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adelheidvonschicksal · 3 years

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I could do a scenario where reader loves to mess with megumi's hair, but suddenly she stops because she thinks she's bothering him.

The first time you notice how soft his hair is was when you were returning to school after a long mission.

You were riding in a car with the entire first-year gang. Nobara sat in the front seat next to Ijichi while you were placed in the back between Yuji and Megumi. The ride back was a long one. After an exhausting day of exorcising curses, you were all tired. Nobara and Yuji ended up falling asleep minutes into the ride, leaving Megumi to watch the sights passing through the window and you shyly trying to make conversation with him.

It's hard considering the strong crush you have on your fellow classmate. He was intelligent, kinder than he really let on, and fairly mature (at least compared to the people you’re usually around). His good looks were the cherry on top of the entire package. Everyone knew Megumi was a pretty boy and often teased him about it. He had fair skin, long, thick eyelashes, and your favorite being his dark hair. It looked so soft whenever your teacher would pat his head, flattening out the black tresses and ruffling them, much to Megumi’s chagrin. But you really wished you could feel as well.

You were the type of person to show your fondness for others through touch. Some people liked it, and some didn’t. For example, Yuji normally had no problem with you touching him, even welcomed it. You weren’t brave enough to ask someone like Megumi for the same sort of relationship, so you kept your hand to yourself when it came to him. At least until Megumi fell asleep, leaning against the car door for support. It’s then you saw your chance and carefully reached to touch one of the longer spikes.

The little black point wavered at your poking, lightly curling around your index finger as you swirled it around. You giggled to yourself about it. It’s thicker and fluffier than you imagined and also incredibly soft, proving Kugisaki’s theory about a ton of hairspray wrong.

Suddenly, a bump in the road cut your touching short, and you quickly jumped away when Megumi’s eyes began to flutter open.

Suspicious, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said calmly despite your heart thumping under his gaze, but he dropped his interrogation as you all pulled into the school’s parking lot.

That was three months ago.

Now, the two of you were dating, and you saw that as permission to continue your physical intimacy with your more introverted boyfriend.

“Good morning, guys,” you greet your classmates and teacher with a wave, saving your happier actions for Megumi as your hand immediately goes towards his head to ruffle his hair. You pull your hand away but not before letting your fingers clasp your favorite cowlick. Giving a gentle tug, you let it bounce back into place with a smile.

Megumi groans softly, his mouth pursed into a slight frown as he goes to fix his hair back into its normal disarray.

Gojo claps, bringing your attention towards him. “Well now that everyone’s here, let’s go shopping.”

With that, the five of you head to the shopping district despite the heat bearing down on the city. You spend about an hour walking around before deciding to take a break so Nobara and Gojo can catch their breath in the shade while you return some clothes you bought a few weeks earlier across the street. Megumi and Yuji go to buy all five of you drinks, but it isn’t long before you hear Yuji yelling from outside the store.

“Sensei! Kugisaki! Fushiguro is getting hit on! We have to protect (L/Name)’s relationship!”

Before you could even stop them, they’re already up and running in Fushiguro’s direction. Sighing, you grab your card from the store owner and run to catch up with your group.

When you arrive, Kugisaki and Itadori are already clinging to him and ranting something about being in love with him before Gojo saunters up in his best casual wear to challenge them. You have to stifle back a laugh as he goes on about music practice and homewrecking before the event ends with Megumi smacking Yuji in the head as Nobara and Gojo stalk off, defeated.

Hearing your laughter, Yuji cowers behind you with tearful chibi eyes. “Do you see that, (Name)? Fushiguro is so mean. I was only trying to help him and that's the treatment I get .”

“You didn’t help at all. You were nothing short of embarrassing.”

You giggle at the two before reaching out to your silently fuming boyfriend. “No need to be so grumpy, Megumi-kun, or did Gojo give you too much violin homework,” you sing out teasingly, earning a growl about how it isn’t funny as you playfully scramble his hairstyle.

“And that! Will you stop with that?” Megumi demands and forcefully shoves your hand away. “It’s so annoying. You don’t see me petting you all day like some damn pet.”

“Oh,” you say, stepping back from him in your shock. This is the first time Megumi has brought up how you chose to dote on him. Yes, he’d quietly grumble about it from time to time like most things, but he never yelled at you about how you chose to display your affection. You guess you never really realized how much it truly bothered him. Biting back the hurt in your voice, you apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Megumi grunts softly in response, and Yuji decides it’s probably best to ask Gojo to take you all home for today.

It isn’t long after that Megumi begins to notice your interactions with him starting to change. He apologized for yelling at you soon after the event, but you were still much less touchy with him even after accepting his apology.

Normally, you’d grab onto his hand without so much as asking or surprise him with kisses on his cheek. Now, you only hold his pinky from time to time and only if he asks. You also stop your go-to of rubbing his head when you’d greet him or playing with the ends of his hair when you were bored.

Megumi thought maybe something was bothering you, but then he noticed how you’d still laugh and joke around with Yuji and Nobara, your hand gripping onto their shoulder when they’d tell an extra funny joke or affectionately patting them on the back. That wasn’t the worst though. The worst was when you’d absentmindedly sweep Yuji’s hair back into place when it got messy from training. The jealousy it sparked in Megumi was the last straw that makes him decide to ask you what was wrong.

You’re surprised when he tugs on your sleeve, interrupting your conversation with Itadori and Kugisaki. “Hey, can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, nodding off to Itadori and Kugisaki before following Megumi to the waterspouts outside. You both sat together on the brick square surrounding the structure. It’s a few quiet seconds of you staring at Megumi as he folds his hands in front of him and lazily taps his foot. Dark blue eyes stare at you before dropping back to the ground.

“Are you still mad at me for yelling at you the other week?”

You shake your head. “I told you it’s fine. I’m not mad at you about that.”

“Then, it’s something else,” he decides, and he desperately tries to rack his brain for what else he could have possibly done wrong, “I’m sure I didn’t forget your birthday or anything. Do you not like me anymore or something?”

Gasping, you deny his claim, “Of course I like you, why would you think I don’t?”

“Because you’re not so friendly with me anymore like the way you are with the others, so either you’re upset with me, or you don’t have the same feelings for me as you do with them.”

“It’s neither of those things. With Yuji and Nobara, they’re both sociable people, but you aren’t like them. You don’t like all that kind of stuff, and I don’t want to annoy you by doing things you don’t like.”

Megumi scowls at your confession, sighing because he remembers exactly why you must be talking like this so suddenly. He specifically called your touches annoying, and he inwardly curses at himself for it. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t like it…” he begins unsurely then pauses.

“Then, what?”

Megumi groans softly, an embarrassed heat starting to build in his cheeks as he quietly croaks out, “Feels good.”

“What’s that?” you ask, scooting closer so you can hear him better.

Megumi blushes lightly and cranks his head to look away from your cutely confused blinking. “It feels good when you do it,” he repeats robotically.

“When I do what?”

“When you play with my hair,” he hesitantly explains in more detail, “When Gojo does it, it’s aggravating, but I don't mind so much with you.”

Hesitantly, you ask, “So is it okay if I do it now?”

Megumi nods. “If you want.”

Cautiously, you lift your hand, pulling back in doubt a few times before ultimately sliding your fingers through his hair and rubbing. Megumi groans softly at your touch, and you realize that all those rushed noises of aggravation were actually him moaning from how light and comforting your touch was. You move your hand forward and backward some more, massaging his head until his head starts nodding and his eyes flutter a bit.

You giggle at him. “Are you falling asleep? You’re such a kid.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

You laugh louder as he scoffs to hide his embarrassment.

“In that case, you can sleepover with me tonight, and we can do this if you want,” you offer sweetly, and Megumi glances at you, thinking it over. As your smile grows and your hand hits that sweet spot right at the nape of his neck, he couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of falling asleep with you playing with his hair.

“I’d like that.”

#megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fluff #jjk megumi #look at me finally writing something sfw for him #i have like 5 wips that all revolve around this boy

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animeomegas · 3 years

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Omega!Bakugou headcanons

Anon: Pssssss imma need some more omega Bakugou like now no it make him jealous too because why not

AND

Anon: hi! could you do some omega!bakugou x male alpha!reader? nsfw and sfw pls <3

nesting too pls!! idk why but I love the idea of nesting sjdjsnd, pregnant bakugou fluff would be lovely too <3

AND

Anon: Hi I was wonder if you could do omega Bakugou sfw and nsfw please 🥺

(Hey, everyone!! Bakugou is very popular in my inbox! Okay, let’s write some omega!Bakugou headcanons <3 I have another request for pregnant!Bakugou, so I’ll add that part of the middle request to another post 😊 Also, I only write for a gender neutral reader. I hope you all enjoy~)

Warnings: N-sfw under a cut, suggestive behaviour multiple times not under the cut.

Nesting:

Bakugou is not an omega who is big on nesting. He does nest and he’s very proud of his nest, but he doesn’t feel the urge to nest super often.

He doesn’t keep a permanent, all year-round nest, he’s kind of a clean freak so having to constantly clean all the blankets in his nest would drive his nuts.

He does nest during his heat and late term pregnancy, and also after periods of extreme stress, but not often outside of these times.

But if he knows his alpha likes his nests, he might build them for his alpha when they’re stressed, although he’ll claim he just felt like making it and it shouldn’t go to waste.

It’s not a very convincing lie.

His nest is not in a very popular style, mainly because Bakugou overheats so easily.

It’s a simple double mattress on a very low frame, with a couple of pillows and sheet like blankets that he normally uses as a base rather than a covering.

He has a black and red colour scheme that he thinks is the coolest thing ever, and he definitely has an All Might pillow hidden somewhere at the back that he threatens his alpha to keep a secret, it’s very cute.

He likes his nest to be in an easily defendable position, whether that be inside a large cupboard or wardrobe, or a small room with one door and a small window.

Bakugou also keeps a mini fridge by his nest, as a lot of omegas do, to store water and food, but what he has that a lot of omegas don’t, is a mini freezer too.

He keeps ice packs and ice lollies in there to help when he’s in heat because his temperature tends to get way too high.

Bakugou doesn’t like being vulnerable, so his nest is a sensitive topic for him.

It takes him quite a while to let his alpha into his nest, but he’s quicker to let them chill outside of it, holding his hand and keeping him company. He would probably let them outside his nest after courting for a year and knowing them for at least two years. When he lets them inside depends on a lot of factors, including how well they deal with him from the outside of his nest. It could be anywhere from three months to another year.

Pups:

Bakugou has always wanted some pups, but in a removed and distant kind of way. After all, becoming the No. 1 hero was far more important than any of that ‘family’ nonsense.

He only really considers pups when he’s in a very committed relationship and at a comfortable place in his career. He’s not prepared to take time off at a vulnerable career moment, after all.

Bakugou wants two children, because, while he would never admit it, he always wished he had a sibling when he was a kid, so he wants to give that to his children.

But he’s very conflicted about it.

Firstly, two pregnancy leaves would be a huge blow to his career. Prime hero years and prime ‘having children years’ are the same years, so in a way, he has to decide how to balance these two priorities. He isn’t sure he wants to risk his career with that much leave so close together (heroes can’t be in the field while pregnant at all, so it would be a huge sacrifice.)

Secondly, he’s nervous about how useless he would likely feel while pregnant. He’s a workaholic and being confined to his house and losing control over his quirk would drive him nuts.

So, he doesn’t really know what to do. He doesn’t share any of his concerns with his alpha, but he does take their wishes into account too. If his alpha really wants two children, Bakugou does keep that in mind. But he’s not a push over. If he decides that two maternity leaves are too many, then it’s too many. It’s his body and he won’t let anyone tell him otherwise.

So, with all this in mind, Bakugou is fucking thrilled when he finds out he’s having twins.

Two pups for the price of one pregnancy leave?? Sign him the hell up!

Bakugou has twin boys, both alphas, and Bakugou just cannot believe his luck that all his problems just fixed themselves.

“But I don’t want to go!” came a defiant voice from the back seat of the car. Both you and Bakugou sighed, not keen on restarting the disagreement that had plagued the household for the entire morning. It had taken twice as long as normal this morning to get the twins dressed and in the car because of this very argument.

You could see Bakugou about to open his mouth to tell him that they had to, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Why don’t you want to go, sweetheart?” you cooed at your oldest son.

“I don’t want you and daddy to leave…” whimpered your youngest son, answering in his brother’s stead.

Bakugou winced and reached a hand into the back and squeezed each of his son’s hands in turn.

“I know.” He said simply. You could feel his guilt, even though you both knew it was the best for all of you that the twins get used to nursery so that both you and Bakugou could go back to focusing on your careers. They would be fine, you tried to convince yourself. Millions of kids do this every year and it works out fine.

The nursery came into view, and you refocused your attention onto finding a parking space in the little car park on the side of the building. You could hear your sons shifting anxiously in the back and it pulled at your heart strings. You pulled into an empty space and turned off the engine. You and Bakugou shared a single look before moving to get your children out of the car with practiced ease.

“No,” your eldest son shouted. “I’m not going to go. I’m staying here!”

You had tried to take him out of the car seat, but he had refused to cooperate. You didn’t want to pull him out in case you hurt him. Bakugou came to stand behind you, your youngest son clutching his neck desperately.

“Let me talk to him,” he spoke softly, handing the younger twin over into your arms.

“Hey,” Bakugou said softly, leaning down to peer inside the car where his eldest son stubbornly sat with his arms crossed. “It’s okay to be scared to go to nursery, you know.”

Your oldest son visibly flinched and avoided looking at Bakugou in the eyes.

“I’m not scared, daddy. I just don’t want to.”

“Uh huh,” Bakugou said, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not!” Your son exploded. When he realised that he’d just shouted at his father, the colour drained from his face and his bottom lip started to quiver. Bakugou wordlessly held out his arms and his eldest son accepted the embrace just in time to burst into heavy tears on Bakugou’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Bakugou hushed. “I’m not angry at you.”

In your arms, your youngest son was watching his brother cry and letting out little whimpers into your neck. You rubbed his back soothingly and whispered that everything was going to okay.

Out of the corner of your eye, you realised another parent was staring judgementally at your family. Bakugou clearly also noticed because he bared his teeth as a warning and the parent quickly moved on. You scoffed at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to antagonise an omega who was looking after a distraught pup, let alone when said omega was a top ten hero.

“W-What if they don’t l-like me?” your eldest whimpered out.

“Here,” Bakugou wiped some of the tears away with his thumb. “How about this, you tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll sort it out, how does that sound?”

“But…” your son hesitated. “But what will you do?”

Bakugou grinned.

“I’ll make their parents regret doing such a shitty job at parenting.”

You gasped, halfway between scandalised and amused.

“Katsuki!” you reprimanded and smacked his lightly on the shoulder.

It did seem to cheer up your sons, though, who were now giggling at your antics.

“Daddy said a bad word,” your youngest twin giggled to you.

“He did,” you pressed your lips together. “And it was very naughty of him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and instead placed the pup in his arms on the floor, taking him by the hand. You did the same and slowly, you both made your way toward the school gate. The mood dropped, but neither of your children tried to resist.

You could see a teacher standing at the gate to escort the new students and you made your way over.

“Remember,” Bakugou said before you reached the gate, stopping you all for a moment. “We’ll be back in this many hours,” he held up three fingers. “Can you guys tell me how many this is?”

“One… two… three…” they both said together.

“That’s right! See? You guys are going to be the smartest ones in there,” Bakugou boasted, ruffling their hair.

“Careful,” you teased. “They’ll turn into you.”

“Are you saying I’m always the smartest person in the room?” Bakugou grinned back.

“No, I’m saying you always think you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“Oi!” he growled, knocking his shoulder with yours. The pups giggled again, seeming to be in higher spirits. You escorted them to the gate at the front of the playground and let the teacher introduce herself.

And with one final goodbye, your pups were off into the nursery and out of sight.

You and Bakugou walked to the car in silence, digesting what had happened and processing that your little ones were now old enough for nursery. You both slipped back into the car and began the drive home.

It was weird to think that your children were neither with you, nor at home waiting for you, but that kind of existential deep dive could wait until later.

Bakugou’s hand settled just a little bit too high on your thigh. For the moment, it was time to appreciate the novelty of an empty house.

Jealously:

I don’t think anyone would be very surprised to find out that Bakugou can get quite jealous on occasion.

In the early days of your relationship, he’s very nervous that his alpha is going to find a ‘better’ omega, an omega who is more traditional, and leave him for them. It takes a lot of bravery for him to leave himself vulnerable to being abandoned, and occasionally the insecurities seep through.

He hates the whiny, simpering omegas that plaster themselves onto the nearest alpha, and it makes him furious to see anyone doing that to you.

He has no subtlety, no brooding angst, he just threatens the other omega(s) away to their face, and then drags you somewhere private to cover you in his scent.

Later in the relationship, things change. He’s extremely confident that his alpha is his. Why would they ever leave him? He’s the best fucking omega ever!

Instead, he gets jealous if he isn’t getting enough attention because you’re spending too much time with someone else.

He doesn’t do this in a possessive way, it’s just that he doesn’t get a whole lot of free time and when his alpha spends that free time with someone else? Another omega? He’s pissed.

He gets surly and passive aggressive about it, and it’s extremely obvious.

The best way to fix it is to just give him lots of attention, he won’t behave like this is you have to leave for something important (he understands duty like the best of them), so it’s very easy to address.

Bakugou idly stirred a pot of miso soup as the radio in the kitchen blasted out whatever awful top 40 song it had picked this morning. He had only put it on to fill the silence really, which was the only thing this awful excuse for music was good for in his opinion.

He was making breakfast for the two of you as a kind of mini celebration. He had two days off in a row, the first time in a couple of months because of his crazy work schedule and he wanted to make sure he spent every moment that he could with his alpha. And so, here he was, getting up early to prepare breakfast for your both.

There was a lull in noise as the radio switched between songs, and in the few moments of silence, Bakugou could hear shuffling coming from the bathroom. He grinned. Perfect timing.

He put down the last plate and waited for you to come out, you should be here any second now.

Fiddling with your shirt one last time you swung open your bedroom door, bag on your shoulder, finally ready to leave. You were interrupted momentarily by a delicious scent in the air. Bakugou must be cooking, so you followed the smell to the kitchen and walked in to say goodbye to him, vaguely sad that you were going to be missing his food, but he was probably only making himself something to bring to work, anyway.

And then you saw the elaborate breakfast spread your heart stopped. Had you forgotten an anniversary? Bakugou looked just as shocked to see you dressed up and ready to leave. However, his shock soon melts into frustration.

“Why are you all dressed up?” he growled, the excitement that had been on his face when you walked in now gone. “You said you weren’t working today.”

“I’m not,” you said quietly, confused as to why he was so upset. “Izuku messaged me while I was getting dressed and invited me for brunch, I was just going to meet him.”

Bakugou’s face screwed up at your words. He went to open his mouth but then stopped. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was doing the breathing exercises that his therapist taught him for when he was angry. What had you done to make him this upset?

The relaxing exercises clearly weren’t working for him because he stood up from the table and stalked out of the room suddenly, shutting himself in your bedroom. You winced as the door slammed shut behind him.

Oh dear… you had made your mate so upset that he had shut himself away in your bedroom. Your stomach twisted itself into a knot. It was time for some damage control (and a quick check of the calendar to makes sure you hadn’t actually forgotten an anniversary or something.)

You shot a quick text to Midoriya, apologising for cancelling and letting him know that something had come up. He sent back a ‘don’t worry!’ message and about six smiling emojis. Well, at least he wasn’t also mad at you.

Fishing out a tray from the cupboard above the sink, you stacked it up with as much food from the table as you could, thankful that it appeared to still be warm, and carried it to your bedroom door.

“Katsuki?” you called out, knocking on the door with your foot. “I’m coming in, is that okay?”

There was silence. Well, silence was better than swearing, so you carefully slid open the door and moved towards the brooding lump on the bed.

“The fuck do you want?” he growled. “I thought you were going out to eat with Deku?”

You froze at his vicious tone. Was he jealous? Well, that was a lot easier to solve than forgetting an anniversary, at least. With a smile, you slid the tray onto the bedside table and climbed on the bed behind you mate, letting out a reassuring scent. You wrapped your arms around him, ignoring how he tensed in your embrace, and whispered into his ear.

“Why would I spend time with Midoriya when I could be spending time with you, hmm?” you whispered, purposefully blowing hot air onto his neck. You revelled in his full body shiver. “The only reason I accepted plans with Midoriya was because I thought you were going to work.” You pressed as close to him as you could and placed a single kiss right behind his ear. Bakugou melted at the affection.

“Come on now,” you continued, a coy smile on your face. “Let’s not let this delicious breakfast go to waste.”

You reached over and scooped a little bit of rice onto your fingers before holding it up to his lips. Bakugou opened his mouth with only a small grumble in complaint, and you made sure to push your fingers a little deeper inside than perhaps absolutely necessary.

“I promise I’ll make this morning’s misunderstanding up to you.”

Miscellaneous:

Bakugou’s scent is fairly sweet but still quite smoky.

When he’s upset/stressed, his scent is like burnt sugar, and when he’s very happy/excited, he smells like almost like a marshmallow roasting on a bonfire.

It’s a very pleasant scent but it does tend to divide people. Some love it, and others hate it. Bakugou doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about his scent (except his alpha, but shh, that’s a secret!)

In his family, his father is an omega and his mother is an alpha and while they are happy together, Bakugou always promised himself that he would never end up in a relationship like that. He didn’t want some alpha bossing him around like his mother bossed around his father.

Bakugou finds meek alphas (and people) annoying, but he doesn’t like super aggressive alphas either. He’s attracted to people who exist in the middle of those extremes.

Bakugou knew he was an omega from birth, and it was something he was very insecure about for a long time. It was a big part of why he turned out the way he did as a child, he was making up for something that he viewed as a weakness by being as aggressive as possible.

His mother wasn’t great at making him feel secure in his secondary gender, assuming he would like certain things and pushing him in certain directions simply because he was an omega.

His father said that he was there if Bakugou had any questions, but he let Bakugou reach out to him instead of reaching out to Bakugou, and Bakugou was too proud to make the first move.

Bakugou ends up deciding that being an omega wasn’t going to stop him becoming the No. 1 hero. He decided that he could overcome being an omega.

It wasn’t until he was an adult that he actually started to accept being an omega was a part of him that he didn’t need to overcome, but that he could instead embrace and that it didn’t make him weak to do so.

When he does become a mainstream hero, he makes sure to always tell the omega children that he meets that they can do whatever they want and still be an omega.

N-sfw under the cut

Bakugou is a switch, mostly.

Oftentimes he switches multiple times in the same session, so his alpha needs to be quite the brat tamer to keep him from getting frustrated and trying to get on top so that he can control the pace.

He has a very high sex drive, and he likes to have a partner who can match him because he way prefers sex to masturbating.

It would be hard to find someone whose chest and nipples are as sensitive as Bakugou’s, and when he’s in heat, he can definitely orgasm just from his chest being stimulated.

Bakugou is also definitely a squirter, something which he was very shocked and embarrassed to find out.

Bakugou generally prefers slightly rougher sex. He gets bored when the pace is too slow and definitely scratches and bites (and is happy to receive the same in return).

When he’s in heat, Bakugou is a bit different.

He’s not a pillow prince by any means, but he is definitely a lot more passive than he is normally.

He’s not super loud, but he definitely swears a lot, even between waves of heat when he gets grumpy that he’s too hot and sticky. That swearing is a lot less sexy though.

Bakugou’s sexual side doesn’t really come out outside of his own home. He doesn’t like flaunting anything in public and can even get uncomfortable talking about sex with his friends, especially when they tease him with personal questions. He’s definitely a private person when it comes to sex.

Although that is not to say he isn’t confident in the expression of his own sexuality, much to opposite is true. He is definitely the kind of person to order some new toy or outfit on the internet every month to surprise his alpha.

He’s sexy and he knows it, so why not?

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

My first Phic Phight fic!

For @ecto-american’s prompt

His name was Danny.

That was the first thing he knew for sure was true, when he had first woken up it was what everyone called him, and it fit just fine, wasn’t something off or uncomfortable so he let it settle over him before he tried to speak.

His voice didn’t come at first, and it hurt to try so the nurses made him promise to take it easy for now, to sit back and listen. So he did.

He listened as the people around him spoke at length about how much they missed him, about how they couldn’t wait to get him home again, about how glad they were he’d survived.

