not like that,” Olivia denied.

“Oh yeah RIGHT–”

“Not, exactly,” She made a face.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…” She sat on the back of the couch. “Meaning he used to be the most important person in the world to me, my absolute favorite person to be around. I loved him so much…”

“I get that,” Rafael nodded.

“...And then he left,” She whispered with tears in her voice. “He left without so much as a note,”

“Well, I get that too,” Rafael nodded again with a sad smile.

That smile made Olivia realize something. He knew exactly how she felt, because it’s what she did to him. Abandoned him. Betrayed him. He knew how she felt more than anyone, and it was because of her. And that killed her.

“...He left, and then he came back fifteen years later and wanted to pretend nothing happened!” She tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach while she ranted about Stabler.

“Mmm,” Rafael just listened.

“I don’t trust him anymore, Rafael,” She looked at him tearfully. “I don’t trust that he doesn’t still have one foot out the door, ready to leave without a goodbye again,”

“So basically,” Rafael began his analysis of her rant.

“You don’t trust that he loves you as much as you love him, so you’re doing anything and everything you can to make sure he doesn't wake up and leave you again?”

“I…” Olivia blustered. “I wouldn’t put it like that,”

“Then how would you put it, Olivia?” Rafael challenged her.

“Because from where I’m standing, you chose to betray the one man who didn’t leave you, who would never leave you, no matter the consequences. For a man who deserted you like you were some dirty mistress he wanted to ghost!”

“That’s unfair,” She argued.

“Is it?” He questioned her objection.

“Dammit I’m human, Rafael. Okay? I–I can’t help how I do or don’t feel about Stabler. I can’t help being irrational about anything associated with him, I just–”

“Love him,” Rafael repeated.

“Not like I love you,” she said softly while looking at the floor.

“Whoa,” Rafael put his hands up. “Olivia, I know I said I felt that way before, but–”

“No you idiot,” She playfully hit him. “I love you like my brother. Like my…”

“Family,” Rafael smiled woefully.

“Yeah,” Olivia said with a mountain of guilt in her voice.

“And when Y/N started this whole thing about her and her family, well–” She paused. “At first I thought she was just rude to me because I was ‘mean’ to you–”

“She was,” He chuckled. “But to be fair she already hated you,”

“Yeah,” She nodded. “And she has a right to,”

“Does she?” Rafael asked quizzically.

“That’s what I mean about everything, Rafa,” Olivia took his hands. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t tell my truth about Terrence Reynolds,”

“Liv…” He started to ease his tone.

“I should have listened to you; I should have spoken up against the guys who shot that poor boy. I should have–”

“I get why you didn’t,” He stopped her. “And I explained why to Y/N why you did it,”

“Which I’m sure made her hate me more,”

“Mmmmm it didn’t help,” He chuckled. “But I think it’s important she hears all of this from you,”

“Yeah well,” Olivia shook her head with a laugh. “I’m scared to get within ten feet of that woman,”

“So, what,” Rafael crossed his arms. “You come over to make up so I’ll go apologize for you?”

“No!” Olivia exclaimed. “No, I wanted–”

“I’m just messing with you, Liv,” He laughed genuinely, pulling her into a hug. A real, true hug. They just stood there for a long time, holding each other. By the time they pulled away from each other they were both in tears.

“I missed you, Rafael,” Olivia blinked back tears. “And I am so sorry,”

“I missed you too Olivia,” He wiped the stray tears from her cheek while letting a few fall down his own face. “And I forgive you,”

“Well,” Olivia cleared her throat of all emotion. “Now that that’s done, we need to get you and Y/N back together,”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening,” He sighed.

“It will if you go to the rally Friday,” She suggested.

“What?” Rafael asked in astonishment. “Seriously? You want me to go to the ‘Anit Olivia’ rally?”

“God, I hope they don’t call it that,” She sighed in annoyance. “But yes, I think you need to,”

“Why?”

“Because the one thing in the world that woman wants is for you to choose her over me,”

“But I did–” He protested.

“In a drunken stupid haze, yeah!” She laughed. “But if you show up to support her, and show her for absolute certainty where your loyalty lies, she will come running,”

“Mmm,” He nodded with a smile, thinking about you jumping into his arms. He missed it so much.

“But what about us?” He asked worriedly.

“What about us?” She tilted her head.

“I mean,” Rafael coughed uncomfortably. “They’re going to say some pretty nasty stuff about you and the NYPD. They might even start calling for your jobs,”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Olivia sighed. “Y/N made that perfectly clear,”

“Did she?”

“My head on a stick I believe were the words she used,” She chuckled.

“Oh, no…” Rafael muttered in a semi laugh, semi worried voice. “So, you want me to–?”

“No, I don’t want you to do anything, Rafa,” Olivia put her hands on either side of his shoulders. “I don’t want you to even mention my name to her, unless it’s ‘Screw Olivia’,”

“I would never say that” He assured her.

“Oh, I’m sure you did the other night,”

“Well,” He snickered. “Not those exact words,”

“I am just going to have to deal with whatever happens, par for the course,” She shrugged as she started to open his front door.

“Liv–” Rafael put a hand on the door, still worried about her.

“Rafael, we’re good. We’ll be good, no matter what you do, I promise,” She kissed him on the cheek before turning to go. She opened the door to reveal the last thing either of them expected.

“Y/N,” Rafael gasped.

“I…” You stammered, standing there like an idiot holding the very expensive bag of espresso made especially for his espresso machine.

“This is why you left, isn’t it?” You asked him bitterly.

