Anyone who knew Jack Zimmermann would laugh at the idea of him even being able to remember the login for his Twitter account.
No one, not even his parents, would ever suspect that he checked his feed every single morning.
Jack didn’t care much for social media; he was too private a person to ever want the world to know where he was or what he was eating at any given moment. In fact, he only followed three accounts: his mother’s, the official Falconers’, and that of Li’l Dicky’s Southern Comforts. The latter was the only one he actually cared about.
See, Jack Zimmermann had a deep, dark secret – he was in love with the mini apple pies that were sold daily at Li’l Dicky’s. It was the only dessert he ever indulged in on a regular basis, and said indulgences were a secret he would take to his grave.
Every morning, Li’l Dicky’s posted their location for the day. Jack knew the general schedule by heart at this point, but some days the truck switched things up, due to weather or construction or event catering, and Twitter was the only way for Jack to know if he would be able to get his apple pie fix.
It didn’t hurt that Eric Bittle, the owner of Li’l Dicky’s, smiled at Jack like the sun shined out of his ass every time he came by. But really, it was the pies Jack couldn’t enough of. Mostly. Probably.
Dylan O'Brien: You come home tomorrow morning….. :)
You: omg… i do?!
DylanO'Brien: haha shut up.
DylanO'Brien : Um, did you have plans for tomorrow when you get home?
You: i land at 6pm and i was just going to take the airtran from JFK to Jamaica and I was going to take the subway from there, why?
DylanO'Brien: Do you have any interest in seeing Spiderman?
DylanO'Brien: Yeah, if I came out and picked you up from the airport, would you be in the mood to see the movie with me that night?
You: you’re gonna drive all the way out from the Montauk to Brooklyn to get me from the airport to then see a two hour movie and then drive three hours back to the Hamptons and not fall asleep and crash and die….
DylanO'Brien: Well when you put it that way… Yeah, I still want to see you.
DylanO'Brien: And I want to see Spiderman :)
You: well, i want to see you, so if you really want to do all of that, then yea. I’ll see Spiderman with you tomorrow night.
DylanO'Brien: i’ll see you at JFK at 6. text me when you land and send me your flight info?
You: okay. goodnight, Dyl.
DylanO'Brien: Sweet dreams, Y/n. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
Imagine the Egos when they’re sick. They don’t get sick
often because they’re not entirely human, but every now and then, especially
when Mark himself gets sick, one or more of the Egos will catch it, too.
Imagine Dark with a cold, even paler than his usual gray
complexion. He’s got a fever and a stuffy nose, and he is ready to murder
whatever gets in his way. He still attends the meeting because there’s no way
he’s going to let Wilford have the floor all on his own again. That’s how Markiplier
TV happened, after all. Imagine that every time he sneezes, his shell breaks
and his gray aura floods the entire room with palpable anger and hatred. As a
result, the meeting erupts into like six different fist fights, and Warfstache
is on the table firing his gun at the other Egos’ feet.
Imagine Bim Trimmer, the soft boi, all wrapped up in bed,
sniffling and coughing. He’s surrounded by wadded up tissues, and his favorite
plants (which is all of ‘em). Google pokes his head in when Bim misses a
meeting to find him sleeping fitfully. Since the droid can’t actually get sick,
he sneaks in and sets up a few things before sneaking out quietly once again.
Bim wakes up to find one of Google’s TV’s playing a Harry Potter movie marathon
along with his favorite meal, chicken and dumplings, and the soft boi never
Imagine Dr. Iplier living in denial and still running around
the clinic treating patients because he’s a doctor, and doctors don’t get sick.
The Host and Google stage an intervention, and force him to lay down. There’s a
lot of shouting involved between Google and the Doctor, and the Host has to
leave the room, covering his ears because they’re too sensitive. Dr. Iplier
immediately feels horrible and agrees to spend the rest of the day in bed.