The loudest and most talkative of the people that visited him and called him Danny, was a large man in an orange jumpsuit that went on long enthusiastic tangents that Danny had long stopped paying attention to. He was almost always with a smaller, authoritative woman named Maddie, who insisted He call her Mom. They told him they were his parents.

They told him they loved him.

And then they told him everything else.

The first time Danny remembered something it was with excitement, he was still in the hospital room and between the visits from the men in the starched white suits, his parents, and the doctor, he had been wrestling with the feeling that something was missing.

It had only been when Maddie had finally taken off the hood and goggles of her jumpsuit had Danny gotten a flash of familiar red hair and asked, “where’s Jazz?”

His heart buzzed at the question, sure, so sure that it would get answered, that he had remembered something.

But both Jack and Maddie had just looked at him, disappointed, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, once the doctor declared him competent and unlikely to slip back into his coma, his parents had taken him home.

There were streamers all over the house and a giant party banner that read “Welcome Back” in thick black lettering and Danny forced out a small smile as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Maddie walked up behind him and he flinched, his body acting before his brain could catch up.

She had frowned at his reaction, and when Danny, stuttering, tried to apologize she said it was okay, and with a tightlipped smile, she pulled him into a hug.

He forced himself to relax, frustrated with himself. This was his mother, there was no reason for his instincts to be so afraid. Jack had joined the hug and eventually Danny found himself relaxing for real, sure maybe getting his memories back was a slow uphill climb, but at least he wouldn’t do it alone.

Eventually his parents let him go and told him he was free to walk around the house and reacquaint himself with it. His room was the first door on the left upstairs, the bathroom was down the hall and the basement, apparently, was off limits.

So Danny went upstairs into his room. It looked something like a teenager’s room he supposed. There were the posters hung haphazardly on the walls and they were torn at the corners as if someone had ripped them all off the walls before hastily taping them back up. The bed was made too, and there was a lot less dust than he was expecting after being gone for a whole month.

In fact, it looked like he’d cleaned and organized the whole room before he’d fallen into his coma and Danny didn’t know why, but that thought set him on edge. Maybe he was just an organized person?

It was just… he didn’t feel very organized.

He kept looking around. There was that feeling that something was missing, something important to him, and he walked over to the nightstand by his bed. Placing a hand on the polished wood Danny fought the flash of a model spaceship that appeared in his memories. It wasn’t here though and Danny frowned. Was that something else he’d thrown away and simply forgotten?

Shaking his head Danny headed back downstairs, maybe he should just ask Jack, er, his dad? He should really get used to calling them mom and dad. But before he headed down he went to the room across from his and knocked.

Maybe he was being foolish, but he had expected someone to answer, had a name even come to mind. When no answer came he opened the door himself only to find a storage room, nothing but shelves and boxes and Danny scolded himself for the painful ache he felt in his heart.

It was another week before Danny had another memory, and just like the last two, it didn’t fit quite right. Like a piece from another puzzle jammed where it shouldn’t fit. So he’d asked Maddie.

“Sam?” she’d said, a carefully blank look on her face, “Oh! I remember Sam, she was an old friend of yours you used to talk about her all the time. Shame she moved away.”

And just like that, he’d had his answer as ill fitting as it was. Sam was a girl he knew that moved away, the memory he’d had, of her crying face screaming at him to stay awake just stay awake damnit, was probably from a long time ago. The pain he felt in his chest -just to the right of his heart- at the thought of her not being near and that he’d probably never see her again? That was nothing important.

It was another couple of weeks of sleeping in that house, waking up and going downstairs to eat with his parents, to chat about memories he didn’t have and tell stories he never resonated with, before he woke up screaming for the first time.

Maddie had instantly run into his room, Jack not far behind and Danny scrambled away from them both. His mind filled with images of painful green light and the ominous glint of red goggles twisting his reflection in their lenses as they looked down on him.

His parents had pushed past the barrier of pillows and blankets he’d made and pulled him into their arms, rocking him and shushing him until eventually he’d tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep again. The nightmares returned.

Eventually Danny stopped asking questions about his memories.

Either they were incomplete, fragments of something real that had been twisted in time, or they were wrong entirely, figments of his own active imagination. He’d never had a sister, they insisted. It was his mother, Maddie that had stayed up late some nights to help him with his homework and bake him safe, edible cookies as a reward. Tucker was a kid he knew at school, yes, but he’d moved away years ago and they hadn’t spoken in person since.

He had blue eyes, when he looked in the mirror, not green.

It was frustrating, being unable to trust himself- his own memories. If it was anything more than broken, incomplete fragments he’d have argued, insisted they were real.

But then again, he also had memories of Maddie leaning over him, scalpel in hand to cut away at his flesh. And he knew that couldn’t be true; the woman that smiled every time he came downstairs, called him sweetie and kissed him on his forehead every night, wasn’t the monster in his dreams. She couldn’t be.

So he ignored them.

He ignored the moments of instinct when Maddie or Jack went for a hug or a kiss and he flinched, ready for an attack. He ignored how he never seemed able to give a straight answer when they asked about his day, even if he hadn’t done anything interesting at all. And he ignored his nightmares, stuffing towels under his doorframe to muffle the sounds of his screams. There was no reason to keep waking up his parents like that.

But no matter how much he ignored, he compartmentalized, or he forced himself to smile, to hug back, and to spend time bonding with his parents, he never felt safe. Maddie insisted that he was, of course she did, this was his home. But even as he smiled and agreed and let her hug him again, he wanted to leave.

This time his dream wasn’t a nightmare. No scary, well lit labs with beakers and glowing buttons, or disgusting, painful flowers shoved into his mouth. Instead there was the ticking of clocks, rhythmic and constant. A gloved hand gently soothed his hair back, and Danny’s fear seemed so far away.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d had since he’d gotten “home”.

That morning he’d asked for an analogue clock. His parents had been confused, but they acquiesced easily and took him to the store to pick one out. The one he’d ended up choosing was a large ornate antique with little clockwork gears and a loud tick. He was excited to put it up in his room, right above his bed.

He slept better after that, and some of the tension that had been building in the house eased.

His dreams were still mostly nightmares, attacks by inhuman ghostly figures were the most prominent. But they didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste, fear and uncertainty as the ones with the table, the scalpel, and the round, red goggles.

But now they were interspersed with better ones, fuzzy hugs and fields of blinding white, sitting in a garden pruning flowers as a soft, familiar voice gave him instructions, playing video games as the player character, confident and excited with a familiar presence at his back. And his favorite ones, the ones in the clock tower with the hooded figure and his soft smiles. The ones where he felt safest.

The ones that couldn’t be real, not if what his parents told him was true.

The next time they went out as a family after that Danny had wanted to go to a garden, and while at first Maddie was hesitant, Jack had insisted the great outdoors were perfect for helping him recover properly. Danny had been thrilled and hugged both of them in thanks, their answering smiles were soft and Danny had the thought that it had been some time since he’d seen those smiles reach their eyes.

Danny had a video game he apparently liked to play called Doom, and he was pretty good at it, judging by the level of his character. When he tried to message either of the two friends he had on his contact list though, the game glitched and his info got deleted. Frustrated he tried to reboot the system but the game itself had somehow gotten corrupted and there was no hope in recovery.

Just another thing that was apparently important to him that he’d destroyed or couldn’t find.

The worst was the time he woke with Maddie sitting next to him in his bed, she had a troubled look on her face and he didn’t know what it was he’d done wrong. Had he screamed in his sleep without knowing it?

“Danny honey,” she had said, looking over to him but not meeting his eyes, “do you remember what you dreamed about?”

He’d answered no, he hadn’t, which was mostly true. The only thing he really remembered about his dream was the feeling of safety and the ticking of a clock.

It took a month for Danny’s parents to feel comfortable leaving him alone in the house in order to go to work. He watched them walk out the door, fending off forehead kisses and muttered reassurances that they’d be home soon to check on him and that he should call if he needed anything, anything at all.

Once the door clicked shut however, the smile dropped off of Danny’s face and he set his eyes on the one thing he’d wanted… no, needed to do since he had that first nightmare.

He went to the basement.

The feeling of going down the stairs stumbled over a vague, blurry memory and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. This was just to be sure, just to prove to himself that all those dreams, all those nightmares he’d been having since his parents brought him home, were just that, nightmares.

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, confused when there was no lock, no resistance at all. Hadn’t they said he was banned from being down here? Why wouldn’t they lock it? Even Bluebeard locked the door his wife wasn’t supposed to enter.

The basement was…

A basement.

There were no spooky ominous beakers of strange and unrecognizable fluids, no haphazard lab equipment lying around without safety devices, nothing sterile or blinking and there was certainly no large metal table to strap someone down on.

It was just a normal basement with boxes and a desk, some chairs, a couple of old pieces of random furniture and Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This meant that Maddie was right, they really were just nightmares, probably some subconscious latent fear of going home with strangers that he couldn’t remember. That was all.

So why did he feel disappointed?

The next week was full of Danny waiting for his parents to leave before exploring the house more thoroughly. More than once he’d gotten caught in a half remembered routine that didn’t actually fit with his surroundings. Like bracing for a fight every time he opened the fridge, or expecting another flight of stairs after the second floor. Once he’d even risked going outside for a walk, trying to find his school based on half remembered directions that only served to get him lost.

It was a new routine that Danny found himself thankful for.

Not that he didn’t love his parents, he did! But for some reason, when they were gone, and it was just him with his space posters and his ornate ticking clock, and the piles of modified schoolwork that was supposed to help him when it was time to reintegrate into school, he felt a lot more relaxed. More carefree.

That was why, when he’d found the picture, it had felt like his world had crashed around him.

His parents had come home to find him sitting in the middle of the basement, tears long dried, and with the picture clutched tight in his hands, crumpled now with how long it had been.

“You lied to me.” he accused once they were within earshot. He didn’t have the energy to speak much louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence nonetheless.

“Danny-boy we can explain-”

“No!” Danny shouted, getting to his feet, “You lied to me .”

Jack flinched back and Maddie stepped in front of him, protective, as if somehow, out of the three of them Danny might be the threat. He growled.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, I trusted you with my memories, memories that were lost to me . I had a sister! You had a daughter . She existed, she was real, she’s in this photo! Smiling! ” Danny couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, it was all too much. To know that the girl in his shattered memories, the one with the soft hugs and the floral scents, that baked him cookies and held him when he cried at night, was real. And that she was gone, erased by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

He moved to storm past them, to go upstairs or maybe even outside and look up at the sky and try to make something of the twisting, knotted mess that was his emotions, his mind, his everything right now. But Maddie grabbed his arm before he could, tears spilling from her eyes.

“We didn’t want to hurt you Danny.” she said, voice soft and broken, “we didn’t want to give and then take away.”

She pulled him into a hug and Danny didn’t bother to struggle or try and break out of it, just let her cry into his shoulder as he stood there, waiting for his own tears to dry.

The next day Jack and Maddie left for work with more reluctance, neither one willing to leave Danny on his own again. But worry didn’t pay the bills and whatever it was they were doing at their job, it was clearly important. That was something Danny was starting to remember, all the things that were more important than him.

Danny went to the library this time, determined to start figuring things out on his own. His parents had said that his sister, Jazz, had died in the accident that had put him in a coma. They said they didn’t want to hurt him, or risk him not wanting to recover his memories if they were painful and that grief was difficult to deal with even without the head trauma and emotional conflict.

His parents said a lot of things, Danny was starting to realize. And almost none of it could be trusted to be true.

The first thing he did was look for a death certificate for his sister, Jazz Fenton. After hours of searching, reading every single name that existed in every obituary for this town in the entire month when his parents claimed the accident had happened.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So next he looked up phone records. Any Tuckers or Samanthas he could find, but he couldn’t remember their last names at all, just what they looked like.

How they had been crying over him.

He didn’t know if he believed that they’d just moved away. Then again, it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t know what to believe, if he believed anything at all. By the time he’d gotten home it was late, and his parents were already there.

At first they didn’t believe he was just at the library “trying to catch up on stuff” but they calmed back down once he’d shown them his library card and snapped that if he couldn’t even do that much why did they bother bringing him back from the hospital at all.

Dinner had been a quiet affair.

It took another week of library visits and recurring nightmares of dissection tables and glowing ghostly figures that attacked him before Danny gave up on finding out anything about Sam or Tucker. But he still didn’t stop searching for Jazz.

There was something almost obsessive about his search for her, he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know where she was, and if his parents, against all odds, hadn’t lied to him about that ... Well that was something he’d have to come to terms with when he came to it, not before.

He started scouring the Internet for her name desperate to find something, anything on her. And eventually he did.

There was an old article, from at least half a decade ago, that had her picture under the title “Four Teens go Missing in wake of Fenton Investigation”.

Next to her were two equally familiar pictures. Sam and Tucker… and then Danny himself.

Scrolling, desperate to find something, anything to add up the memories he was getting into a clear picture, he began to read the article.

In wake of the Investigation into the Fenton‘s possible abuse, Danny Fenton (15), his sister Jazz Fenton (17), and two friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley (15), have seemingly disappeared.

The discovery came shortly after Jack and Madeline Fenton were released on parol and allowed to return home to spend time with their children since no physical proof could be found of any alleged wrongdoings.

What could have caused their disappearances remains a mystery. The prevailing theory is that they were involved in a cult that may have demonized the Fenton parents due to their controversial occupation as “ghost hunters”. Another popular theory is that the children fled the results of the case, afraid of the alleged illegal experimentation. Other theories include kidnapping, witness protection, the possibility of murder, and tying up loose ends.

Will we ever discover the truth? It remains to be seen.

Ghost hunters …

Danny felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea rolled through him and he had to fight off the urge to relive his lunch.

Experimentation?

Nightmares and half remembered memories started clicking into place, finally , and Danny couldn’t stand it. Why were the only answers that made sense the ones that hurt the worst?

Would it have been better if he’d just let it go? If his memories never returned at all? If he just kept living, eating homemade cookies and flinching from hugs until eventually the itch underneath his skin dulled and he could just be happy as he was.

He closed the tab.

There was no one home when he got there, and it gave him the chance to pack what little belongings he had that held any meaning to him at all. The motions were familiar and he had the faintest feeling he had done exactly this before.

Maybe he had.

He’d made it out the front door by the time his parents pulled into the drive.

There was the urge to run, to go back inside and hide and pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what they caught him doing. But he was tired. He was so tired of feeling wrong and scared and uncertain and never knowing why.

So he held his head up as they got into the car and approached them with their hands raised, cautiously, like he was a wild animal they were afraid of spooking.

Was that what they thought he was?

“Danny, we can talk about this,” Maddie said, beseeching.

He met her eyes with his own. “Will you promise not to lie anymore? I don’t even know how old I am-”

“You’re fifteen son-” Jack interrupted, lying again.

“I was fifteen five years ago!” Danny yelled, his hand tightening into a fist, “I found the article! I read about the case! Five years ago.”

“Danno…”

Oh, he was crying. It was novel almost, Danny had thought he was too tired to cry, that there wasn’t anything more that could hurt him enough to create such a response and he didn’t quite know how to react to it.

He raised his hands awkwardly to scrub the tears away and stepped back, frightened, when Maddie tried to move closer to comfort him.

“Stay back! Stay back…” he looked at his hands, they were young hands, his reflection too, hadn’t changed from the picture in the article at all. Experiments. “What did you do to me?”

“It was an accident.” Jack said, before Maddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“We didn’t know Danny. How could we have?” She said, keeping her distance, cautious. “We tried to fix it-”

“Fix what? ” He hissed, “you haven’t told me what happened! You haven’t told me anything!”

“You!” Maddie finally snapped, tears falling heavy down her cheeks. “We were trying to fix you… but it wasn’t working and you just kept getting sicker… weaker… we had to stop.”

It was too much for her, and she turned away, leaning into Jack’s large frame as he comforted her. “We didn’t want to lose you, Danny.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You already did.”

Danny left his parents there, crying on the driveway of a house that could never have been a home. He had a clock tower to find.

#Danny phantom #Phic Phight #Phic Phight 2021 #fanfic #my fic #Bee’s writing

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birdsandspades · 4 years

Text

Bedtime Routine (A Bakugou Katsuki Oneshot)

-Bakugou drags home his drunk girlfriend after his friend Kirishima's wedding, how much babying will she need as the night goes by? Only the sake will tell!

Word Count - 4,516

- I honestly didn't know how to feel about this oneshot, but I wanted to write one for Bakugou and I felt like some of the parts were cute. So with that, enjoy some soft domestic Bakugou.

----

The keys once again slipped out of your hand, clinking together as they hit the ground. Leaning over, you grabbed the hand next to you as you reached down to pick them up again.

“Just give me those, i’m tired of watching you miss the keyhole.” Bakugou pulled the pile of keys from your hand, annoyance evident in his eyes. He fiddled with the lock for a moment before shoving the door open for you to walk inside.

“Katsuki, I'm drunk.” You giggled, the dissipating warmth still present in the apples of your cheeks. You have him a spacy smile before turning your attention back to the door. It was a small gap between the level of your front porch and the door frame, nothing menacing to the normal person. But the longer you looked at the door, the higher up it seemed. The ground spinning at a dizzying speed as you gathered the mental aptitude to move your already wobbly feet over it.

A soft hand on your back gave you the last boost of courage you needed to attempt the monumental feet of getting your damned foot inside of your apartment. You lifted your foot, placing it over the door frame. Mission accomplished, now you just needed to get the last foot over. You lifted it, trying to follow the same path you had taken with your other appendage. Your heel barely nicked the doors threshold, the movement stopping as you jolted forward. You attempted to grab the wall next to you, hand grasping at air as the floor came rushing towards you.

Bakugou grabbed the back of your arm, pulling you upright and back onto your wobbly legs. “I know that dumbass, now move so I can come inside.” He pushed you gently once you had your footing again, squeezing past you before closing the door. He reached a hand around you, flipping the switch next to the door.

You squinted, scrunching your nose at the bright lights. A hand tugged at the end of your coat sleeve, pulling each one off of you. You watched as Bakugou took it to the nearby hallways closet with his own, hanging them up neatly.

He gave you a confused glance, the corner of his mouth turning up in an awkward smile as you continued to stare at him. “You good space cadet? Did all that sake finally get to you?”

Your face soured as the ghost of alcohol's past hit your tongue. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the bad taste mentally and physically.

----

Bakugou couldn’t help but laugh at his light weight of a girlfriend, absolutely wasted after four shots and two beers. He had warned you not to drink with him and his friend at the ceremony, he knew this was bound to happen. He had suggested staying with the girls instead, “You won’t be able to keep up princess, go giggle and gossip with the other girls.” He had ment it in a loving way, only wanting you to enjoy your night. But he knew you had taken it a bit too serious when you shoved your way in between Denki and Sero at the table, hands folded over your chest like a disobedient child.

By the time the reception had ended and everyone was ready to head home you were way past your limit. Bakugou had found you sitting in the middle of the dance floor with an equally drunk Mirio trying to play a card game neither of you knew the rules too.

Bakugou had to resort to carrying you out of the reception hall over his shoulder, you frantically waving goodbye to his drunken friends as he threw you in the rideshare home. But your drunken shenanigans hadn’t ended there.

He loved how social you were, making friends just came easy to you. He would bring you to his hero event, relying on your bright and bubbly nature to mask his social lackings, happy that he could just leave all the questions to his likeable side kick and lover. But it was that same loveable attitude that was killing him in the car.

You had started the conversation off light with the driver, reminiscing on the beautiful wedding you had just attended with your very handsome boyfriend (you made sure to tell her that as well). But once she asked about music for the car trip home Bakugou knew he was in for a long ride. If he had to pick one thing to change about you (and he would have to be held at gunpoint to say this) it would be your music taste. It was his (un)lucky night that the drive and you just happened to share the same love for 2000’s club hits, and that's just what he got to listen to the entire ride home.

----

Now you were home, safe and sound. With the perfect night coming to a close he recalled the beautiful wedding he had attended for his best friend, and the wonderful night he had shared with the one he loved most. Bakugou smiled to himself as he slipped off his shoes, he hoped he could spend the rest of his life like this with you. You made him feel loved every second he was with you. Whether it be random flowers on his desk after a long patrol, your soft fingers tangled with his under the table at meetings, or that stupidly cute grin on your face as you stared at him for no apparent reason, he was absolutely smitten with you.

You reached a hand out, placing it on the wall next to you. Holding on for what felt like dear life you leaned down, slipping off your heels before attempting to neatly place them next to the door. A familiar hand wrapped around your middle, holding you steady as you stood back up. Your eyes trailed up the man in front of you, taking in all the ways his black dress shirt strained against his muscles. You ran a hand down the length of his arm, feeling the way it flexed against your fingers as he pulled you closer.

Your eyes finally met his, the auburn hues starting to match the color creeping across your cheeks. You tangled your fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling yourself to your toes. He wrapped another arm around your middle, giving you the last boost you needed to finally meet his lips. You melted into the warmth he emitted as your lips lazily danced along his own.

Smirking, he pulled away from your drunken grip. “Go get undressed, i’ll be there in a minute.” He turned you towards the bedroom before giving your ass a light pat. He shook his head, chuckling as he watched you walk down the hallway, skipping slightly as you rounded the corner to your shared bedroom.

Walking into the kitchen he peaked down the hallway one more time, smiling to himself once he saw the bedroom light turn on. He reached up, opening the cabinet and pulling out a glass. Turning it over in his hand, he ran his thumb over the upraised lettering branded on the glass.

----

You had brought it back for him when you returned from your year in America. It was one of the worst years of his life, the distance between you and him only reassuring him that he would never let you be that far away ever again. When he had seen you running down the stairs at the airport the day you came home, this glass in hand he knew he was keeping your forever. “You're gone for a year and you bring me back a shitty pint glass from MY american fanclub?” He couldn’t believe you had wasted money on his fan merchandise, let alone bought it for him.

“I saw it in one of the store windows when I was on patrol and I thought it was cute. They made you look so much nicer than you really are, look you're smiling!” You beamed, pointing out the happy look on his artificial face.

He chased you out of the airport, ready to ship you back to America with your shit present. You could only laugh, paying no attention to the string of curses that echoed behind you as you ran for the car. You instead focused on the slight blush your words brought to the apples of his cheeks, happy to know he liked the gift.

----

Turning on the sink he filled up the glass before making his way down the hallway towards the bedroom. “You better be on your side of the bed. It’s not my fault you bought a shitty pillow, and i’m not fucking sharing again.” He opened the door to your body lazily laid out across the entirety of the bed, still fully dressed and already snoring. “Hey, no! Get the fuck up, your not falling asleep with all your fucking makeup on!” He kicked the side of the bed, trying to wake you up.

You peeled open your eyes, sitting up on to look at your very aggravated boyfriend standing above you. “Katsuki i’m so tired…” You whined, attempting to lay back down.

A firm hand grabbed your forearm, forcing you to stay upright. “Drink this, don’t fall back asleep.” Bakugou forcefully handed you the glass of water, glaring down at you before walking to the connected bathroom.

You listened to him rummage around for a moment, drawers opening and closing while you drank your water. Your eyes drifted to the large picture that hung on the wall above your bed. It was of you and him on your last day of school at UA, smiling at one another, diplomas in hand. His mother had taken it after the graduation ceremony before you went to your rooms to pack up your belongings. What no one knew was right after that picture was when he had asked you to move in with him. He had already picked out an apartment located in between both of your agencies months before, keys in hand when you walked into the dorm building.

“Come here.” Bakugou yelled from the bathroom, pulling you out of your reminiscing.

The shower started as you stood up, the warm steam already seeping out from underneath the door. You pushed open the bathroom door, tired eyes roaming over the man waiting for you. You walked over to him, a soft smile adorning your face as you looked over his own. “Hi Kacchan.”

“Hi princess.” He droned, reached for the empty glass in your hands. Setting it down he swapped it for the makeup wipes on the bathroom counter. He peeled open the package, pulling one out before throwing the rest back on the counter top.

He placed his hands on your waist, lifting you up to sit on the counter in front of him. “You yelled at me last time I let you fall asleep with all this shit on. I don’t want to deal with it tomorrow.” Reaching up, he drew your chin between his finger and thumb. He held you still as he started to wipe off the nights makeup, tilting your head back and forth gently as he ran the cold cloth over your skin.