“What?” Rafael quickly realized what you were assuming.

“And you,” You spat at Olivia. “I come and threaten your job and you STILL try to ‘win back’ Rafael?”

“Well–” Olivia started to explain.

“And it WORKED!” You threw the bag at Rafael.

“I fucking KNEW it!!! I knew as soon as she batted her eyes and forgave you, you’d fall right back into her arms, because she’s your ‘family’ and I’m just some chick who has a thing for you!”

“No!” Rafael bolted out the door and down the stairs without thinking.

“Y/N you have to listen to me,” He grabbed both of your hands. “That’s not what–”

“I don’t have to listen to anything,” You shoved him away from you. “I knew you were just– you were just using me the other night, because I’m literally the only person stupid enough to still care about you!”

“No! I swear to you Y/N, I–” He hesitated again. How could he hesitate right now? At this second? What was wrong with him?”

“I swear to God Barba if you tell me you love me right now, I will actually kill you,” you seethed.

“Barba?” His eyes filled with tears at the use of his formal name.

He recalled the last time he saw you; you had called him “baby”. And it wasn’t just the word, it was the way you said it. So sweet, so loving, so loving. It was a hard cry from the harsh “Barba” being thrown at him now. He wondered if he should press his luck with his own term of endearment.

“Carino, please listen to me–”

“B–” Your anger stopped mid yell at the word. There were days when all you would do was imagine hearing him calling you that pet name. Was he seriously using the fact that you called him baby before to manipulate you now?

“I am not your ‘carino’. I’m not your anything, Barba,” You started to cry as you backed away from him.

“And I don’t love you,” You shook your head while tears dripped down your cheeks. “I’ll never love you again,”

With that you turned and ran down the street, leaving Olivia and Rafael stunned and speechless.

“What are you doing, Rafa?!” Olivia yelled. “Go after her!”

“I-I can’t!” He stammered.

“God dammit Rafael Barba right now is not the time for your commitment issues–” She groaned.

“No, Olivia. I literally can’t,” He gestured to himself still in his undergarments If he went chasing after you down the street like this he’d definitely get trashed in the paper, laughed out of town. He could see the headlines: “Old Man Barba Chases Young Activist Down In Suburbia.”

“I’ll see if I can catch her,” She groaned. She really didn’t want to run in heels.

“Thank you, Liv,” He thanked her profusely while rushing back inside his place to put clothes on. He wasn’t letting you walk away this time. Or run.

He prayed to God Olivia could reach you before you got to your train.

#rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order special victims unit #raul esparza #rafael barba fanfiction #betrayed

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jakeyp · 3 years

Note

“I don’t know why I’m crying I-I’m sorry” // angst and fluff ♥︎

hi... i kind of wrote a small fic with that prompt. you can read it here or on ao3! thanks for this i really needed the motivation. i decided to write something about what happened after 8x06! <3

—

Amy arrives home a little later than usual that night, overwhelmed with the events of the last few days. There are so many things to process, though the only thing she can focus on at the moment, is her husband’s suspension. She knows Jake very well, and most likely he’ll try to hide his sadness and pretend he’s fine, not because he thinks he’s weak but because he doesn’t want Amy to worry about him. Yet, she can’t help to wonder how he’s taking it.

Not knowing what to expect as she enters their apartment, Amy tosses her keys onto the couch sadly, too distracted to place them on the key hook. Jake is nowhere to be seen, so she figures he must be putting Mac to sleep, since it’s past ten already, and there are no toys scattered around the floor.

Indeed, she finds Jake whispering to his son, who lies in his crib, babbling and very, very awake, even though the lights are dimmed and it’s quiet in there.

“Hey,” Amy says softly.

Despite her tone, Jake startles, turning around, but immediately relaxes when he sees it’s just her. “Ames,” he breathes, looking down at Mac and then back at his wife, guilt taking over his features. “I kind of let him take a nap earlier and now he can’t sleep…”

“It’s okay,” Amy says, shrugging. She wants to add something else to reassure him, but her mind’s entirely blank, so she settles for a casual question. “What did you two have for dinner?”

Jake smiles. “He tried scrambled eggs for the first time. I know it’s technically breakfast food, but I read he can eat them now, plus it’s what I cook best.”

“And?”

“He loved them, duh.”

Amy chuckles. “Of course. Did you have some too?”

“I… wasn’t really hungry.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t eaten either. We can heat some leftovers if you want.”

Jake nods with a weak smile, which widens as he turns to check on Mac. “Hey, he’s asleep! Maybe he just needed to make sure mama arrived home safe.”

Amy leans over to look at her sleeping son. Mac looks so much like his dad, when he laughs or smiles—which he’s been doing recently a lot—but especially when he’s asleep and completely peaceful.

She turns to see Jake staring at their baby with a proud smile and it warms her heart. Perhaps he’s forgotten about the suspension.

“Leftovers, then?” she whispers after a while, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him a little closer to her.

“Sure,” he says, throwing a last glance at Mac before following Amy out of their room and closing the door behind him. They’ve learned to make as little noise as possible in the last ten months, so their voices are barely above a whisper by default whenever Mac is asleep.

As it’s routine, Jake turns on the TV, not choosing a channel, and mutes it before joining Amy in the kitchen, while she gets the food from the fridge and puts it in the microwave.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Jake leaning against the counter in an awkward pose, staring at her almost anxiously.

Amy has no idea how to ask the question she’s been wanting to ask him since she got there, so she takes a deep breath and turns to him. “Babe, are you… okay with it?”