Imagine the King of the Squirrels sneezing all over the
place. Wilford reaches over, snatches Dark’s handkerchief from its pocket, and
offers it to the King. It comes back covered in mucus and peanut butter, and
Dark’s shell cracks. But he won’t kill Wilford. Not yet anyway…
Imagine Anti getting into Google’s systems and spreading
viruses. The droid goes absolutely bonkers, smashing plates and shredding
laundry—Dark quickly hides all of his freshly-pressed suits—and throwing the
entire building into a panic. Everyone is certain he’s going to massacre them
all, but Warfstache jumps on his back and hits the restart switch, kicking Anti
out of Google’s software. The droid powers back up with no idea what’s
Imagine the Host showing up to a meeting with tissues
falling out of his pockets all over the place like Hansel and Gretel leaving a
trail through the forest. His fevered brain makes him narrate things like, “And
then the entire building was full of BUBBLES, and rabid squirrels rained down
from on high!” Needless to say, somebody—I’m not naming names but it was
totally Dr. Iplier—slipped some sleeping pills into the Host’s tea, effectively
knocking him for the rest of the day. It took them a week to clean up all the
bubbles and convince the King that no, he can’t keep the squirrels. They have
Imagine Wilford Flipping Warfstache looking about as drunk
as a skunk off all the cold medicine he’s chugged staggering around trying to
tickle people with his knife. Dark considers putting him in a straight-jacket,
but even Google refuses to get anywhere near him in this state. Instead they
lure him into the studio’s recording booth with a trail of bubblegum and lock
him inside until the colored strobe lights disappear and he stops turning all
the furniture into cotton candy.
Needless to say, Dark informs Dr. Iplier that
the Egos will all be getting their flu shots next year. No exceptions.
“It’s called ‘Father’s Day,’” Host explains. “The idea is
that it’s a day to honor father’s. It’s really not that complicated.”
“But what do we do?” Wilford asks, stretching out his
suspenders and quirking an eyebrow at the Host as they lounge in the library.
“Well, as figments, we don’t actually have a father. We just…
exist,” Host says with a shrug. “This day doesn’t really apply to us.”
“Isn’t Ed a father?” Wilford’s face screws up in confusion. “How
did that happen?”
Host pauses. “I… don’t know.”
Wilford shrugs and claps his hands together suddenly,
startling the Host. “Oh, sorry, Hosty, but hear me out, what if we did
something for Mark? He’s kind of like a father to us, right?”
“You have a very skewed definition of what a father is,
Will.” Host takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. It’s gone cold.
Conversations with Wilford are not good for hot drinks. “Lewis?” the Host asks
softly, and the dragon obliges, breathing a stream of fire towards the cup and
heating the liquid inside. “Thank you,” and then back to Wilford, “What would
we even do? Grill steaks? Toss around a football? That would be plenty of fun
Wilford shakes his head. “No, Host. You’re thinking about
this all wrong! This is the Markiplier,
we’re talking about here.” Wilford playfully nudges the Host. “And we’re the Markiplier Egos. If we’re going to
do something…” Wilford’s eyes get very devious. “We’re going to do it our way.”
Mark finishes up recording for the day and flops down onto
the couch. Chica jumps up, stepping all over him, before settling down beside
him, her tail wagging happily. “Hey, bub,” Mark laughs, petting the pupper and
feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax. They always get tense after playing
When he hears the doorbell ring, he assumes it’s one of the
gang. Amy or Ethan or someone, but when he checks his phone, which he always
neglects to do while recording, none of them have tried to contact him. Mark
gently pushes Chica off of him, hops up, and goes to check who’s at the door. To
say what he sees surprises him is probably the understatement of the millennium.
Most of the Egos are on his doorstep, arms full of gifts and
video games and food. Mark opens the door slowly, poking his head out and
trying to give them a convincing smile as he worriedly asks, “Um, hey guys.
Wh-what are you doing here?”
“It’s Father’s Day!” Wilford screams in his face, tossing a fistful of glitter at Mark.
“Uh, yeah?” Mark blinks the glitter out of his eyes and surveys the others: Bim, Host, Doc, Silver,
and even Google have all shown up for… whatever this is.
“You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a father, so here we
are!” Wilford waves his hands in the air, eyes and mouth wide with excitement.
Google steps up. “We have brought gifts of chicken and dumplings from Cracker
Barrel, the video games of your liking, and…” Google pauses, looking at the
Host. “Host and I designed a little gift for you.”