Your eyes scanned over the hardened lines of his face, taking in the small details as he concentrated on getting the glittery eyeshadow off your eyelids. You reached your hand up, tracing over his bottom lip. “Don’t you think the wedding was beautiful Katsuki, Kiri looked so happy today.” You hummed, looking back on the night you had just shared with him.

Bakugou remained silent as he pulled out another wipe, his focus firm on getting every bit of makeup off your face.

“I hope if we ever get married our wedding is that beautiful. I would say yes if you asked me, because I love you.” You flashed your boyfriend a cheesy smile, your hand resting on his waist as you scooted yourself closer to him.

“I love you too, now shut up.” He readjusted your head in his hand as he started on your red adorned lips. The long lasting lipstick doing just as it promised as he struggled to wipe it off.

“I think Tsu-chan would be my maid of honor because she’s my…” You wrinkle your brow, pulling away from the red stained makeup wipe. “Katsuki, you got it in my mouth.” You shook your head, the taste still lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“Then stop talking.” He pulled you closer again, holding your head still as he attempted to wipe off the residual color.

You stuck your tongue out at the frustrated man, taunting him. He responded with another wipe across your tastebuds, laughing as you recoiled from the taste.

Once he was satisfied with your now cleaner face he gathered the dirty wipes, throwing them in the bathroom trash can. He reached a hand down, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You lifted your arms above your head, letting him pull the dress off of you. It hit the floor, a soft plop sounding as Bakugou pulled you down from the counter. Turning you around to face the mirror, he ran a hand over the gathered condensation. You watched through the foggy glass as his hands found the mess of curls pinned together on the top of your head.

He took his time finding all the bobby pins hidden inside your hair, fingers grazing your scalp as he slowly uncovered all their hiding places. Each one he would find was placed on the countertop next to you, the pile slowly growing as each curl fell out of it's restrictions. Once he had found them all, he pulled the unraveled ponytail gingerly, freeing your messy hair.

You handed him the brush, causing him to scoff. You could have brushed your hair yourself, but you were enjoying the feeling of your boyfriend's loving touch as he ran his fingers through your hair checking for any tangles. You watched him through the mirror, your loving gaze falling on his attentive hands as they smoothed over your hair as he brushed it out. The curls on your head increasing in volume as they separated. You hummed, enjoying the feeling of his warm touch.

Once he was done he set the brush down, pushing it back into it's respective place. “Now take a shower.” Bakugou looped a finger around the side of your panites, pulling them down around your ankles. His other hand pinched your bra clasp, undoing it for your convenience. Turning around, he walked back into the bedroom.

You kicked your underwear to the side, the pile of clothing growing in the corner of the room. Stepping over the side of the tub you let the water run over your back as you pulled the curtain closed. After a moment you leaned back on the side of the shower, sliding down the wet wall until you were seated under the stream of running water. The warmth sank into your skin, relaxing you as you let the water run over your head.

Bakugou returned after a few minutes comfortably dressed in his pajamas. He pulled open the shower curtain slightly, chuckling as you turned around, still seated on the tub floor. “Are you not going to wash yourself, you’ve been dancing all night.” He rolled his eyes, as you shook your head. “Come here.” He sat down near the side of the bathtub, motioning for you to scoot over.

He pressed down the pump of the shampoo, gathering a bit in his hand as you moved to sit next to him. He smoothed it down the back of your head, fingers digging into your wet hair as he lathered it. He tilted his head, looking around your shoulder as you pushed into his fingers. Your eyes closed in enjoyment as he scrubbed the hair spray from your wet locks.

Standing up, he pulled the shower head off the stand, giving you a playful spray before sitting back down. He titled your head back, careful not to get any runoff in your eyes as he rinsed the shampoo from your hair. The bubbles building up around the drain as he pumped some conditioner into his free hand. He handed you the shower head, caulking his eyebrow when he saw the amusement dancing in your eyes. “You better not spray me F/N.”

You could see the line in front of you, and if it had been any other day you would have crossed it. But you were tired and so was Bakugou, now wasn’t the time to start another bathroom war. But you would put it on your to do list. You leaned over the side of the tub, pressing a wet kiss against his cheek. You giggled when he recoiled, wiping the wet mark dramatically before picking up the shower head to spray you again.

He turned you around, shaking his head as you continued to giggle. He smoothed the conditioner into the ends of your hair, massaging it in. He took his time washing it out of your hair, taking in your peaceful presence. He rarely got moments like this with you, your hero work had kept the both of you busy. He would be lying if he said he didn’t wish for a normal domestic life with you from time to time. But he loved hero work, and he knew you would never ask for anything different.

He reached for the blue bottle of face wash, popping the cap open and squeezing a small amount into the palm of his hand. He rubbed them together, forming a layer of bubbles as you turned around to face him. The same spacey smile lingering on your lips. He transferred the foam onto your wet cheeks, the pads of his fingers worked it into a lather on your face as he washed away the remaining makeup.

You once again fixed your eyes on the man before you, your heart swelling as he carefully rinsed the residual bubbled off your skin. Your mind repeating over and over the adorations you had for the love of your life. “Thank you Katsuki.” You whispered, tilting your head to meet his crimson gaze.

“Come on princess.” He stood up, reaching over to shut off the shower. His fingers laced with yours as he helped you to stand, his other hand reaching for the towel that hung neatly on the rack. Draping it over your head, a soft smile flashed across his face before the towel dropped over your eyes. His hands gingerly held the sides of your head before roughly shaking it back and forth in an attempt to dry your dripping hair.

Your hand shot up, pushing him off of you. You pulled the towel off your head, blinking a few times. You were sure the sudden whiplash had sobered you up a bit. “Jesus Kacchan, you’ll rip off my head doing it like that.” You complained, glaring at your boyfriend.

“Do you want to do it yourself?” He threatened, meeting your glare.

You stuck out your bottom lip, shaking your head slightly. Your boyfriend hardly pampered you and you weren't ready to give up the sweet treatment just yet. You handed him back the towel, blushing as a deep chuckled bubbled up from his chest.

He wiped at the ends of your hair, collecting the dripping water. His hand reached around you grabbing at the loose end of the towel before tightly wrapping it around your frame. You took his open hand as he helped you step over the tub, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand as he guided you out of the bathroom.

He sat you down on your side of the bed as he let go of your hand. “Stay put.” Bakugou pulled the towel tighter around you as you settled into the bed in an attempt to keep you warm. He made his way towards your shared closet, turning on the light. His fingers grazed over your clothing feeling the different textures of the fabric that peaked out. He turned to his side, flipping to his night time shirts as he searched for your favorite UA shirt.

----

The shirt had a long history between you two, it had been with his as long as you had. It all started with your first day at UA together, you were standing next to him as they handed out the shirts for gym. You had been a last minute addition to the class transfering from a different school earlier in the year. They had to guess on your size when they ordered the shirts, and sadly they had guessed wrong. The shirt you got was far too small for you, or really anyone in the class. You had looked so disheartened telling your teacher it was ok, but you had really looked forward to finally having a piece of the school you dreamed of attending.

It wasn’t until the year after that you and Bakugou had gotten together. Late after class you and him were walking back from the gym after a sparring session. You had sprung the question on him, “Bakugou, do you want to go out?” He tried to play it off like he didn’t care, but he could have thrown up from the nerves. When he got back to his dorm he unzipped his practice jacket and that was the shirt he was wearing.

It was also the shirt he was wearing when he kissed you for the first time, the first time you spent the night, and the day he told you he loved you. It had been through it all and so had you. He retired the shirt years ago, throwing it to the back of the closet with his other mementos. But when you had moved in, it took you no time to find the heathered grey ball stuffed in the far corner of his belongings. He had come home from work one day to find you sitting on the bed with it in your arms. “I didn’t know you still had this.” You smiled up at him, hugging the old shirt.

He again played it off like he didn’t care, it was his usual approach to life. But he was pleasantly surprised to see you remembered it as fondly as he did. It quickly turned into your favorite item of clothing, finally having the shirt of your dreams in your grasp. He didn’t mind seeing you in it after a long day either.

----

He thumbed over the cracked school lettering, a smile tugging at his lips as he remembered all the times you had forced him to keep the ratty thing. Finally he had just given it to you, it wasn’t his problem anymore. Or so he thought, you still hung it up on his side of the closet.

“Put this on and let's go to…” He trailed off as he caught sight of you fast asleep on his side of the bed. Your soft snores barely audible as he set the shirt on the nightstand. “You were wide awake not even five minutes ago…” He groaned. He looked between the shirt and the towel loosely wrapped around your body. After a moment of debate he decided to let you sleep in the towel, the thought of wrestling you into some actual clothing giving him a headache.

He was ready to crawl into bed when he realized you had yet to do your skincare routine for the night. You had an extensive routine, the products taking up much of the bathroom counter space. You swore by them, stating that image was an important part of being a hero. He reached over to wake you up, hand stopping a few inches from your shoulder. “Tch, idiot.”

He now found himself looking over the stack of products shoved in the corner of the counter top, trying to remember all the items you used for this process. “Why do you have so much shit Y/N?” He grumbled, pulling out everything he faintly remembered ,carrying it to the bedroom.

He sat down on the bed next to you, the mattress dipping as he let the products rest in his lap. He hated the fact that he would do anything for you, this included. You were definitely going to hear about it in the morning. He picked up the pink spray bottle first, recalling it as the first item in your multistep night time routine. He gave your face a few spaced out sprays, retracting the bottle when you stirred.

“Uh, next is this green shit I think…” He mumbled, mentally recalling all the nights you had tried to force this on his face. Picked up the small green glass bottle, he looked over the bright pink lettering on the front. He unscrewed the top, resting his finger over the entrance as he turned it over. He dabbed the liquid left on his finger over your face, smoothing it into your skin.

He set down the green bottle, his fingers still lingering on the underside of your jaw as he reached for the next product. He fumbled with a tall blue pump serum, his hands slick from the remaining skin product. He had bought this last bottle for you when he went in for hair gel, the price almost sending him into cardiac arrest. He never understood the price differences and why you couldn’t just buy the “knock off”, but it was your money. He repeated the process with the milky liquid, making sure to spread it evenly over your now dewy skin. He traced over your freckles that dotted your nose, his finger trailing down the bridge lightly. They had become more vivid since the beginning of summer, he loved the fact that he was lucky enough to be close enough to you day after day to notice something like that.

“Almost done with this stupid shit…” Bakugou grumbled, unscrewed the lid of your moisturizer before dipping his fingers in the thick mixture. He dotted it around your soft skin, rubbing it in as he counted his blessings that you didn’t have more to do.

He stood up again, holding the products against his chest. He gave you one last look over, smiling to himself. “Dumbass.” He softly chuckled, making his way towards the bathroom.

Once everything was put away he made his way back into the room. Shutting off the lights as he made his way towards the bed. Crawling in beside you he pushed you over to your side of the bed. As he sank into the sheets he thought of the black velvet box tucked inside of his coat pocket in the hallway closet. His fingers grazed your own under the comforter, tangling together. “You're gonna say yes huh?” He let his eyelids close as he chuckled to himself, thinking of the weekend ahead.

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thnxforknowingme · 2 years

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Miles To Go (1/12)

Written for the Klaine 3-2-1 Prompt Bang 2022, art by @datshitrandom

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Rating: Mature

Notes: More info about the fic here. I have been to some of the places that Kurt and Blaine travel in this story, but not the majority of them. Thank god for Google Maps and Street View, as well as the tourist board websites of all the cities and national parks mentioned. While much of this story is based in reality, I’ve also taken artistic liberties when necessary for the plot. I apologize for any accidental inaccuracies or mistakes in portraying these varied places. Also, I’m sorry specifically to Kansas. I’ve been to your state and had a perfectly nice time. That’s not the case for Kurt, unfortunately. You can generally assume that things in this story are based on canon through season 4, with the following major exceptions: Kurt never spied at Dalton, so he and Blaine never met, and neither of them transferred schools. Also, Kurt was accepted to NYADA on his first try, so he and Rachel have been attending the school for the same amount of time, and Blaine is the same age/grade as them.

All Chapters | Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Embarking

The water was cold, much colder than Kurt anticipated, and the shock of it made him minutely aware of his physical form - freezing water lapping at his ankles, sand pressing between his toes, wind whipping his hair and stinging his eyes. He was reminded that he was his body, and nothing else; that if he were pulled under by the waves and dragged out to sea, Kurt Hummel would cease to exist entirely.

But even if he were gone, he knew he would be remembered - he had someone on the beach waiting for him, and friends on both sides of this strange, beautiful, massive country. He had a family who loved him, a family that he’d helped to build.

He clutched the container in his hands against his chest, feeling the vital thump of his heart, and looked out towards the endless horizon. He’d reached his destination at last, and after months of feeling like he was drowning, he thought that maybe now he could finally take a breath again.

This was another goodbye, but like all things in life, it wasn’t really over. Finn had changed Kurt. This trip had changed Kurt. And so they would live on in him, and in everyone he changed.

He could taste the salty air as he blinked through the tears in his eyes.

It was time.

- / / -

Somehow March stuttered into April, which melted into May. It didn’t seem right to Kurt that time should continue to move forward after Finn died. Concerts and movies and birthday parties shouldn’t still be happening when Finn was dead. Flowers shouldn’t continue to bloom, seasons shouldn’t continue to change. People shouldn’t be expected to go to school or work, to pay bills, to buy groceries. Kurt wanted to freeze everything, to staunch the flow of time like a leaking pipe, so that he could just grieve, without the rest of life getting in the way.

However, the world kept spinning. The sun rose anew each day, every sunrise representing a day Finn didn’t get to see. The dates on the calendar ticked by, stores opening and closing, holidays coming and going, weather steadily changing. The universe didn’t care that a tragedy had occurred, that the whole world was suffering from the loss of kind goofy talented clueless wonderful Finn Hudson.

Kurt did his best to retreat from this unsympathetic world. He went to class and to work most of the time, but moved through his responsibilities like a zombie. His shifts at the diner were performed in a fugue state, repeating the same stock phrases to customers over and over, methodically bussing tables and punching orders into the register, his attention never fully there. When he went to class he made clumsy attempts at following the professors’ instructions, but he couldn’t muster the passion or discipline necessary to do any valuable work. He wasn’t becoming a better actor, singer, or dancer. He just did the bare minimum to scrape by, gazing blankly ahead while his classmates put their whole heart into performances. Kurt couldn’t do that anymore. He wasn’t sure he still had a heart.

Any time he wasn’t obligated to be somewhere he was at home, typically in sweatpants, eating comfort food and watching Sex and the City or The Real Housewives. He craved the soothing routine of trashy television, the familiar patterns of each narrative arc, the knowledge that the stakes were never actually that high. It offered a predictability and stability that he now knew didn’t exist in reality.

When he’d been worrying about his dad’s cancer, he’d constantly felt like a tightly-wound spring. His fear and anxiety choked him like a noose, and the only way he could find relief was by exerting small bits of control over arbitrary things - sticking to routines and relying on superstitions and making up comforting rituals.

Finn’s death seemed to break that instinct in him, though. He’d been shown that there was no way for him to control anything. He’d experienced the elation of discovering his dad had a clean bill of health, only for his stepbrother to die unexpectedly soon after. Life was cruel and senseless, and Kurt didn’t have any power to influence it. No amount of meaningless tics could bring Finn back.

Rachel seemed to react in the opposite way. Kurt rarely saw her anymore - her every waking moment was spent outside of the loft. Balancing NYADA coursework and a waitressing job and rehearsals as the lead of a Broadway play was an immense challenge, and Rachel was throwing herself into it wholeheartedly. In some moments, Kurt resented her dedication. How could she care so much about school and her career, things that paled in importance to Finn? How could she seek the attention and approval of a world that allowed Finn to die, and then kept on going without him?

Santana fell somewhere in the middle - not as apathetic as Kurt, nor as work-obsessed as Rachel. She was just a sadder, sharper version of her usual self. She spent a fair amount of time with Dani, the Spotlight waitress who had shown an interest in her. Under other circumstances, Kurt would have badgered her for details, teasing her about her new relationship. As it was, he just waved her off vaguely whenever she left the apartment, calling out that she’d be at Dani’s for the night.

Whatever camaraderie they’d built up, the three of them taking on New York together, had been shattered. They retreated into their grief in their own ways, facing it alone, no longer a united front.

“You need to clean up your act,” Carmen Tibideaux said, staring at Kurt over her glasses, “or you will not be invited back to NYADA next semester.”

Kurt was sure that this was a very dire warning, but he felt detached from the whole situation. He was sitting in Madam Tibideaux’s office, her chairs just hard enough that he could never feel comfortable in them. He’d received an email demanding that he attend a meeting with her to discuss his academic future. He’d always felt intimidated when in her presence before, but now he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about what she thought of him. “I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

“Your attendance has been slipping,” she went on, her disapproval easily apparent in her tone. “Your professors say you have not been engaged during classes, and have performed unsatisfactorily on assignments. This is not behavior befitting of a NYADA student. We accept very few applicants, Mr. Hummel. We expect you to honor the privilege of being at this school by putting in your best work.”

Kurt swallowed. He knew he had to stand up for himself, but he hated having to tell other people about this. “I…I’ve had a recent…I’m grieving a loss in my family.”

Madam Tibideaux looked at him, her face impassive. He should have known she wouldn’t immediately give him a free pass just because his brother died. She had never been a sympathetic person, and at NYADA, the show must always go on.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Kurt.” She sounded genuine, at least. “You have the right to grieve in whatever way is best for you. But if this is getting in the way of your schoolwork, then it is not the best situation for your education or your emotional well-being for you to be at NYADA right now.” She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “If you want to take a leave of absence, that’s a possibility we can discuss. However, you should know that with the competitive nature of our school, deferment can lead to a loss in financial aid funds and a longer path to graduation. Alternatively, if you want to continue your education as it stands, you will need to make significant changes in your current performance. If you cannot achieve sufficient passing grades in your current classes - which I suspect will be challenging, considering how late in the semester it is - then some of your professors may be able to give you Incompletes, and you can make up or retake the classes later. Taking classes over the summer may be beneficial if you want to stay on track for your current expected graduation date.”

Kurt listened numbly as she listed off the things he’d have to do to arrange for these plans, and took the papers she handed him. He managed to offer her a small smile when she dismissed him. “Thank you, madam,” he said, although he didn’t feel any gratitude.

Kurt found the loft empty when he got back, so he lay down in bed and dialed his dad’s phone number.

He was going to tell him about the issues at school and ask for advice - that was the plan. But then they started talking about the trip to Los Angeles that his dad and Carole had just returned from, where they’d accompanied the New Directions to Nationals. Burt put the call on speakerphone so Carole could join in too - she was much better at recounting the experience and remembering important details.

They told Kurt about the performance, how it had been dedicated to Finn, how the choir sang some of his favorite songs. Carole and Kurt were both crying by the end of her description, but this was to be expected - they’d shed so many tears in each other’s presence over the past few months that it was no longer remarkable, just a typical part of conversation.

“Finn was so excited to go to LA, too,” Carole said, her voice thick. “As soon as they won Regionals, he started making plans…doing all the Hollywood tourist stuff, you know, asking Puck for suggestions.” She laughed, in a wet half-crying way. “He really wanted to swim in the Pacific. When he was a kid he was obsessed with that for a while - I think he’d seen something on Animal Planet about swimming with dolphins and got that in his head. I don’t even know if there are dolphins on the coast of California, but when he was little he had a phase where he wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

Kurt stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling, smiling sadly. He could picture a child-aged Finn daydreaming of dolphins. It was odd, the experience of losing someone, and learning new things about them after they were gone. He’d never be able to ask Finn about this, never be able to tease him about his childhood dream.

But he suddenly realized that maybe, in some way, he could help Finn achieve it.

He sat up, his heart rate accelerating abruptly as the idea overtook him. “Carole,” he said urgently. “Have you thought about - what you might want to…do, uh, with Finn?”

It was an absolutely unintelligible sentence, but Kurt was confident Carole would know what he meant.

After Finn died, his body had been cremated, a second urn joining the shelf in the Hummel-Hudson house where Finn’s father’s ashes were displayed. Carole had simply decided to follow the same steps that she’d taken for Christopher’s remains, not having any other guidance. It’s not like they knew what Finn wanted. A nineteen-year-old shouldn’t have to plan for this kind of thing.

“Oh,” Carole said after a moment. “Uh, no. I don’t have any plans.”

Kurt propped himself up with his free hand, palm pressing hard into his bedspread. He bit the inside of his lip. How did one ask this question tactfully? How to ask it at all?

He inhaled. “What do you think of - I mean. Um. Of the Pacific Ocean? Is that - do you think he would have wanted that?”

In the silence that followed, Kurt worried that he’d overstepped, that Carole would be offended by the suggestion of giving what remained of Finn up to the elements.

But then she said, “Oh, Kurt, that’s - I really like that idea. That would be - really beautiful.”

Kurt let out his breath. “It doesn’t have to - it’s just an idea.”

“Is that something you would want to do?” Carole asked. “Take him there?”

Kurt stared at the bookshelves on the other side of his room, at the carefully-arranged decorations that he’d once cared so much about. “I think I would,” he said softly.

He’d felt so helpless and powerless for so long. Finally, this was something he could do about losing Finn. Screw taking summer classes. He was going to bring Finn to LA.

A few weeks later, Kurt stood in his parents’ driveway in Lima, the Navigator crammed full of everything he might need for a cross-country road trip.

There had been a lot of logistical planning since he first had the idea to bring Finn’s ashes to the Pacific. He’d finished out his semester at NYADA and then quit his job, with the understanding that if they still needed a server when he came back he could be re-hired. His academics had still been pretty lackluster, but he hadn’t been kicked out of school yet, so he was waiting to deal with whatever the consequences of his poor grades would be until the fall.

He’d stayed up late many nights researching gas prices, poring over Google Maps, and budgeting. He didn’t have much in his savings, but his dad was going to give him a chunk of money for the trip. His biggest money-saving strategy was to not rely on motels for lodging. Instead, once he got back to Ohio, his dad pulled a tent out of the garage. Kurt practiced setting it up and taking it down over and over, until he could do it precisely and consistently, and then he spent a few nights sleeping in it in the backyard to acclimate himself.

Then there was the most crucial factor. Carole had gone to the mortuary to have Finn’s ashes split. Half of them remained in the house, next to his father’s. She provided Kurt with a black, airtight container that held the other half of what remained of his brother. He was used to thinking of Finn as such a big presence - always towering over him physically, but also huge in his personality. It was odd that he could be reduced to something so small, fitting into the palm of Kurt’s hand. Carole had shown him how to remove the lid, revealing the opening through which the ashes could be scattered.

He was as ready to leave as he was ever going to be. It was pleasantly cool on the morning that he began his journey west.

“You call me if anything goes wrong, okay?” Kurt’s dad said, pulling him into a tight hug. “Actually, call me every few days anyway.”

“Okay,” Kurt said into his dad’s shoulder. He thought about pointing out that he’d been living in New York for most of a year without parental supervision, but he held his tongue. This was different, after all.

Carole’s embrace wasn’t as familiar as his father’s, but it was something Kurt had gotten used to over the past few years. Carole would never be his mother, but she was his family in a true, unassailable way. The same way Finn had been.

“Thank you,” she whispered as they hugged goodbye. “Good luck.”

Kurt nodded, his throat tight, and pulled back.

He got into the Navigator and started the engine. He mentally ran through his packing list one last time, ensuring that he had everything he needed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the cardboard box placed securely on the floor of the backseat - the box that contained a bag, that contained an urn, that contained Finn.

He switched the car into drive and took his foot off the brake, his parents looking on in the rearview mirror as he drove away.

#fic: miles to go #mtg chapter #my fic

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

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Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave.

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love.

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one.

Massive thank you to @augustholland who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries.

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway. Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual.

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire.

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well.

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark.

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets.

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round.

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered.

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden.

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked.

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school.

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence.

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

“Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question.

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig.

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer.

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge.

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left.

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word.

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs.

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years.

“You took me by storm,” he admits.

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others.

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him.

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school.

“Well, I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”.

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in.

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest.

This is a line you’ve never crossed before.

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body.

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more.

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan.

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine.

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs.

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh.

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then -

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two.

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips.

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation.

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire.

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair.

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly.

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer.

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more.

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you.

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body.

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you.

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you.

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream.

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you.

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering.

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room.