His expression tells her he’s been dreading her to ask. Yet, he plays dumb. “With what?”

“With everything that happened. Your suspension…”

“Oh,” Jake spats after what seems like hours, as if every emotion he was supposed to be feeling before was just settling in. Amy’s stomach drops. These subjects might not be her thing. “It’s fine. I suppose I can talk about it, but is it necessary?”

She shrugs. “Just tell me.” Her voice is as soft as it can be. “How do you feel about it?”

Jake puts on a poker face now. She’s usually good at reading him, but she can’t tell what he’s thinking. Amy knows how much he enjoys his job. Everything had happened so fast, though, at some point she’d lost track of it all. One second he was very excited about his ‘Speed’ situation and then, suddenly, he was in too deep.

To sum it up, it hadn’t gone well.

“I feel weird,” Jake finally admits, looking down. “It feels weird to know I won’t be going back tomorrow. But I’ll… adapt, I guess.”

“I’m sure you will,” she automatically replies, hesitating a little before placing a hand on his chest.

He seems to attempt a smile, but it vanishes right away. “I feel stupid too. Why can’t I listen? Holt told me to stay out of it and I screwed up. I screw up a lot.”

Amy frowns. “Of course you don’t. Sometimes you can be silly, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with it. This time it just… it got out of my hands too. I was really drunk.”

Jake chuckles. “Yeah,” he says shortly, and then swallows. “So five months, huh? It isn’t that much, is it? There are like thirty days in a month so it would be like a hundred days which have twenty-four hours each, so it would be like twenty-four thousand hours.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. Math is decidedly not Jake’s strength. “It’s only like… three thousand and seven hundred hours.”

“Oh. That’s… still a lot.”

Amy sighs. His eyes are red, probably with exhaustion, and she can’t recognize the emotion behind them. It might be just deep, deep sadness.

“Ames,” he says huskily before she can talk. “What am I gonna do?”

Her eyebrows shot up, but before she can even think of an answer, Jake cuts her off again. “Things were so well yesterday. It makes me think… I can mess everything up so quickly. And it’s always my fault. What am I gonna mess up next?”

“Don’t say that,” she says, her throat knotting. “It’s okay to make mistakes, babe. And you are great at dealing with the consequences. You learn from your mistakes, you’ve always done.”

“Yeah, I keep pushing things until something goes wrong,” he argues in a trembling voice, “and until then I stop, I—” and suddenly that trembling voice breaks.

Amy’s stomach drops again as his eyes tear up, becoming redder. He immediately looks away when he realizes himself.

“Hey,” she says soothingly, cupping his face to make him look at her. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I know it’s a dumb thing to cry over, I just—” once more he’s unable to finish his sentence, pinching his lips shut before his voice can get any louder or high-pitched.

A single tear streams down his cheek.

“It’s not dumb,” Amy says. “If it makes you feel like this, it’s not dumb.”

“Well, I got myself into it—”

“And as I said, you will learn from it. That’s what matters.”

“I’ve been suspended like a thousand times already,” he counters, his tone bitter. "What makes you think it won’t happen again? What makes you think I couldn’t get fired?”

She shrugs, trying to stay calm even though she wants to cry as well. “I wouldn’t be less proud of you than I am today,” she says. “You’ve grown up so much and whatever you have to deal with, I have to deal with too, because I love you and I’m willing to. So please, don’t beat yourself up over this because it’s going to be fine.”

He sniffs. “How can you know that?”

“Because I’ll make sure everything’s fine. You’re not alone, babe. You have me.”

Jake stays in silence for a few seconds, and she thinks he’s going to start sobbing, but his lips curl instead. “I love you so much,” is all he says.

“I love you too,” she mouths back, afraid she’ll begin crying if she talks, and then pulls him into a hug.

They stay like that for a while, maybe five seconds or ten minutes, sinking in a silence that they don’t really mind. She pulls away from his embrace only to wipe his tears away. Jake looks so tired. Exhausted, even. She feels the same way, when minutes ago they were going to watch some TV and have dinner, though now she’s not sure she’s up for it.

Jake must have been thinking the same thing because a small laugh comes from his lips all of a sudden.

“What?” Amy asks, amused.

“I just realized we never even heated the food.”

Amy chuckles, and it only causes him to laugh a little harder. She wonders if it’s the exhaustion making such a simple detail seem so funny, and rests her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s calmer now, it could be matching hers.

“Babe,” she says softly.

“Yes?” Jake hums.

“It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and Amy separates, afraid she said the wrong thing, but Jake’s only bowing his head like she said the cheesiest thing in the world.

“I know. Thanks, Ames,” he says, and then adds, “I love you.” Even though she hears those words coming from him at least ten times a day, he manages to make them sound like it’s the first every time.

“I love you too,” Amy whispers, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Jake is about to return a much longer kiss on the lips when Mac interrupts the moment. Amy squeezes her eyes shut with a knowing smile—this has happened many times before. However, Jake immediately becomes alert and rushes to attend to his son.

Amy chuckles to herself, finally heating the food which is still inside the microwave and turns off the TV, because they are definitely not watching anything before they fall asleep, worn off with the events.

Like Jake would say, they’re sort of an old couple now, but she couldn’t care less. To her, so far, it’s meant that things can be so easy now.

Her husband doesn’t join her back in the kitchen so she goes and checks on him and Mac. The room feels so warm and quiet still, as Jake rocks his son softly, lulling him, again not realizing Amy’s watching. It always seems like he drifts away from reality when he’s trying to make Mac stop crying—and he’s good at it. She doesn’t know what it is, but Jake is great at it.