Mark is baffled. They all stand there for a few more awkward
moments before Mark finally snaps back to himself and invites them all inside
before the neighbors start to stare. They already think he’s insane. Mark doesn’t
want to prove their point. Bim gives Mark a quick hug as he enters, and Mark
can’t help but smile. “Ed would’ve come, but he’s with his son, which is…
weird. And Dark… well, I don’t guess you’d want him here anyway.”
Mark shakes his head and watches as they all stand around
inside like they have no idea what to do. “Um, did you bring enough food for
everyone?” Mark asks.
Wilford looks at the single order of chicken and dumplings
that he’s holding and makes a face. “Oh, I guess we didn’t think about that.”
“Well, I can’t just eat this all by myself while the rest of
you starve,” Mark says, walking towards the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll make some
of my world famous chicken and dumps for all of us!”
They spend the next few hours watching Mark make the food—he
even lets Wilford debone the chicken which he seems to enjoy way too much—and playing video games
afterwards. At the end of the night, Google hands Mark a wrapped box with a sad
looking bow on top.
“Silver sat on it,” Google accuses the hero.
“I didn’t mean to! How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?”
Mark laughs and waves them off. “Guys, you shouldn’t have
gotten me anything.” He unwraps the box and opens it to find… another box. “Um…”
Mark takes the box out of the box and looks at it carefully.
“Speak to it,” Google says simply, and Mark shrugs. Host smiles to himself and listens carefully for Mark’s reaction.
“Um, hi?” Mark watches in awe as the box blinks open two
blue eyes and yawns open a tiny, pink mouth.
“Hi, Mark! I’m your little biscuit, Tiny Box Tim!” Mark
almost has a heart attack, and the Egos, after Dr. Iplier assures them that he’s not dying, are very proud of themselves for a successful, if unconventional, Father’s Day.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader - Avengers x female!Reader
Request: Could you write something with Bucky, who is dating a really shy girl who has a hard time talking to people she doesnt know well and the avengers tease her for it but didn’t think it would upset her so much so Bucky comforts her? Thanks! ^-^ -Anon
Warnings: language - some angst - fluff
Word Count: 1.8K
A/N: I’ve been watching Ghost Adventures for hours, this show is just such a good meme. Anyways, here’s a fic for ya! I really hope I did the request justice, and I hope you like it! I’ve been having trouble coming up with some ideas lately, so send me some requests !!
The typical chatter and clatter of dinner filled the air. You were at the far end of the table, Bucky on your left and Tony on your right. Vision and Wanda had made a fantastic chicken dumpling soup and salad for dinner, and as the rest of the team ate, they talked amongst each other about their days, recent missions, and other things while you tried to keep to yourself like usual. It’s not that you didn’t like being a part of the team, but you were incredibly shy, and being put on the spot or trying to make small talk gave you pretty bad anxiety. You frequently stumble over your words and can’t really register what someone had said because of it, and honestly, it was embarrassing. You haven’t really been on the team too long. It’s only been about three months, and most of the time you’ve been at the compound has been spent reading, training, or hanging out with Bucky.
The “Lone Wolf” - that’s what they call you. The team gave you the nickname a few weeks after you joined. The name makes sense for you because, like a wolf, you live in a pack. Throughout your life, you’ve only been close to a few people at a time until they would leave you. Eventually, you’d drift back into another pack, but the endless cycle of drifting and being lost has left you with not only trust issues but a shy, nervous demeanor, as well. When you joined the team, you were scared shitless. The combination of all the new faces and people with having to adjust to a new surrounding sent you into a weird state. At first, you spent a lot of time by yourself. You would spend most of the day in your room, reading, drawing, doing whatever you wanted to, until the late hours of the night when you would head down to the training gym where you would spend a few hours releasing your built-up anxiety. Every so often, you’d find Bucky down there. He’d have earbuds in, either lifting an insane amount of weight or sometimes sending a punching bag flying across the room. When you first started going to the gym, the only contact you and Bucky would have was a nod of the head or the flash of a quick, often forced smile, but after a while, you started talking.
Bucky would tell you about his nightmares, and you would tell him stories of your past. Opening up to him felt more natural than breathing for you. You have never trusted anyone so much before. It was like you two had known each other for years, not just a few weeks.