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic

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jimlingss · 3 years

Note

Hi! Here’s a request for your Drabble game: namjoon + fantasy au + “Take this seriously, it’s a life or death situation!” Can be funny or angsty and sorry if this request is too specific haha

Anonymous said: Hello Kina! I love literally all of your works! Can I request this prompt? “That’s barbaric.” “That’s how you survive.” Any member!

Anonymous said: zombie au with any member ?

Zombies count as fantasy, right? lol

↳ The Unintended

2.5k || 50% Angst, 50% Fluff || Kim Namjoon || Zombie Apocalypse!AU

You’re lucky to have Namjoon by your side.

He’s always been the outdoorsy type. One of your first dates together was a camping trip in the wilderness. You remember being mortified then — having no place to do your makeup or properly shower or be able to make yourself look good for him. But now you look back on the memories with fondness. He didn’t care back then and he doesn’t care now.

Not to mention, Namjoon was also a boy scout for eight years. When he got too old for that, he took up rock climbing and spent hours in the gym to beef up his arms. It’s where you met him in the first place as a receptionist at the gym where you were working part-time while going to school.

He knows how to fish. How to set up traps. How to start a campfire.

Namjoon’s saved your life countless times.

But then again, he’d argue you’ve saved him lots of times too. Years of schooling to become a nurse wasn’t wasted on you after all. And you’re the better cook than he is.

“Look what I caught!”

You look up from the fire where your dear husband is holding a usual fish. But in his other hand is a rabbit held by its ears, dead. It’s dripping of blood, limp in his grip and you feel a twinge of guilt.

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s how you survive,” he says. “I’ll prepare it to roast.”

You hum, taking the fish from him and the pair of you fall into routine. Namjoon works alongside you to prepare the food, poking the fire interchangeably and the both of you looking up once in a while through the thicket of the forest.

After a moment, you pipe up, “Hey.”

Namjoon glances up at you and says “hey” with a tender, dimpled smile.

The corner of your mouth quirks without being able to resist. “I’ve been thinking we should get on the move again. I saw a cottage down the road on our way here. Maybe we could check it out.”

“It’s probably already been ransacked.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to sleep with a roof over our heads. I don’t want you to stay up and have to keep watch.”

“We take turns.”

You give Namjoon a look. “You never wake me up for my turn.”

He smiles sheepishly and you put your blunt knife down, quickly growing solemn. “I’m serious, Joon. It’s not good for your health to not sleep and I can’t— I can’t have you breaking down on me.”

Namjoon softens when he recognizes your distressed tone, when he sees your expression marred with worry. “Okay,” he murmurs gently. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.”

You nod and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence.

As the fish and rabbit are roasted over the blazing fire, smoke fills your nose and you cough before batting it away. You’re starving — in general, you’ve been feeling weak these days but you don’t dare say anything to Namjoon. God knows what he’s putting himself through to make you feel as comfortable as you can.

You don’t want to worry him even more.

But you can’t hide your groan or sickly expression when the fish you’re supposed to eat comes up to your mouth.

Namjoon’s immediately alarmed and wide-eyed. “What’s wrong? Is it bad?”

You hand the stick that’s pierced with the fish over to him while cupping your mouth, trying not to vomit. “I’m sorry. It just smells really bad.”

“I made it the exact same way before.” He frowns and bites into the fish that’s still steaming. Namjoon chews in his cheek. “It tastes fine, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll have the rabbit.”

But as you shift over, your husband’s eyes bore into your profile.

Namjoon stares at you. He gawks.

Then his mouth opens and he says— “Are you pregnant?”

Your eyes double and you look back at him. But then you scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You look away from him, picking at the meat, but you swallow hard in the meanwhile, mind racing. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. You haven’t had your period for three months — but you didn’t think twice about it. Not when there were more pressing matters. Not when you just assumed it stopped because you haven’t had your nutrients and you’ve been starving.

Namjoon knows the gears in your head are turning by your expression. He knows after years of being together.

“Y/N.”

“I already said it’s not possible.”

“There’s a city ten miles away from here. It’ll take half a day to walk there, but there should be a pharmacy or a hospital—”

“We are not going to the city,” you interrupt in exasperation. “It’s a death sentence, Namjoon, and we’re fine out here.”

“Not if you’re pregnant.”

“I’m not.” You deflate with an annoyed sigh. “I know my body best, alright? So just drop it.”

Namjoon stays silent.

The rustling leaves of the forest and the distant sound of the river rushing fills the growing space between the two of you. And it sinks in how harsh and upset you got. You look up towards your husband with remorseful eyes. The last thing you want is to fight out here. Who knows when it could be your last moment together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just worried.”

You nod. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Yet deep down, uncertainty swirls and you’re green with nausea again.

...

It took a year to happen.

At first, it was called a flu outbreak. Authorities kept it contained for a few weeks until it wasn’t anymore. Within the span of another week, it was declared a worldwide pandemic and entire countries went into quarantine.

Life itself shut down. People complained and protested, and when thousands started to drop dead, there were protests for lack of government action. Then, it was millions dead.

Developing countries fell first. It didn’t take long after that for developed nations to follow.

Chaos. Panic. Looting. The dead walking the streets.

You still get nightmares about it. Namjoon does too — when he’s holding you and suddenly jolts awake, gasping. It’s then and there that you know he’s had a nightmare of one of the many close calls.

“I thought the cottage was closer than this.”

The both of you are trekking through the forest, lugging your bags and weapons, trying to remain as quiet and elusive as possible.

Namjoon looks over his shoulder. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“It should be up ahead.”

You hum, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on you. But it’s still better now with the canopy of the trees hiding you. It’s refreshing even. You admire the unfamiliar scenery.

All at once, you stop. None of this should be unfamiliar.

Namjoon doesn’t hear the crunch of leaves behind him and turns around.

“This isn’t the direction of the cottage, is it?”

“Y/N.”

Your brows furrow deep enough to hurt. “I already said we’re not going to the city, Namjoon! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

Suddenly, there’s snarling in the distance. Namjoon, on alert, clasps his palm over your mouth and both sets of your eyes flicker over. There’s a shadow in the distance, a lurching figure amongst the trees. It snarls again, jerking a bit in your direction, but then no sounds follow.

It passes.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We have to go eventually, Y/N,” he whispers. “We need more supplies and if I can get my hands on a car, that would help us.”

“But—”

Your husband gingerly takes your hand, cradling it softly. “We’ll be careful.”

You gaze at him, searching his expression as if you’re painting his features to the forefront of your mind. But you already have. Yet, it’s not enough to feel comforted. “I can’t lose you, Namjoon. I can’t.”

Namjoon reaches out to hug you, embracing your body, frame overtaking yours.

You grasp onto his shoulders, trying to savour the moment and capture his warmth.

“You won’t. Not if I can help it.”

You nod into his chest.

The trek to the city is completed by afternoon and you find yourself standing in the remains of what was once civilization. There are decayed buildings, abandoned tanks, and much to Namjoon’s delight, many deserted cars. You see zombies bumbling around too. They’ve infested every corner street, every line of the road, and alley, nook and cranny.

Their bodies are decaying, some with skulls lodged in half and their brain unraveling behind them. You have to hold back a gag when you can smell the rotten odour from here.

Luckily, you and Namjoon move quickly. You throw bricks and bottles at a distance to attract them and run the opposite way together.

First, you get to the small grocery store, opening your backpacks for the spare cans of beans and peas. It’s not much, but it’s a lot at this point. Namjoon even manages to score bandages.

“This is enough,” you murmur when you’re back on the open street again.

But before you can move on out, he stops. “Wait.”

You follow Namjoon’s line of sight. Across the street is a pharmacy and a horde of infected.

You pull your husband back before he can book it and the both of you hide behind discarded crates on the road. “Wait, why?”

“You know why. There were none in the grocery store. I checked, but if there’s any place that has them, it’s there.”

If looks could kill, Namjoon would be six feet under and then crawling out of his grave as a zombie. Maybe as the first one who wasn’t bitten or infected by the virus. “You’re being an idiot.”

Namjoon grins. “Well, I was thinking of just shouting a battle cry and running straight in there.”

“Take this seriously,” you hiss and punch his arm. It does little to even push him back, much less hurt him. It doesn’t help that his muscles are rock solid. If only his brain was as developed — but if you were being honest, Namjoon was quite intelligent too. Except for right now. “It’s a life or death situation.”

Namjoon smiles, practically from ear to ear.

The dimples on each side of his cheek crease and before you can react or say much else, he leans in and captures your lips with his. It’s a soft and sweet kiss. Then your husband cradles your face in his hand and tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You’re rendered to complete silence, melting into his touch as he takes your breath away.

When he pulls from you, your lashes flutter.

You’re completely dazed.

Until he grabs a rock near your foot and chucks it. It smashes into the window of a nearby boutique, glass shattering and all the zombies turn their heads. They snarl at a high pitch, screeching out as flounder towards the noise. Namjoon darts behind them, right out of your grasps.

You’d shout his name if it didn’t mean your own death sentence.

The wait is agonizing. You feel like you’re going to get a heart attack as you watch the door, unsure if he’ll come out. Even if he does, you don’t know if he’ll still be human and the Namjoon that you love. The one that you decided to marry, that you saw on the other end of the aisle and who cried like a dork when he saw you in the dress.

Those years feel like another world. But they’re still memories you cherish.

The five minutes feels like an hour. You’re cursing, praying, regretting.

But then the buff idiot, your idiot, comes out and runs back to you with a massive grin. Uninjured. With bottles of penicillin, some kind of allergy medicine, and a pregnancy test you grimace at.

You seek refuge at an apartment building on the edge of the city.

It’s an expensive one that was fenced in and boarded up — one of the last to fall to the ruins.

You choose a room on the second floor that’s easy to get into and easy to escape if need be. Unfortunately a zombie lurches out from one of the rooms much to your horror, but Namjoon kills it. He takes his hatchet right into its skull and checks the other rooms before dragging the corpse out when you look nauseous again.

When it’s all over, Namjoon dusts his hands off like it was just some spring cleaning.

“What happens if I really am pregnant?”

You hold the test, motionless, until your head lifts to meet Namjoon’s softened eyes. There’s an overwhelming urge not to take it, to throw the box out the window and keep convincing yourself that it would be impossible to be carrying. But Namjoon risked his life for this.

And you know he won’t let it go. Not until an answer is certain.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs gently.

“I can’t give birth on my own, Namjoon.”

“I know.”

“If the baby even makes it that far,” you whisper and he grimaces. But what worries you far more, what’s put you in so much denial, and made you sick with terror is the fact that you know— “I’ll slow you down even more, Namjoon.”

His brows furrow, lips becoming lopsided. “You don’t slow me down.”

“How many times have you almost died trying to save me?! I-I can’t keep up.”

At once, Namjoon engulfs you with his arms. He holds you close, body flush against yours and you press your face into his broad shoulder, smothering your worries for a moment with his soothing comfort.

“I love you,” he sighs against your ear. “No matter what happens, I love you. There wouldn’t be a reason for me to keep living if you weren’t here, Y/N. I’m only trying this hard because you are. You’re my purpose now. You and this baby, if it’s real.”

Your fingers clutch onto his jacket, hanging onto your husband as your anchor. “Shut up,” you mumble against his clothes. “You know I hate it when you talk like this. Like you’re saying goodbye.”

Namjoon smiles faintly, remembering how you made him promise to never say goodbye. “Sorry.”

He lets you go and you turn into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are excruciating. Maybe you’re just impatient, but you’ve grown to hate waiting. But still, you wait by yourself while kneeling on the cold, tiled floors, staring at the stick you peed on.

It’s faint. And you pray your eyes are wrong. But as the minutes go by, it becomes stronger and stronger in colour.

You leave and Namjoon looks at you expectedly.

“Well?”

You thrust the stick towards him. Two lines.

#bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts scenario #namjoon reader insert #namjoon angst #bts angst #bts zombie au #namjoon zombie au #bts zombie apocalypse AU #I've never written an actual apocalypse oneshot or series #but this is my second drabble on the zombie apocalypse concept #honestly it was fun to write

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javierpinme · 3 years

Text

Part One: New Beginnings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Infidelity, angst, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol

Rating: M (might change)

Summary: You’ve lived in a small town for half of your life and nothings really changed until it did. Moving halfway across the country you find lasting friendships and a love you needed at the exactly the right time.

A/N: There is not a ton of Frankie in this one since I wanted to set the tone for the reader before they meet! They don’t see/meet each other until near the end (or do they?) I wanted to build the reader’s relationships with the people in her life as there will more parts.

AO3

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It’s hard to build friendships as an adult without being under the pretense of school or college. It’s especially difficult when you decide to move across the country. Away from your family and friends, but it’s what you needed. Seeing the same four walls you lived in, that same greasy diner that was always your go-to after one too many tequila shots the night before, and that one ex from high school that you’d really rather forget while running errands were making you feel complacent. Wake up. Drink. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. You’ve spent most of your life here. You weren’t about to spend the rest of it here. So, you did something completely unlike you. You packed up your life and moved. The house was beautiful. You’d never owned anything in your life; just rented so this is a major upgrade for you. The first sight that greets you is the stairs after living in a first floor unit for most of your life. The house isn’t in perfect shape, but it’s yours which is all that matters.

The movers have left so you finally had the place to yourself. You couldn’t help the defeated sigh that fell from your mouth at the sight of all the boxes. If your sister and friends were here you’d probably be knee deep in pizza and wine while attempting to build furniture. You gave your brain the space to let that thought sink in, but you craved the freedom so you didn’t let that sit too long. You came here to build your own memories; no room for regrets now. So, the first thing you decide to acclimate yourself with is the closest liquor store and that is how you met Hannah.

The first thing you hear after getting lost reading a wine label is a loud oof before slamming into somebody. You only barely managed to catch the bottle before it became one with the outdated tile.

“I am SO sorry! I’m not even going to lie to you I was not watching where I was going. Are you okay? You didn’t drop anything did you?”

You manage to form a sentence between your scrambled apologies in between. The first thing you notice when you look at the face standing in front of you is how pretty she is. That typical blonde hair and blue eyes type that reminds you of the girls you went to high school with. You wince. Stop it.

“Oh, I’m okay! It was more the residual shock of it really. You must really need that bottle because you were just about ready to run me over in your pursuit to the cash register. Cheating ex or bad date?”

She says with a laugh while pointing at the wine still in your hand. Oh, she’s nice. You immediately feel guilty for that initial judgment when first looking at her.

“Oh, neither. I just moved here and need sustenance to unpack. Who knew you could fit your entire life into boxes?” You mirror her laugh.

“I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Walk around the neighborhood and find the necessities which is how I ended up here.” You say with a twirl in your finger.

"Ah, the one down the street that's just begging to be demolished?" She says while snapping her fingers with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's old, but she's got character." You can't help the lopsided grin you give her. She hasn't even seen the dream kitchen with those beautiful green cabinets.

“Hey, well if you need help with that-“ her eyes shifting to the bottle, “I live right down the street so I can come over. I know moving somewhere unfamiliar can be a little daunting especially if you’re alone.” You can’t help the wide smile forming at her sweet gesture.

“And to help me unpack right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean I’m better at draining a bottle, but if it’s necessary I will work for food and drinks. But, if I’m going to help you we are going to need way more than that.”

She finishes her sentence grabbing more bottles while traveling through the aisles. The sound of you’ve got to try this one and this one’s local in between aisle changes filling the store. You assure her that she is not off the hook with helping even with the promise of the “best merlot you’ve ever had in your life.”

Bags filling both of your hands and way too much alcohol for just two people to consume you make your way up the steps. Hannah pauses and looks up at the house.

“I was right. It should have been demolished. Will the porch cave in before I make it inside?” She says with skepticism at the foundation of your new home.

“Probably eventually but-“ you turn around to face her, “she’ll last for now. Come on, I haven’t even showed you the best part!”

You open your door and make your way inside leaving the door open for her to follow. You faintly hear from the kitchen “I seriously doubt that”, and you can’t help your chuckle at the remark.

You’ve always wanted a fixer upper; probably from all the HGTV shows you immersed yourself in as a child and the fact you’ve only ever lived in apartments. The first and only thing you managed to unpack first was your wine glasses. You definitely made a point to label them in big writing while packing up back home. A decision you are patting yourself on the back for now.

“So, do you like pizza? I know a good place. Pizza and wine should always be paired with move-in days. Oh, you’re right. This is probably the only good part of your house.”

Hannah leaned on the counter next you before shifting to test the weight taking in the scene of your kitchen.

“Love pizza. It’s not there yet, but I definitely have some plans with it; starting with keeping the color of those cabinets.”

In between sips of your glasses of wine you start to collaborate over your ideas of making it functional and aesthetically pleasing.

It didn’t take very long to start building friendships with the people in your area. You even started joining Sunday brunches and you were overly ecstatic finding out that bottomless mimosas existed. They didn’t have these at the diners back home. They even started assisting you with choosing paint swatches and going to Home Depot because you just had try that DIY project of making your own lounge chair that you found scrolling on Youtube.

“I think your measurements are a little off.”

Alex, probably one of your favorites of the group, mirrors the tilt of your head with his arms crossed. He co-owns a woodworking business with his husband so you wanted him there for any adjustments and moral support. Unfortunately for you, he wanted you to learn first which really meant fail.

You grimace at your handiwork and say, “yeah, I think maybe I should stick with what I’m good at.”

With a breathy laugh he adds, “give yourself some credit. You managed to tear up the carpet in the living room AND still able to keep the original hardwood. That’s no easy feat.”

You’ve somehow managed to create a whole support system in the little time that you’ve spent here. You’ve finally had the time and resources to create your own little touches that make your house now a home.

“Hannah, can’t we just stay in tonight? I’ve already been defeated twice by the light fixture in the living and my fingers are still tingling from the faulty power box. I’m really not in the mood.”

You give her the biggest puppy eyes you can manage while exaggeratingly lifting you fingers.

“Oh no, you’re going out to the bar tonight. You’ve been here for months and you really need to get yourself out there. You’re hot. Own it. Besides, it’s just you and me so there’s no pressure.”

She says with a swat to your ass and a push towards your closet. The only response you can add to that is Hmph.

The bar is nice enough with the dim lighting and it’s not so loud that you can’t hear yourself talk. Hannah insisted you wear one of your nicer dresses, but you wanted to feel like yourself so you opted for a t-shirt tucked into light wash jeans. If you were going to meet anyone tonight you wanted to set the standard for anything that could happen at the start. You’re still nursing your second beer while Hannah is on her third shot of the night. You feel a presence to your right and a sharp pinch to your thigh on your left. Hannah is of course attempting to alert you to the attractive man on the other side of you as if you didn’t notice. You turn around with a pained look on your face to her which she just shrugs off before making herself scarce.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is brought back to the man to your right. He is very cute in a boyish kind of way and you briefly wonder if he’s talking to someone else. He’s dressed like he just got out of a business meeting, but his rolled sleeves are definitely doing something for you.

“Sure. What’s your name?” You say with the flirtiest smile you can muster.

“Joey. Nice to meet you.”

God, his smile must do wonders for his conquests. It’s working for you quite honestly. You completely lose track of time talking to him and see out of the corner of your eye Hannah leaving the bar holding onto a man with salt and pepper hair and scruff. Looks like she got lucky too. She gives you a wink as she walks out the door and you look to see where he was sitting in case you need to remember faces. Seems like he was out with some of his friends, but you didn’t get a thorough look because your attention is immediately brought back to Joey. You set a reminder for yourself to check in with her before you go to bed tonight.

It’s been a constant date after date and you were really beginning to develop feelings for him. Sure, you always tried to convince him you didn’t need to be wooed with all these extravagant dates. You were just happy to spend time with him. You didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to tell you that. It just wasn’t your style, but it made him happy so you went along with it. You had initially assumed him to be a one night stand, but you were pleasantly surprised to hear from him the next day asking to take you out dinner.

Your muscles in your stomach are straining from how hard you’re laughing at America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV. Joey is sitting next to you on the couch with takeout cartons loitered all over your coffee table. The living room is starting to lose its natural lighting due to the day coming to a close; the only light source in the room being the lamp sitting on the end table next to the couch and the glow from the TV. You notice Joey looking at you with a far off look.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a furrow in your brow. “Nothing.” His face shifting to a more pleasant tone once he turns back to the TV. The two of you had settled into a routine at your house. You had even introduced him to your friends and they really seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It was easy for them to fall for his charms as you did.

“Come on, hurry up. You’re supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit for tonight!”

Hannah still continued to see the man from the bar, Santi, his friends called him.

“If I’m supposed to be helping you pick an outfit then why are we in the lingerie section?” You ask with a sly grin on your face.

“That’s for after, of course. Gotta keep it interesting.”

Her laugh followed by her adding some bras and panties to her hands. You agreed to come with her tonight to officially meet him and his friends. You’ve heard enough about him from her. Some very intimate details as well. They weren’t exactly exclusive to each other and as far as you knew they were dating other people which you respected. You were nervous about meeting them, but you knew it was only a matter of time until Hannah would want to do this. You trusted her judgment and you were already comfortable that it was going to be in the bar you usually ventured out to.

In her words, “your only forms of entertainment can’t just be your home projects, Joey and me, you know? You deserve to have fun too and these guys will show you a good time I promise” while ringing up her purchases.

You barely manage to make it through the door of the bar before you feel a breeze next to you from her speeding to Santi with a kiss. You lovingly shake your head at her dramatic antics and make your way over to the table. It’s a little awkward at first since Hannah still had yet to let go of the man sitting next to her and you didn’t know how to start a conversation with these men with what was going on next to you.

“Sorry. I’m Santi, but everyone calls me Pope.”

He reaches over to shake your hand with a tone that is definitely not apologetic at all, but you find it amusing. You like him already. You can definitely see why Hannah was interested, but not your type.

He starts introducing his friends off to you. Will. He seems like the more mellow type of the group and his call sign is Ironhead. Benny is just Benny since he’s the baby of the group.

“He’s the menace of all of us so watch out for this one.” Will ruffles his brother’s hair for added measure which Benny recoils from.

Then, Frankie, they call him Catfish. Oh he’s handsome, but not in the boyish way that Joey is. He’s handsome in a more ruggish kind of way and you can’t seem to break eye contact from him. Your eyes don’t know where to go first so they travel from his deep brown eyes, to the bare patches on the beard he can’t seem to grow that you find yourself wanting to kiss, and to the curls peeking out of his standard heating oil hat. You find yourself itching to take that hat off and run your fingers through the nape of his hair. Stop. He’s the more reserved one in the group which makes sense since he really hasn’t fully spoken more than a few words at a time to you. You can’t control the side glances you keep shooting at him throughout the night. You’re just appreciating the view and maybe conjuring up a few very much domestic fantasies in your head. Liar.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to get a grip on your emotions. Tilting your head at your reflection you point an accusing finger “get yourself together. You ca—.“ You jump at the intrusion of an elderly woman walking into the otherwise empty bathroom; a quizzical look forming on her face from your actions. Your nervous laugh gets the best of you. “It isn’t what it- I don’t always do this.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to explain yourself since she’s already closed the stall before you even got the chance to finish your sentence. You find yourself even more flustered leaving the bathroom than before going into it. This is going to be a long night.

***

Frankie was nervous when Santi first told him that Hannah would be bringing a friend. He remembers you from the night Santi first left with her. How could he forget? You had his attention the moment you stepped into the bar, but by the time he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you another guy had already swooped in. It wasn’t that surprising considering and it was probably for the best. He really wasn’t in any headspace to be in a relationship. His eyes followed you when you left to go to the bathroom in a hurry and he could just feel Santi’s eyes burning into him. He knew. You were exactly his type and he hoped to whoever was up above that he would just leave him to his hopeless crush without interfering.

***

You sit down at the table preparing to come up with some segway into the conversation between everyone when Santi breaks it with a loud clap calling your name out. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

You miss the glare that Frankie shoots him and the embarrassed groan he makes. You don’t miss the warning tone Will gives when calling Santi’s name out, but you get the feeling you’re not entitled to know what that’s about.

“Yes, I am.” Why does it feel so wrong to say that? “His name is Joey.” Hannah chimes in while rubbing Santi’s shoulders.

You also miss the sight of Frankie’s shoulders deflating at that piece of information. Your answer seems to satisfy Santi since he drops it after that and moves on to a different topic. “Benny, when’s your next fight?” It’s Friday apparently and all the guys along with Hannah are going to support him.

Will shifts towards you and says, “you can come if you want.” You cringe on the inside; your insecurities getting the best of you. If you want. They’re only inviting you because you’re there at the moment. “Maybe.” You won’t.