“I have to admit,” Amy says, startling him of course, “I’m a little jealous of you. You get to spend five months with him, all by yourself.”

Jake gives her what looks like an automatic smile, and then realization hits him. “I hadn’t thought about that before,” he huffs, stroking Mac’s soft curls and looking down at him. “Did you hear that, bud? Five months for only the two of us.”

Mac babbles, and Amy tries to ignore how awake he still sounds. “Careful, Ames,” Jake tells her. “That sounded a lot like ‘dada’, and with these five months? It’s definitely going to be his first word.”

Amy rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “Not if I train him every night.”

“Challenge accepted.”

An hour later they’re both in bed after eating dinner and Amy has already changed into her pajamas. Jake hasn’t stopped rocking Mac, who woke up once more, but his father doesn’t seem to mind, and Amy has the feeling that his suspension doesn’t sound so bad to him anymore.

—

#this is the first time i post a fic!!#i let myself go #it's 1.9 k words i think #anyway i'm excited to know what you think!#i enjoyed writing this a lot #it had been ages since i wrote anything like this #so THANK YOU anon #ilysm #jake peralta #amy santiago #mac peralta #b99 fanfic #fluff #angst #comfort

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psychdelia · 3 years

Text

max showed up on his doorstep with blotchy red cheeks and puffy wet eyes, board discarded on his lawn as she pounded on the door with her free hand, holding a shoebox in the other.

“okay, okay!” steve called out as he rushed downstairs. “i’m coming! jeez.” he huffed as he opened the door, ready to bark out a what, shithead? because who else would show up to his place and pound on his door for a minute straight?

except his mouth snaps shut when he sees her shivering in the winter cold and cheeks still damp. it’s been about 4 months since billy died and he hadn’t seen max in this state for a couple months now. he thought things were getting better.

maybe not.

“max.” he frowned. “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?” he asked, the panic in his tone increasing with each question.

she just shoved the box into his hands, giving him a determined look. so similar to billy’s. too similar.

“i found this in his room.” he can hear the suppressed tremble in her voice as she fights the urge to cry again. “i never gave it you because i thought maybe,” she frowns, looking down. “maybe he-“ she lets out a shaky breath. “but he never came back so it’s yours now.”

then a switch is flipped and she’s suddenly glaring up at him, yet another expression too similar to billy’s.

“you can’t tell anyone.” she clenches her shaking fists. “if you tell anyone what you find in there i swear to god steve i’ll hurt you.” her upper lip is twitching into a snarl and steve is genuinely scared of this little fiery teenager.

“jesus, max,” he sighs. “first of all, you two are way too goddamn similar for not being blood related.” he ruffles her hair with a free hand. “second of all, you can’t just tell me what’s in here?”

“no.” she shakes her head as she bats his hand away. “just,” she plays with the hem of her jacket nervously. “just keep an open mind.” she frowns. “we’re not from here. things are... different back home.” her shoulders sag a little and he can tell she misses home. misses life before hawkins. “promise you won’t tell anyone?” she looks back up at him.

he frowns as he stares at the box in his hand before nodding. “promise.”

“good.” she nods. she rubs harshly at her face with her sleeve before turning away to walk to the lawn.

“you need a ride?” he calls as she grabs her board. chuckles when she rolls her eyes, tosses back an i can get myself around, steve. then a quick thanks, though. see you around. then she’s taking off.

steve practically sprints up to his room after that. sets this mystery converse box down in front of him on the bed as he sits, unsure of what to expect. maybe porn mags? weed stash? who knows.

so, naturally, he dumps it all out on the bed. stares at the pile of magazines, books, seashells, pictures, papers. the first thing he grabs are the magazines, expecting to see a half naked chick on the cover. he freezes when he finds a half naked man instead, clad in leather.

drummer. drummer. drummer. all of these are the same magazines, different issues with different men. he wonders if they’re targeted towards women, but then he’s opening them up and finding men... with other men. figures maybe hargrove had been holding onto them for someone else because there’s no way in hell these are his. no, no, no. that boy was straight as hell. loved to show off a different girl hanging off his arm every week, made shows of flirting with both girls and women.

but then he’s grabbing a polaroid dated 1983 and it’s billy with shorter hair and fuller cheeks kissing another boy with a big smile and lovesick dopey look on his face.

holy shit. this can’t be real. billy hargrove wasn’t gay. he couldn’t be. he was the womanizer, ladykiller, heartbreaker of hawkins. he loved women and they loved him 10 times more. none of this makes sense.

he grabs the journal next, the leather on the cover worn and threadbare. the first entry is dated from 1983 and the last just a couple weeks before starcourt. right before he got possessed.

steve sets the journal aside, opts to look at the other pictures and items billy had stashed away before he reads about the last three years of the guy’s life. there are a couple pictures of a blonde woman with striking resemblance to billy, the same saint christopher pendant and thick silver ring billy wore present around her neck and finger. some of them feature billy when he was a baby, toddler, kid. he finds jewelry that seems feminine, womanly. figures they must’ve been his mom’s.

there are also some california souvenirs. he finds seashells and movie, concert tickets that read “san diego” on the top. there are also some books steve remembers he was supposed to have read or heard about in school, but also some more he never heard of.

at the very bottom of the box he finds expired makeup and empty hair product. there’s black and dark blue eyeliner and mascara, baby pink lip gloss. nail polish in black, dark red and a deep purple. in some polaroids, the slight sheen of the gloss and his dark, thick lashes are barely visible, but he still catches it.

steve can’t help but chuckle when he finds some candy wrappers and leftover weed grinds at the bottom of the box alongside the butts of joints and empty cigarette packs. marlboro reds. there’s scrunchies, too. shimmery and purple, probably stolen from max.

once’s he’s finished digging through hargrove’s secret belongings, he leans back and sticks his nose in the journal. it takes him the rest of the day and all night to read it from cover to cover.

the beginning is mostly about missing his mom and hating his father, documenting his abuse. there are a few pages about his crushes and boyfriends, allowing him to figure out that the boy he was kissing in the polaroid is named santiago, but billy calls him santi. once he reaches the end of san diego and beginning of hawkins, billy’s tone and messy scrawl is full of hurt, anger, and melancholy.

and then steve’s name pops up. KING STEVE in all caps, taking up nearly half the page. there are hearts around his name, alongside a big drawing of a dick. below, billy writes about feeling like a foolish schoolboy with some stupid crush on some guy with a huge dick he saw in the showers. steve’s already blushing and it only deepens when he gets to the part about billy wanting to feel said dick in his hand, his mouth, inside of him.

he has to take a break after that. doesn’t realize things only get spicier until he gets back to reading and finds out billy’s jerked off and fingered himself open to the thought of none other than king steve. his eyes immediately flick to the half empty jar of vaseline, finger-shaped holes indenting the jelly.

he spends the rest of the night reading about billy’s remorse and guilt towards him and lucas after that night, how billy still wants to hop on his dick and kiss him stupid, his and max’s relationship and how it’s gotten better even though they still blame each other for the move.

it’s both of their faults, steve realizes. billy missed his curfew for a boy and max had no choice but to lead neil to him.

along the way to the end, a couple pictures of steve fall out of the journal. pictures that steve has no idea how billy acquired. some are from school yearbooks, others just random polaroids that might’ve been taken by tommy or carol or jonathan. when he finally reaches the end, he reads about billy’s pool job and plans fo move back to california for college as soon as he graduates.

i know it’s stupid but i’m gonna miss him. his stupid hair and big brown eyes and pretty face and pink lips. i didn’t know anything about the guy but i wish i could drag him out of this shithole and take him home with me. i still haven’t apologized to him. maybe kidnapping him and showing him the ocean would count. but i can’t fall for a straight boy, no matter how big his cock is. i don’t get to fall for someone i hurt. it’s not fair. none of this is fair.

that’s the very last entry. it’s 1am and steve is wide awake. too awake. before he thinks too hard about what he’s doing, he’s shoving everything back into the box and flooring it to robin’s house. he knocks on her window incessantly until she opens it with a glare and he’s pushing his way inside before she can greet him with a snarl.

“billy hargrove was gay and in love with me and-and and jerked off to me and,,, pretended his fingers were mine and his dad was hurting him and his mom left and he was alone, robin.” he’s rambling, eyes wide as he paces the room with the box in his hands.

“he was s-so hurt and alone and no one paid any attention and now he’s dead because of a monster in some town he got dragged to as punishment for being gay and,” his voice cracks. “he’s gone.” he whispers brokenly as he shoves the box into her hands.

robin is very confused and surprised but all she knows is that her best friend is in distress, so she sets the box down and grabs his hands.

“steve. look at me.” she only continues when he does. “sit down and talk to me. let’s go through everything together, okay? just calm down and breathe.”

by 3am robin’s looked through the box and the majority of the journal - steve dog-eared the important pages and she’s a fast reader - and she’s just as shocked as steve, apparently, if her bewildered expression and silence is anything to go by.

“robin? rob, say something.” he urges. “please. i need you to talk to me.”

“holy shit.” she finally raps. “steve, i’m gonna ask you a question and i don’t want you to freak out, okay?”

he nods.

“do you think you could’ve... reciprocated billy’s feelings?”

he opens his mouth to answer but halts, eyes wide and crazy as he stares at her.

“i-“ he gulps. “maybe?” he croaks out. “i-i think so? maybe yeah. yeah.” he nods.

“so you’re bisexual.”

and that’s throwing him on a whole other whirlwind. steve’s had too much thrown at him for the night and he doesn’t have it in him to deal with a sexuality crisis on top of everything.

but billy’s pretty. so fucking beautiful and steve can’t admit it just yet but he wishes he were still here. he wishes he could travel back in time and reach out to billy and save him from the horrors of hawkins but also kiss and fuck and love him properly but now it’s too late and steve and billy have one thing in common.

they’re both alone. lonely. so much love to give but no one to receive or give back.

“bisexual?” he chokes out.

“you like both. boys and girls. like david bowie. and david bowie’s awesome. you’re kinda awesome too, i guess. for a dingus.” she playfully punches his arm and it makes him feel better for all of 2 seconds until it’s hitting him again that the person who wanted to love him is dead. died right in front of him.

“do you have hot chocolate?” she nods. “with marshmallows?” she nods again. “can i have some?”

he feels like he’s about to faint. completely black out. wonders if he looks pale to robin. he needs something warm and comforting and hot coco will do the trick.