Around him, you feel calm, like even just being in his presence drains you of anxiety. It’s almost like without him around, you’re stuck, locked in a cage of your own shyness, but with him, the lock falls away, and you’re free. He makes it easy to talk to him, and even when you can’t seem to find the right words or a topic to talk about, he still sits with you. The silence between you two isn’t uncomfortable like it would be if it was any other member of the team, but instead, it’s comforting, like you’re both just happy to be near each other. But, around the rest of the team, it was a whole new story.
You frequently stumble over your words, and whenever someone says anything to you, you can’t really register what they had said quickly, and honestly, it was embarrassing. So most of the time you were around the rest of the team, you let them do the talking while you would spectate and occasionally nod or shake your head. Even at dinner, you did your best to keep out of conversation, being too shy to really make any small talk with another member of the team besides Bucky, and tonight was no exception.
“What do you think, Y/N?” Tony’s voice brings you back to the dinner around you. You look up from your bowl of soup to find everyone’s eyes on you.
“Wh-What?” You blink, sinking down into your seat. Heat quickly pools beneath your skin, and your face is burning.
“What movie should we watch tonight? Pulp Fiction or The Princess Bride?” They were still staring at you. You could feel the anxiety starting to bubble in your veins.
“O-Oh, I, uh…I-I don’t really c-care,” you mumble. The weight of their collective gazes hangs heavy on your shoulders.
“What was that?” Tony arches an eyebrow. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Speak up, pipsqueak,” Clint says before taking a sip of water. A few of the other members chuckle. Your gaze drops back down to your bowl and a muscle in your jaw twitches.
“I-I said,” you try to force some more volume into your voice. “I d-don’t really care.”
“Did you guys…hear something?” Clint cups a hand around the outside of his ear. “Some wind, maybe?”
His remark earns even more, stronger chuckles from the group. Now, it felt like flames were licking at your skin.
“I-I, um…I’m tired,” you mutter as you push away from the table, still looking down at the table.
“It’s only six,” Steve calls from down the table. “How are you tired?”
“I j-just…,” you choke as you clutch at the bottom of your shirt.
“C’mon, L.W.,” Tony says through a mouth full of salad. ‘L.W.’ was short for your nickname. You’re not sure who had started to shorten it or when, but the team seems to use it more than your actual name. “Calm down.”
“Yeah,” Clint laughs. “It’s about time you break out of your ‘shy’ shell.”
“I j-just….,” before you can finish, you hastily walk away from the table and head for the elevator to go back to your floor. You push the button, tightly hugging your chest as you wait for the door to slide open. Keeping your eyes glued to your feet, you step into the elevator as soon as it dings. You slowly turn around, the front of your body facing the open doors. As you watch the bottom of the doors close, something catches between them. Your head snaps up at the sound.
Bucky’s metal arm was in between the doors, and they slide back open. He takes a few steps and stands next to you, then hits the button for your shared floor that Steve also lives on. The doors finally closed.
“Hey,” he says gently, placing a hand on the side of your arm. “You okay?”
You could feel a few tears start to prick at your eyes. Your eyes fall again as you avoid his concerned gaze.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumble, then clear throat. A few seconds later, the elevator doors open to your floor, and you quickly duck out, leaving Bucky behind. You rush past the open living area and kitchen and into your room - which is across from Bucky’s - and kick the door shut behind you. It didn’t click shut. You turn around and find Bucky standing in the doorway, his metal hand on the doorknob.
“Buck, I said I’m fine,” your tone sounds like you’re warning him under your breath. You sink down onto the end of your bed.
“It’s pretty obvious that you’re not,” Bucky sighs, crossing the room to sit next to you. The mattress dips under his weight. “I don’t blame you for leaving dinner. I would’ve done the same thing if I were you, doll.”
“I…,” you sniffle. “I just don’t get why I’m treated like this. I c-can’t help it that I’m shy and people make me nervous. It’s like I’m just some kind of joke to them.”
“C’mere, doll,” Bucky slides a strong arm behind your back, then gently grabs your arm and pulls you into his side. You rest your head against his shoulder, leaning into his embrace. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I should’ve told ‘em to stop.”