Somehow, Hannah has convinced you to go out with them a second time. “Come on, you can bring Joey since you’re so nervous! Please bring him,” she says with pleading eyes.

“I’m not nervous!” Liar. There is a sliver of truth to her statement, but you don’t want to tell her the reason for your nerves is seeing Frankie again. Yet here you were sitting in a booth with Joey across from Hannah and the rest of the guys.

“Jesus Hannah, he’s not going anywhere.”

You say with a loud laugh at her not so subtle PDA with Santi. “Sorry.” She said with a swipe of trying to remove her lipstick from Santi’s face; her smile never leaving her face. Frankie hasn’t looked at you at all tonight and you can’t help but wonder what you did wrong. You see those eyes crinkle and that cute dimple when he’s dedicating his attention to everyone else at the table, but disappears when his eyes go in your general direction.

At some point the guys and Hannah walk off to buy more drinks leaving you with Joey. He’s hasn’t hid his disinterest of the night at all even when the guys were trying to include him.

“Why are you so grumpy?” “I’m not.” His deep sigh a dead giveaway to his sour mood. “I’m just not vibing with them that’s all.” His eyes following the guys by single file line as he said it. You assure him that you can leave soon which after an hour or so you do.

Tonight’s events must have tired you out more than you thought because you’re fighting yawns the entire ride to Joey’s apartment. You don’t usually spend time here since he prefers staying at your place, but his place was a lot closer to the bar. The minute you walk inside you walk straight to his bedroom so you can promptly pass out as Joey showers. As you start to pull back the blankets something catches your eye. That’s not mine. Your heart rate is starting to speed up at the thought that’s forming in your mind. You reach down and grab a bra that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. The thing is you’d recognize that bra anywhere because you were there when she bought it; the day you were meeting Santi for the first time. You almost didn’t hear the water being shut off in the bathroom and the footsteps coming into the bedroom.

“Hey, what’s goin o—“

His eyes follow where you’re looking and then back up to your face. He’s not even trying to defend himself or come up with some shitty excuse that wouldn’t work anyway.

“How long?” Your voice is barely managing to stay steady while still staring at the incriminating evidence of your betrayal.

“How long, Joey?” His hesitation gives you your answer. It’s been a while.

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thedeathdoctor · 4 years

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Kinktober Days 2, 3, and 4: Aphrodisiac, Thigh Riding, and Size Difference

Friday the 13th: Jason x Reader

Forbidden Nectar

Aka: sometimes you celebrate your actual 21st birthday by chilling in the woods behind your house with a Yeti tumbler full of Sangria and end up getting the best dick of your life by your local thicc stalker/slasher

~Under the cut below~

You weren’t like the other girls, no matter how hard you tried. For you, high school had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and yet some of it still lingered in your mind. College was a chance to reinvent yourself, join in with a group of friends where you could grow into being a satisfied, competent woman. There, to some extent, you did.

Joining a sorority was one of the few sporadic things you tried that managed to stick with you. During Fall Recruitment freshman year, you fell in love with Greek Life on campus, rushed, and accepted the invitation one of the sororities extended to you. Fundraising and outreach activities were your favorite; you had grown up with a passion for helping others, from Girl Scouts to food drives through your high school, you showed up for them all. However, you could never shake the nagging thoughts in the back of your mind, thoughts that insisted that the people around you didn’t like you as much as they seemed.

Summers home felt especially isolating when you returned home for the break. You loved your parents and of course missed your dogs, but the difference between your busy college town campus and Yeehaw, New Jersey was like night and day. It took a few days to readjust to the change in pace when you returned. Time had a really funny way of standing still in Crystal Lake while you went to school for a whole nine months of the year. The same pickup truck stood watch over the corner store by your house as long as you could remember. At school, the surrounding towns seemed to be able to move entire roads around over break, leaving you reluctantly reliant on Google Maps to find the same pizza place you visited just four months ago.

Crystal Lake’s lack of excitement and stimulation was good for recollecting your thoughts and having a place to just breathe. Happiness was found through the routine of everyday life and simple pleasures, like trading excess garden vegetables with family friends in town. You knew nearly everyone, and it warmed you when people would call out your name to wave hello.

It wasn’t paradise though. Most of your tiny high school graduating class had stayed, trying to fill the few remaining positions at local businesses, while others yoked themselves to jobs in the next town over, the one that had a smattering of chain restaurants and a ghostly outlet mall. They all still had to drive places, and since Bill had passed, your parents were the sole auto mechanics in town. Crystal Lake was never a popular vacation spot, but several families routinely returned to their modest summer homes on the north shore, propping up the dwindling town. You helped around in the shop, freeing up your pa to tow cars when needed. Visitors tended to arrive in vehicles that were not as durable as promised, but that wasn’t their fault.

“After all,” he would say, “people know when they fucked up. A lecture ain’t gon’ get them back on the road, but a hand up might.”

He had never attempted college, nor did he want to, but you were surprised to find him more knowledgeable than some people you ran into on campus. Nothing incensed you more than snooty, middle-class students who widely looked down on “stupid hicks” like your father, as if they had the same opportunities out here and in suburbia. They didn’t know that they, too, were just one unexpected economic crisis away from being in the exact same situation, and you had long since stopped trying to change their minds.

The garage popped up first at the front of the property, closest to the road, and a private driveway led around a corner to the house. Your grandpa, Leon, had built the shop in the 40s with his pa, and ran it with a buddy of his. Grandma Susan had insisted it be built away from the house, as she “couldn’t get her beauty sleep with all that racket.” They had planted several saplings at the back, which had since grown into a beautiful row of oaks that mercifully shielded the house from the cacophony of power tools.

Gravel crunched under the truck’s tires as you turned into the driveway and pulled up behind the shop. A voice called out from the rear arch of the building, weary, but relieved. Matt, your older brother walked out, partially blinded by the patch of 2:00 sunlight though the canopy. You laughed as he shielded his eyes with one hand; the backwards baseball cap was as essential to his uniform as the filthy grey-blue jumpsuit was, but a pair of cheap wraparound sunglasses hung onto the collar swung with his every step, forgotten.

“Hey Matt, catch!”

Resting the paper bag of groceries on your hip, you swung the door of the Ranger closed and tossed the keys to your brother.

“Mom needs these for dinner tonight, so I gotta take this in.” You gestured at the bag you had shifted into both arms. “Everything should be there, but the timing belts. Frank said they were on back order or something; should be back about Tuesday though!” Matt shrugged, after all, what could you do about absent parts.

Patches of sunlight lit the driveway as you walked up towards the house. June was one of your favorite months here, where it was warm even in the shade of the woods, but the sun wouldn’t cook you alive if you were outside for too long. The front door was already unlocked, and two whirlwinds of fluff came barrelling through the door at your knees, and you steadied yourself against the doorframe. Jack and Willow were the two homebody dogs, greeting everyone who walked through the door with the same excitement every time.

The smell of apples and sugar permeated the entire house, and you found a beautifully latticed pie cooling on the countertop as you set the grocery bag down. Taking the groceries out and laying them on the counter, you tore the paper bag in two and tossed the pieces at your pups. The click-click-click of their paws ended as they took the paper into the carpeted family room and began to shred them methodically.

Following them, you found ma in the family room with them, curled up on the couch with her favorite book and a knit blanket. The curtains were half drawn, and her hearing aids lay on the side table underneath the dimmed lamp. Looking up from the worn cover, she smiled. “Thank you for running to the store for me, dear. I could have sworn I remembered everything for your birthday dinner tonight, but now I do. I know your pa gave you today off for your birthday, so I just need you back here ‘round six - six thirty to eat.” You responded by tapping your fingertips against your chin as you signed “thank you,” before raising your left and fluttering your “I love you” towards her before leaving.

The screen door snapped at your heels as you walked through the back door. Past the wood shed, a long picnic table stretched out under a large oak. Nearing it, you took note of the excessive bird droppings and maddeningly long grass underneath that would absolutely tickle your calves. A mental note was made in your head to clean it down another day, and you meandered over to the edge of the woods.

As you walked around, the thought occurred to you that you had never had any real desire to explore your own backyard more. As a child, you spent more time in town, around people, reaching out. Now, you just felt more of a yearning to connect with the home and land you grew up on.

Twenty one was an important birthday, but just like all the ones before, this one felt more like an extended weekend here. Your friends had planned to celebrate, but that wouldn’t be until your trip to Colorado in mid-July. For now, you had the afternoon to yourself and a bottle of sangria that Catie had given you as you were packing for home.

You returned to the house and took your half filled outdoors pack, poured some of the sangria into an empty green Thermos, and added it to the bag of stuff. A small access trail led from the edge of the backyard into the woods, and you set off.

The trail forked at several junctions, every one of them marked with small colored dots spray painted on major trees. It was easier than having to upkeep sign markers as not many people needed to or even really went back here. Blue led down to the kayaks and the lake access, and you remembered racing Matt down the path to the dock as a child. Green led up the hill to the tree fort that Mark, your younger brother, and his friends had built with pa one weekend, back when you could still rest your elbow on his head if he stood still for long enough. Red led to the family plot, more occupied by well loved family pets than ancestors, thankfully. The path headed back to the house was better marked, dirty yellow hi-vis tags nailed to the trees in case you didn’t get back before dark.

Further than that, you didn’t really know what lay beyond. You had never really wondered about it before, something that boggled your mind as you pressed forward. The trail became increasingly overgrown, and you were close to pulling out the brush machete that was in the pack, before you spotted a clearing up ahead. Brambles scraped along your calves as you tried to step over them and your thighs as you tried to skirt past a larger cluster.

The clearing seemed to be an old campsite. A rusting fire pit sat near the center of the clearing; towards the left edge of the woods, and the remains of a small collapsed pavilion covered three or four rotting picnic tables. Rays of sunlight streamed down onto a relatively smooth patch of earth, as perfect a place as any to sit.

Setting the bag down against the ground, you pulled out the rough, thick canvas blanket and shook it open. It covered enough of the ground for you to lay out with the Thermos and the book you were working on. It was a steamy romance novel, one of your truly guilty pleasures. The sangria, though sweet, left you feeling floatier than usual; you were so into the book that you practically breathed in every word off the page, and out here, you didn’t have to hide the blush across your cheeks.

How you wished to come across a strong, kind man like that. The ones you had had the displeasure of meeting ranged from arrogant and abrasive to paranoid and reactionary. All they seemed to want was control, over her friends, her choices, her. No one lasted longer than a few careless hookups; they never seemed to care about your pleasure. They disliked how much time you spent volunteering, with friends, and studying. On the inside, you would give up everything in your life for the right person, but after meeting enough people, you didn’t believe anyone like that existed.

You were so wrapped up in your fantasies that you didn’t notice the man watching you from the treeline. His hand rested on the handle of a sheathed machete that hung from the faded leather work belt at his waist. He had seen plenty of dumb teenagers desecrating the forest that was his home, but you weren’t doing anything close to that. You lay outstretched on a blanket, peaceful, enjoying the beauty of the clearing. Your feet slowly kicked back and forth in the air, flexing your thighs and calves. Every so often, your gaze would float off the page, looking past the book you held; he wondered what you were admiring so passionately.

A ray of sunlight glinted off your hair, illuminating the golden streaks that were typically hidden. The blush across your face captured his attention, and your wistful eyes drew him in to you. To him, you were the epitome of beauty and purity, a sight both new and refreshing in these woods. A strange feeling wound through his body and settled in his groin. It demanded attention, and he pulled at the crotch of his pants, trying to alleviate the tightness there.

When he returned his gaze to you, he found himself standing closer to you than before, no longer hidden by the brush. To his horror, he watched as you looked up from your novel, and noticed him standing there, hand still over his pants zipper.

“Hi there,” you called out, “would you come sit with me? I swear I don’t bite…”

He was transfixed by the sound of your voice, how it cleared his mind of all thoughts of destruction and shame, and stepped closer. Surely, you would find him strange for wearing a mask, or for his marred skin, but you did not flinch as he approached.

Despite your offering of space on the blanket beside you, he instead chose to sit on the very edge of it. Were it not for his dirty hockey mask, you would have bridged the gap between you two with a kiss. You offered him a smile, and showed him the book you were reading. The cover depicted a pretty woman swooning in the arms of a large, rugged man. Between the blush on your face as you held the book, and your eyes looking earnestly up at you, he realized what the feeling in his body was. He needed to please you.

Shifting on the ground, he stretched out his legs, spreading them slightly. The tent that formed in his pants caught your attention; you rose to your knees and moved closer to him. That wasn't enough for him. His large hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards him, setting you down on his thigh.

You placed your hands gently against his upper chest and settled on his thigh. Even through the fabric of your shorts and panties, he could feel the heat radiating from your sex. You gave off a distinctly sweet scent that filled his head with a light airiness.

His thigh pressed nicely up against your clit and his hands slid down the sides of your waist to your full hips, and began to gently rock you back and forth. You leaned into the motion, slightly arching your back to tilt your hips into the sweet friction, and your forearms steadied you against his chest. It was broad and soft, and you gasped as you felt the firm muscles hidden underneath. He had picked you up without a hint of strain, as if you were just a soft little toy.

Maybe it was the arousal bubbling in you already from the book and the drink, but you came so easily on his thigh, soaking through the fabric of your shorts. The rocking slowed to a stop as he felt your body shudder involuntarily and your juices seeped through his pants leg.

Adrift in bliss, you barely noticed him undressing everything but his mask. You slipped your shirt off, and had hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts when you noticed him staring at you. Slowly, he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes roam your body, giving you pause. Then, with an incredible amount of ease, he stripped you nude, tearing first the cotton of your shorts, then the delicate lace of your panties off your body. Before you could react, he had set you back down on his leg, sweet nectar drooling from your lower lips onto the cool skin of his thigh.

His hands kneaded your hips as he began to move you again, enjoying how your soft flesh yielded to his touch. You leaned against him, pressing your bare chest to his, which earned you a low hum from underneath his mask. Your hands roamed over his shoulders, feeling the swell of his muscles under your palms. Something jutted firmly against your own thigh with each movement. The shape was unmistakable, but you had never encountered one of this size before. It filled you with incredulity, and the thrill of taking it entirely overpowered any apprehension in your mind about whether you could. Once the thought had occurred to you, it pushed you over the edge again, your fingernails curling into his skin for support. Your breath ghosted over his chest as you sighed gratuitously, partly involuntarily, partly to rouse him further.

It was successful, as he leaned back, taking you with him until you rested entirely on him, your stomach flush with his. His hands roved down your back, settling on your buttocks, massaging them gently. They were capable of doing anything they wanted to you, even hurting you, but their power had been tightly controlled. Carnal hunger swelled within you, driving you to seek more from him.

You straddled his hips, feeling your inner thigh muscles stretch until your knees came to rest lightly against the ground. His hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, one holding you firmly as the other slid between them. His middle finger traced down your vulva and paused at your clit, rubbing until he felt your body shiver and your warm fluids on his fingertip.. Your insides ached to be filled, and with only a breathy "please", his touch crept up towards your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the digit into you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure and surprise at its thickness. It shifted inside you as he repositioned his arm, and you only had a moment to realize it before your heightened sensitivity sent you spiraling into another orgasm.

Feeling you from the inside excited him; his chest heaved as he let out a deep growl of approval. You rested your head on his pectoral muscle, unable to form coherent thoughts as his finger plunged into you, accompanied by distinctly lewd squishing sounds. He worked with the intention of readying you for his cock, slipping in a second finger, then a third as you focused on relaxing your internal muscles.

His fingers slipped out of you, leaving you startlingly empty for a moment before he shifted you lower on his body. The head of his cock nestled itself between your lower lips. Its presence nearly made your heart leap out of your chest. Finally, it was time.

The tip pressed firmly against you and you gasped as your body yielded to his, granting entry to the bulbous, dripping head of his second machete. His hands returned to your hips, holding them firmly as he eased his way into you. When it felt as if you could not take anymore, he would slightly pull back before pushing further in. The movement was similar to the rocking motion he had guided you through earlier, continuing until you had taken him to the hilt.

He let you rest for a moment as you stretched to accommodate his intense girth. When you determined you were ready, half whimpered, half begged, “take me now”.

His shaft curved upward, and with each movement pressed against the sweet spot just underneath your tummy. The pulsing veins added further stimulation with each thrust, teasing your sensitive walls with its texture. Heavy panting became audible from behind your lover’s mask. Even he wasn’t immune to the intensity of base pleasure you gave him. You had broken his stoic demeanor, and reveled in his guttural moans as he thrust into you.

A pulsing knot began to form in your core as he pounded away at you, hips slapping smartly against yours. Desperately, you fought to hold off your orgasm as long as you could, but there were no other thoughts in your mind to cling to as a distraction. His cock was punishing, mercilessly bringing you to orgasm, showing no signs of slowing. Your body twitched and shook; his firm hands on your hips ensured his complete control over you, preventing you from shying away from the stimulation he was hellbent on giving you. Letting your mouth drop open and eyes flutter, you surrendered all control to him.

His breaths grew ragged, heavier, as he felt his own orgasm building up in him. You squeezed him so perfectly, and he reveled in the feeling as you pulsated effortlessly around his shaft. He pulled you down onto him as he gave one last, powerful thrust into you that left you gasping for air. Thick spurts of ejaculate coated the entrance of your uterus, filling you until you were overflowing. His cum mixed with yours, the fluid drooling from between your lips, pooling between your bodies. Your head rested and settled against his chest; for a few remaining moments, your fingertip lazily traced hearts onto his skin as you drifted off into the haze of sleep.

#I'm sorry this took so long #my writing #filth #smut #Kinktober 2020 #aphrodisiac #thigh riding #size difference #Friday the 13th #friday the thirteenth #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #jason vorhees imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #slasher imagine #slasher thirst

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 4 – Acing the Test by Not Preparing Properly

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

“Are you under the impression the third test might give you a different result?” Adrien asked with a strained amusement.

“We’ve seen stranger things,” Marinette spared a glance from the test on the counter in front of her to glare at him. “And if I was in any way lucky,” this time she glared at Tikki who shrunk away behind Adrien while Plagg cackled at her, “it would.”

She returned her attention to the test only to give an aggravated yell. “Son of a bitch!” She grabbed the edge of the bathroom counter to support her as she folded over gasping for breath.

Adrien nodded thoughtfully. “It might be.”

She turned her head to glare at him. “Are you kidding me! Really?” He gave her a sheepish shrug even as he grimaced. She groaned and collapsed on the floor, leaning against the wall and pulling her knees into her chest. The distant thought occurred to her that she wasn’t going to be able to do that for much longer. She wasn’t going to be able to do a lot of things for much longer. God, how could she be so stupid. She pulled her hair in frustration.

She was just starting up her business. She had just entered into a partnership that was supposed to last at least two years. How was she going to manage the project if she was throwing up and had to take months off to take care of the baby? What if there were complications? How was she going to take care of the baby? How was she going to support a baby if her business failed? But how was her business going to succeed if she was focusing on making sure her baby had the attention they deserved.

She was broken from her spiraling thoughts by a weight across her shoulders. She turned her head, still letting it rest on her knees, to look at Adrien. He reached over to wipe away the tears she only then realized she had been crying. “It’ll be okay, Bugaboo. There are options if you don’t want the baby and if you do, there are options.”

She gave him a weak smile, keeping her head on her knees for a few more moments before switching to lay her head on his shoulder. “How am I supposed to get my company up and running and raise a baby on my own? It takes so much time, both of them. I’m half a world away from my family and most of our friends, fresh out of school, starting a business, entering a new partnership, which might get reneged if I can’t fulfill the requirements, and all alone. How do I do this?”

Adrien hugged her closer. “You’re not alone, Princess. I’ll be right by you every step of the way. Even when you tell your parents.”

She gave a halfhearted laugh. “Yeah, that’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Adrien rested his head on hers. “No it won’t. Do you have any idea how excited your Dad is going to be about being a grandfather? They’re going to be worried about you. They’ll have the same concerns for you that you do. They won’t be mad.”

“The father might be,” she hedged.

Adrien was silent for a moment. “You’re going to tell him?”

“I think he deserves to know. This baby might have a loving family nearby. I don’t want to take that away if it is available.” Her voice was starting to get stronger. This was a decision she could control. She could control whether she invited the father to be a part of their lives. She couldn’t control his answer, but she could control the ask.

“You’re not worried about the weapons?” Adrien asked carefully.

“I am. But Tikki is right, it could be an innocent explanation. I owe it to him to have the chance to explain.”

Adrien nodded, determination settling in his eyes. “Okay, we tell him.”

“We?” she asked with an amused smile.

“We,” he confirmed. “I said you weren’t going to do this alone. I meant it. I’ll be there to support you. I’ll help you find him and stay nearby when you tell him, if you want me to.” He squeezed her again. “So, what do you remember about where he lives?”

“It had a kitchen with weapons, a living room with a comfortable couch, and a bedroom with a bed that didn’t squeak,” she deadpanned.

He shot her a playful glare. “You can’t remember anything?”

“I remember… it was a door in the middle of a long corridor of doors on a floor a few floors up in a building in Gotham.”

“Oh that’s helpful.”

“I don’t know!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I was still drunk and panicked and swung away as Ladybug so I don’t even have stores I passed to go off of.”

“What do you remember, for real this time?”

She turned to stare at a point in the distance, trying to focus her mind and order her thoughts. What did she remember? Not much. She had flashes. She remembered the feelings he stirred in her. She smiled nostalgically as she described her memories. “A smile, a touch, his eyes looking soft and sweet. The feeling of being watched out for, of being wanted, more than just physically.”

Adrien gave a long suffering sigh and collapsed his legs to the bathroom floor. “Well that’s helpful to track him down.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and pushed him away. “You asked what I remembered. I didn’t even remember his name on my own.” She groaned and hit her head against the wall behind her. “Why did you let me go home with him? You were supposed to be my voice of reason!”

“You said you were sure. You said it was cosmic intervention… I think.” He rubbed his head as phantom pains returned. “You remember more about that night than I do.”

She groaned again, this one taking a whinier tone than the previous groans. “That was the sixth drink and eighth shot talking.”

“Well your eighth shot was very convincing to my ninth shot.”

“And how could I have not used a condom? I couldn’t possibly have been that far gone that I didn’t demand protection. Could he…” her body stilled, her mind froze as a horrifying thought occurred to her, “…could he have not used one? And said he did?”

Adrien grimaced. “Or he was drunk and thought he did. Or thought you said not to. Not that you did! Just that he was really drunk and misinterpreted!” He rushed to add upon seeing her reaction to the suggestion.

“No, you used a condom,” Tikki offered quietly. “Just not the whole time.”

Marinette’s head whipped to her. “Okay, first, ew! Why do you know that! Were you watching?”

“No!” Tikki exclaimed indignantly. “But voices carry, especially when they are very loud.” She gave Marinette a pointed look.

Marinette eyed her suspiciously but continued, “Second, what does that mean?”

Tikki sighed dejectedly. “It means you did stuff before you put it on. And if you’re particularly lucky, that’s enough.”

“Oh my God,” Adrien muttered absentmindedly.

“Oh my God!” Marinette yelled, realization setting in.

“Yeah, I bet Tikki heard that a lot that night too,” Plagg cackled.

All three eyes shot to him in a glare that did nothing to diminish his laughter.

“You mean I’m pregnant because I’m Ladybug? Because I was wearing the earrings?” Marinette whisper screeched.

“Not… entirely… but, it influenced it. You’re the wielder of Creation. It’s going to increase your chances of the right things happening in the right order to create life. But you two are the ones who didn’t wear a condom for the whole act, allowing semen to be present and you two are the ones who gave each other multiple orgasms, which helped move the semen into the right position. You very much could have gotten pregnant without any miraculous intervention.”

Marinette’s mouth hung open and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Multiple orgasms, huh?” Adrien asked waggling his eyebrows.

“Judging by the screaming, I’d say both of them were highly proficient,” Tikki nodded in confirmation.

“Oh my God,” Marinette whispered into her hands covering her face. “This is a nightmare. Not only am I pregnant, I have to hear this. I cannot get a break.”

Adrien shrugged. “It could be worse. It could have been bad.”

“It doesn’t really matter if I couldn’t remember it,” Marinette pointed out.

“Yeah, but next time you’ll remember it,” he pointed out.

“If there is a next time,” Marinette sighed.

“There will be,” Adrien reassured her. “It was cosmic intervention. It will bring you back together again.”

Marinette shook her head and rested it on his shoulder with her eyes closed. “I wish I was as optimistic as you.”

“It will all work out eventually. Until then, you have commissions to finish before the gala, including your dress. You need to look impeccable so we can network for your company.”

Marinette groaned and dropped her legs to the ground. “Can’t I just fall apart for one minute, please?”

“Nope. You need to get back to work doing something you love and can focus on. If it happens to be something that calms you as well? Well that’s just good for you and the baby. Come on,” he stood up and offered her his hand to help her up, “you start working and I’ll go out and get some pregnancy supplies for you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think you’re more excited about this than I am.”

“You’re going to have a baby! You have a little bug in the oven! If you don’t break it to your dad with a pun, he and I will be so disappointed,” he gave her a mock stern look before pulling her into a comforting embrace. “You’re going to be ecstatic about this, too, once the shock wears off. I know you and I know you’re going to be an amazing mom,” he whispered with a kiss to the top of her head. “And I’m going to be the fun uncle that he, she, or they gets really excited to hang out with and takes them for ice cream and he comes to whenever she has problems they can’t go to you about.” He gave her an excited smile as he thought about the future.

“Now move. The gala’s coming up in just a few weeks and you have a ton of work to finish and you’re going to be panicking about letting Tim down and you’re not going to be able to chug coffee and energy drinks anymore.”

Marinette emitted a woeful, agonized moan that even the neighbors heard.

Chapter 5

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - memories

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ayybtch · 3 years

Text

Alcoholic Juice Box

Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Adulthood sucks. You know what doesn’t suck? Blanket forts and alcoholic juice boxes.

Word count: 1,773

Warnings: Liberal use of the word ‘fuck’ and variations of the word ‘fuck’, brief mention of financial troubles, brief mention of crappy friends and family who are too focused on their own nonsense to care about the well being of anyone else, alcohol mentions and some alcohol consumption at the very end.

A/N: This maybe got a tad personal and self indulgent (oops). Before anyone asks, yes this was my actual stress response. I’m not proud of it but it worked! 😂 also, a very special thank you goes to the lovely @kellyn1604 for giving this a quick read for me 💕

A Mutual Weirdness Masterlist

Bucky sighed in relief as he finally sat down in the back of the Quinjet. He, Sam, and Steve had been on a mission nonstop for the past twelve days tracking down Hydra agents. His whole body ached and he was desperate for some normal human interaction. Specifically, he was desperate for normal human interaction with you. All nonessential phone calls or text conversations had been prohibited, so it truly had been twelve days of uninterrupted Steve and Sam. Normally they made for great company and he enjoyed being around them. But now? Now Bucky was almost ready to never see their faces again. He thought on multiple occasions during the mission that all SHIELD trainees should have to endure Sam’s singing for hours on end as a part of their hostage training. If they can survive that with Steve’s occasional attempts at harmonizing, they can survive anything.

Once the Quinjet was in the air, he took out his phone and sent you a quick text saying they were on their way back. Not even a minute later, Bucky’s screen lit up with an incoming Facetime call from you. His heart surged at the thought of seeing you hours before he initially expected to and answered without a moment's hesitation. The smile written on his face fell as soon as he saw you.

You looked terrible. The exhaustion he felt after twelve days of work suddenly seemed like nothing compared to the exhaustion written on your face. You tried to smile at him, but the smile didn’t fully reach your eyes. Bucky’s gut twisted.

“Doll, what’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice dripping with worry.

You tried to nod yes but burst out in tears instead. The tears kept coming and after a few minutes, Bucky really started to worry.

“When you feel ready, take a couple deep breaths for me. Tell me what’s going on so I know how to help.”

It took a few minutes, but your tears started to slow and your breathing began to even out. Bucky smiled at you reassuringly as you took a few deep breaths before starting to talk.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry. You’ve been on a mission and here I am crying before you even had the chance to say hello,” you said, wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek.

“These past few days have just been really hard. Well, the past couple of months really, but everything’s starting to hit me all at once. School sucks, I can’t believe they’re allowed to charge me what they are. College is stressful enough as it is, why does paying for it have to be challenging too? I work thirty hours a week during the semester and over forty during breaks, yet I still can’t afford to go to school without taking out student loans. It’s bullshit. On top of all of that, I still have my regular bills to pay too!

“And as if financial stress isn’t enough, my family and friends have all decided that this week was the week to start up as much drama as possible…” you trailed off and a new round of tears began.

Bucky’s heart broke as he watched your body shake with each new sob. He desperately wished it was his hands wiping away your tears instead of your own.

The tears ended a little quicker this time, but the sadness didn’t quite leave your face as you started to speak, “My family is fighting over something stupid and using me as the go-between because I wasn’t there when the argument started. But at the same time, they’re bitching at me for ‘never being there’ when it’s their own fault for not inviting me!

“My friends are also upset that I don’t have the time to see them as often anymore and are bitching about that. One of them is freaking out in particular because she thinks she’s about to be dumped, while another is complaining about how much she doesn’t like being married because now her mother-in-law expects grandbabies. I’m fucking tired of everything and everyone.”

Bucky waited to see if you were going to continue before he spoke. “Doll, I am so sorry. That’s a lot to handle all at once. What can I do to help?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think there’s much you can do, Bucky. I just let things build up too much and they all exploded at once.” You paused for a moment and let out a bitter chuckle, “This whole adulting thing is a load of garbage. What a fucking scam. I can’t believe I ever wanted to grow up.”

Bucky couldn’t hold back his laughter. Before he could say anything though, you spoke up again

“You know what? Fuck it. I’m done being an adult. I’m going to go do something childish and ignore all my adult responsibilities.”

Bucky snorted. “Oh yeah? What childish thing are you going to do?”

You pondered for a moment, eyebrows furrowed together as you considered your options. Bucky could see the lightbulb go off in your head before a smug smile crept up onto your face. “I’m going to build a blanket fort. Nobody expects adult things from someone who’s hanging out in a blanket fort”

If you hadn’t looked and sounded so serious, Bucky would’ve laughed again. Instead, he just nodded and smiled.

You weren’t amused by his lack of enthusiasm. “Oh c’mon, are you really telling me that a blanket fort isn’t the obvious solution to my problems?”

Bucky went to reply, but you cut him off with a gasp as a look of pure joy swept across your face. The joy soon transitioned into a look that screamed pure chaos. Bucky suddenly felt nervous.

“I’m going to go to the store and get juice boxes before I start. The blanket fort was a brilliant first step in my ‘Fuck The Scam That Is Adulthood’ plan, but the juice boxes -” you mimed a chef kiss “- are the icing on the cake.”

“Juice boxes, huh? That one’s a little surprising,” he teased. “Do you want me to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to go along with that? Or maybe you’d like some fruit snacks?”

You smiled devilishly back at him, “Well, it needs to be an alcoholic juice box though. That’s the one part of adulting I do like, so it gets to be the exception.”

This time Bucky didn’t even bother trying to hold back his laughter. “I’m not sure anything describes you better than an alcoholic juice box.”

“Agreed. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go buy myself some juice boxes, make the blanket fort of my dreams, and then hide in it whilst pretending the world doesn’t exist. Come over as soon as you’re home and ready. Bring some food with you!”

The call ended abruptly and Bucky stared at the screen in disbelief for a moment before he chuckled. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, wondering how he ended up with someone as beautiful and crazy as you. He was still worried of course. Everything you had mentioned that was contributing to your stress was a lot. He fell asleep trying to plan out how to help you and what he could do to help keep things from being bottled up for this long again.

Three hours and a hot shower later, Bucky found himself walking up the steps to your apartment with food from your favorite Chinese restaurant in hand. He unlocked the door and made his way in, kicking off his shoes by the door.

“Doll, it’s me. Where are you?”

He heard you giggle slightly before calling out to him, “I’m in my room.”

He made his way back towards your room and his feet froze before he was fully in the door. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. You had built the most massive blanket fort he had ever seen. Fort was no longer the appropriate word to use; it was a blanket castle. He knew you were chaotic, but this...this was an entirely new level of chaotic, even for you.

Chairs from the living room and kitchen had been brought in as support beams, packing tape was being used to hold up one side of a sheet against the wall, and couch cushions were arranged to create a small tunnel as an entrance to the fort. The empty bed frame suggested you had even moved your mattress onto the floor for the sake of this damn fort. Once the initial shock wore off, he crouched down and carefully crawled inside.

Every pillow and cushion in your apartment was inside the fort with you, along with the few blankets that somehow hadn’t been used in the fort itself. You were curled up under your comforter with a bottle of wine in hand.

“I have to say when you said you were building a blanket fort I certainly did not expect something this big.” He leaned forward and gave you a quick kiss to the forehead as you giggled at his surprise.

““That’s what you get for underestimating my fort-making abilities,” You took a long sip of wine straight from the bottle before handing it to Bucky.

“I commend you on your taste in juice boxes, though I’d hardly call this a box.” he teased. He held up the bottle and looked at it closer before adding, “You also seem to have drunk most of it already. Guess I should have brought my own.” He estimated there was barely enough wine left to fill half of a glass. You sat there and shrugged.

“I’ll have you know I did consider getting a boxed wine to be more authentic. I decided against it though because that one’s harder to casually drink from. But bottle, schmottle - it’s a minor detail at this point. As to your astute observation about that one being almost empty, there are two more in the fridge. You can go open one up if you’re wanting some,” You paused for a moment before continuing, “The far more important concern right now is if you remembered to get extra egg rolls. You know how much drunk me loves egg rolls.”

Bucky rolled his eyes before dutifully reaching into the bag of takeout that had been haphazardly pushed to the side and pulling out three orders of egg rolls. A happy squeal and a quick peck on the cheek was all he needed to think that maybe your approach to adulthood wasn’t half bad.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #a mutual weirdness

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secret-engima · 3 years

Note

I’m interested in hearing more about that AU you told me about before- the RWBY/HTTYD fusion(?) where Oscar is basically Hiccup and Ozpin is the dadliest Nightfury ever :)

OH YES THAT WAS A FUN IDEA.

Okay so like- RWBY/HTTYD fusion kinda thing where instead of vikings there’s Remnant characters. And possibly Remnant’s world. Anyway dragons are a thing, dragons are something people all have strong mixed opinions on because most dragons are furious monsters that try to destroy human settlements at any turn, but there are stories and legends of a time centuries ago when dragons were peaceful and tamable and kind.

Oscar has no real opinion on the legends. He’s mostly scared of dragons after an attack of a huge flock of Terrible Terrors when he was a small child left his hands and neck all scarred up. Even so, he doesn't ... really hate them? They’re wild animals. They’re just angry ones. He and his Aunt are pretty good at keeping their farm unnoticed when a flock passes overhead and as long as it stays that way, he’s fine. Any stray dragon that comes by and starts making noises to set the barn on fire or steal livestock, his Aunt deals with it. She’s a good shot.

Then one day, his hideout is broken into.

Now, his hideout isn’t really a “hideout” it’s just the old barn that the farm doesn’t use anymore. it’s too far away from the house, right on the edge of their property. But nobody has a reason to go there, so as long as he’s careful, Oscar gets to use it as his own little clubhouse. He stores books in there, and notebooks to sketch in, and all the junk he likes to tinker with because he likes building things on the side. His aunt says that maybe someday he can get a scholarship to a proper school for engineering and stuff.

He’s always careful not to store food in there, so that the wild animals of any kind have no reason to try to get in, and he locks it when he leaves.

So he is understandably VERY surprised when he comes in and finds a DRAGON on the floor of his hideout, having apparently broken in through the old window on the upper floor. The dragon stirs when Oscar gasps in fear, moves faster than Oscar can think and suddenly Oscar is pinned by a dark paw as the dragon looms over him with bloody, sharp teeth and furious gold eyes.

So this is how he dies then.

He squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper, waiting for the half-remembered agony of being mauled by a dragon to start (it had hurt so bad as a child and this dragon was so much bigger than a Terrible Terror-).

Hot breath on his face and then instead of pain, a low noise that was too soft to be a growl. Oscar whimpers again because please, please don’t try to eat him alive or something, but instead of pain the paw just leaves his chest and when Oscar dares to open his eyes and sit up, the dragon has limped away to curl up in a corner of the hideout again.

....Dragons aren’t supposed to let humans live.

......They probably aren’t supposed to look so exhausted and in pain and bloody either.

Oscar knows he should run. Go get his Aunt so she can come put the dragon down before it changes its mind and hurts him but-. The dragon looks at him, and gold eyes aren’t furious anymore. Just resigned. Scared. The dragon looks like it’s been on the losing side of a very bad fight with something that wasn’t human. There are gashes where scales have been clawed away, and when its tail slides slowly to curl around its paws, Oscar can see its missing a tail fin.

...Was this dragon attacked by other dragons?

Curiosity and pity make Oscar hold his silence as he backs slowly out of the barn and shuts the door behind him. He ... maybe it will go away in a few hours. Once it’s caught its breath.

He peaks in that evening and finds it hasn’t. It’s curled up tightly in the same corner, and he’s pretty sure the dragon is shivering.

He should REALLY tell his Aunt about this.

He brings it a small bucket of fish from the farm’s massive pond the next morning instead.

The dragon looks at him in open surprise and takes the fish as politely as a well trained dog. When it stands up again Oscar flinches, but all it does is sniff at him and then start licking his hair and Oscar yelps from shock more than fear. It’s like a switch has been flipped and even though the dragon is still exhausted and injured, it gently wrestles him down to give him ... a bath? A dragon bath. The dragon is purring while it does so. Oscar takes it as a form of thank you and has to work hard to snag a shower before Auntie Em can see him covered in dragon drool.

It takes a few more tentative visits to realize that 1. the dragon can’t leave because he can’t fly anymore, 2. he’s not actually black like Oscar thought, but a really deep, rich green in the sunlight when the dragon sneaks out to the old back field for a sun nap, and 3. Oscar is pretty sure he’s been adopted by the dragon. It (he, the dragon is a he), keeps cooing at him and trying to follow him and giving him tongue baths and offering him regurgitated bits of fish, which Oscar frantically turns down each time.

He names the dragon Ozpin, after one of the few dragon stories he knows where the dragon isn’t a horrible monster, and the first time he uses it, Ozpin reacts like it’s always been his name.

Oscar realizes halfway through designing a new tail fin for Ozpin that 1. this design is going to need a rider and 2. he’s had a dragon for about three months now and still hasn’t told his aunt. That ... will probably come back to bite later. But by now he’s more afraid of her reaction over the delay than her reaction over the dragon. So he keeps putting it off.

He kinda sorta really wants to ride Ozpin before his aunt can shut the idea down.

Ozpin expected to die that night he fled. Hundreds of seasons he’d managed to keep ahead of Salem, his mad former mate, freeing dragons from her control in twos and threes and hiding them away where she would not find them again, and she had finally caught him. He had been betrayed. Willingly. Leo’s eyes had been clear as day as he stood by Salem’s side, not glazed with her hate and control, and that hurt almost as much as the claws of her horde of dragons (always a horde, never leaving the risk that she will have to fight him alone, because she knows that in an equal fight, he would win, just like he almost had last time) tearing apart his scales, driving him from the air before he managed to fight some of them off and escape.

He’s not sure when he lost his tail fin. But that is a death sentence to a dragon like him. A dragon who cannot fly is a dead dragon, either by starvation, by Salem, or by the humans who have long forgotten what it was like to be friends and companions to dragon kind.

Ozpin wakes up in a human structure and can’t remember how he got in, but he hears movement and pained instinct drives him up to attack (what if it’s Salem, what if it’s one of her scouts, a poor dragon that Ozpin is too weak to free from her control and will have to kill to save himself like the coward he is-).

A child.

A human child.

Oh. Oh dear.

He really is going to die.

Ozpin removes his paw, hoping he didn’t break any fragile bones (human hatchlings were so *delicate*, he remembered that even after so long) and slinks to a far corner. He could run again, but he’s too tired and too heartsick. Let the boy call his parents.

At least the humans would probably make his death quick.

Except the boy does not call his parents, he leaves and pokes his head in hours later as if to check if Ozpin is still there. He leaves again and the next morning arrives with a bucket of fish to feed him. It is strange and kind and strange because it is kind and when he sniffs at the boy in curiosity, looking for a reason, the child doesn’t run, just flinches nervously. He smells of only one guardian and no other hatchlings. He smells nervous and a bit frightened and ... lonely.

Ozpin finds himself gently pulling the child close and bathing him before he can think better of it, and it is foolish, to risk claiming another human hatchling, he hasn’t shared his Life with a Rider in a long long time (not since Salem killed the last one before his eyes back when he was young and foolish and still thought he could call her back from the edge of madness), but he is so grateful and lonely and this child is all but aching with the need for love. Why else would he risk bringing Ozpin food when all the stories men tell nowadays are of how dragons are bloodthirsty monsters?

The boy keeps coming back, bringing just enough fish to take the edge of Ozpin’s hunger, and even though his days are numbered, Ozpin stays and croons and tries to impart love on the child who is so lonely he would befriend a monster. He lets the boy tentatively climb on him and touch his scales, even lets him inspect Ozpin’s injured, ruined tail. He can’t help it. He always loved hatchlings, human or dragon, and it’s been so *long*-.

The boy takes to sketching and building ... something. Ozpin isn’t entirely certain what. He almost jumps out of his scales when Oscar (that was the boy’s name he learned at last) calls him Ozpin, calls him by name, and then learns that there still are a handful of stories of the Old Days. Dismissed as myth now. It’s amusing to be named after himself.

Ozpin frets quietly over the child sometimes, because while he can smell a guardian on him, he has never seen this guardian, even from afar. He knows this barn is on the edge of Oscar’s little territory, but even so, what guardian lets her hatchling wander off so frequently and never thinks to check on him? Sometimes Oscar falls *asleep* in here, curled up against Ozpin’s side and tucked under a wing, and only wakes up when Ozpin nudges him up because he can hear the far off bell that he thinks means it’s time for his hatchling to go home and eat.

He wishes Speaking Stones still existed. That he’d managed to save more of them, or that he was able to fly and get one. The only way to exchange true words without a Speaking Stone would be a Rider bond and- and he can’t do that to Oscar. It wouldn’t be fair.

He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into a war for freedom of mind that Ozpin and dragon kind has been losing for seasons upon seasons.

Except the child doesn’t seem to think so, doesn’t even know what he flirts with when he tentatively drags in a rudimentary replacement tail fin and saddle as well as a harness to connect them.

Ozpin tries to reject it. As much as he wants (needs) to fly, it’s too dangerous. The boy pouts and sets the harness and gear aside, muttering to himself that he’ll just leave it in the barn for a while until “Ozpin gets used to the smell”.

Ozpin snorts. Because he is not a dog that can be tricked into forgetting something exists thank you.

Oscar sticks his tongue out at him. Adorable, feisty, silly little hatchling.

#SE asks #keeperofgems asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Dragon Rider Oscar verse #long post #rwby #httyd #very loose fusion #OH LOOK NEW AU

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sadclearance · 3 years

Note

M!reader and hanta sero! toxic toxic manipulative reunion after breakup

how the #26 hero made headlines with his sex tape

pairing: hanta sero x male manipulative reader

summary: hanta sero and y/n meet again after their sex tape is leaked.

warning: sex tape (sero fucking you), manipulative and toxic behavior, implied/referenced past cheating, suicide attemptish, implied/referenced revenge porn

category: angst(?), fluff(?) idrk

word count: 4300

"and then the fucking cashier asked to take a picture!" katsuki bakugo seethed. "i just wanted to get my damn groceries, but everyone's so damn nosy!"

"at least they asked?" mina ashido said, her voice pitched at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"don't even get me started on the fucking stalkers that don't ask," bakugo growled.

"i don't know how you can live like that," hanta sero laughed at bakugo's misery. "sounds terrible."

is this karma for being amused by bakugo's misfortunes?

the day immediately after, sero is scanning his items after getting everything he needs from the grocery store when the cashier stares at him with wide eyes, glancing between him and the phone in their hand.

"are you cellophane?"

is this what having fans feels like? it's kind of flattering but also annoying that he's being called his hero name during his off time.

"oh, yeah," sero responds with a light laugh, trying to stay polite.

he expects them to ask for a picture or maybe an autograph. what he doesn't expect is snickering.

he vaguely remembers how denki kaminari described being recognized in public for the first time. he was met with taunts from a group of students because a video of him short circuiting had just gone viral.

sero's quirk doesn't even have any drawbacks similar to short circuiting, so he can't think of a possible reason why his cashier would be laughing at him.

he ignores it and finishes checking out because he doesn't want to ask what's wrong with the other person.

when he gets back to his apartment complex, he checks his mail. there's a few bills and postcards from old friends.

the guy next to him bursts out laughing.

he closes his mailbox and gives him a questioning look. that just made it two people that have laughed at him in the past thirty minutes. what's going on?

"you're cellophane, right?"

"uh, yeah?" sero says, completely confused.

"just don't be too loud in this building," the guy says, apparently cracking himself up.

sero is still puzzled. he's been the perfect tenant. the loudest noise that's ever come from his apartment was the merciless explosions from bakugo directed toward kaminari after a particularly bad joke, but that happened two years ago. ever since then, the most that could be heard was maybe kaminari's laughter, but sero doubts that that was even that loud.

when he reaches his floor and opens the door of his apartment, he's greeted with his friends on the couch.

"oh, hey," sero says, shutting the front door with his foot and going toward the kitchen to start organizing his groceries. "i told you guys to start warning me before you come. do i have to start hiding my spare key?"

"we know what you're doing, sero," ashido frowns.

okay, something's up. the pink hero isn't using her normal teasing or upbeat tone, and the television isn't even on.

"what?" sero looks at her with the same expression he wore toward the guy who told him not to be too loud.

"you did this last time, bro," eijiro kirishima gives a disapproving look. "i thought we made it clear back then that we're here for you."

what is kirishima going on about? "last time"? well, sero knows what he's talking about because of the whole "here for you" part. of course he remembers. it was a prominent part of his life because it only happened once, during a time in his life he remembers too well.

see, sero is an easy-going guy. out of everybody in the group, he's probably the most stable.

i mean, ashido is a party animal that drags the group out to upbeat bars at least once a month even when she would do a hundred things she'd regret the next morning. it's not like they didn't like doing it, but she definitely needed supervision.

then, there's kaminari. he's an emotional mess, getting caught up in too many confusing flirty situations. each week, he would have a breakdown in the group chat. "so do you guys think me and x are really flirting? or is this like joke flirting?"

can't forget about kirishima. he's probably the second most stable, but he still has a lot of times where he needs reassurance and comfort.

last but definitely not least, bakugo--the emotionally constipated man who is only the tiniest bit better at communicating his emotions than he was in their first year together.

too long, didn't read: four out of five of the group needed someone to depend on at least once a month.

sero is the one person in their group that didn't necessarily need anybody. this isn't because he keeps shit to himself. he's just fortunate enough to not have any problems that aren't surface level. the most he has to deal with are minor inconveniences like running out of toilet paper, running into a villain on his off day, or getting puked on by ashido on a particularly wild night--nothing that emotionally tears him apart.

well, there was this one time about three years ago when he felt the worst that he ever had before. it was a terrible experience of heartbreak and self-hatred which is why he unfortunately remembers it so well. he kept it all to himself until his friends managed to eventually force it out of him, hence the "we're here for you".

but there is absolutely no reason for them to say "last time" as if it's happening again.

"what are you guys talking about? everyone's being so weird today."

"oh my god," kaminari's jaw falls. "do you seriously not know, or are you pretending like you're okay again?"

"not know what?" today is a day of questions, and he doesn't like it one bit.

"do you not check your fucking phone or something?" bakugo growls with annoyance and the slightest hint of shock. the slight gentleness of his volume gets sero incredibly worried.

"i haven't had time to. why? what's going on?"

the four look at each other, considering if they should enlighten sero on whatever it is.

when sero determines they're taking too long to decide, he takes out his phone from his pocket.

at first, he sees a bunch of text notifications from almost all of his old classmates and coworkers, all asking in various ways if he's okay.

he moves past them and searches up his hero name. what could be so bad that his friends expect him to go back to being as much of a concerning mess as he was the last time they spoke to him like this? he doubts that anything could make him as bad as he was after his breakup with his high school sweetheart.

oh... well, he can admit that seeing his name with a link from an adult video website being the top result and under "trending" doesn't make him feel that great, but he doesn't think that it's that bad.

"there's a video on pornhub with my name on it. is it like a really messed up cosplay of me or something?" sero asks, partially joking. "because if it is, i don't really care, guys. you don't have to worry about stuff like that. i know what it means to be known by the world, and that there are creeps out there that get off to--"

"shut the fuck up and watch the damn video," bakugo scowls.

"you want me to watch porn in front of you?" sero raises an eyebrow, slightly amused--a feeling that clearly isn't being reciprocated by any of the four that are staring at him.

"just watch it," kirishima sighs.

he clicks on it, even if he thinks it's a little weird that his friends want to watch him watch porn. maybe it's so bad that it's funny. he's expecting some weirdo to be wearing a poor version of his hero costume getting bukkaked or something weird like that.

all amusement leaves his body, and his confused smile drops.

it's not some weirdo wearing a knock off cellophane costume. he's greeted with a screen covered by him. wearing nothing.

it's not even the fact that his nude body is exposed on the internet to be shown to anybody and everybody that causes the pit in his stomach. it's because he recognizes the video. he knows what happens in it. he knows who's in it.

he doesn't stop watching as giggling from his phone fills the awkwardly silent room. soon enough, the nineteen year old sero in the video has a cock in his mouth, and his fingers are up the ass of the owner of said cock.

that's not even the worst part. the worst part is the next part, which is where sero from three years ago takes the camera, uses his quirk to tie his ex-love's wrists together, and fucks him while getting everything on camera, including a clear shot of his face.

he watches the entire thing, too frozen to do anything else.

in any other situation, his friends would be teasing the shit out of him. ashido would poke fun at how sero of all people made a sex tape, kaminari would make some stupid pun about how he made a sex tape, kirishima would try to be holding himself back from laughing at how sero used his quirk for such a purpose as tying his partner up for sex, and bakugo would probably call him something along the lines of "plain face cock-sucking bottom bitch", even though the next few scenes that follow show that he's clearly not the last part.

this isn't any other situation, though. this is a sex tape with the one person he fucked over so badly that he still stays up every night thinking about it--regretting it. sero thinks that the universe must think he's one big joke.

"sero?" kaminari asks when sero doesn't speak even after the video ends. it's an awkward situation, really, because as mentioned earlier, his friends just watched him watch himself suck a dick and then proceed to pound into the ass of their former classmate.

he's not nearly as mortified by that as he should be.

he's more mortified that this is trending on every single social platform, not even because he's a pro hero with the world currently looking at his naked body, but because he somehow managed to fuck up y/n's life more than he already had three years ago.

"i'm tired" is the excuse he decides on using as he walks toward his bedroom. "i'll talk to you guys later."

hesitantly, his friends show themselves out, which he's glad for because he really needs some time to process--and wallow--by himself.

sero lies in bed for a while, not sure what to do, before he finally pulls out his phone again and does something that only makes the pit of guilt in his stomach worsen.

DailyHero: Taping Hero: Cellophane and the Video That Everyone's Talking about

HeroWeekly: Cellophane--26th Ranking Hero, Everything We Know About His Video

HeroTribune: Cellophane's Shocking Video

it isn't just hero media networks that are talking about it, though.

CelebrityGossip: Plain Hero Plain No More

since when is he a celebrity? he would find that funny if he wasn't so abashed by today's events.

RecreationalChronicle: How the Tape Hero is Making HeadLines

it makes him slightly amused to think of how that's another one of the stupid puns kaminari would make if the situation wasn't so sensitive.

he clicks on the hero weekly one, which just so happens to be the number one news outlet for hero news. sero's kind of surprised that they said anything about it. they were known for keeping things profession based, and the title of the article frankly sounds like any other drama website. he might be flattered by hero weekly deeming his amateur sex tape important enough to dedicate a whole article to it if he wasn't so plagued with guilt still.

Cellophane--26th Ranking Hero, Everything We Know About His Video

Cellophane, real name Hanta Sero, is the 26th ranking hero in Japan today. This morning, an explicit video featuring him and another man was leaked onto the internet via an adult video website. The original source is unknown, but we can only assume that neither Cellophane or his featured partner was behind revealing this to the public eye.

From what we gather, this video was filmed roughly around or before the first assignment that brought Cellophane lots of recognition. By this time, he was nineteen years old and had graduated the prestigious U.A. Academy a year prior.

The identities in the video are very clear, as there are many clear shots of both participants' faces.

While the video itself is shocking to many, Cellophane's partner is what surprises us the most. Y/n L/n was a hero that graduated alongside Cellophane from U.A. Academy. He was famous for being so fresh out of high school, but after just one year of unbelievable success--around the same time the infamous video was recorded--he went completely off the grid. To this day, nobody has seen him since.

sero stops reading because he feels more shitty the more he reads. he knows what the article is talking about. y/n cut off almost everybody from u.a. after their breakup. his friends tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault, but it was an awful big coincidence that his abrupt disappearance happened the exact day of their breakup.

he wonders what y/n's up to nowadays. is he still in japan? is he still pursuing a heroic lifestyle? perhaps he's been doing what aizawa did. maybe he continues to fight crime, just minus the recognition and media time.

if y/n really is living a peaceful life right now, did sero just shatter that? the world had sort of forgotten he existed at all after a few months of his disappearance, so he probably would've gotten away with roaming the streets freely without being recognized. did sero just ruin that for him?

he needs to know. he needs to try to fix things, even if he knows he can't. he needs to... he needs to talk to him, even after all these years.

when sero asks kaminari to meet him alone, the electric hero's kind of nervous. last time, he was happy with the entirety of their friend group comforting him. why did he want some one-on-one time all of a sudden?

apparently, he was right to be nervous because what sero is asking of him is hard for him to do.

"hey," kaminari says with the best smile he can muster in his anxious state.

"hey," sero greets back, taking a sip of his hot coffee.

"thanks for buying," kaminari says, twirling the straw in his cup with his hand, the ice of the iced coffee moving and crashing together.

"no problem," sero nods.

"what's up?" kaminari asks, putting the tip of the straw that lays in between his fingers into his mouth to take a nice long taste of the sweet treat.

"i need to talk to y/n," sero says, looking down at the coffee between his two hands instead of up into kaminari's eyes.

"i--what?" kaminari asks, almost spitting out his drink.

"i know you still talk to him, and i know why you can't tell me how to find him, but--"

"sero," kaminari frowns at the frantic desperation in his friends voice. "it's not that i can't. i mean, i probably shouldn't, but... that's not why."

"then why?" sero's voice is pleading, but his eyes hold angry frustration.

"look, the thing is, i don't even talk to him that often," kaminari sighs. "we've talked maybe twice since you guys broke up. we're not the friends that we used to be before."

"i understand that there's boundaries that shouldn't be crossed, okay? believe me, i really do, but i really need a chance to talk to him again. if he tells me to go away, i swear i'll drop it. i'll leave him alone. please."

"i know, i know. i know you aren't a stalker ex. just..."

kaminari's lips tighten into a line, a habit he's picked up over the years whenever he's faced with any kind of decision--whether it be deciding what flavor of ice cream he should get, or, apparently, if he should let his best friend see the guy he broke the heart of.

"okay," kaminari hesitates.

"thank you! thank you thank you--"

"don't thank me yet," kaminari says with a weak shake of his head. "before you talk to him, i need you to know that he's not the same person you knew."

"i understand," sero nods. he doesn't expects his meeting with him to go well anyway. sure, he hopes it will, but he's mentally prepared himself for the worst outcome, which his brain has decided is for y/n to yell and start throwing things at him.

"i... i don't know how to put it, really, but the few times that we talked, he's sounded... weird. like creepy. i don't know, man," kaminari shudders at the thought, but sero's too caught up in his anxious excitement to really care.

"it's okay. i understand," sero repeats.

"if you're sure," kaminari pauses. "truth is, y/n wants to see you, too."

"really?" sero feels all too hopeful, and he can see the worry paint kaminari's face.

"i don't know if it's in a good way or not," kaminari says carefully. he doesn't want to hurt his friend, but he doesn't want to set him up for disappointment either.

"i'm not expecting anything," sero says, but his words aren't very convincing when there's a clear smile growing on his face.

"just be careful, bro." kaminari writes an address on a piece of paper.

"you don't have to worry about me," sero reassures with a smile.

as he wanders through the streets, he's shaky and nervous and scared and ecstatic and--just everything.

y/n wants to meet with him. the possibilities are endless, but at least he now knows he won't be turned away--at least not immediately.

he goes between riding in cabs to treading amongst the shadows on the street, changing whenever someone recognizes him from the trending news.

he endures long hours of stares and whispers, encouraging himself with the thought of being able to see y/n again soon, whether that be a good thing or not.

"fiftieth floor of paragon hotel..." sero mutters to himself as he presses on the cold metal button. lots of questions come to mind, like where will y/n be? he didn't get a room number with the address. how will y/n react? will he stay civil? will he give him a chance to explain himself? did he only want sero to come so he could vent out his anger and frustrations?

when the elevator doors open, he sees a single door.

he hesitantly turns the knob until he's hit with a cold breeze from the night air.

oh.

it's the roof.

his brain's new worst conclusion is that y/n's going to push him off, but he's more okay with that than he should be. he has a quirk that can save him even if that happens, and if anything, he thinks it'll help him feel a little less guilty about everything he's done to make y/n's life more shitty.

"y/n," he calls out softly when he sees y/n just standing there, looking up at the big white moon in the sky.

nothing's really changed. his appearance isn't much different from the last time they saw each other, and sero's still enamored by how the stars above could never compare to the bright light that is y/n.

but that's not something he should be thinking about right now. his head shouldn't be filled with hopeful thoughts.

the object of his love to this day turns around upon hearing his name.

"sero," he greets with a smile. "you made it."

"yeah. i did," sero hesitantly steps closer to y/n. "listen, y/n, i'm..."

fuck. why is that the only thing he can get out of his mouth? he has so much to say--he's been thinking about it every night for the past three years--every hour for the past few days. so why is his mind blank now of all times?

"how're things with... i can't even remember her name," y/n laughs a little, and sero frowns. he doesn't know why he's laughing about the mistake that's been haunting him forever, but he swallows down those feelings. people grieve differently, and if anybody had a right to how they react to that night, it's y/n.

"i'm sorry," sero finally manages out. "she... i haven't talked to her since then. she's not a part of my life."

a casual "weird" is y/n's only comment before he turns back to look at the moon.

"you know... you know she never meant anything, right? we were--"

"'we were drunk, and i was lonely, but that's not an excuse, but she meant nothing, and you're the only one i want'," y/n finishes for him.

sero's heart sinks. has he been playing that night over and over in his head, too? has it been hurting him all this time as well?

"i remember." y/n's smile is still there, albeit more grim, and it unsettles sero.

"yeah..." and sero doesn't know what else to say because apparently, after years of mulling it over in his head, he hasn't come up with anything better than his initial rambles of regret. though, he still has something else to apologize for-- "i'm sorry. i swear it wasn't me who leaked it. i deleted--or at least i thought i deleted my copy years ago. maybe i didn't do it right. i don't know. i can't imagine how hard this must be for you. god, i'm so sorry. i managed to ruin everything all over again a whole three--"

"sero," y/n interrupts, sitting on the low ledge, eyes still on the sky.

"yeah?" sero swallows thickly at how desperate he sounds. he hates how messy his words are--hates how they pour out sounding so slow and stupid.

"do you love me?" y/n asks.

"what?" sero completely blanks. did he hear him right?

"do you love me?" y/n repeats, fully turning his body to him.

"yes." he doesn't hesitate for even a second, even though he wonders why he's asking that question at such an inappropriate time, because he has no doubt in his mind that he loves y/n and has since the moment they met.

"i don't believe you," y/n smiles as he stands up on the platform.

"what are you doing?" sero asks obliviously.

"what i should have done all those years ago," y/n smiles big, and it scares sero a little. "if you really love me... then you would catch me."

sero barely has time to process what he said before y/n lets himself freefall backwards.

sero's brain hadn't even considered that this would be one of the possible outcomes.

"y/n!" sero screams as he runs toward the ledge. he panics as he watches y/n's body get smaller and smaller the more he falls. he rips off his civilian long sleeve, shoots out his tape to stick onto the floor, before throwing himself off to go after him.

he uses his free elbow to launch his tape at y/n, knowing his own body wouldn't be able to get to him fast enough.

he wants to let out a sigh of relief when he sees that y/n's dangling by the white line rather than falling, but he knows from past experience with hero work that they're not completely safe just yet.

pulling himself up with the clear film he had luckily had the brains to think of placing first, he makes it back onto the roof of the building, slowly pulling his other elbow to haul y/n's body up as well.

"are you fucking crazy?!" he raises his voice for the first time in a long time. he doesn't think he's ever felt this angry and frustrated and mortified in his entire life.

y/n doesn't bother unwrapping himself from the tape as he uses a hand to pull sero's face close, kissing him softly.

and sero can't help but melt, which is the opposite of what he should probably be doing. a simple kiss shouldn't be able to pacify him with a situation like this at hand, but it does.

"you love me," y/n smiles when he pulls away just enough to feel the harsh pants coming from sero--the result of both the terrifying moment he just had to experience and his reaction to kissing y/n again.

"i do," sero nods eagerly, and shit, those aren't the words that are supposed to leave his mouth right now. he's supposed to ask what the hell is wrong with y/n. he's supposed to ask why he would do that. he's supposed to curse and swear and--anything but act like it's all okay.

"you love me," y/n says again before pulling him in for another kiss.

when sero puts his arms around y/n's waist and pulls his body as close as possible to his, he feels the buzz of y/n's phone.

"do you--do you need to get that?" sero asks as he reluctantly pulls away, sounding like a whiny child.

"i'm sure it's nothing important," y/n says before throwing his phone off of the roof, and sero pulls him back hungrily, because as strange as that action was, sero can't bring himself to care when the love of his life is back in his arms after three long years.

[12:39am] reporter to y/n: i got myself a promotion! been an honor working with you. again, thank you so much for selling it to me.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

a/n;

i wrote part of this in may last year because i thought the title was funny then i didn't know how to end it but then i got this sero request so

not proofread but when is it ever

#hanta sero #hanta sero x male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academia x male reader #mha #mha x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #sero hanta #anime x male reader

128 notes · View notes

roughentumble · 4 years

Text

geralt and roachie

@avrupasya asked for a fic/continuation of this post of mine, where modern au geralt’s roach is a stuffed animal. sortve told in, like, vignettes, i suppose?

[read on ao3 if you like!]

The one constant in Geralt's short, stressful life, is Roachie. The little brown stuffed horse, named after a fish with similarly colored eyes("I'm gonna' study animals when I'm big!" he proclaims to anyone who will listen, which isn't many, so he whispers it into his horse's mane instead) has been with him long enough that he has no memories without her in some peripheral corner-- clenched in his fist, sitting on his blanket, overflowing from a fit-to-bursting pocket of his shorts. She's been with him through two houses now. He likes to think that she was given to him the day he was born, that they'd never been separated, but he can hardly ask anyone for confirmation. It's just one of those certainties you hold in your heart as a child.

So of course, for his seventh birthday, a dog eats her.

(The kicker is that it isn't even his birthday. It's a government assigned day that may or may not be in the vicinity of the actual day of his birth. It's not like he was dropped off at the fire station with paperwork or anything. He is vaguely, sort of, aware of this, just enough that it feels like an extra kick while he's down.)

She is utterly and completely beyond repair. Her shape isn't even recognizable, and for all his inconsolable tears, she's gathered up and unceremoniously dumped in the trash.

He cries when he finds her, cries through dinner, cries late into the night, cries until he is informed by one of his caretakers through what seems to be a rather impressive headache that if he doesn't stop crying, he would be "given something to cry about," which...

He already had something to cry about. Hence the crying.

He chews on his fist, however, startled into silence by the shouting, and hiccups softly into his pillow. Even as he's left alone, in the dark, he can't settle-- the thought of Roach thrown away like garbage is one that just doesn't sit right with him. He waits until the house is silent, into the wee hours of the morning, then sneaks on silent feet to the kitchen. He rustles through the trash as quietly as he can, pulling out pieces of his old friend, now not simply in tatters but also covered in what was left of dinner.

He nearly loses it at the sight of her, destroyed and filthy. Tears well in his eyes, blurring the world around him, and he sniffles once, weakly, but he doesn't want to wake anyone, and who knows what they'd do if they found him rooting through the trash, so he steels his resolve. Stomps down on the urge to give into another round of crying fits.

The night air is cold against his hot, sticky face. It's refreshing, but he barely notices it as he shuffles into a far corner of the yard. He digs a shallow hole with his hands and reverently lays her body inside. He covers her back up, tamps the earth back down with his palms, and then sits back on his heels. He's a little too young to fully understand what goes on in a funeral-- he's never seen one before, after all-- but he's seen TV, and he knows you're supposed to say something nice, so he says something to the effect of "Roachie was the bestest friend, an' the prettiest horse, there ever was in the whole entire world," and then sits in silence for a few moments longer, sniffling in the cold night air.

He suddenly recalls headstones, and he doesn't have any rocks-- doesn't know how to carve words into one-- but he does see a stick nearby. He shoves it in the ground like a stake and looks over his work. About as good as any grave dug by a seven-year-old could hope to be. He stays there until the cold starts making the tip of his nose and the joints of his fingers hurt, and then he stumbles back inside and curls up in bed.

He's moved to a new house a week later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He starts skipping lunches. He goes to school hungry, and comes home hungrier, and devours his dinners in this new house voraciously.

Every penny that would be spent on school lunches gets shoved in his pocket, then consolidated and shoved in his sock drawer when he gets home. Once he's gotten a decently-sized pile, he gathers it all up in his tiny little fists, shoves it in his pockets, and walks all the way to the local thrift store.

He'd gotten it into his head, somehow, that Roach still existed. Some childish idea that'd popped into his head as a comfort, and that got ingrained in his mind as he repeated it to himself over and over at night. He'd seen the rags, of course, what'd become of her after the dog had had it's way, he knew she was buried in the dirt a state away... but the core "soul" of his Roachie, that'd been with him and loved him and cared for him, was out there, in some other brown stuffed horse, waiting to be found again.

He marches into the toy section in the back of the thrift store with the determination of a soldier on a rescue mission.

And at the bottom of the bin, underneath all the teddy bears and off-brand babydolls, is one single brown stuffed horse.

Logic would dictate a coincidence-- but to his little eyes it looks a lot like magic.

He snatches her up instantly and runs to the front of the store, lest anything come and rip her from his arms again. He has to stand on his tip-toes, but he pushes her up on the counter, then pushes over the pile of money and asks if it's enough. The old lady looks at his pile, then pushes her glasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at the tag on the horse's ear. She squints, then glances at his wide, desperate eyes. "Well!" She announces. "Would you look at that. That's the exact right amount. Must be fate." Then winks down at him.

He gasps loudly, eyes getting impossibly wider. Fate-- Roach really had been waiting for him! He reaches up and makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Can, can I... can I hold her, then?"

"She's all yours." The woman says gently, and places it in his waiting arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roach stays with him all the way to the doorstep of the Kaer Morhen Home for Wayward Boys. He's thirteen, and she has a few weak seams, a few patches where the fur's been worn away. She's heavily loved, and he hasn't spent a night without her since they were "reunited". He's worn as well-- tired of the constant cycle of new places, new "families".

A few months later, with no prospect of leaving in sight, he takes back his wish for someplace permanent.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He rooms with a boy named Eskel, who is about the only bright spot in Kaer Morhen, as far as Geralt is concerned. He is only mildly mocking of a thirteen year old sleeping with a stuffed animal every night, and it's mostly companionable ribbing, so even though the thought of anyone mocking Roachie gets under his skin, he lets it go. Eskel is his friend, after all. Of course, though, because that's the way of the world, some older boys overhear Eskel's teasing.

He comes back to his and Eskel's room that night, expecting to find Roach under his pillow-- he's too old to carry her everywhere, now, so that's where she lives-- and instead she's strewn across his bed.

He's old enough, now, to know that it maybe looks a little ridiculous from the outside, but he's too upset to be self-conscious, and Eskel is nothing if not understanding as Geralt sobs into his shoulder that night, quiet except for the occasional little soothing noise as he strokes a hand up and down Geralt's trembling back.

It's unsalvageable, at least for their inexperienced hands. Neither of them is a seamstress. After lights out, Geralt sneaks out-- this time with Eskel in tow-- and creeps into the backyard. Just like last time, he silently digs a hole and places her inside. That's what you do with Roaches, after all-- you bury them, then you find her all over again. The idea of Roach not existing out there, somewhere, is inconceivable.

He curls up next to Eskel that night, and it isn't the same, and he doesn't quite sleep... but it helps.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His first Roach had been about the side of a Beanie Baby, and had been a light, palomino sort of color. His second had been more the size of a Build-A-Bear, with slightly stiff limbs and brown fur so dark it was nearly black. The third time he finds Roach, she's a reddish sort of Bay, peeking out at him from behind a large Lego set on the thrift store shelf.

He'd already searched the bins three times and had come up empty-handed, not even a miscolored unicorn, or something else close-but-wrong to show for his efforts, and... there she is, sitting right there, like it's some sort of game. He gasps, and Eskel turns away from the slightly melted Barbies he'd been toying with at the sound. Geralt shoves the box aside and grabs at her, cradling her carefully in his hands. She's already a little on the worn side this time around-- one eye's a bit loose-- and she's right in the middle, size-wise, compared to her other two incarnations.

He loves her instantly.

It must show on his face, because Eskel laughs a little and throws an arm around his shoulders. "So, is this the fated horse, then?" He asks, teasing.

"Yeah," Geralt replies breathlessly, too excited to meet the teasing tone back, "I think so."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lambert shows up when he's thirteen and they're both sixteen.

He's loud, and violent, and instantly hones in on Geralt's preternaturally graying hair and the shock of white growing out of the back of his head(poliosis, born from stress, though none of them know that term). He's inhumanly annoying, a real pain in the ass, and somehow, against all odds, Geralt and Eskel both instantly adore him.

Maybe it's the way he talks back to their "caregivers", or the way he sometimes gets into fights on smaller kids' behalf, who knows, but the three of them form a little clique fairly quickly. Lambert pretends it's begrudging, but it's not hard to see that it's mostly a front. He's a brat, through and through, but he's their brat.

Which is why he's even in their room-- they're all hanging out, Geralt flipping through a book and Eskel attempting to study, while Lambert fiddles with Roach. He turns her over in his hands, examines the spot where the loose eye had fallen off a year back, picks at one of her loose seams. "I just don't get it," he says, scrunching up his nose, "like. What does it do?" He asks.

"Be careful with her." Geralt says, flicking a glance over at Lambert before returning to his book. "And she doesn't do anything. She's a stuffed animal, she just sits there."

"Well, yeah, no duh." Lambert replies, rolling his eyes. "I'm not stupid." Eskel mumbles 'Could've fooled me,' from his own bed, and Lambert hisses back 'Watch it,' and kicks his leg as he snickers. "I mean, what do you do with it? Give it wots and wots of hugs and kissews?" He asks mockingly. He's holding her by the front legs, wiggling them up and down like some sort of dance and shoving her in Geralt's direction. He's about to tell Lambert to knock it off, trying to bat him out of the way to continue reading when, one of her legs just... pops off. There's a stunned moment where Lambert just stares at the two pieces in his hands.

A strangled noise works its way out of Geralt's throat, and he snatches Roach out of Lambert's hands.

"I-- I didn't mean..." He tries, looking between Geralt and Eskel helplessly, but the tears are already welling up as Geralt clutches her closer to his chest.

"Oh, shit," Eskel mutters and scrambles to his side drawer, which hides in the bottom a small sewing kit. Lambert slips out of the room in between Geralt sobbing and Eskel rushing to reattach the limb.

The fabric is weak enough around the seam, and Eskel is inexperienced enough at sewing, that the limb is noticeably shorter than the rest, but she's whole and in one piece by the end of the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lambert awkwardly shuffles in place in their doorway the next day. "I-- fuck, man, I really didn't mean to..." He mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Geralt holds Roach a little closer. "It's fine," he says tersely, "but no one's allowed to touch Roach anymore. Ever." He says firmly.

"Yeah, no, that works." Lambert tentatively steps into the room and then, when he isn't shooed out and no one starts crying, grows a bit bolder, sitting down on the edge of Eskel's bed. "I mean, except for nursemaid Eskel over here, right?" He says jokingly, and earns himself a punch on the shoulder from Eskel.

"Piss off, ya' little brat." He mutters fondly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Years pass and Geralt and Eskel age out of Kaer Morhen. They get an apartment, split the costs, because they've basically never not shared a room, and they need all the shoulders to lean on they can get. All they really get is each other, so they settle for that. A few more years and Lambert is shoved out at the healthy age of eighteen-- just like they were. He's invited to their little apartment, and he's loud, and complains that he went from one roommate to two, bitches about how they're both sticks-in-the-mud who don't know how to have fun, and that they snore, and that he'll never get a good night's rest.

It's exactly what they were missing, and Roach watches all of it from her spot on the shelf near Geralt's bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Then, Geralt meets Jaskier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Jaskier comes over, Eskel and Lambert are both at work, so they have the apartment to themselves. Geralt opens the fridge to pull out two beers, and Jaskier flounces past him towards the shared bedroom. "I'm gonna' go root through your stuff without permission." He announces teasingly as he opens the door and slips inside.

Geralt snorts and rolls his eyes, taking his time popping open both bottles. He hears an exaggerated 'oooohh, interesting,' from the other room and carries the beers to his room. "There's really not much here to see." He says as he bumps the door open with his hip.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Jaskier replies from his place on Geralt's bed. "Who's this little cutie, huh?" His tone is light, teasing, and he's got Roach in his lap, playing with her ears.

Panic crawls up Geralt's throat-- she's old, now, and her ears were always a weak point. It's been years since he was sixteen, and her leg had come off so easily back then, so now... he shouts something strangled at Jaskier, maybe 'no' or 'stop', he isn't really sure, and Jaskier looks up with wide, startled eyes. He rushes over and drops the bottles on his night stand before scooping Roach out of Jaskier's hands. He doesn't yank-- terrified of what might happen to her stitching if he did-- but he isn't nice about it either.

He ignores Jaskier's stammering entirely, swiping his hand across her shelf to make sure there isn't any dust, before carefully sitting her precisely where she'd been. His hands tremble a little as they hover in the air in front of her, waiting to make sure she didn't fall, glancing over her to make sure nothing was out of place, that she still had all her limbs. After a moment, he lets out a shaky breath and steps back from the shelf.

"No one touches Roach." He says firmly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Jaskier starts, and Geralt whirls on his heel, grabs Jaskier's wrist.

"Swear it." He says, squeezes Jaskier's wrist tight. "Swear you won't touch her."

"I won't." He sounds a little mystified at the afternoon's sudden turn, but he gently places his other hand over Geralt's. "I promise."

Geralt deflates a little with relief, loosens his grip and lets Jaskier's wrist slip from between his fingers. "She's..." he starts quietly, eyes averted, guilt and embarrassment creeping in over his sudden outburst. "She's really fragile. I... I didn't mean to... just, please don't touch her." He finishes weakly.

Jaskier agrees once more, reaches out and squeezes Geralt's hand reassuringly. They drink their beer in the living room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Months pass and his friendship with Jaskier deepens.

Then, he meets Yen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hmm." She says thoughtfully, arms crossed over her chest. "I like your stupid little horse."

Her tone is light, teasing, and it strikes him right through the heart all the same. But, at least she isn't trying to touch Roach. He pulls her down into his bed, and the conversation is forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They dance around each other like that for far longer than either reasonably should. Fuck, then fight, then silent treatment, only to fall back into bed and start the cycle anew.

He cares, really he does, and he knows Yen cares back, in her own way, but it's just all so... much. It's a little hard to take, most nights. As he lays there, unable to sleep, he catches sight of Roach out of the corner of his eye. His bed is cold and lonely, and thoughts of Yen won't stop swirling around his mind, and he just... he just wants to feel settled. Before he can talk himself out of it, he's carrying Roach down off her perch and curling around her to sleep with his old friend for the first time in a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few months later, Jaskier uses his spare key to open the door to Geralt's apartment after a few rounds of knocking goes ignored.

He's got snacks, and a six-pack of beer that he deposits in the fridge, before calling out into the apartment, announcing his presence. He gets back a muffled 'in here,' and opens the door to the bedroom to find Geralt planted on the middle of his bed, Roach cradled carefully to his chest. "Sorry," he says weakly, sniffling into his palm, "I- I guess I forgot we were supposed to hang out."

Jaskier's by his side in a moment, kneeling in front of him on the bed, gently brushing his hair out of his face. "Oh, Geralt, what happened?"

He shrugs a little, helplessly. "Yen and I broke up." He pauses for a moment, rubbing little circles into the back of Roach's head, and then adds, "For good this time."

Jaskier reaches out and gathers Geralt up in his arms, lets him tuck his face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry..." He mumbles, nosing into Geralt's hair.

"It's fine," Geralt replies weakly, voice cracking, "it was bound to happen sooner or later. We're kinda'... volatile."

Jaskier huffs out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, that you were..." The past-tense on Jaskier's tongue hits Geralt like a bolt to the chest, and he chokes out a sob. "Oh," Jaskier croons back, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, "oh, it's alright... it'll be alright..."

As he collapses forward into Jaskier's arms, he lets himself be soothed by Jaskier's voice, his arms enveloping him, and the softness of Roach's fur beneath his fingers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few months later they kiss for the first time there, on his bed, in full view of Roach, which doesn't occur to him until later, but once it does it makes some small part of him wish he'd turned her around. She's seen enough of him, she doesn't need front-row seats to... that.

Then he realizes that she was also there for Yennefer, and he feels a sudden surge of guilt mixed with a healthy dose of shame.

His poor little Roachie.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time they fuck in his room, Geralt pauses with his hands on Jaskier's hips, blushing faintly. "Do... do you mind if I...?" He asks nervously.

"What is it, dearest?" Jaskier asks lowly, smoothing his hands up and down Geralt's bare chest, eyes all want and smoldering heat.

Geralt clears his throat awkwardly and lets go of Jaskier for a moment to reach up and carefully turn Roach so she was facing the wall. It's deeply embarrassing, but he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it ever since he had the realization about his time with Yen. He turns back around, expecting to be mocked, but Jaskier looks nothing except fond.

He laughs a little, but not meanly, and wraps his arms around Geralt's neck. "Good call," he says, pressing a kiss into Geralt's cheek, "don't want to subject poor Roachie to anything she didn't sign up for."

The complete lack of judgement, paired with the nickname, has a surge of affection swelling in Geralt's chest. He grabs Jaskier by the hips once more, and gently tosses him onto the bed. Jaskier laughs again, delighted, and opens his arms to grab at Geralt, who happily follows after him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Geralt, look at this!" Jaskier announces from the couch, tilting his phone screen to the side as Geralt scoots closer and hooks an arm around his shoulders for easier viewing. "It's a stuffed animal repair service, but she runs a blog with pictures of the process and calls herself Doctor Beth. Isn't that the cutest thing?"

"Hmm." Geralt hums back. He glances at the screen, scrolls a little, but he quickly abandons it in favor of burying his face in Jaskier's neck and depositing kisses along its length.

Jaskier laughs and snuggles closer, but holds out his phone screen more insistently. "C'mon, Geraaalt," he whines, "you have to actually look. It's cute! You have to say it's cute."

Geralt flicks his eyes towards the screen once more, then away just as quickly as he deadpans the word "Adorable." right into the curve of Jaskier's jaw.

"You are the worst!" He announces, but he's grinning like a fool, and he turns his head into Geralt's affection all the same.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once the kissing has died down, and Jaskier is seated side-saddle in Geralt's lap, he pulls his phone back out. "In all seriousness," he says, tucked up comfortably against Geralt's chest, "it's actually very interesting. She's really good at her job-- look at this, the bear's practically rags before she reconstructs it."

Instead of trying to distract Jaskier again, Geralt dutifully listens, watching the pictures as Jaskier flips through them. She is rather good, he has to admit, and there is something interesting in watching the stuffed animal go from rags to repaired, in the same way it's relaxing to watch an episode of How It's Made. He 'hmm's again, though it's a more thoughtfully, agreeing sort of ‘hmm’ this time.

"I've actually been following her blog for a little while now, and... I was just thinking..." Jaskier fiddles with the edge of his phone case, "maybe you could... send Roach to her, and--"

"No." He says, swift and firm. The playfulness has left his tone entirely, just the thought of sending Roach anywhere enough to make anxiety race through his chest and his palms turn clammy.

Jaskier's mouth twists into a frown. "Oh... sorry. I just... I know she's fragile and I thought this might help, so I--"

Geralt slides a hand up and down Jaskier's back soothingly. "It's alright. Thank you, for thinking of her, just... I... I can't."

He nods in return and straightens up to press a kiss to Geralt's cheek. "Alright, love, whatever you're comfortable with."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now that Jaskier's said it, though, the thought won't leave Geralt's head. He scrolls through Doctor Beth's blog when he's alone, gets a feel for her track record.

Roachie is fragile now. Close to ten years with him, and she was already thin in some places before he got to her.

On the other hand, does he really trust some stranger on the internet to treat her right? What if she comes back wrong? What if, somehow, she doesn't come back Roach? He reaches out to run his thumb gently across her snout, looking to soothe himself, and watches as little tufts of fur come away under his feather-light touch.

He's already buried two Roaches. He really doesn't want to do again.

"Well, Roachie," he murmurs into the empty room, "third time's the charm, right?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He is the closest to a nervous wreck that Jaskier's ever seen him in the intervening weeks. He'd packed the box with Roach so delicately, gently surrounding her with bubble wrap so she didn't get knocked around and somehow lose pieces in shipping, and as soon as the box was shipped he took to pacing the apartment and checking his phone every twenty minutes. Jaskier thought it was endearing, if a bit worrying.

It drove Eskel and Lambert up a wall.

There were a lot of movie nights in those weeks in an effort to keep Geralt's mind off of things, but inevitably about halfway through the movie he'd get a bit of a distant look in his eyes and he'd reach down to feel his phone in his pocket, make sure it was where he'd be able to feel it if he got an email.

Waiting to confirm materials, what color cloth to use and what eye matched best with her other in his opinion, what to do about her now rather sparse tail and mane.

Jaskier would touch his arm gently, bring him back to the present, and he'd turn his attention back to the movie, maybe sling his arm around Jaskier's shoulders. It was nice, and very sweet to see him so very concerned, but Jaskier did wish he could do a little more to ease some of Geralt's worries.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There are, as Jaskier recalls, a few posts where people had sent in video of the results, of them opening the box and seeing their little stuffed animal friend all fixed up. And he knows for a fact Geralt's going to be excited to see Roach again, so when the box finally arrives and Geralt sits down on the couch with it, Jaskier opens up the camera on his phone without much thought.

And then has to set it down almost immediately.

As soon as the box opens, before he could even get his hands on her, big, fat tears start rolling down Geralt's cheeks. Jaskier drops his phone on the table without even bothering to turn off the recording, rushing forward to envelop Geralt in a hug.

Geralt's hands grip the edge of the box so tightly his knuckles turn white, and Jaskier holds him closer, runs his fingers through Geralt's hair soothingly. "What is it, what's wrong?" He asks softly. Geralt shakes his head.

"She just-- she didn't even look this good when I first got her and I--" He's cut off by another sob, and Jaskier holds him a little tighter. "I just can't stop thinking about e- every time she... she broke and I couldn't fix her and I h- had to just... just buy a new one and I... I..."

"Shh, shhh..." Jaskier quiets him gently, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It's alright..."

"I know, I know, she just... she's like new, you know?" He says weakly into Jaskier's shoulder.

That gives Jaskier pause. "Love... are you," he asks incredulously, "are you crying because you're happy?" Geralt nods, and Jaskier can't help the little laugh that escapes him. "Oh, my dear heart..." He murmurs, almost sickeningly fond as he nuzzles into Geralt's hair. "Why don't you pick her up, then? I'm sure she missed you."

Geralt reluctantly pulls back from Jaskier's embrace to look down into the box.

She really does look good as new, and Geralt's almost afraid to touch her. Maybe the new stitching isn't as sturdy as it looks, maybe she'll fall apart in his hands, or maybe she just won't feel right... He sucks in a breath and carefully curls his hands around her. All his breath leaves him in a whoosh.

He holds her in his hands, and something he didn't even know was unsettled, settles in his chest.

As he presses her close to his chest, she still feels like Roach.

Except now she looks like herself again. Whole and complete and strong.

"Thank you," he turns to Jaskier and wraps an arm around him, tugging him in close while the other keeps a hold of Roach, "I never would've done this if you hadn't brought it up. I... Jask... thank you so much."

"Of course, love," he says gently, carding his fingers through Geralt's hair, "got to look out for dear Roachie... where would you be without her, hmm?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You know, she's so much sturdier now that she's all fixed up." Jaskier points out gently, after a few quiet moments have passed. "She could handle... well. Being handled more, again. She doesn't have to live up on that shelf anymore."

Which, kind of had been the whole point, but Geralt hadn't thought it through in so many words. The tears come back with a vengeance and he sniffles into Jaskier's shoulder, clutches her to his chest firmer than he's dared to in years.

That night, he falls asleep with Jaskier behind him, and his old friend clutched in his arms, and it's maybe a little silly, a little childish, but it's the best sleep he's had in his life.

#witcher tag #writing tag #ogc tag #uh!!! hope u like it #also jaskier definitely gets to cuddle roach at some point now that she's all fixed up #also also. sorry if geralt seems like a crybaby here. i swear he's not its just that we only see him during the few times in his life #that he does cry #pinky promise lol

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oathofoaksart · 3 years

Photo

YOUNG JUSTICE/DC OC: JO “LOVETAP” SHINODA

bio under the cut!

BASICS

Name: Josephine Shinoda

A.K.A: Lovetap; Jo, Jojo, Jo-Hoe, Tap

Age: 29 [S3]

Gender: Cisgender Female

Orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: Music Store Owner, Star Sapphire Corps Member

Race: Human

Ethnicity: Japanese-Caucasian

Location: Santa Monica, California

Hometown: Hana, Maui; Hawaii

Skin: Fairly suntanned with visible bikini tanlines, lightly freckled around the nose and cheekbone area

Hair: Naturally black with a blonde ombre gradient, gradient turns dark magenta when powered up.

Eyes: Red-Brown [civvies], Glowing magenta sclera with white-pink irises [powered up]

Height: 5'4

Build: Well-toned, with strong arms and legs; ample curved.

Distinctions: Inscription of the One Ring tattooed on her right shoulder blade, fond of yoga pants and loose band muscle shirts combo

RELATIONS

Parents: Haruto and Tara Shinoda

Siblings: Jack "Daiichi" Shinoda (twin brother; deceased)

Friends: Emi Homura (deceased), Ghia'ta, Carol "Star Sapphire" Ferris, Guy "Green Lantern" Gardner, Leiko “Inari” Ara [OC], Tora "Ice" Olafsdotter, Shayera “Hawkgirl” Hal, Hank “Hawk” Hall, Don “Dove” Hall, Charlie “Scribe” Jenson [OC]

Partner/s: Several noncommittal relationships and one-nighters; Bryce "Red Lantern" Richards [OC] (ev.)

Misc.: Queen Aga'po, Gi "Riot/Geode" Flores [OC]

Affiliations: The Star Sapphire Corps, The Justice League

PERSONALITY

Personality Type: ENFJ-A [Assertive Protagonist]

Temperament: Sanguine-Choleric

Alignment: Neutral Good

Relaxed | Positive | Idealistic | Sensitive | Stubborn

Jo is the poster girl for the coastal surfer babe; laid-back, fun-loving, and friendly. She’s an honest woman, though not scathing, which makes her a go-to for advice and well-placed encouragement. Because of her many interests, she meets and makes friends in all walks of life, often making her the social link between vastly different groups. Her passion rears its head in concern of humanitarian subjects, from LGBTQ+ issues to food crises, and will jump at the chance to lend aid.

This is especially true as Lovetap, where she feels she has a more hands-on approach in doing good. Her personality doesn’t change in costume as it does amplify, she stays playful and lighthearted in tense situations, but her morals are steadfast. Tap is a loyal and dedicated ally to her fellow Sapphires and friends in the Justice League circle, and a personable hero to civilians she encounters.

She’s very well-meaning, but she also tends to bite more than she can chew. This becomes a problem when she’s too headstrong to admit she needs a breather and will continue shouldering the weight until someone steps in. It also applies to her emotions, Jo is quick to lend a shoulder to cry on, but struggles to admit when something is amiss in her personal life in fear of bogging down others. Her way of coping with her problems is usually done by busying herself with projects, but sooner or later it becomes too much and she’ll spiral.

ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES

Powers and Abilities

Violet Energy Conduit: As part of the Star Sapphire Corps, Jo wields a Violet Power Ring. Like most power rings on the emotional spectrum, it allows Jo the ability of flight, survival in vacuums, manipulation of energy, creation of force fields, creation of light constructs at will, and tap into a xenolinguistic database. Because the Violet ring is powered by love, it also has attributes found only in the Sapphire Corps.

Love Empathy: Love is the center of the Sapphire Corps and much of the Sapphire’s abilities tie to it. Jo can detect feelings and connections of love from which she can draw power from outside her actual power battery. She can also form connection tethers to people she feels close with, she can use these tethers to know if the other person may be in possible danger and quickly teleport to their side. Being around other Sapphires greatly increases her power as they feed off each other’s love like an echo chamber.

Crystallization: Special to the Star Sapphire Corps is the creation of Star Sapphire crystals, often in conjunction to their energy constructs. These crystals can also be used to encase a victim and place them in suspended animation, in some cases able to use the victim as an extra power source by influencing them with love. Jo personally doesn't like to take it up to this point, as she finds it too intrusive.

Violet Energy Constructs: Jo is able to conjure light constructs at will, her ring being able to create any object. Jo is fond of using mecha-like weapons, classic horror and kaiju characters, and figures from her favorite Kurasawa movies.

Healing Capabilities: Jo’s ring not only lets her heal at an accelerated rate, but also heal injuries of, or even revive, others provided she has a strong enough connection to share the life energy for such a feat.

Avarice Immunity: Because Jo’s love is of the selfless sort, Jo is immune to the attacks of an Orange Lantern as long as her love stays that way.

Limitations and Weaknesses:

Emotional Instability: The Sapphire ring is a double-edged sword in that while it's formidable in raw power, it can easily turn against Jo with an overload of emotion. If she’s not careful, the ring can influence her day-to-day life from being overly jealous and protective of those she cares for, to being too sensitive of her own feelings. In a worst case scenario, the ring can completely overcome Jo’s mind and force her into a frenzy.

Ring Dependency: Without her ring, Jo reverts to an average human woman, so she is entirely dependent on her ring for protection and offence. It’s necessary for her to have her ring on at all times or at least on her person should the need arise.

HISTORY

Born second of fraternal twins, Josephine Shinoda lived an idyllic lifestyle with her parents and brother in her hometown of Hana, in Maui, Hawaii. Jo and her brother Jack were an especially close pair of siblings, sharing interests from surfing with their father to classic pop culture. Jo was the much more extroverted sibling and had no trouble making friends where she went, whereas Jack had difficulty asserting himself socially; Jo often made strides to make her friends friends of Jack’s. This continued all through their young school life, even as Jack’s social anxiety gave way to depression. Jo and her parents were supportive of him throughout, and continued to be so when the twins finally separated when college came around.

Jo chose to study in Los Angeles whereas Jack left for Metropolis. Admittedly the distance worried Jo for a while, but college proved to be an overall good experience for Jack, especially once after the introduction of his later girlfriend, Emi.

Jo spent her college years partying and submercing herself into the music scene, eventually sparking the idea of opening a music store after college. Jack jumped at the idea with Emi right behind, she also being involved in music via playing guitar for an alternative band. Jo and Emi became solid friends in their own right, meeting and sharing even more when Jo would visit on the occasion.

Not long after college, Jo learned Jack had proposed to Emi and was elated by the news. The three went into making wedding plans, but things were cut short two months into the engagement. Jack and Emi were caught in a fatal car crash, leaving Jo inconsolable. After their respective funerals and some time reflecting, Jo followed through with opening a music shop in their honor, “JJ’s Music and Records.”

Jo operated in LA for a handful of years before deciding to expand out of her comfort zone and opening another store somewhere else. With an intern in tow, they settled on Bludhaven, where Jo spent another few years. Despite how well her business was doing and that her life was going in a good direction, Jo hadn’t been able to shake off the loss of her two closest friends. She was restless and tried to bury her feelings by distracting herself with anything she could involve herself in, as she didn’t want to set this worry on anyone, especially her parents. Jo was steadily wrapping herself into a depression and refused to admit it. She returned to LA in hopes that the move and reconnecting with old friends would clear her mind.

With no such luck, Jo proceeded to shell within herself. Her days dulled and she became stuck in routine, spending most of her time in the shop and locking herself at home. While in a particular bad spell, Jo decided to go to the beach to surf and Jo was caught in a minor car crash herself. She wasn’t injured, but the experience was jarring and Jo’s previous experience with car accidents sent her into an emotional break.

At the same time, Ghia’ta, niece of Queen Aga’po of the Star Sapphires, arrived on Earth with an agenda. The Star Sapphires had experienced a bit of a moral shift, currently spearheaded by Ghia’ta, after she’d met a human by the name Carol Ferris. Carol had been inducted into the Star Sapphires in order to gain the upper hand on the Green Lantern, Hal Jordan, while he found himself on the Sapphire’s homeplanet of Zamarron. But Carol had resisted the Sapphires’ urging and instead gave Ghia’ta an alternate view of what love was, selfless and kind. Moved by Carol’s insight, Ghia’ta began to try to teach the other Sapphires this new view. She was met by rebuttal and while she continued to fight for reform, she knew doing so alone wasn’t going to get her far.

She’d come to Earth in search for a new Sapphire that could better follow Ghia’ta’s new outlook, as Carol chose not to join the Corps and Ghia’ta had gotten word of Earth’s Lanterns being of a special crop. What she came across was Jo, stranded and crying on the side of the road. Initially Ghia’ta approached her to see if she could be of any help, but to her surprise, her ring detected Jo’s broken heart. Jo’s loss of her brother and friend left a deep hole in her heart and Ghia’ta discovered that this was caused by the love stripped away from her. Sapphires, Ghia’ta included, believed true love to be inherently romantic, but while looking into Jo’s heart she found her love for her brother and friend to be just as true as any. Overjoyed at this realization, she decided to choose Jo as her new champion.

Jo was thrown for a loop. First by the appearance of this stranger who showed herself to be an alien who’d somehow read into why she felt the way she did, then by her request to join her galactic love brigade. Still Ghia’ta’s ring called out to her and the more she explained the situation of the Sapphires, the more Jo felt a sense of duty. Jo had never been the kind to turn down an opportunity to help, even if the road sounded steep, and so she accepted.

Jo became the newest member of the Star Sapphire Corps. Her induction was met with heavy scrutiny by the Zamarrons, the leaders of the Sapphire Corps, as she didn’t fit the perimeters in which they chose their new members. In a slight twist, Queen Aga’po allowed Jo to join as a “experiment” partially to show Ghia’ta her claims were being taken seriously and that Aga’po herself was becoming open to her niece’s words.

Jo still isn’t completely sure what she’s gotten herself into, but plans to make the most with what she was given. And she hopes, if there is an afterlife, that Jack and Emi could be at peace with what they helped aspire.

NOTES

For no reason other than personal preference, Lovetap is set on using a surfboard construct as her mode of flight, even during battle.

Jo is very athletic and a bit of a gym rat, enjoying activities from various sports to yoga. She is also an avid reader and lover of pop culture, reflecting in JJ’s as it doubles as a bookstore as well. She found a fellow Justice League ally with a pop culture store named Charlie Jenson and the two quickly made their store affiliates.

Jo’s birthday falls on Valentine’s Day and she finds the irony of it funny

Jo had a hardcore, but thankfully, short-lived, crush on Guy Gardner. It’s a secret she’ll take to the grave.

Jo learned how to play the acoustic guitar because of Emi and plays outside her LA store on nice days, something she eventually teaches her young friend and eventual mentee, Gi Flores.

Her father was a gourmet chef and much of what he knew he taught his children, Jo is a wicked cook, but is often too lazy to get creative with her dishes.

#meet the ocs #gar's oc #gar's art #young justice oc #oc #lantern oc #star sapphire oc #i wasn't even expecting to work on her any time soon #but jo possessed me and made me work on her bio in one sitting #it's kinda insane i never really finish bios that quickly

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