———————————

billy comes back in february. hopper and joyce gathered everyone up in joyce’s living room early february. sat everyone down to announce that hop had gotten... a call. a call from some doctor named owens who hop has a history with, the same doctor who helped will.

owens was nursing billy back to health in some secret lab in indianapolis, hence the funeral with no body. apparently billy was in comatose, then a medically induced coma when his brain woke up but he wasn’t strong enough to just yet. then, when he did wake up, he had to relearn how to eat, write, walk in physical therapy, alongside the heavy emotional therapy.

owens hid billy from the world until he was ready to be exposed to it again. then he called hopper one afternoon and told him to come pick the boy up.

max was angry. screamed and yelled until she was reduced to tears in joyce’s arms. the other kids were shocked and confused. didn’t know if they should be happy or scared. will and el were the only positive ones. nancy and jonathan were mostly shocked and indifferent, numb to these crazy surprises the shithole town throws at them. steve and robin just stared at each other knowingly, a million thoughts racing their minds.

a week later they were all in joyce’s living room again, nervously anticipating hopper and billy’s arrival. everyone looked up when the doorknob began to jerk and the lock turned, their eyes trained on the door as it opened to reveal hopper standing beside billy.

billy. clad in a big hoodie, gray sweats and converse. the same ones that were once in the box steve has hidden under his bed. his hair is long now, flowing freely and curling wildly at the ends, looking so soft with the lack of product. he looked tired, fading blue bags under his eyes. he hadn’t lost his tan, steve noted, and looked a little softer around the stomach and legs. for someone who went through all the shit he did, billy looked good. healthy.

max got to him the second he stepped inside, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. he immediately clung to max, holding her tight and whispering a shaky, wet hey, shitbird, only audible to her, resulting in her wet laugh. the siblings stayed like that for a few moments before pulling away to let billy see and greet everyone.

joyce had demanded they all not coddle billy because it would be suffocating and he probably couldn’t deal with that. except now she was serving and feeding him a million things, coddling him just like any other mother would. billy was hesitant and tense at first, but slowly relaxed, especially when he was given cookies.

sweet tooth, steve distantly remembered. billy has a sweet tooth, if the candy wrappers and lollipop sticks in the box were anything to go by.

everyone takes turns greeting and talking to billy. steve’s last in line to have his quick one-on-one with the guy and by the time they’re face to face, everyone’s sitting together, talking and laughing and eating.

“hey,” steve greets with a small smile. he can feel robin’s eyes on him and not-so-slyly flips her the bird, his eyes trained on billy and only billy. “it’s good to have you back.”

“you know you don’t have to say that, harrington, especially if you don’t mean it.” billy tries to joke but his eyes and smile are sad. “i only died for, like, two minutes. not a big deal.”

“shut up, man.” steve rolls his eyes and chuckles. “i do mean it.” he chews on his bottom lip nervously, doing a quick scan of the room to make sure there are no eyes on them before he looks back to billy.

then he’s reaching out and grabbing billy’s hand. running his thumbs over the scars along his palm and knuckles. he looks up to find billy confused and blushing. he smiles before pulling billy into a tight hug.

“you look good. so good.” steve whispers in his ear, getting a whiff of generic coconut shampoo. he has one arm wrapped tight around billy’s waist, holding him close with their bodies flush. he slides his free hand down and rests it on billy’s ass, barely squeezing. he chuckles when billy jumps a little.

“harrington.” billy chokes out, voice wrecked. “what’s your hand doing on my ass?” steve can feel billy��s lips moving on his neck and it makes him shudder.

“just doing what i should’ve done a while ago.” he sighs, content, just holding billy’s warm, very much alive body close to his.

“if you wanted to get in my pants, pretty boy, all you had to do was ask.” billy flirts with a smirk steve can feel on his neck. then he pauses. “you’re not fucking with me?” he asks, tone serious.

“nuh uh.” steve shakes his head. “actually, uh,” he pulls away just enough to meet billy’s eyes. “max gave me your shoebox.” he watches as billy’s eyes widen and go fiery. “hey, no, don’t get mad at her. it’s not her fault. she didn’t know you were comms back.” steve reasons. “plus, now i know big bad heartbreaker billy hargrove has a crush on little ole me.”

“who says i still do?” billy raises his eyebrows, as if his hands aren’t tightly holding onto steve’s shoulders and he’s not blushing and making heart eyes at the guy.

steve’s not too bright, but he knows when people have a crush on him. he’s always been bright in the language of love. and sex, for that matter, as billy will eventually find out when he inevitably get lovingly and romantically railed and fucked into steve’s mattress later that week.

“just have a feeling.” he shrugs, giving billy’s ass one last squeeze before he rests his hands on his hips with a grin.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my writing

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tamagochiie · 3 years

Text

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of this series! i’m very excited to start this, and i hope everyone who reads it enjoys it as well! i got the idea from a manga i was binge reading a while back, so the themes and a few of the plot points are different, but as it progresses, i’ve made it my own.

anyway, happy christmas! see you next week!

master list

life as she’s known it >>

You notice the subtle clench of Kenma's jaw beneath the warm glow of the hallway's light. His hooded gaze strained by hours upon hours of gaming meets your wavering grin. The gears in his head are turning very slowly, and since silence has fallen upon the atmosphere of your shared apartment, you can actually hear the little squeaks as your poor boyfriend tries to fathom the sight before him.

You have quite a knack for bringing peculiar things home without permission; the little frog you adopted on the side of the road during your commute home one stormy night, the mud pie your nephew made for you that stunk the entire apartment for weeks because you didn't have the heart to throw it away—at least not immediately; and the dinner you brought home from the self-proclaimed "legitimate" kebab restaurant that resides in the sketchier side of the city.

All quirky things that Kenma had accepted and grown used to.

But this? This was so far from the bar you had set for his expectations, he can't help but wonder if you're pulling a prank, or maybe even actually committing a crime. But the glint of guilt and sorrow painting so deep into your face tells him otherwise.

Oh, how the poor gamer wishes it was a prank.

You swallow your fear, forcing it all the way down to the pit of your stomach. You've practiced all you've needed to say in the ride home, but all you can manage is stuttering, "I-I can..I can explain," in rather hushed tone.

There goes all my practice, you think to yourself.

Kenma raises a brow, still peering at you with the driest expression. The child in your arms begins to weigh heavier than the pressure placed upon your chest.

Ah, he just might break up with me after this...

"This is—uh, this one behind me is Eiji—Ejij say hi." The young boy behind you bows shyly, his greeting softer than a whisper it feels like you imagined it. "And this little one—sleeping soundly—this one's Yuki..."

Kenma blinks away at your words, face unamused. You regret not even trying to bring home some cake. Maybe if you did, he wouldn't be so...upset? Is he upset or is it just his face again? You can never really tell.

You huff, quietly jumping to the harsh conclusion this'll be the moment he ends things with you. But you won't go down without at least a little fight.

"Look," You sigh, shifting your hold beneath Yuki's tiny bum so he doesn't slip away, "They needed a place to stay, and no one was willing to take them!" Your lips fall dry and the more you speak, the more your words come out strained. "In a room full of people who—who called themselves your family for so many years fall silent the moment they needed help! No one spoke up to help them! It was so bad, Kenma! I-If you were there you—"

You bite your tongue, catching yourself before you're swept away by the current of your rage.

A deep, shaky sigh escapes him. His eyes finally tearing away from you as he cranes his head back, seemingly accepting his temporary defeat. "Let them sleep in the spare room and we'll talk after," is the only thing Kenma says to you before turning around walking away.

The constricting feeling in your chest eases and you sigh in relief. You mentally high five yourself for your momentary win before twisting your gaze over your shoulder to look at the young boy towering over you, motioning him to follow you.

You never noticed how wide the apartment actually is. Maybe its because of the emptying feeling you were left with back in the hallway, but it all seems so eerily wide. Like, what are two people doing with such a big space?

He'll definitely break up with me after this.

There's still a lingering prickly feeling in your heart; a mixed emotion of a win and a loss. You try your best to prepare yourself for whatever the outcome may be, but deep inside you're already prepared for a break up.

The young boy trails behind you all the way into the bedroom, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.

You switch the lights on, revealing a room big enough for more than just two kids. A desk on the side, a king size bed at the center, and a window with a good view of the city. It was usually the room Hinata crashed whenever he came back from traveling with his team, but he hadn't been here in months. Traces of him were left in the form of dust.

"Will this be good enough for now?" You ask Eiji as you shrug Yuki's backpack to the floor before making your way over to the bed.

His head is lowered, eyes still failing to meet yours. He's been like this since you pulled them from under the gossiping gaze of your family.

Family, you think. The word seems so meaningless now.

"When someone speaks to you, you ought to look at them," You say it with a genuine smile, hoping that the little warmth you have left in your heart radiates off you and onto him.

God knows he needs it more than you.

"Y-yes, you're right. Thank you." He stammers, "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—"

"Hey," You say, gently cutting him off as you hold your smile. He's still as soft and shy as the day you first met him. You can't help but smile at the thought that he never changed. "I'm not mad or anything...Its just a teaching moment. Remember it."

You watch as Eiji slowly shifts his gaze away from the floor, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes."There you go. You've got pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them."

He hums a quiet thank you before turning around and shifting his attention to his backpack. You take care of the little one still hanging onto you, pressing a kiss onto his little forehead and rubbing his back before settling him down onto the bed.

You're careful not to stir him as you slip his shoes off. You tuck him in, brushing his hair away from his face to reveal his long lashes and puffy eyes.

Ah, there goes the heaviness in your chest again; a recurring feeling for the day. You wonder when it'll end and your heart sinks even deeper when you remember Kenma waiting for you.

Hesitantly, you excuse yourself and make your way to the door. You let Eiji know where the bathroom is and tell him not to be scared to ask you for anything, "Please don't scared," is the last thing you mutter before leaving the boys to rest.

You tiptoe across the living room, down the hall and towards your shared bedroom. The wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet whispering, "You've done it now", "You've crossed the line", and "He's definitely going to yell at you".

You clench the knob of your bedroom door. The thumping of your heart deafens your ears and your throat grows too dry for you to swallow your fear.

You shut your eyes and pray to the deities, hoping for a good outcome—hoping for any outcome than the one you're expecting.

It takes a moment—five minutes to be exact—but you muster a sliver of courage to push the door open. For some odd reason, you imagined Kenma would be sitting at the edge of the bed, silently brewing in his anger. But instead, he's on the floor, knees up to his chest as he fiddles with his Switch.

And you can't tell if you're annoyed or relieved.

You shut the door behind you before joining him on the floor. You keep your head down, picking off your nail polish while you wait.

Kenma pauses his game, setting it down to the side before completely leaning against the bed, lulling his head back to take a breath. You shut your eyes and you take a deep breath when you feel him shifting in his place to face you.

Here it is. He's going to yell at me, you think.

"What are you plotting?" He asks, not a single trace of irritation found in his voice but rather sheer curiosity dripping from his words. You keep your head down and eyes shut. "You ought to look at someone when they're speaking to you," Your name rolls off his tongue playfully, covered in nothing more than love and sincerity.

You peak an eye at him, lifting your head. "You're not gonna to yell at me?"

"When have I ever yelled at you?" His face contorts in judgement and a little concern, wondering if his girlfriend's broken or just completely stupid. "Why would I yell at you now?"

"I brought home two stray kids..."

"Yes, you did," He says matter-of-factly, "and we need to talk about that. So, can we please talk about that?"

You nod slowly, bringing your knees up to your chest before turning your whole body to face him.

Kenma sinks his elbow onto the end of the bed, cupping his chin for support before he speaks, “Who are those kids and why did you bring them home?"

Kenma looks at you directly, his face emotionless, but a bit softer compared to when you were first standing in the hallway. He blinks at you, waiting patiently till you're ready to speak.

"They were my cousin's kids," You say in a strained whisper. "The—The one that died in the accident." Kenma hums in response, signaling you to keep going. "We weren't close—as you know or else you would've heard a lot more about him—but we felt close enough...given what our family's like..."

Growing up with the kind of family you had and having met everyone from your extended family was kind of like living in a block of ice that never melted; solid in their beliefs, slippery with their anger, and had no room for any other emotion.

You made this very clear to Kenma when you first started dating, especially when he had asked to meet your family. He wasn't one to socialize or even initiate it, but he would do it if it meant doing it for you. But you turned the idea down fast, warned him that there'd be no reason to have to go through all that stress just for you; and though he was just as stubborn as you, Kenma gave in and never brought it up again when he saw how upset you had gotten.

But in chest full of ice cubes, there was your cousin, Akihiro-san. Like you, he was different. He wasn't cold, but he was so genuine and real, you couldn't help but doubt his kindness.

A kindness you failed return when he needed it most. So, when you saw your moment of opportunity, you snatched it, regrettably leaving your boyfriend as an afterthought to your decision.

"I owe it to him, Kenma..." You plead in whisper. "I owe to him because he was the only one who was ever nice to me..."

"These are kids," He counters, dipping his head to meet your glossy eyes. He takes your cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. "This would be different if it were a puppy or a plant—but these are living and breathing kids and we know nothing about raising kids. My love, we're only in our twenties..."

"But—"

"You should've called first." He cuts you off, his tone still soft , but firm. You’re at least grateful he’s called you your pet name. "You should've called me and asked."

"You would've said no..."

"How do you know? You never called me." There isn't resentment in Kenma's words. Its still playful and light, but you can feel his hurt and you feel dumb because you know exactly why. "I would've liked to have been included in this decision...especially since this is my home and you are my girlfriend, and you promised that we would make decisions together."

You frown, tears brimming to the surface as you realized what you've done and how you've probably made him feel.You denied him of his choice, and you were silly to believe that it was okay to go over his head and behind his back.

As you whisper a string of apologies, Kenma presses his forehead onto yours, smiling at you. He was angry at first, but not so much anymore.

"Are you going to break up with me?" You sniffle, voice breaking at the thought. "I'd understand if you wanted to break up with me...But I just—I really wanted to help them. I'm so sorry I didn't ask you first, I couldn't just leave them—"

"Shhh," His breath fans against your skin, "I'm not breaking up with you, stupid. Given, this is probably the biggest wild card you've thrown at me by far, but its not enough for me to break up with you."

You hide your face into dip of his neck, sobbing into the material of his sweater, letting go of the strength you had from holding back and stain it with your tears. You had always been reckless, but it never turned him off. He never raised his voice, he always heard you out, and even when you slipped up, he always forgave you in a heartbeat.

It makes you question if you’re deserving of such a love as this.

“I was very angry and very offended,” Kenma begins, “I didn’t like what you did. It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me, and it made me feel like you saw me as some kind of terrible person that would turn away kids that need a home...”

You shake your heard, muttering a “no” to his assumption.��

Kenma runs his fingers through your hair and down to your back, soothing you until you've caught your breaths. He'll soft press his lips against the crown of your head, discreetly swiping the little sweat off his lips to keep you from being offended.

"S-So, what do we do about the kids?" Your question muffled but Kenma can hear you just fine.

He sighs, and as he's about to pull you away from his chest, you tighten your hold around his waist. "Please look at me," Your shoulders fall and you pout when you come face to face with him. He chuckles at how ridiculously childish you look, "Do you really want to do this?"

Your eyes widen, "Y-yes. I want to do this, but if you don't want—"

"Better us than anyone else, right?" You blink at him, processing. "I don't know shit about kids, but if you really want to do this, I'll support you. But you can't expect me to be good at this."

Kenma falls onto your shoulder and rests all his weight onto you, letting out a sigh. Panic envelopes his heart, his stomach flipping and churning as he stresses over all the things that's yet to come.

“We’ve been dating for four years, and I’ve just only gotten the hang of you now...” He admits in a heavy sigh.

I'm still a kid, he thinks, groaning. He's plays games all day, forgets to shower, and doesn't know how to cook either. He works from home, rarely goes out unless he needs to or if you want to. Out of the both of you, you're--surprisingly-- more put together than he is.

Can he really do this?

"Please don't expect much from me," He begs, "I don't do well with kids, and you even took in a grown one. What if it doesn't like me or if it forget to feed it?"

You chew on your lip, holding back a laugh and quietly smile to yourself. Vulnerability paints well on your boyfriend, and you wish for even more moments like this.

“I promise it’ll only be until we kind find some other arrangement for them...Something better." You’re not entirely confident in your words, but you understand the idea of having them stay with you isn’t the most sound solution.

"I suppose if we mess up, we'll mess it up together." He says in defeat, sprawling his legs open before wrapping it around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. He cradles your body tightly just as Yuki had done. "You don't understand how unbelievably lucky you are that I love you."

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