“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “It’s not your job to protect me. Besides, I probably overreacted.”
“I know it’s not, but I care about you, a lot, and I could’ve at least helped you back there.”
“It’s okay,” you sigh. A few moments pass without either of you speaking. You can feel your mind start to settle as the warmth of Bucky’s hold and his calming presences flushes over you.
“Do you wanna watch somethin’?” Bucky nods towards the T.V. in your room. “I can grab some snacks from the kitchen.”
“Th-That sounds great,” you smile through a sniffle.
“I’ll be right back, doll,” he smiles back and presses a light kiss to the side of your head. He stands up and walks over to your dresser. He opens one of the drawers and pulls out some pajama shorts and a t-shirt, then tosses them over to you.
“Thanks, Buck,” you chuckle. He hums in response and turns out of the room.
By the time you’re done changing, Bucky had returned with his arms full of snacks and a few different movies. He had also changed into more comfortable clothing, opting for sweatpants and a loose-fitting t-shirt. After putting La La Land into the DVD player, Bucky climbs under the blanket of your bed next to you, handing you a bag of your favorite chips. Throughout the movie, Bucky would sing along with you to the songs and make jokes about the apparently cheesy storyline. Near the end of the second movie, you could feel the tug of sleep pulling you away from reality.
“I’m so glad you’re in my life,” you groggily mumbled into his chest.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere, doll,” a light chuckle rumbles in his chest. His arm around your shoulder gently squeezes you. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”
You hum, smiling, as you drift further into sleep. Then, all that remains is the warmth of Bucky’s existence and the thought of him lingering in your mind.
Summary: *REQUESTED* You find yourself getting more and more frustrated with Kai as he keeps hanging out with his ex-girlfriend, Krystal, against your wishes. Your solution? Hang out with Baekhyun instead.
You sat at the bar, twirling your straw around in your drink. Your friends would be meeting you soon but you’d arrived early. Perhaps, maybe, too early. You were already halfway through your second cocktail, drinking through your frustrations.
The bar was just starting to get more crowded since it was getting closer to the prime bar hours. You were sitting by yourself, the seats next to you currently unoccupied. Your phone suddenly vibrated, signaling that your friend Mina texted you back, We’re stuck in traffic. BUT we’re almost there!
You smiled. Of course everyone was late when you’d arrived early. You weren’t complaining though, as you were enjoying your cocktail. You took another sip as you stared into your phone. It was so frustrating.
“Why do you look so miserable?” called a familiar voice from behind you. It was Baekhyun. He was the first of your friends to arrive. He sat in the seat next to you, with a cocktail of his own.
“i was hoping you could write something where like, you have a bestfriend for a long time and you always insult eachother and joke around A LOT until you let him spend the night and you both start complimenting eachother and get all flustered and he ends up awkwardly trying to kiss you and etc. ( the more blushing and awkwardness, the better )”
This person messaged me to give extra details, which you can totally do because it’s easier for me to write! I combined it with this request cause I thought they fit well together:
“Could u make one when ur walking out of school to go home + u literally bump into him + he decides to walk u since ur houses r in the same direction + when u get to ur house u invite him in + watch a movie, cuddle, kiss and cute fluffy stuff happen😊”
Word count: 2.9k
You watch the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until the bell rings. It’s the last period of the day on Friday, and right now the second hand is the only thing standing in between you and the sweet freedom of the weekend. 5…4…3…2…1… the bell goes off at last and you jump up and exit the classroom before the teacher can assign last minute homework.
Once you have all your things and you’ve waved goodbye to your friends, you push open the front doors of the school and step out, breathing in the crisp air with a smile. Ahhh, Fridays. Like the tasty dessert after an unpleasant meal. You adjust your backpack straps and start walking home, thinking about what you’ll do with your weekend.
The sidewalk makes a right angle and you cut the corner a bit, walking across the grass. As your feet hit concrete again, something slams into you and you fall over.
“What the-” you look up, trying to identify your attacker. An outstretched hand descends from the sky, and behind it, there is a concerned face saying “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” It’s your best friend and crush, (c/n).
You grab his hand and let him pull you up, brushing the dirt off your butt. “Thanks for that,” you say sarcastically.
“Sorry!” he says one more time, hands held up defensively. “But I must say, it’s your fault for walking right in front of me like that. I don’t have the best reflexes when I’m on a moving bike,” he adds, reaching down to pick up the fallen bike in question.
You laugh. “My bad, you’re probably right. Bike is okay?”
He pats the bike and nods. “Better question is, are you?”
“Yeah I think I’m good,” you reply, pretending to check for broken ribs. “Bones are all intact.” You flash him a smile and start walking forward again.
“Fantastic,” he says, walking his bike beside you. “Heading home?”
“Yes, I’m very excited to veg out in front of the TV for several hours.”
“Same,” he agrees. “Why don’t I walk you home, to make sure you don’t get yourself into any more accidents?”
“See, the problem with that logic is you’re the reason I fell over in the first place,” you point out. Plus your house is on the way to his anyway, but you decide not to mention that.
(C/n) thinks about this for a second. “I guess you could say you…fell for me?” He grins charmingly.
You clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. “Wow, we really need to work on your pickup lines,” you tease. Of course, you secretly think it’s cute as hell, and you have no problem with being on the receiving end of said cheesy pickup lines. That won’t stop you from giving him a hard time, though.
“Are you suggesting you’re better at this than I am?” He arches an eyebrow in a silent challenge.
“Definitely,” you say confidently.
“Alright then, impress me with your flirting skills.”
“Okay, get ready for this cause you’re gonna be blown away.” You smile and flip your hair for extra effect. “Are you a fire alarm? Cause you’re loud and annoying,” you finish, smirking at his expression as he processes what you said.
“That was not a pickup line!” he protests.
“Well, it was true!” you tease.
He shakes his head disapprovingly. “This is why you’re still single.”
“Hey!” You punch him in the arm. “Like you’re any less single than I am.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes.
“And I think I should warn you that you can’t get girls by running them over,” you advise sagely. “Generally not considered very romantic.”
“Really, cause that’s what I’d call making the first move!” he jokes.
You sigh. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”
You arrive in front of your house, but hesitate before walking up to the door. You don’t want to stop talking to (c/n). “Hey, (c/n), uhh…you wanna come in for a bit?” You bite your lip nervously.
(C/n) grins. “Okay, sure.”
He parks his bike against the side of your house and then follows you through the front door.
“Are you hungry?” you ask him as he looks around the house, taking everything in. He nods absentmindedly. You search through the kitchen for something worth feeding (c/n). After a minute or so you emerge from the pantry with a bag of microwaveable popcorn, and hold it up, shaking it up and down. “Popcorn?”
(C/n) looks up. “Perfect.”
You put the bag in the microwave, which emits a chorus of pops. (C/n) comes over, making popping noises with his mouth. You laugh at him. “You weirdo.”
“Dude, we should totally watch a movie,” he says suddenly as you pull the finished popcorn out of the microwave. “We’ve already got the popcorn, haven’t we?”
You shrug nonchalantly, hiding your eagerness to spend two plus hours with (c/n). “Why not, it is Friday after all.” You lead him down to the basement and plop down on the couch in front of the TV. He sits next to you, close enough that your thighs touch. As you open Netflix, he puts an arm around your shoulders. “Netflix and chill?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
You laugh. “You’re still not cute. Getting warmer though!” You scroll through the available movies, conscious that (c/n)’s arm hasn’t left your shoulders.
“Let’s watch a horror movie,” (c/n) suggests, jiggling his leg excitedly. You can feel it against your leg. You groan. “God no, I’ll be screaming in your ear the whole time.”
He shrugs. “I can take it.” He grins. “I’ll protect you from the scary monsters,” he says teasingly.
“Okay, fine,” you relent, sighing. You have to admit that watching a horror movie with your crush protecting you doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. You come across the movie Sinister. “Is this a good one? Looks pretty scary,” you say.
“Hell yes. Hit play.” You start the movie and settle back against the couch. (C/n)’s arm is still around you.
The movie starts out tamely enough, with Ethan Hawke’s friendly puppy face and nothing particularly terrifying. You eat your popcorn contentedly, your hands occasionally bumping into (c/n)’s. After a little while you rest your head on his shoulder, and he doesn’t object. You smile, knowing that he usually hates physical contact and would push anyone else away.
It doesn’t take long for things to take a turn for the scarier, however. Some scenes, you just know something is coming, and tense up as the suspense builds. (C/n)’s arm tightens around you in response, pulling the two of you closer each time. Other times there are completely unexpected jump scares, and as predicted, you scream loudly every time.
At one particularly bad jump scare where the demon Bughuul suddenly appears in the garden, you screech in terror and hide your face in (c/n)’s shirt. He chuckles and you feel his arms go around you, shielding you from the outside world. “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” he says, as though impressed by how scared you are. You peek up at him to see him looking down at you in amusement. “How are you so unaffected?” you ask him, bewildered at his completely calm demeanor.
“Nothing can faze me,” he says proudly.
“Ooh, you’re so manly,” you say sarcastically. “What happens when I do this?” You tickle his sides, and he shrieks. You laugh hysterically at his reaction.
As he recovers he points to the screen. “Okay, let’s pay attention, we already missed an important plot point!”
You oblige, sitting up a little but still leaning partially into him, his arms still lazily encircling you.
A while later the movie draws to a very dramatic close. You breathe out as the camera pans out on the box of films, the excitement seemingly over. But right before the end of the movie, Bughuul’s face suddenly pops up. You scream again and dive into the safety of (c/n)’s shirt, wrapping your arms tightly around his chest. You feel him shaking with laughter under you. “You’re such a wimp,” he teases.
You flip him off without lifting your head. You’re very comfortable and not about to move. (C/n)’s heart is beating right by your ear. When he chuckles it rumbles in his chest. “I don’t mind, it makes me look tougher by comparison,” he adds jokingly.
You get an idea, and sit up a little bit. “Hey (c/n).”
“Wanna sleep over?”
“Really?” He starts to smile.
“Okay, let me run home and get my stuff.” He tries to get up but you’re still lying on his chest.
“Don’t leave,” you whine, “just call your mom.”
He laughs and moves a strand of hair behind your ear. “I live like practically next door, it’ll only take a second.” He tries to stand again. “Get up, you lazy ass.”
You roll away, grumbling. Already feeling sleepy, you don’t move as he goes upstairs and leaves your house. Your eyes close and you lie still, waiting for him to return.
You wake maybe fifteen minutes later to (c/n) shaking you. “(Y/n)! Did you seriously fall asleep?”
You rub your eyes. “Wha-” (C/n)’s concerned face comes into focus. “Maybe you should go to bed right away,” he suggests.
“No!” You jump up, fighting the sudden dizziness and trying to act awake. “No way, not before dinner.”
He grins. “And what is dinner, exactly?”
You ponder this. “Takeout? What do you want?”
“Chinese,” he decides. You nod in agreement. “Good call.”
Half an hour later you’re sitting criss cross on the basement floor across from (c/n), with rice, dumplings, chicken and noodles between you. As you feast, you tell stories.
“Okay, your turn. Most embarrassing moment,” you challenge him.
“Oh, god.” (C/n) groans and covers his face with his hands, laughing slightly. “Oh man.”
“This is gonna be good.” You rub your hands together excitedly.
He makes a pained face and sighs in resignation. “Okay. So picture this. I’m like 10 or 11, sitting in class, nervous as hell cause I’m about to give a presentation. Funny thing is, I have no idea what it was about. I think I was so traumatized I forgot.”
“Go on,” you encourage him, not without a hint of sadistic enjoyment.
“So the teacher calls me up to present and I walk up to the front of the room. I almost fall over cause my legs are shaking so much. But I make it up there anyway. And then…I totally freeze up and just stand there, staring out at the class.” He winces at the memory.
“Dude, that’s not that bad,” you say, a little disappointed.
“Oh no, it’s not over yet,” he replies grimly. “As I stand there paralyzed, I feel something warm on my leg…” (C/n) grabs a nearby pillow and hides his face in it. His muffled voice comes out: “I peed my pants in front of the entire class.”
You burst out laughing. He removes the pillow and glares at you. His face is red, which only makes you laugh harder. He throws the pillow at your head. “Stop laughing at me!”
“Okay, okay.” You stifle a last giggle. “Honestly that wasn’t even that bad,” you reassure him after a moment.
“Oh really, have you done it too?” (C/n) grins and raises an eyebrow at you. It’s your turn to throw the pillow at him. “No way!” you say, laughing. Then you notice the pillow landed in the noodles. “Whoops.”
“Okay, I think that’s our cue to clean up,” (c/n) decides.
You put all the leftovers in the fridge and clear away the plates. After you kill a couple of hours playing video games, you decide to set up your sleeping bags so you can lie in bed and talk for several more hours.
You lay them down side by side and climb into them, facing each other. You’ve put on your pajamas, which consist of shorts and a camisole, and quickly realize that the air conditioned basement and thin sleeping bag are a bad combination. After a couple minutes you start shivering.
(C/n) notices and frowns. “You’re cold,” he says.
“Oh, nah, I’m fine,” you deny weakly. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“Yeah, right, I can practically hear your teeth chattering. Come here.” He beckons with his finger.
You scoot closer to him like a large worm wriggling sideways. He smiles. “Just get in here,” he says, pointing into his sleeping bag.
You giggle nervously. “In there? With you?” Your face is suddenly warm even though you still feel cold.
“Yeah, there’s plenty of room,” he says, opening up the sleeping bag to show you. “And it’s very thick and veerry comfortable.” He grins.
“Okay, if you say so,” you respond casually, though inside of course you’re totally freaking out. You unzip your bag and clamber over to his, sliding inside. Immediately (c/n) puts his arms around you and pulls you into him, pressing you close against him. You can feel his skin against your bare arms. Warmth radiates from his body.
“Wow, you’re really warm,” you whisper, already feeling the comfortable heaviness of sleep pressing in.
He smirks. “Told you.”
“Thanks for letting me invade your personal space,” you say jokingly.
He smiles. “My pleasure.” After a moment he adds, quite out of the blue, “You know, you have a really nice voice.”
“What?” You lift your head and look at him, furrowing your eyebrows.
You feel him shrug next to you. “Your voice. It’s just…really soft and soothing. When I hear it it’s like I’m being wrapped in a fluffy blanket. I could listen to you talk forever.” He shakes his head, smiling. “It’s like…listening to really good music. I don’t know.” He looks away, blushing.
“Oh, thanks…” you smile slightly. Your face feels warm and you wonder if you’re as red as he is. “I like your voice too.”
(C/n) starts stroking your hair lightly, which gives you chills (the good kind). After a moment he says quietly, “And your hair, too, it’s so soft, and like, perfect.”
You reach up and ruffle his adorably fluffy hair. “I like yours more.”
He chuckles, and even though you’ve turned the lights off you can tell his whole face is pink. “Honestly everything about you is perfect,” he whispers.
Your heart starts to race, and you’re close enough to feel his heart beating rapidly as well. “Really?” you whisper back, at a loss for words.
“Yeah.” He lifts a finger up to your mouth and softly traces your lips. You’re so nervous you couldn’t move if you wanted to, and you don’t.
(C/n) looks up at you and back at your mouth, and then leans in as if trying to kiss you. But you’re both still lying on your sides, and your noses bump awkwardly. You stifle a giggle. He laughs too and hides his face in your neck. Then he props himself up with one arm so he’s leaning over you, and for the second time, he brings his face to yours. This time, your lips connect.
You feel as though fireworks are going off around you. He strokes your face with one hand as he kisses you, and when you pull apart several seconds later, he’s staring intently into your eyes, as if he sees something inside them.
“(Y/n), I really like you,” he murmurs in a husky voice.
You reach up and play with a bit of his hair that’s sticking out, hardly able to believe this is happening. “I really like you too,” you whisper almost inaudibly.
(C/n) smiles. “Well, that works out nicely,” he says, and you laugh giddily. He kisses you on the forehead before settling back down next to you. He pulls you into him and you rest your head on his chest. You can feel his heart still beating fast, but after a few minutes it slows along with his breathing. Exhaustion settles heavily over you from the rough week at school, and wrapped comfortably in (c/n)’s arms, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep.