#//and well again because he likes body sprays because they tend to have scents he likes more | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

irrelevantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things.

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful.

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb.

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight.

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely.

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation.

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

#rio good girls #rio #good girls rio #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #rio x reader #rio x you #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic

2K notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you.

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^)

enjoy loves <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them.

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them.

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets.

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised.

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months.

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too.

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future.

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to.

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm.

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out—

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound.

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic.

And you shudder at how good it feels.

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting.

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths.

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him.

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so.

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers.

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher.

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone.

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door.

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own.

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it. But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly.

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up.

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes.

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch.

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away.

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence.

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached.

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes.

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all.

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all.

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry.

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk—

And you must’ve felt awful.

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles.

And the heat of you flares.

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve.

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless.

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own.

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands.

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting.

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by.

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily.

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being.

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours.

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice.

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need.

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead.

The world feels dimmer with the thought.

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps.

But, you slept separately.

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck.

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.)

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice.

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived.

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes.

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning.

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs.

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has.

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

That night, things begin to shift.

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a—

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest.

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists.

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide.

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer.

“... We’re safe, right?”

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion.

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors. Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still.

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest.

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before.

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have.

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same.

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens.

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights.

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it.

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation.

It’s a process, he reminds himself.

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck.

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him.

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat.

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest.

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving.

The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest.

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious.

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind.

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs.

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy.

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease.

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night.

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more.

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck.

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time.

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications.

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words.

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.

It’s progress, even in something so small.

...

But progress isn’t linear.

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating.

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately.

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it.

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning.

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat.

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots.

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw.

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again.

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little.

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave.

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person.

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open.

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

Two...

This was a terrible idea.

Three—

It was four—

Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain.

You wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think.

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up.

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk.

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time.

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind.

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.)

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier.

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested.

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear.

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang.

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips.

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing.

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched.

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes.

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows.

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks.

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends.

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand.

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet.

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.”

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it.

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever.

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession.

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get.

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow.

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up.

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours.

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals.

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

...

He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes.

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other.

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!”

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest.

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him.

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.”

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers.

“I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one—

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter.

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow.

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town.

It’s still too much.

...

You, on the other hand?

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body.

You panic.

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it.

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left.

Is he okay?

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning.

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear.

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed?

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter.

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk.

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out.

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—)

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find.

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist.

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten.

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest.

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result.

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground.

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot.

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best.

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower.

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home.

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later.

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit.

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him.

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit.

As he nears, his stomach drops.

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings.

You must be cold.

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?”

You twitch, curling over your body harder.

Something is very wrong—

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit. It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care.

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets.

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization.

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms.

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little.

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest.

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning.

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is.

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good.

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.)

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates.

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.”

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious.

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking.

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway.

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves.

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawk x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #anyways ouch <3 #kiss it better keigo #enjoy this big boy heheh #kith kith :'^)

318 notes · View notes

theartoflovingthomashunt · 3 years ago

Text

My Light

Masterlists: [All Thomas Hunt x Alex Spencer] [Red Carpet Diaries]

Characters: Thomas Hunt, Alex Book: Red Carpet Diaries [Hunt x F!OC] Word Count: ~850 Rating: General Prompt: lighthouse: @choicesaugustchallenge

Synopsis: Alex decides Thomas would make a great lighthouse keeper, but he sees a different story. Alex pictures what a different life for them could be. *Fluff with a bit of angst, meet-cute*

Alex flopped onto the couch in Thomas's office. "Have you ever considered being a lighthouse keeper?" She questioned curiously, resting her chin on the back of her hand.

Thomas peered over the top of the script he was reading. He inhaled thoughtfully for a moment, "No." Then, he returned to the task in front of him.

"Oh, come on!" Alex pressed. "It's a perfect job, especially for you."

He glanced at her once more, which only encouraged her to continue.

"The seclusion and solitude, the quiet, the natural beauty, the lack of technology." She smiled at him. "Oh! And you'd just look so amazing and handsome in a cable knit sweater all the time."

Thomas quirked his brow, watching as she rolled over, looking up at the ceiling, carrying on with her list.

"You'd get daily exercise going up and down the stairs. You could take Bogart with you. You'd need a companion, obviously, and we all know you adore him—Just think about all the cinematic views and scenes to inspire you. And the mood! Think about the melancholia—the drama—a romance among the waves." She sighed dreamily, shifting her attention back to him. "It would suit you well."

"Clearly, you've given this some thought," Thomas stated, putting down the script. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Maybe in a different life."

"Is that so?" He got up from his desk and moved beside her on the couch.

She nodded, readjusting to rest her head on his lap. "It could work."

"Perhaps." Thomas stroked her hair tenderly. "However, I believe it is you who dreamed of different careers."

Alex reached up, her fingers caressing the coarse hair on his jaw. Her body warmed being with him. "This is true. Hmm—lighthouse keeper Alex." Her lips pressed together as she reconsidered her narrative. "I took over as lighthouse keeper from my grandfather, who had been the keeper for more than fifty years."

"Naturally."

"The scent of the sea, the spray of the crashing waves, and the beautiful horizon brought me much joy, but there was a longing, a sorrow for something unknown." She took his hand, playing with his fingers as she considered what life may have been. "A thrill of exhilaration came over me when I heard a big Hollywood movie was filming nearby. Unfortunately, I couldn't join in on the excitement buzzing through the small seaside town because a sudden storm was brewing off the coast—the worst in decades. My journey toward something more would need to wait as I tended to the light. At the same time, this brilliant but technologically opposed luddite Hollywood director took a boat out, not checking the weather app to see the storm warning. He was too focused on his vision and scouting the perfect location. Before long, the sky darkened around him, and the waters rose. The turbulent ocean raged, and darkness threatened to swallow him. The sea cares not who a person is, or whether they are deemed important or not; it claims lives to remind those who survive of its power and fury. It must be respected and revered."

He stroked her cheek soothingly. Her mind was a beautiful thing. He hadn't been one to trust in fate or destiny, but she made him question that. No matter how inconceivable her stories might be, they still made him believe that no matter what happened, where they were, or what lives they led, they would always find each other because they were meant to be.

Her eyes glistened as she continued weaving her tale. "The director was lost at sea for more than a day, the newspapers already foretelling a tragic end. Lighthouse keeper Alex kept the beacon of light shining over the stormy waters, holding out hope. Late into the next night, as the moon peeked out from the clouds illuminating the cliffs surrounding the lighthouse, she noticed something shimmering on the stones. She hurried down from her post, carefully descending the rocky slope toward the source of the reflection—a first aid, safety blanket. She pulled back the reflective sheet to find the missing man, beaten and battered by the storm but alive. Somehow he had made it to her shore."

"Without his boat?" Thomas questioned, engaged in her narrative.

"Yes. The boat had been damaged from the waves earlier. He managed to grab the first aid kit and a life preserver before it went down. He floated on a piece of wreckage for a day, using the safety blanket to shield himself from the bitter gusts. He was about to give up hope and succumb to the sea when he saw her light. He wasn't sure if it was real or an illusion, but he swam, fighting to get to it, hoping it wasn't the end of the line. She saved him, and although once he recuperated, he returned to his life, thoughts of her remained. He returned to her time and time again, unable to stay away, until they realized they belonged together. Their love was a bond that no storm or force could break."

The skin around his eyes crinkled, the corner of his mouth curled up in adoration. He gently wiped the tears slipping from her eyes. "You'll always be my light—" His lips brushed softly over hers. "—my hope, my love, guiding me home."

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this!

Tags in a reblog, please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#thomas hunt #thomas hunt x mc #thomas hunt x oc #thomas orson hunt #hunt x mc #red carpet diaries #thomas hunt rcd #alex hunt #alex spencer #halex #thomas x alex #fan fiction #playchoices #choices #professor hunt

43 notes · View notes

theamberwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Ficmas Day 1: One More Sleep [Tenya Iida]

Pairing: ProHero!Tenya Iida x Fem!Reader

Song: One More Sleep by Leona Lewis

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I tried to get this done a few days ago, but I was just so tired 😭 Anyway, I hope that you guys like it!

Tenya rubbed his eyes groggily, staring at the ceiling. He rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand. 3:43 AM. How frustrated he was by this. He should've been asleep hours ago. He sat up, deciding it was no good. Sleep wouldn't come, not until you were here by his side.

He checked his phone for the date. December 21th. Four. More. Days. Five more grueling, restless nights. Tenya figured he should've been used to this. Spending time apart. Your relationship had been that way since the beginning. You traveled for work while he stayed put. Doing the hero gig he'd always dreamed of.

But now - so close to Christmas - it was impossible to think of anything else but you. Here. In the bed you'd spend nearly a year deciding on because he insisted you had to look at all the options first. Your side was barely worn. It made his heart ache in ways he was too stubborn to admit.

Tenya wondered if it's be too cruel to ask you to stop. To stop traveling. To stay put, just for a little while. No more calling at wild hours. No more flickering signals or long distance fees. Just you and him. Together in the home that you'd bought. The place you made love and fought and kissed endlessly to make up for lost time.

But when was enough, enough?

He swung his feet out of bed, put on his glasses, and slid on his slippers. A blue bathrobe hung from the best post. It was one you'd bought him last year from somewhere over seas. You had said it reminded you of his eyes. Apparently you'd worn it considerably before gifting it. It was drenched in your scent by the time it reached his hands. The collar smelled like your shampoo, the rest of smelling of your favourite spray. You'd bashfully admitted you wore it because you missed him. And this one little thing made you feel closer.

Your smell had been washed from it by now. But he silently wished it was still there as he put it on. He only flicked on a few lights as he made his way to the kitchen. A warm cup of tea on a cold, snowy night sounded wonderful. Tenya looked out at the piling snow as he waited for the water to boil.

He worried your flight would get delayed. Or worse – it'd be put off until after the storm passed. Sure, he'd video chatted you early that evening. But he felt like he'd die if he had to wait even a single day more than he already had to. He ran a hand through his hair. What a funny thing love was.

Tenya had never expected you to come into his life. He never really expected to share love with anyone. It was just another thing his brother talked sweetly of. Telling him, “Tenya, you'll know when she's the one.” Tenya breathed his brother's every word like gospel.

Except for that one.

What had Tensei meant by you'll know – it wasn't very informative. It didn't help too much. It only kept him guessing as he passed attractive women. Until Tenya found you. It wasn't love at first sight. Not entirely. But the first words he thought when he saw your face? I just found my wife.

It had been such a nauseating, powerful experience. One little glance as you said 'hello' from your new spot at a desk in his agency. Tenya had rushed away, and left out the back so he wouldn't have to pass you again.

It was the single most powerful moment in his life.

Many things had changed over the years. You were one of those earth shattering experiences for him. Breaking open the egg that was the world. Showing him more than he would've thought possible. Four years ago, that thought that he'd fall in love with a stranger and get married to them just two years after would've seemed ridiculous. But here you two were.

You worked as a travel writer. Going to exotic places. Trying new things. Meeting new people. While Tenya was living his dream. Fulfilling his brother's legacy as Ingenium. He never thought being alone could feel so hollow and bitter and cold. He'd never really felt lonely when he was alone, until you two made a home together. Tenya worried that home was too boring for you. Surely it had to be after seeing so much of the world. It gnawed at him. No matter how much reassurance you gave him that coming back home to him was always the best part of the trip.

Tenya contemplated his tea as he poured in the water. Watching as a deep red color soaked out from the leaves. Only four more days, he kept reminding himself. Five more nights, and she'll be with you. But the mantra didn't help at all.

Tenya went to his reading chair by the window. Yours was next to his, a table separating them. Your side was stacked with books. Even your chair had a few on it. Bookmarks spouted from a few. Tenya was sure you'd never finish them. But watching you try was endearing nonetheless. Your wedding picture sat on the table, along with a vase of your favourite flowers. He went every day to get one while you were away.

He counted twenty three. Twenty three flowers. Twenty three days apart. But only four more until you were back in his arms. Until he could kiss you and hold you. Feel your warm skin against his own. They'd made you stay longer, so you'd have writing material through the first of the year. Didn't they know you had a husband and a dog to get back home to?

That picture encapsulated the best day of his life. A face splitting grin on his own. You wore a goofy smile because he'd made you laugh. Tenya cried when he saw you come down the aisle. Though he desperately tried to hide them. You teased him later about that. He simply covered you with kisses.

A small lump formed in Tenya's throat as he watched your dog slump sadly down onto the floor in front of your chair. He rolled his eyes up at Tenya and whined, his tail wagging only once. Things just weren't the same with you away. Tenya blew on his tea with a sigh.

“I know boy, I miss her, too,” he said softly. Then took a sip. The hot tea did nothing to warm the cold that settled in him.

Only four. More. Days.

Tenya didn't sleep much after that. Dozing on the couch until the morning light woke him up. He was very stiff and chilled to the bone. Like someone had left a window open. Tenya searched the house, simply pushing the heater up when he found no cause for alarm.

Tenya was very surprised as he let the dog out. The snow was ludicrously high. Five feet, give or take. He was willing to say give. Your poor pooch could barely get down to use the bathroom. Tenya just knew he was going to have to shovel a path for him.

Was his ideal morning bundled up and shoveling snow? He was fairly sure that no body's was. But he diligently donned his his coat, hat, scarves, gloves, and snow boots. Being a good dog father and shoveling a path down into the yard.

Tenya chuckled at the thought of you out here last year in the snow. A hair dry plugged into the side of the house. He yelled at you about the hazard, trying to argue that a hair dryer was not the most efficient way the clear snow. You started a snow ball fight after that. You'd both gone in drenched, and took a nice, hot, steamy shower together. His body tingled warmly at the thought, his face (and quite a few other places) feeling hot.

After shoveling, it was shower time. Then he made himself and the dog breakfast (yes, he makes the dog's food because he is a very good doggy daddy). After was time to tend to all the chores he'd been putting off in the wake of his depression. This included wrapping your gifts. Tenya knew you'd be home for Christmas, but it'd been too painful to wrap them before. Between his loneliness and the excitement that bubbled in him at the thought of you coming home in a few days, he felt numb but jittery. One canceling the other out.

And there was still so much to do.

Ochaco and Izuku had accidentally, inadvertently invited themselves over for Christmas. They wanted to throw a party. And somehow Tenya had gotten wrapped up in it all. He hadn't been able to get a hold of you to try and talk them down. So he did the responsible thing and said he'd take care of it all. They gushed about what to bring and who to invite, he just had to take care of the house and making sure everything was perfect. He supposed this was a sort of coming home celebration for you, so it didn't annoy him quite as much.

Tenya measured the dimensions each and every package he wrapped. Then he measured the wrapping paper. The process was tedious, but it ensured every piece of paper was used to the fullest. He pulled off the smallest pieces of tape that he possibly could, so he didn't waste the roll. Honestly, Tenya thought of how you might react as you opened them all. The excitement, the embarrassment, the sheer happiness that he wanted so much to bring you. He'd gone overboard, sure. But you were worth every penny. And all the burnt fingers. The thing he'd tried to make you did not go as well as he wanted. But Tenya just knew you were going to love it.

After wrapping, he figured having a nice tree to put them under would help. He'd only gone out and bought one. Nothing was decorated. That was something you two usually did together. There wasn't a tinkle of a light anywhere to be seen. Though he knew Ochaco and Izuku expected the place to look as warm and cozy as it always did this time of year.

The decorations were stored in a closet under the stairs. You had made it a giant Janga tower. Honestly, Tenya was a little scared to pull everything out. If he was crushed to death by decorations, no body would know for days. He studied your tower for a while. Thinking about when you'd put them in. You had struggled tremendously. He'd just chuckled. Tenya always thought everything you did was endearing. In it's own sort of way. In the love touched way.

When Tenya was sure nothing was going to fall, he started to pull things out and organize them into piles. Garland, ornaments, outside lights, indoor lights, the tree angel, upstairs decorations, table runners, stockings – he sprinted through the house as he sorted. He planned to start upstairs, then work his way down.

By the time he finished the upstairs it was early evening. He'd missed lunch, stopping only briefly to feed the dog. Now it was dinner time. He had no gumption to cook, though. So he heated up leftovers and sat at the table. Tenya stared at your empty chair as he ate. It was made up with a place mat, and a book, and your favourite mug.

Three more days.

It surprised him in the morning when there was a ring at the doorbell. Tenya had been up, working slowly at things around the house. He wasn't planning on company. Nor for Ochaco and Izuku to be standing behind the door. They had their own bags and piles of things in their arms. They grinned widely at him.

“What a surprise,” Tenya said, then moved aside. “Come in out of the snow. I hope the roads weren't too bad.”

They nodded and ducked in. “Thanks!”

“Most of the snow is melted already,” Ochaco pouted. “Izuku and I built a snowman yesterday, but he was just a pile of mush things morning!”

Izuku looked around, clearly surprised by the bare walls and shelves and tree. “Tenya, you haven't started decorating yet?”

Tenya looked away ashamedly. Eyes wandering on their own to a picture of you. His guests' eyes followed. Ochaco's grin dropped.

“Oh,” she said, putting her stuff down. “You're probably waiting for [Name], right?”

“Tenya, if you didn't want to have the party, you could've said something,” Izuku insisted.

Tenya had tried to tell them he didn't want to throw the party. Not at his house anyway. But they were so excited that they didn't listen. “It's fine. [Name] is coming home on Christmas. It'll be nice to have everyone here to welcome her back. I've just been putting it off. I didn't want to decorate alone.”

Ochaco hugged him tightly. “I'm sorry, Tenya. We're here to help!”

“Yeah!” Izuku looked disproportionately determined for the task. But Tenya was glad that his friend was as enthusiastic as ever. He needed the energy boost. “We're going to make it amazing for when [Name] comes home! You have nothing to worry about.”

The pair ran off, doing what, Tenya didn't know. But he sure was glad to have friends like them. They helped him finish decorating downstairs. And he made them lunch. Soon everything was dripping with sparkling lights and garlands and glitter. Three stockings hung on hooks that suctioned to the wall, one for you, one for Tenya, and one for the dog. He hoped to add more stockings in the near future. But how was that going to happen when you were barely home together long enough?

Ochaco and Izuku treated Iida to dinner that evening. Taking him to a restaurant down the way. They chatted quietly, mostly going over holiday plans.

“We're going to my parents' on Christmas Eve,” Ochaco noted, looking over the menu. “Then Deku's mom and All Might are coming with us to the party Christmas day. I hope you don't mind.”

Tenya shook his head. “No, it'll be nice to see them.”

“Are you doing anything Christmas Eve? You could always come with us,” offered Izuku.

“I'm going to my parents house. Tensei and his wife will be there.”

Ochaco's eyes lit up. “I didn't know he got married!”

“Not too long before I did. She's a lovely woman, and takes very good care of my brother. We're all very grateful to her.” Tensei smiled lightly, thinking about his brother's wedding. It'd been a very beautiful ceremony with many tears. He was best man, and dreaming about the day he was going to propose to you.

They ate and talked and laughed. For just a little while, Tenya felt like himself. Izuku and Ochaco walked him back home. It was dark now, and cold bit through their coats.

“Oh, before we go – I have invites for you to pass out at your agency.” Ochaco produced a stack of envelopes from her pocket. “Could you give them out next time you go in?”

“I managed to get a few days off to prepare for [Name]'s arrival, but I can run them in tomorrow,” Tenya said, taking the stack.

“Let us know when you're back,” said Izuku. “We'll help you decorate the outside.”

Tenya shook his head. “You've already done so much, I couldn't ask for more.”

“It's really no problem. We don't mind helping.”

“Very well, then.” Tenya nodded. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As Tenya shut himself in for the night he sighed, leaning his head back against the door.

Just two more days.

Tenya set off bright and early the next morning. The air was still frosty and the sky looked like it wanted to flood the ground with more white. He was going to try and make this trip quick. He'd been getting increasingly pitying looks. He didn't want to hang around long, to see their eyes boring holes in him.

He hesitated at the doors, watching as his breath floated up to the sky. Even with gloves on, it felt like the cold seeped through from the door handle. Tenya didn't bother going to his office. He stopped at the front desk. The woman there smiled up at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Ingenium,” she greeted. “How can I help you?”

“I need you to distribute these to all of the staff and heroes,” he said, pulling a large stack of envelopes from his coat. He'd spent the entire night trying to remember all of the staff at his agency.

“Can do.” She took the envelopes. But she didn't shift her gaze. “You look tired, sir. Are you doing okay?”

“There's a lot to do, is all. My wife will be home in a few days.” Tenya cleaned his glasses, looking for an excuse to break eye contact.

“Right,” she bit curtly. “Your wife.”

Tenya leaned on the counter, hoping to charm her with a smile. He was far too tired for this today. He was going to have to hire a new secretary sometime soon. “Izumi, it would mean a lot if you could pass these out to everyone. I'd be very grateful.”

The woman softened. “Anything you want, sir.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Tenya left swiftly, before he had to endure anymore one sided flirting. The distaste his secretary expressed for his wife got tiresome. Along with her not-so-subtle hints for him to have an affair with her. He had more important things to worry about. Like making sure you came home to a magical display.

“Izuku,” he started, phone to his ear as he walked down the road. “I just left I should be home....soon....”

“Okay Tenya!” Izuku cheered from the other side. Then there was a long pause. “Tenya?”

But the man was distracted by the window he was passing. “I'll call you back when I get to the house.”

“Wait, is something wro –”

Tenya hung up, staring at the window display. It was perfect. It was just what he was looking for to top off the season. You were going to love it. He rushed in, demanding the display in the window. He wasn't usually the type. But he was just too excited. The clerks gently packaged it, tying neat bows around the box. Tenya had to stop himself from sprinting full force down the road.

He rushed a message to Izuku when he got home. But there was no hope of sitting still for him. By the time Ochaco and Izuku got there, he'd already had half the outside decorated. He was on the roof, hooking up the lights. He waved down at them.

Ochaco floated up the rest of the boxes for the roof. Izuku nearly floated away as he tried to help finish the lights. Tenya caught him and hauled him down. It felt like they were back in UA as students with the ensuing chaos.

Tenya treated the pair to a home made dinner. They had a few drinks and some laughs. But honestly, he just wanted to chug through the next few days. Today was the twenty third. Two more days to Christmas. Two more days to you coming home.

The trio examined their handy work when the sun went down. The house glowed and twinkled. It really did look like a winter wonderland. Tenya just knew you were going to love it. He was looking forward to seeing your face as you watched the display they made.

Just a few more days.

The morning of the twenty fourth was a lazy one. He didn't want to get out of bed. Tenya wanted to lay there until the following night. When you'd be there with him. To finally warm the thorough chill that hadn't left him in days.

But eventually he pulled himself up, going to the vase in the living room.

“Twenty five,” he muttered, slipping a flower in. “Twenty six....you'll have a very big bouquet this time, [Name].”

Tenya set to breakfast. He'd lost all his fire from yesterday. He was a tired shell now. He was so sure you were going to love what he found for you. But now one, long agonizing day laid ahead of him. The house was decorated, inside and out. Presents were wrapped. The tree was ready. Filled to the brim with perfectly packaged gifts, awaiting your arrival.

Tomorrow would be the party. You'd arrive after dark, hopefully with people still around to greet you. You wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Ochaco and Izuku were going to take care of all the other little details. All of the invites read a potluck and BYOB. In the meantime, he had to wait the day out. The only thing he had to look forward to distract him was seeing his family later that evening.

Christmas morning was to be lonely. Then, by three, the house would start filling up. By eight, you should be walking up the front entrance. By 8:01, you'd be in his arms and smothered in kisses. With any luck, you'd be making love by midnight.

Tenya went out and shoveled snow again. More than two feet had fallen in the night. The more snow that fell, the more he worried the weather was going to be too rough for your plane. He needed you, sooner rather than later preferably.

The day seemed to crawl away. Only a few minutes had passed every time he glanced at the clock. Had it always been so difficult to entertain himself? He'd already showered, made lunch, brushed snow meticulously from the front porch and back deck. He uncovered all of the decorations he'd put up the day before.

He was impatient by the time he had to leave to see his family. Even the ride there drove him crazy. The road seemed to stretch. The cars squeezing from every side. Would the tedium ever cease?

As the evening with his family began, he discovered it would not. Even as he laughed with his parents and brother, as he listened to stories and shared a few. His eyes never left his watch for long. It didn't go unnoticed, but it was left unmentioned. Just a look exchanged around him.

They knew, of course. That he counted down every second until he'd see you again. The light and fire you brought into his life was wonderful to see. But how they wished you didn't leave so much.

Tenya went to bed when he got home. But sleep didn't come. Not for a very long time. He tried to force himself asleep, just a single thought leaping in his head.

One. More. Night.

A new tickle of joy danced in his chest as he realized the day. Christmas. You were going to be home. He was going to be counting down the hours until he saw you.

Tenya zipped through his morning. Shoveling the fresh few inches of snow. Hand making the dog's food for the next week. Making breakfast for himself, showering, and pulling out the outfit you'd picked over video call a week ago. Just a red sweater with stripes and snowflakes and charcoal grey slacks. He spent time cleaning, making sure every inch was dusted.

He had his fire back – until he checked his phone just after lunch.

[NAME] (Wife)

My plane is being delayed. I won't be home until tomorrow. I'm so sorry, my love, I wanted to be home for Christmas. So, very much....

Tenya felt a little bit of himself break. He slumped in his reading chair, phone discarded on the table. He stared blankly ahead of him. His worst fear had come true. One more day had turned into two. And with this snow, two could easily turn into three or four.

Ochaco and Izuku came not too long after. They knocked on the door, rang the door bell. The dog barked. Eventually they tried the handle, letting themselves in. They exchanged a worried look as they spied their friend. They could see the hollowness of his eyes.

“Tenya...?” Ochaco whispered.

“She's not coming,” he muttered numbly.

Izuku put a hand on Tenya's shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“[Name]'s flight – it's been delayed. She won't be home until tomorrow....” Tenya could barely scrap his eyes to his phone. He didn't want to look at it. To see anything else that might ruin him.

“But she'll be home, at least.”

“You don't understand. You two have each other. Tensei will be spending the holiday with his wife. And I have her. If [Name] isn't here....”

Izuku and Ochaco glanced at each other again.

“We'll still have a good time, Tenya,” Ochaco said, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah, people will start to be here soon! You won't even know she's missing!” Then Izuku began to panic. “Not that we don't want her here. But maybe getting your mind off of her will help. Not that you shouldn't miss your wife on a holiday but –”

Tenya chuckled. At least something was normal. Izuku eased some at the sound. He and Ochaco set up the kitchen, while Tenya put away anything he didn't want broken. You never knew if someone was going to get rowdy.

As the first people showed up, the booze flooded in. Tenya had only meant to have one. But he was having a self-pity streak. One became two, two became three. Different Christmas mixes that people brought, some made right in his kitchen; homemade egg nogs, and Christmas cocktails, holiday ciders. He claimed they were just to try. Normally, he'd be following people around. Putting down coasters, ensuring that they didn't slosh on the couch, making sure no one was scuffing up the floors. But Izuku was already doing a pretty good job of that. Probably to make sure Tenya didn't have to worry. But it left him too idle.

Tenya chatted with his co-workers as they came. They complimented his house, saying they wouldn't have expected anything else from an Iida. He went around, greeting everyone. Thanking each person for coming. Each drink numbing just slightly more. He spent a good deal of time talking to Izuku's mom and All Might.

He was caught in the middle of an inescapable conversation with his insufferable secretary when Izuku came to tap him on the shoulder. His friend pointed towards the entrance to your house. Tenya's eyes followed his arm, going wide at what they found. They swept to the clock on the wall – it only read 5:23. In alarm, he triple checked what he was reading, to be sure he was right. With a puff from his quirk, Tenya launched himself.

You screamed as he tackled you. He kept you upright, making you didn't fall. Tenya smooshed your face with too many kisses to keep up with. He squeezed you tightly in his arms. You could smell the liquor on him. Since when did he drink? You hoped this wasn't the start of a bad habit.

“[Name]! You're here!” he exclaimed in disbelief. He held you at arm's length, looking you up and down just to be sure you were real.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah!”

“But your plane –”

“I – uh – I lied.” You glanced away from him, your face hot. “My flight was actually bumped up. I wanted to surprise you. I wasn't expecting you to get stupid drunk.”

Tenya sunk to the floor, and pulled you into his lap. He was so cute with his goofy grin and the pink dusting on his cheeks. He rubbed his cheek against yours. Your guests chuckled at the sight. You pulled him in for a long, hard kiss. So glad to finally have him in your arms. You could feel every bit of his body against yours. You had to calm his hands as they roamed freely over your body. They were dipping into places that shouldn't be caressed in public.

Finally – no more counting the days.

No more nights between you.

No more hours to wait.

You two were together. And it was the sweetest feeling in the world.

“Why wouldn't I have been upset by the delay?” he rambled. “I've missed you, and I didn't want to think of another day without you here. I needed a little boost. Drinking was perhaps not the best choice.”

Tenya clung to you all night, never letting you out of his sight. Seeing everyone was lovely. You really couldn't have asked for a better homecoming. The lights he'd put up outside were spectacular. And the warm cozy air your home had taken on was supernatural. Or maybe it was just because you were glad to be home.

It was nearly midnight when everybody finally left. Ochaco and Izuku had stayed to help you clean. Tenya wouldn't let you go long enough to do anything. You were about to force him upstairs when he stumbled over to the tree.

“No, no, no – you have to open this. While it's still Christmas. Please,” Tenya pouted, and forced a little black box with a shimmering silver lid into your hand. The childish pout on his face was adorable, but he really should've been getting to bed.

“Tenya –”

“Open it.”

You eyed him suspiciously, but planted yourself on the couch. He adhered himself to your side. He held you closely, head on your shoulder. A red ribbon was tied lovingly around the box. It was always too beautiful to unwrap. You had a suspicion Tenya hadn't done this himself. He packaged things neatly, but aesthetics weren't his forte.

You pulled the ribbon, then peered into the box. You looked at him, then in the box, then back again.

“You did not go out and spend a fortune,” you scolded.

Tenya shrugged. “You deserve the world.”

“Tenya!” But you couldn't deny it was beautiful.

It was simple, with a thin silver chain. Hanging from the end was a pendant. It had your birth stone in set on the part where the chain went through. And there was immaculate scroll work around the edges. Tenya took it briefly from your hands, the pressed the sides.

The front popped open. A lump pressed in your throat. A miniature of your wedding photo was nestled inside the frame. Tenya turned it over, revealing both of your initials along with your wedding date on the back.

“I left the other half open, for when we have a family of our own,” he muttered drowsily. “I love you more than the world. I'm very happy you're finally home. I'd be very happy if you didn't have to leave again.”

“I love this. I love you,” you murmured in reply, then turned your head to kiss him.

You put the locket back in the box, then helped him stand. You hauled Tenya upstairs, and got him changed. He insisted on brushing his teeth, even though he coud barely stand up right. The necklace took up a home on your night stand. You were going to wear this every day that you could. It was your new favourite piece of jewelry.

Once you were settled into bed, he immediately took you in him arms. He hummed in content.

“How would you feel about being a secretary?” Tenya slurred, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck. “I'm going to need a new one soon. Mine is gonna get fired.”

You sighed. “I actually wanted to talk to about that. I wanted to wait until you were sober. But – I'm going to quit my job. That way I can be home with you. If we want a family....I'm also tired of spending so much time away from you. You can't imagine how lonely the world is without you with me to see it.”

Tenya sighed. “I want your....baabbeeezzz...”

You chuckled. “Tenya? - Love?”

A light snoring told you he was out cold. You smiled to yourself as he snuggled closer to you. You relaxed into him. You'd been waiting for this for ages. Or, it felt like ages anyway. You didn't want to be away from him anymore. Coming home to the one you love? It was amazing. But getting to stay home with them? That was the best Christmas gift you could ask for.

150 notes · View notes

va-3 · 4 years ago

Text

Part I

Second Half of my OC’s Information (the photo limit screwed me over)

The 1930s through the 1970s in Taika’s past is still a work in progress as well as the art soooo...probably a part three in the future?

Taika and Raspberry move to California the fall of 1986, although Raspberry finds a more permenant residence in Los Angeles while Taika finds herself on a more wandering path.

In the February of 1987 Taika wandered upon the town of Santa Carla, a town given credit for being home to those who wanted to disappear.

[side note: the jacket and jeans would be colored if only my damn markers hadn’t died]

Taika, a delinquent at heart as always, fit in like a puzzle piece. The punk-graffiti day life appealed to her like any adventure, and the smell of vampires lured her further into the town. She “cleared” a house (the act of killing the owners of a house and taking it for herself) as well as the garage. Taika acquired a 1987 Yamaha Virago via a rich douchebag she easily stole from and offed.

When the nightlife glowed at the boardwalk, it was apparent to the Santa Carla vampires that something was off, although they could not place it.

Taika did not make contact with the vampires for a while, seeming to distance herself just enough to make them curious about the uneasiness on the boardwalk since her arrival. Every now and then a body would turn up, a person snatched into an alleyway and partially eaten. It wasn’t until David met eyes with Taika across the boardwalk that it was clear to the Santa Carla vampires that there was another predator on their territory.

Taika’s aggressiveness and competitiveness are what pull the boys in first, that along with her scent, so much more intoxicating than any other human. A sort of playful rivalry grows between the calta and the vampires—who could last longer making trouble on the boardwalk without getting kicked off by Big Ed, who could score the biggest bonfire of surf nazis, and so on.

In the end it was Marko and Paul who put an end to the rivalry. Dwayne hadn’t thought he’d be able to really approach Taika and David was too prideful to do so. So the chaotic blonde duo took it upon themselves to invite her back to their cave as an act of trust as well as cease fire. David, no matter his pride, was quick to share about the fallen hotel made theirs. She was quick to catch on to the fact that they had been vampires much longer than they appeared. Dwayne brought it to her attention that she clearly knew what they were while they handn’t a single idea what she was.

With that question being asked, she explains what she is, and from there, their trusting relationship grows. The first time they hunt together is remotely terrifying to the vampires, considering she is a monster made for hunting them as well as other supernatural creatures.

The relationship between the boys and Taika blooms into something deeper, though it isn’t apparent to any of them at all at first. It was just small things they realized they loved about her, and her them. They fall in love with her odd little quirks, like how she always has change on her because it’s “shiny and distracting”, or how she’ll braid tiny braids into her hair and sometimes to boys’ hair, or how she makes beautifully delicate carvings out of the bones of their victims, or buys(steals) stuff for the cave while they all sleep, or organizes whatever she can anytime she comes the to cave, and really really likes coconut shrimp.

She steals the boy’s clothing whenever she leaves the cave during the day after a night of events, not that any of them complain. Marko’s crop tops are always her go to, while she wears Paul’s jewelry out and sometimes jeans that Dwayne doesn’t wear anymore. Sometimes Taika and David switch earrings, only because David is hesitant to give her any of his current clothing,. When he finds that he is more possesive of her than he’d openly admit, he gives her extra shirts of his to keep. Taika loves how the vampires smells mask her own; not only is it comforting, but it protects her from any lurking sevren(a post for another time).

Taika only needing three hours of sleep allows her to have a day life of her own, one that tends to breed chaos. Sometimes she’ll go surfing, something she’s become quite adept at, and show up the surf nazis on their own territory. Taika is the only member of the “biker gang” that the surfers ever see during the day, so they let out a lot of their aggression on her because they’re truly too cowardly to face the boys and her head on. The biggest mistake the surfers ever made was the day they decided it’d be humorous to steal her bike in broad daylight. She’d parked her bike(albeit illegally) on the boardwalk when she got to the beach, and when she returned later that day her bike was gone. Needless to say the surfers had invoked the wrath of someothing stronger than them on supernatural levels.

The boys knew something was up the instant they walked into the caves main area to find Taika waiting patiently at the exit. The only tthing she said was she needed a ride, one David gave happily. When the vampires had parked their bikes and Taika had muttered some words of reassurance to fill in her silence, she made a beeline for the carousel, following the ocean-spray smell of the asshole who’d taken her bike. He was standing in line with an arm draped over a girl who couldn’t have looked more trashy, his friends jostling one another as the line moved along. The four vampires followed behind the taller predator, their curiosity evident as they formed a half-crescent around her when she stopped. Taika was quick to clamp her arm onto the girl under the surfer and yank her out of the way, sending her flying onto her butt. Taika was mad, like, really mad. She hooked her hand into the collar of the surfers shirt, ignoring his protest when she yanked him to her.

“Where is it,” she hissed, putting forth minimal effort to keep herself from biting his face off in public. Marko watched in excitement, his thumb between his teeth as his eyes found the surfer’s. This guy was screwed. He raised his hands in surrender and feigned innocence, “Hey, I don’t know what your deal is lady, but I don’t know nothin about anything.”

His friends snickered behind Taika, clearly enjoying how angry they had made her. She narrowed her wild purple eyes, running her tongue over her teeth.

“Where’s my goddamn bike,” she demanded, her voice like ice down his spine. The vampires watched on, looking about occasionally to make sure Big Ed wouldn’t poke his nose where it didn’t belong. His friends burst into laughter again, shoving one another giddily. Taika had half the mind to throw the surfer in her hands at them like a bowling ball at pin, but she repressed her urges.

“You can make this easy or you can make it hard. Give my my bike and I won’t have to kill you.” He pressed his hands to the sides of his face and made a noise imitating a ghost. She stilled, silently in thought for a moment before she scoffed and let go of his shirt.

“Fine. I’ll find it myself. Boys,” she turned sharply on her heel and marched towards her vampires, hooking her hand into Dwayne’s in a way that was supposed to be gentle, but she was too mad. Paul slipped his hand into her back pocket and matched her pace.

“Yeah, run to your queers.”

The boys would swear on their lives that they’d never seen her spin around and tackle someone as fast as she tackled that surfer. He was in the ground in seconds, and Taika was planting hit after hit, taking the few blows he managed to land on her ribs like they were nothing. The surfers friends sprang into action, attacking the boys as well as trying to pry Taika from the much bigger surfer. The surfer’s face was bleeding all over, and he was fighting to stay awake. Taika wanted blood. Her bike’s absence was a small inconvenience that ensured a meal later that night, but the insult to her boys was a direct blow at her. They could trash talk her straight to her face, insult her, whatever made them feel powerful, but no one, no one, says anything about her boys. At last, she was whacked across the face by the baton belonging to Big Ed. The blow stunned her if anything, although she fell to the side and off of the offending surfer. Paul and Marko were quick to her side, helping her to her feet while also readying to catch her if she tried lunge out at the bleeding prick on the ground. “Off the boardwalk. All of you! Now!”

David was beaming with pride as Taika walked to him and Dwayne, wiping the surfers’ blood from her lip. The surfers backed from the bikers as they walked forwards, parting away from them to avoid Taika who walked in front, acting as an active threat to anyone who dared to even think about opposing them. When the five were clear of the crowd, Paul looped his arms around Taika and pulled her in for a smacking kiss. “That was awesome babe. Like, so fucking awesome.”

She burst into laughter, dropping her head onto his chest.

“Hell yeah it was,” added Marko, yanking her to him and spinning her like they were dancing. “I’m like two-hundred percent sure that guy pissed himself!”

Marko and Paul exchanged a highly energetic high-five, feeling the energy of the fight reigniting itself. Dwayne silently pulled her into him and kissed her forehead.

“Good to know you care, kitten,”at David’s words she beamed. Dwayne released her, and she bounced towards David, latching onto the lapels of his jacket. “I hope you know that I would do anything for you,” her sultry accent sent a delighted chill down his back. “All of you,” she sang, letting go of David’s jacket and spinning into Paul and Marko’s arms giggling like a school girl. From within the blond vampire sandwich, she raised her hand in the air to make a point. “Now, let’s go find my bike!”

The car belonging to the surfer who’d stolen Taika’s bike was found strung up in a junkyard the next day. The sight had been stupendous apparently, and ended up on the news. The owner of the car and his friends had a been absolutely delicious. After he’d returned Taika’s bike of course.

27 notes · View notes

taylorinthetardis · 4 years ago

Text

Wallflowers - A Henry Cavill x Reader fic

So I did a thing! Rather than continue to work on my larger, more complicated Pride and Prejudice fic, I decided to make a fanfic out of the fantasy I had at work the other day!

There will most likely be a part two to this, I just thought I was at a good stopping point and wanted to see what you guys thought about it.

Full disclosure: I didn’t mean for this to whole ass turn into a Bath and Body Works ad, but it kinda did. For those of you reading in countries that do not have Bath and Body Works, its basically just a body and home care store. In the US their scents are legendary. Pretty much every young girl went through a BBW phase where that was all they used for soap and perfume. That all being said, in the interest of further disclosure and covering my ass, I own neither Bath and Body Works nor any of the trademarks on the scents listed herein. I also do not own Henry Cavill because owning human beings is a crime.

This is my first Henry fic so be gentle with me! It’s a bit longer than I had anticipated and un-beta’d.

Warnings: just a lot of fluff. some self-deprecation. loads of swearing. don’t know if I should warn for slight bashing of the religious but I will anyway so no one gets mad at me.

Wallflowers

It was shaping up to be another boring ass day at Bath and Body Works. I had started working here during the Pandemic after I was laid off from my job at the movie theatre. I had planned on it only being temporary, but even after things got better and I got my theatre job back, I decided to stick around. What can I say; a bitch is broke. Nothing wrong with double-dipping.

There was something about Sunday mornings in the mall. Probably because people around here still went to church in the mornings. Like it matters. Sunday mornings are always so slow, here and at the theatre, but the day always picks up after 1, when morning church services finish. It was me and Samantha up in the front room this morning, working out the leftover boxes from yesterday’s shipment. She was one of the first people I really bonded with here, both of us being super into both Marvel and DC, specifically Sebastian Stan and Henry Cavill. They had just started filming the next Superman movie and they were going to be shooting scenes up in Michigan again, like they had for Dawn of Justice.

“I’m just saying, we should really consider asking for a few days off and just going up there and scoping it out. I mean, it’s Henry fucking Cavill. He’s less than an hour away from us. Right now. Less than an hour. When is that ever gonna happen again? I can use some of my vacation time at the theatre, so at least I’m not missing out on money from them. It’ll be a blast. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? We don’t see him? I mean at least we’d have tried. I’d rather try than stay down in stupid Ohio with the knowledge that he’s that close.”

“Do you really think Ann’s going to give us time off to stalk Superman?”

“We ain’t gonna tell her what it’s for! Just lie, c’mon now.” I laughed. I dropped a box of Gingham body cream into the understock drawer and broke the box down. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement, oh goodie, a customer. Samantha was quicker to greet them.

“Welcome to Bath and Body… OH MY GOD!” I turned around and was met with the sight of none other than Henry fucking Cavill, sheepishly running his hand through his now jet-black curls, obviously embarrassed at having been recognized. Damn, am I glad I put make-up on this morning. Alright Y/N, this is your fucking chance. For once in your damn life, be fucking cool. You can do this. You look good, you smell like Champagne Toast, you’ve got this. I pulled my hair down from its messy bun and shook it out a bit before walking over to where Samantha was still trying to collect herself. The store radio started playing Halsey’s Bad at Love and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation we were now in. Not five minutes ago we were talking about seeking him out and now here he was in all his brick-shithouse-ness. I looped my arm through Samantha’s in a show of support.

“What a wonderful coincidence! We were just talking about you and now here you are! It’s crazy how the universe works, isn’t it? I’m Y/N, this is Samantha; what can we help you with today, Henry?” I smiled my most adorable smile at him, the one that makes my little cheek dimple pop out, and, honestly, they both looked shocked. Samantha was clearly surprised that I was more capable of speech than she was, and to be honest so was I, and Henry seemed shocked that I would openly admit that we had been talking about him before he got there, which probably wasn’t a great thing to say, but I panicked.

“Well, I was told this was the best place to go for candles and air freshener-y type things. The house I’m renting just has this odd odour that I can’t get rid of. I’ve been airing it out during the day, all the windows open, and I come home and it still smells funky. I know I could just find a different place, but it’s close to a park and that’s been nice for Kal and I don’t want to make a fuss, so…” Henry sort of shrugged, the buttons on his plaid shirt straining with the movement of his broad shoulders, and gestured around the store as if to say “that’s why I’m here”.

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. All of our home care is in the second room, grab a basket, I’m sure we can find you some scents you’ll like.” He walked over to the basket tower to grab one as a couple more customers walked in. Samantha nudged me towards the second room; I was going to have to handle Henry alone for now, it seemed. He followed me over to the Wallflower wall. “So, these are our Wallflowers. They’re sort of like the Glade Plug-ins, I don’t know if you’ve seen those, you plug this diffuser into any power outlet and screw the fragrance bulb in and it diffuses the scented oil into the room. They last for about a month or so. These’ll probably be the best option for you, well these and maybe a room spray or two to start with. The candles are good, but obviously the scent is gonna be strongest when they’re burning and it’s probably not a great idea to light a bunch of candles and then leave for the whole day.”

He chuckled. “No, I’d say you’re right about that. I definitely don’t want to burn the place to the ground. Are there any scents that you’d recommend?”

“Well, I mean, it obviously all depends on your personal preferences. I like sweet scents. I like my space to be smelling like a bakery or a candy shop at all times, so I tend to go for anything like that. We actually still have some of our holiday scents that we’re trying to get rid of and there’s this really great one in that line called Spiced Apple Toddy. It smells like apple pie. I love it. It’s only out during fall and winter so I stocked up. I need it all year long, honestly. I still have so many other scents at home, but like I’m probably never gonna get sick of it, for real, it smells so good. Or I might go every other month swapping between that and Black Cherry Merlot because that’s awesome too. And then there’s Champagne Toast, I mean, that one might be a bit too feminine for you, but I love it. It’s sweet and just a tiny bit citrusy. I can’t do any of the floral or like, outdoorsy scents, they set my allergies off. And honestly there’s some of these that I smell them and I’m like, who is putting this in their house? Like, what nutjob thinks this scent is good? How many people have senses of smell that are this screwed up?” At this point I was rambling, talking excitedly and with my hands, handing him testers to smell and trying to gauge his reactions to know what to hand him next. He didn’t have any bad reactions to anything I gave him until I handed him the tester for Fresh Balsam. His nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and he very carefully set the tester down on the counter as far from him as he could manage. He handled my word-vomit good-naturedly, with a small smile on his face, nodding and chuckling when he thought something I had said was funny. Our fingers brushed a few times as I handed him the testers and after the third time, I began to feel like it was deliberate on his part, but it couldn’t have been, could it? He couldn’t really be interested in me. He’s Henry Cavill. I’m just, well, I’m just me.

Me, with my two minimum wage jobs, still living with my parents, inching ever closer to 30 years old. Why would he want any of that? Why would he be interested in me physically either? I mean, he’s literally flawless and I’m short, overweight, I eat like shit, I don’t exercise, hell, I barely know how to put on make-up correctly. Yeah, I look good today, but that’s not par-for-the-course.

He put a few each of Cinnamon & Clove Buds, Black Cherry Merlot, Limoncello (for the bathrooms, he said), and Laundry Day (for the laundry room, obviously) in his basket along with enough of the plugs so he’d have one in each room. He also grabbed a Black Cherry Merlot and a Limoncello room spray off the shelf next to the Wallflower display before turning back to me. “So then, where do you keep this Spiced Apple Toddy that you like so much, or did you hide them so you could have them all to yourself?”

I chuckled nervously and ran my hand through my hair, sort of disbelieving that he was actually paying attention to what I had said. Boys never listen to me when I talk, I always have to repeat myself, but I guess that’s because I usually end up talking to the dumb ones. Henry’s not dumb. He really is just fucking perfect, isn’t he? Pretty and he listens? That shouldn’t be such a difficult combination to find, but for me it had been. “They’re on the table over here with the rest of our leftover Christmas stuff. Hopefully the tester is still there somewhere.” I put my hands in my apron pockets and I could feel the jolt of confidence I had had just minutes before leaving my body. His charm had worn me down, bringing me back to my normal, anxiety-ridden self. I caught the toe of my boot on the corner of one of the other tables as we walked towards the center of the room. I stumbled, but before I could fall his arm was already out to steady me, wrapping around my waist to keep me upright.

“Are you alright Y/N?” A look of genuine concern was on his face and I swear to God I swooned. Like, fuck, I just stubbed my stupid toe, it’s not that serious. I mean yeah, I stubbed my toe and then almost fell into a table covered with candles in glass holders, but like, I didn’t fall, you caught me, please stop looking at me like you care. You can’t give me that much hope. It isn’t fair. And goddamnit I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Like, fuck it’s never sounded so good. This isn’t fair, why is this happening?

“Yeah, Henry I’m fine, just a stubbed toe. Thank you for…you know.” I gestured down to his arm, which was still around my waist. The sound of me bumping into the table drew the attention of the rest of my co-workers, however, who were now coming out of their various positions to see what was going on and to make sure no one had broken anything. Samantha popped her head in from the front room and Kelynn and Mira came out from the cashwrap with Pilar and walked to the edge of the third room to peek in. All they saw was me, blushing profusely, with Henry Cavill’s beefy-ass arm still wrapped around my fucking waist. “Everything’s fine guys. I promise.”

“Holy shit, is that…”

“Mira!”

“But Kelynn that’s fucking Superman!”

“You can’t cuss in front of him Mira, he’s a customer!”

“Will you guys cut it out? You’re embarrassing us in front of the hunky British dude!”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about we all pretend like this isn’t happening right now? Pilar can go back to the cashwrap, you two can go back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll go back to what I was doing, namely making a damn sale!” I extricated myself from Henry’s grasp so I could shoo them back towards the cashwrap. They turned and walked away, bewildered looks on their faces. I turned back to Henry who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his curls, leaving them messier than they were before. An errant one fell over his forehead and I wanted to brush it out of the way, but he just left it.

I walked over to the table that I was originally heading for and found the Spiced Apple Toddy Wallflowers. There wasn’t that many left, but there was still a tester. I grabbed it and spun around to bring it to him, assuming he hadn’t followed me, but as I turned, I found myself going face first into his massive chest. I put my unoccupied hand up to steady myself and pushed on his chest to force him back. He was just too close. Why was he so close? He opened his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. “Here. This is what I have in my bedroom right now, this is Spiced Apple Toddy.” Oh god, why did I say it like that? The one I have in my bedroom. Jesus Christ. He quirked his eyebrow at me and cocked his head to the side, smirking a little. Instead of taking the tester from me, he took my much smaller hand in his, guiding it up towards his face so the tester was close to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A serene smile spread across his face and I felt my face get hotter. He opened his eyes, looking down into mine. Fuck I could drown in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, I like that very much. You were right. I think that one’s my favourite.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #my first henry fic #fluff #unintentional bath and body works ad #be gentle

75 notes · View notes

nautiscarader · 3 years ago

Note

For day 7, how about Claudia and Callum "putting on a show" for Rayla? With Rayla occasionally giving suggestions or encouragement?

(Ao3)

Rayla confidently entered the chambers that until last year belonged just to Callum, and put a glass of moonberry wine on the night drawers. She couldn't obviously call it "hers", as no one so far has managed to invent bed with three sides, and that's how many people occupied this room...

Feeling refreshed after long bath, after an even longer day, she didn't even initially noticed lack of Callum and Claudia. The two should have been there, working on either a new piece of legislation, a spell, or just... warming up.

But fortunately, Rayla didn't have to last long. The other door opened, and her human lovers welcomed her with mischievous smiles drawing on their faces.

The Moonshadow Elf gently tugged her see-through nightgown and spread herself in the middle of the bed, wondering what the two have come up with. Though it's been more than a week, she still felt slightly sore from not one, but two magical cocks in her body...

- So, do you remember that play we went to last week? - Callum asked - Ugh - Rayla threw her head back - Dreadful. How come yer people say it's "the best love story"? Both of them die because of silly misunderstanding! I wish I could just shout at them... - Precisely! - Claudia interjected - We've been thinking the same thing. So...

The two stood in front of their bed, looking at her, and bowed courtly.

- Tonight we will be your actors. - And we will do what you command...

Rayla's lips curled and with another sip of wine, she sat up and got comfortable against her pillows.

- Okay... how about we fix that love story, eh? - she smiled - Kiss.

Claudia and Callum at once proceeded to enact her wish. Callum's hands closed around her waist, but hers were quicker to cup his cheeks, and the fact that she was taller than him made her lead the two into a heated union of their lips.

Rayla let out a satisfying moan, as her hand slipped between her legs, and watched as the two humans tangle their limbs, wishing for a more horizontal space...

- Push him against the wall!

Claudia didn't have to hear that order twice. Callum's eyes opened wide for a moment while his girlfriend pushed him forward, eager to undo his clothes. But she had to wait for Rayla's orders, and that knowledge alone made the moment so much more heated...

- Grab her ass!

It was time for Claudia to let out a yelp, as Callum's hands grabbed her buttcheeks, kneading them with each kiss the two exchanged in the heated battle against the wall.

- Okay, tell him it's yer first time! - Callum... - Claudia spoke in a would-be-innocent voice - I've never been with a man... - That's-that's fine... - he looked at Rayla, who encouraged him with a gesture of her hand - It's my first time too!

With another sip of wine, Rayla tapped the empty space in front of her.

- Come on, bring her here!

Claudia once more let out a surprising cry, when Callum's arms closed around and underneath her, and he pretended to carry her all the way to the bed in front of them.

Rayla gave the two a pillow, giving Claudia's head something to rest on, while she encouraged her to keep her legs spread.

- Alright, ye two, get yer clothes off!

She watched as their hands worked on several layers of their clothing, until she saw Claudia's lingerie from underneath her black robe, and the gentle , faint traces of muscles on Callum's chest.

- Kiss... kiss him.

Claudia followed, covering his slim physique with kisses, leaving traces of her lipstick, while the younger mage reached to unhook her bra.

- Ah, ah, no magic there!

Callum shot her with an icy stare, and stopped his fingers from producing air that usually helped him undo Claudia's lingerie. Rayla watched him fumble with it, as he moaned, while Claudia wandered lower and lower, her hands already revealing her desires.

- Oh, ye better swallow him whole. - Gazooks! Thine manhood is indeed enormous! - Claudia faked her surprise, mimicking the actress' accent and the writing style, already centuries old.

Claudia looked up and to the side, seeing utter confusion and consternation on Rayla and Callum's faces.

- Okay, Callum, ye know how to punish her for that.

Next thing she knew, Claudia's face was filled with Callum's musk, as the mage grabbed her head and unceremoniously shoved her onto his cock, bobbing her up and down.

From her perspective, Rayla could see droplets of Claudia's liquid wanton forming between her thighs, and her fingers producing more with each minute his cock spent between her lips.

Their joined moaning brought some out her too, as she mashed her four fingers against her, equally soaked lips, listening for the one change in volume she wanted to hear the most.

And as Claudia inevitably took charge, coiling her tongue around his length, and caressing his testicles, Callum's voice cracked, like it did a dozen of times.

- C-Claudia! - Make her swallow it! - Rayla yelled, as Callum's grip in her hair tightened

A moment later, she watched as Claudia's body jerked, and heard her gulp when first batch of Callum's seed filled her mouth. Her eyes widened, but the dark mage accepted the challenge, swallowing one creamy glob after another, while her mind slowly became bliss from the overwhelming amount of scent and smell...

Finally, Callum pulled her by her hair and let Claudia take a breath, just in turn for him to push her to her back.

- Yeah, use yer lips... - Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged, give me my sin again... - Callum quoted the play, much to Claudia's and Rayla's surprise. - Okay, yer definitely better than this. - Rayla added - Put that mouth to use.

Claudia let out a yelp, when his tongue slipped effortlessly inside her tight pussy, lapping at the liquid that coated her pussy, generating squishy noises that only made Rayla wish she was between the two. But her fingers must have sufficed for now, as she definitely knew what the last act of the play would contain.

She watched as Claudia's legs thrashed around Callum's head, while her fingers dug into his messy hair. With each moan of hers, she pushed him against her, as if she wanted to make him slide deeper, until her back arched, and the mage yelled her lover's name, coating his mouth with extra shiny layer of her juices she soon tasted with her own lips.

Meanwhile, Rayla's body contorted as well, as the moonshado elf fingered herself furiously.

- Claudia... - he coiled his arms around her naked body - Did my heart love till now? Forswear it- - C-come on, just fuck her!

Rayla cried, feeling her own oncoming orgasm, delayed by Callum's sudden urge to get into character.

- As you wish, my fair lady.

And with that, Claudia's legs were swung onto his shoulders, while the younger mage slipped inside her with a quick and sudden push, getting moans from both Claudia and Rayla. her bigger thighs closed around his back, and so did her arms, giving Rayla perfect view of his hips, performing erratic, fast thrusts.

He was already balls-deep inside her, and yet, with each one, he seemed to be diving deeper into Claudia, pushing her into the soft royal bedding that responded to his frantic moves.

At the same time, Rayla imagined Callum doing it to her, then, with another blink of an eye, Claudia in his place, and finally, both of them tending to her in the most aggressive of ways, and she felt the first spark of pleasure in her loins...

- Claudia! - Callum gasped, as he heard their lecherous voices - I'm-I'm gonna- - Inside!

Callum heard Rayla's voice, between her own moans, as she almost succumbed to her own climax.

- Cum inside her, Callum! That's-that's the whole point of the play! To tie yer two families together...

Rayla watched as Callum's eyes widened for a moment, before turning to Claudia, receiving the same lustful gaze.

- You've heard her... Do it, Callum...!

At that proclamation, Callum's body arched and his hips thrust spastically, as first batch of his seed deep into Claudia's pussy, listening to both her moans, as well as high-pitched babbling of Rayla, whose body began shaking with her climax that overtook her.

Claudia's lips met his, and her legs tightened around his ass, just in case Callum wanted to deny their mistress' orders to seed her. Watching them engage in this deeply animalistic ritual, as Callum's testicles squirmed with each dose of his royal sperm, Rayla reached her peak and the two got a few droplets of her come that sprayed the bed, just in time for their hastened climaxes to subside.

With her pussy full of Callum's potent warmth, Claudia softened her grip, allowing her prince to slip out, perhaps just to watch how much Rayla's taunts made him cum. And the perpetrator herself rolled to her side to watch Callum's cream ooze out of Claudia's twitching pussy in a small avalanche of love.

- Thank you, that was... amazing performance... - Rayla clapped gently, and her two actors bowed, or as much as they could, given their positions.

But t wasn't enough for her. Though her legs were weak, the elven assassin proved her speed by rushing between Claudia's tights to sample a bit of it, and then lick the rest of Callum's cock, finally choosing to become part of their show. She kissed Claudia first, sharing some of Callum's seed, and then with the prince himself.

The two women laughed when he squinted, tasting himself on her lips.

- Oh, sure yer don't like it, but we are supposed to... - I certainly like it. - Claudia countered, licking her finger - You can almost taste how potent he is... - Uh, speaking of, uh, it... - Callum asked, somewhat sheepishly - That-that last bit was all for show, right?

He looked at Claudia, hoping to receive clear answer, but she only smiled in return, turning her head towards Rayla.

- Well, it's a good thing I drank my potion before the show, or my fate would be in your hands... - Yer mean his balls. - Rayla joked, sipping her wine - Callum wouldn't have the will to pull out... - Hey, come on! I-I can do it if I realise I'd have to...

But the two burst into laughter, before consoling him with another batch of kisses that quickly were returned with equal strength.

- The question is, who's gonna be next? - Rayla asked, coiling between the two - Are me and Callum gonna give ye a show, or will he watch us doing something special just for him? - I think the latter! - Claudia replied, and Callum's eyes sparkled

Her eyes met with Rayla's and soft, sly smirk appeared on their faces in shared understanding. Callum didn't know that unlike Rayla, he was gonna have his hands restrained...

#raydium #Callum/Claudia/Rayla #lemon #smutember #day 7 #aged-up characters and all that #nautiscaraderfics #smutember 2021 #smutember2021

4 notes · View notes

anxiouslynumbme · 4 years ago

Text

Carmuel Missing Scenes/Moments

Warning: (Explicit Sexual Situations, Strong Language.)

3x08 - Part 2

_______________________________________________________

Romantic love was a peculiar notion, the reality of being in love was more brutal than people liked to acknowledge. Everyone - well, most people - wanted it, sought it, obsessed over it. And then the some that were lucky enough to have obtained it, usually ended up ruing the day they'd found it.

And so that had raised the age-old question, is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at at all?

Was there a right answer? Both scenarios sounded incredibly depressing to Samuel.

But Samuel knew that as painful as loving Carla was, it didn't even touch the blissful intoxication she filled him with. Nothing compared to her. Nothing and no one could make him feel this much, this constant rapturous high she had him hooked on. She was addictive.

And Carla saying I love you to him - that was a whole new level of addiction. A dangerous fucking addiction. And Samuel was already a junkie.

I love you, Samuel.

Her words rang and vibrated through the air around them, stifling his ability to breathe, his body was rendered useless, his mouth unable to speak, his mind utterly blank. Samuel was barely aware of the deafening silence that took over. Were there words to describe what he was feeling? Samuel was at a loss. He couldn't find any.

All he could think, hear, feel, was the heart-stopping, mind-bending repetition of her voice in his head. His heart.

I love you, Samuel.

Samuel's heart was going ballistic, thumping and thrashing wildly in its cage, seemingly incapable of comprehending the words.

"Samuel?" Carla's wary voice smashed into his brain, resulting in a sharp inhale to deliver the much needed oxygen into his lungs.

Please, say it again, his greedy heart pounded with an unspoken plea. Say it again. Say it again. Say it again. Just one more time so he could make sure it was real, so it could sink in. So he could believe it and revel in it and never feel hopeless again. Please, Carla, say it again.

But his mouth wasn't cooperating. His still, wide eyes, were probably starting to make Carla uncomfortable.

Speak, you fucking moron, he angrily scolded himself.

"Shit, Samuel, I'm sorry, I - I shouldn't have said that."

The hopeless organ in his chest ceased its incessant, loud beating.

What?

Wait. No. Fuck, no. She was sorry?

And just like that, his world fractured into a humiliated and rigid focus. Carla was sorry.

Why did she say it then? Why the fuck would she do that to him? It didn't make sense. Even if Carla didn't love him, Samuel knew her care for him ran deep and strong. Carla would never say something like that - something she was well aware he unapologetically craved to hear from her - without actually meaning it.

But Samuel's high-strung emotions were in charge and his brain couldn't keep up with them long enough to rationalize Carla's behavior. All Samuel knew in that moment was that he needed to get away, she could explain later. After he recovered from the emotional whiplash she'd just given him.

He was suddenly feeling claustrophobic, her skin on his was scorching and suffocating and as gently as he could, he pried her off, and then he was out of the the bed before either of them could blink, reaching for his boxers and slipping them on quickly.

"Samuel, wait - where are you going? "

"I - I just need to," he stammered pathetically, walking mindlessly toward the door. "To take a shower."

His wobbly legs carried him out of the room hastily as he tried to steady himself.

He did end up in the shower, because no matter how rattled he was, Samuel wasn't just gonna leave his house while Carla was still there. He still couldn't gather himself well enough to breathe properly.

It was in his nature to dive in hard and fast when he loved someone, he tended to go a little crazy, a little intense and obsessed. Samuel had once thought he was in love with Marina, Samuel had wanted her so badly that he had willfully stayed with her when, deep down, he was aware of her lack of interest. But Samuel had now realized that he wasn't in love with Marina, and it was because of Carla, he was sure of that. Nothing he had ever felt for someone came close to how Samuel felt about Carla. Because Once, love, the love seeps into the bones and unfurls and grows around every inch of skin and swirls intimately with blood until they're one. Then discovery would hit and true knowledge is born on the different types of love one could feel.

And Samuel's love for Carla was otherworldly, it was consuming and whole and unlike anything he felt for anyone in his life. He didn't even know when it happened, it crept up on him.

Samuel sighed shakily, his head thrown back as the comforting hot spray of water rained on him, washing his body and surrounding him safely, as though being under the shower-head was protecting him from what - who - was waiting outside that bathroom door.

Samuel tried to appease his soul and tell himself that it was okay if she didn't mean to say it, that whatever her explanation was going to be, he could take it.

I love you, Samuel.

"Fuck," he muttered in irritation, her voice was stuck in his head. Samuel couldn't take it, he wouldn't be able to. No matter what Carla ended up saying, it was going to cut him open.

A creak of a door opening snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Samuel's skin prickled and his body instantly stiffened with attention, the air around him sizzling with her presence. Even under water, her scent wafted to his nostrils enticingly in the small bathroom, it thrilled and alarmed him all the same. His back was to her and he couldn't get his body to whirl around and face her, unsure of what he was going to do.

Devouring her was the most likely outcome, but Samuel's heart was also demanding answers. An explanation he wasn't ready to hear. Because the only thing worse than Carla not loving him back, was her saying she did, and then regretting it.

Her timid, quiet steps were faintly heard, and Samuel knew she must've stopped moving, 'cause it was a narrow bathroom and she should've reached him by now. Samuel didn't know how long he stood there frozen, until he could finally sense her behind him, her soft breaths tickling his skin.

Her lips gently grazed his shoulder and Samuel exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Please stop saying that."

Another kiss, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke softly. "Samuel, I know that you probably didn't want to - "

"Didn't want what," he cut her off, his voice low. "Didn't want to hear the girl I'm in love with to finally tell me she loves me back, only to regret it and take it back? Not something I'd ask for, no."

Carla's breath caught noticeably, and he felt her blanch. A few seconds and she slowly folded her arms around his torso, lips meeting his shoulder again.

"I don't regret it and I'm not taking it back, you idiot," she said it so quietly, he almost didn't hear her.

Something bloomed in his chest, his heart skipping beats left and right at her affirmation. She loved him. "Why are you sorry, then?"

Carla hesitated, guilt lacing her tone as she answered. "Because I'm leaving."

Samuel's eyes squeezed shut at the reminder. He was so engulfed in her bubble, that for one stupid moment he'd forgotten that one important, gut-wrenching fact. She was right, she probably shouldn't have said it. Knowing Carla loved him and then losing her again was fate's worst way of tormenting him. But fuck it all to hell, if he didn't want to hear her say it again.

Her confession did make things ten times more painful. But Samuel had heard it, he'd watched as her beautiful mouth formed the words that were now deeply ingrained and ingested in his veins. And he wouldn't change the moment for anything.

Samuel gently started turning around, needing to see her face, her arms dropping from his waist once he was facing her, their eyes meeting head on.

"You are. Not really the best time to finally admit your feelings, is it?" he smiled sadly.

Carla shook her head, eyes lowering. "I'm sorry, Samuel."

Fuck, it broke him when she said that.

"If you ever apologize to me for telling me you love me again, Carla, I won't speak to you for at least a month," he said, only half joking. A desolate wave spiked through him, aware that they probably wouldn't communicate much in the future anyway.

Her lips quirked slightly. "You won't be able to go that long."

Hmm, she knew him too well.

"True." he chuckled lightly, fully aware that his stare was transparently worshiping and adoring. Samuel knew it wasn't their time, it might never be their time. But he was in love with her and Samuel wasn't gonna spend the last two days with her, hiding and denying.

"I love you," he told her, earnest and unwavering.

"I love you too." Carla swallowed, her gaze so bare, so vulnerable, it made his chest ache. The kiss that followed was the softest and slowest they'd ever shared, their lips seemed to push and pull at a relishing pace. Everything was entirely too vibrant, he didn't care how corny it made him, but Samuel's senses were heightened, he could feel everything around him in a much clearer light. He could smell the water, hear every single drop as it cascaded down his spine and onto the stall floor, his eyes were digesting the world differently.

Their embrace was rapidly veering into a passionate crescendo, Samuel's lips were burning and hungry, parting her mouth open for him, his tongue rolling deliriously with hers.

"I missed you so much," he breathed into her, his emotions making him shiver, pouring out of him openly and unashamedly.

"I love you," she gasped, gripping his hair tightly as his arms clutched at her waist.

Samuel didn't see himself ever getting used to hearing that, each time the profound admission left her lips, it struck him harder and bled into him deeper. It was overwhelming.

You won't even have the chance to get used to it, she's not yours, she never will be, a brutal, truthful voice suddenly blared in his head.

No.

Samuel held her with a fierce need, with possessive intention, his kisses turning desperate and his arms seizing her to him forcefully, trying to suppress his fear. Rotating her around, her back hit the wall, the water now gushing over them both, enclosing them in a world of their own, a world where he got to choose their fate, got to choose their ending, and so they didn't leave that stall until Samuel had showed Carla, in every way he could, just how much he loved her.

_______________________________________________________

Waking up next to Carla's sleeping figure had made its way to Samuel's top three favorite things quite some time ago. But this time was different, it was peaceful, honest and strangely normal. This time, there were no games, no lies, no pretense. No ulterior motive.

Carla slept like she did everything else in her life, with elegance and grace. Her body was perfectly still, arms aligned with her waist as her hands rested on her stomach, hair placed impeccably on the pillow. If Samuel didn't know her as well as he did, he would've said she was uncomfortable. But her face was free of worry, utterly calm and relaxed, Samuel smiled, his thumb stroking her cheek gently.

His fingertips slowly slid down her neck, tracing the impossibly soft skin, his hand stopped at her upper breast, gently caressing the tantalizing flesh. Samuel felt his dick hardening considerably, and when Carla shifted in her slumber, he decided to get up before it got too creepy.

After taking a quick shower, he started preparing them something to eat, Samuel was getting a plate for the toast he'd made, when he heard her dainty footsteps behind him.

"Good morning," she said.

"You mean afternoon, I was getting worried there - " Samuel's words caught in his throat at the vision that greeted him when he'd turned around.

Carla was wearing his shirt. She was wearing nothing but his shirt. And it was the hottest she'd ever looked, and that was saying fucking something. Despite all the times they'd had sex and spent the night together, she'd never worn his clothes. Her hair was wet, indicating the shower she must've taken, and she was wearing a clean shirt of his. The image of Carla going through his drawers to get a shirt was so domestic and so unlike them, it caused Samuel's heart to hammer loudly.

"What?"

Samuel couldn't pin-point exactly what it was, but as usual, she was invoking a very primal side of him. His eyes took their time scanning her exposed smooth legs, her taut creamy thighs that he wanted to bury his head in between. Then his grey shirt, loose and big on her but he could still see the outline of her full breasts and hard nipples. He wanted to fuck her while she was wearing his shirt, that wasn't weird, was it?

"You know, for someone who's seen me naked many times, you're drooling like you've just found out about boobs."

Well, that was how he felt.

His eyes flew to hers, lust thrumming through him. "Come here."

"Tsk, tsk. Demanding," she said, strutting toward him. Once she was within reach, Samuel snatched her by the waist, her chest colliding with his harshly as he swallowed her soft gasp with his lips.

"Is it the shirt?" she asked knowingly.

"You wore it on purpose."

"No, what else was I supposed to wear?" she said, batting her eyelashes. "Do you like it?"

He smirked, grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up on the small table in the middle of the kitchen, before stepping between her legs. "I love it. In fact, from now on, you should share my wardrobe."

She tilted her head, mouth curling slightly. "Samuel, I love you, but your clothes are just too plain for me."

She said it so matter-of-fact, so naturally that Samuel almost missed it. He was going to have heart failure at this rate, she was trying to kill him. He groaned lowly, his fingers slotting through her hair and bringing her luscious lips to his.

"And I love you," he husked.

"I know."

"Good. So add a few of my t-shirts to your closet."

Carla laughed melodically, her hands resting for a second on his chest before shoving him back roughly, Samuel couldn't stop his body from stumbling as he hit the counter opposite her. Carla's smile was full of promise as she hopped off the table, stalking towards him seductively. Samuel tried to even his breath when she finally stood right in front of him, her fingers teasing the waistband of his sweats.

"I wouldn't rule it out," she whispered, before dropping to her knees and Samuel chocked on his spit.

"Carla, wh- " he was sure his eyes looked comically wide, his brain was scrambled from the sight alone, Carla peering up at him sultrily. "What are you doing?"

All of Samuel's erotic moments were with her, and while Carla had definitely given him a blowjob before, it was never like this. Never in this position. Never in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight. Never after lighthearted jokes and professions of love. The first time she had ever done this, Samuel remembered thinking that he was going to die. Happily.

This time was no different, seeing Carla like this, on her knees, caused his throat to go completely dry, his blood was pounding in his ears as his palms gripped the counter behind him for dear life.

Grabbing the top of his sweatpants, Carla slid them down painstakingly slow, taking her time to caress his bulge on the way. Once she saw he wasn't wearing underwear underneath, she looked up at him, eyes filled with desire.

"Carla," he hissed through his teeth, feeling as though his skin was burning from the inside out, his whole body twitching with anticipation, their eyes were steadily connected, making the experience even more sensual.

But then Carla's eyes seemed to focus on her mission to ruin him as she very lightly peppered kisses on his thighs, right next to where he needed her, Samuel's hips jerked in reaction.

"Please, Carla, fuck."

Carla was quiet and deliberate. The naughty, smug smirk on her lips was the only indication she was aware of his desperation.

Finally, her tongue dragged up his length before circling the the tip expertly, Samuel's hips bucked again as he whimpered. Carla's palm gripped him tighter, lips fully wrapping around and sucking the head.

"Shit - fuck!" he groaned loudly, eyes fighting to stay open.

When Carla hollowed out her cheeks and started descending on him slowly, Samuel couldn't stop his hand from sliding through her hair and tugging gently, eliciting a hum from Carla and Samuel's cock to weep from the vibration.

Carla went slow, breathing through her nose as she swallowed every inch down until he bumped the back of her throat, and now Samuel's vocabulary was reduced to only her name. He couldn't look away, despite the need to shut his eyes. Samuel needed her eyes.

Her head started moving at steady pace, her mouth taking him in and out with intensity, while her palm jerked off any part that wasn't blessed with her mouth. Samuel's yanks on her hair weren't so gentle anymore, but Carla didn't seem to mind as she let out a soft moan. Samuel's world spun and collapsed around him, his eyes finally closing as a deep growl left the back of his throat.

"Fuck, Carla."

And just after a few bobs of her head, her tongue licking and sucking with vigor, Samuel was done for. His stomach tightened uncontrollably, his thighs shaking with his impending release.

"Carla, shit...I'm coming," he warned her with a low whine.

Carla's motions only got faster, more determined, making his body quiver with fervor. His eyes glanced down catching hers with unadulterated want, his fingers clutching her hair tightly. Samuel's lower abdomen flexed rapidly, as he grunted gruffly, his orgasm railing over him, unforgiving and unrelenting.

Samuel's flushed body lulled, slumping backwards as he let go of Carla's hair. His eyes glazed and half shut in pleasure, hands back to gripping the counter, unsure if his knees would be able to carry him in the next few minutes.

Carla gently tucked him back into his sweats and the act was just as intimate as what had just transpired between them, and Samuel's insides buzzed with warm affection.

He was vaguely aware of Carla moving about the kitchen. "You okay there, handsome?"

"I don't -" his jaw was almost too relaxed to open itself. "I think you broke my brain."

Carla chuckled heartily. "Wasn't it always broken?"

His head whipped in her direction, feeling himself silently singing with her good mood, playful Carla was something to behold. Samuel slowly straightened up and sauntered toward her.

"What was that?"

"What?" her eyes sparkled at him.

"What did you just say?"

"I say a lot of things."

"The most recent thing," he told her, his arms circling her waist, pulling her closer.

"Your clothes are ugly,"

Samuel squinted at her. "My clothes are amazing, stop lying."

"You do pull them off. . .sometimes."

Samuel's fingers pinched her hips and Carla let out a squeal. "Samuel!"

"What did you say, Carla?"

"Um, you have a lovely penis?"

A huge smile took over his red-tinted face. "No, that is not what you said."

"I was thinking it." she winked.

"Stop being cheeky, Carla,"

"I just gave you a compliment."

"And I thank you very much. Now what did you say?"

"Fine," she sighed dramatically. "I implied you were born with a broken brain."

"And is that true?"

She rolled her eyes. "No."

"That's right. You're the culprit, Carla. My brain was perfectly fine and then you came in and turned it into mush." and he was definitely not just talking about the blowjob.

Her lips gave a crooked, proud grin. "I kinda did."

"Hmm," he confirmed, his nose nudging hers softly. "Now I'd like to break yours."

His lips slammed against hers, tongue slipping inside in search of hers. Samuel hitched his shirt up, his fingers touching the enticingly exposed skin of her stomach, he traced ever line, every inch as their lips devoured each other. Samuel's hand finally reached the place he wanted to ravish the most, aching to taste her.

And his phone chose that moment to blast loudly across the kitchen.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Fuck, no."

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Samuel groaned in annoyance, releasing Carla and reaching for his phone. Once he saw it was an unknown number, he recognized who was the caller and his dick softened instantly.

"Hello, Mom," he greeted, Carla leaving his side.

"Samuel, how are you, honey?"

"I'm good, how's everything with you?"

"We're doing fine, just really wanted to hear your voice."

"It's nice to hear your voice, too, Mom. You're okay, right?"

"Yes, just wanted to make sure you remember our video chat, we'll send you the exact time later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I can't wait till I can see you face to face, my love," she said, and Samuel could hear her holding back tears.

"Me too."

"And we will. We'll be together again, Samu, things just have to calm down first."

"I know, I understand."

"I love you so much, Samu."

"I love you too."

"Take care of yourself."

"You too. Be safe."

And then his mother's voice was gone, and just like after every phone call, Samuel felt a heaviness settle on his chest as he looked down at the picture on his phone of all three of them, smiling and happy.

Carla came back to her spot next to him, her chin resting on his shoulder, staring down with him. "It's a great picture."

"Thank you."

"One way or another, you'll see them again, Samuel. Trust me," she said so confidently that Samuel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope.

"I know. One day."

"Soon," she insisted.

He smiled, feeling lighter. "Soon."

Just as he was about to turn to kiss her, his phone dinged with a message from Rebe.

Rebeca: I think it's time we meet up and have ourselves a real chat, kid.

Samuel sighed, looking at the message, he'd missed his friend. He still talked to Rebeca, they weren't as mad at each other anymore, but they were definitely not as close as they used to be. Carla had stilled slightly beside him and Samuel knew she'd read it too. He had an inkling it had something to do with the talk she'd had with Rebe at graduation. Of course Samuel had noticed, no matter how drunk or angry he had been, he'd seen them talk and had taken note of Carla's change in demeanor afterwards.

"You're still not talking?" came Carla's cautious question.

"No, we talk, just not as often as before."

"Samuel, you know it wasn't entirely her fault, I think I would've found a way to get a fix from anyone."

His jaw ticked. "But it was her. She sold it to you."

"Samuel."

"Look, I'm not saying she meant to harm you, but she shouldn't have been selling drugs at all. She'd promised me she'd stop. Valerio stopped, he knew what was going on with you, they both did, and he didn't sell it you. Why did she? Why you?"

"Maybe she wasn't thinking clearly that day."

"What do you mean?"

Carla heaved a breath, shaking her head at him. "She was upset, Samuel. Because of you...and me."

Samuel blinked in confusion. "What are you saying? That she did it just because she was jealous?" he asked incredulously.

Carla simply shrugged.

He could understand Rebe's jealousy and anger, he was a terrible boyfriend to her, but it obviously didn't mean she was justified in selling Carla drugs, it sounded petty to him. "That doesn't make it okay."

"I know. But people do dumb shit when they're heartbroken, Samuel. You know that."

He did. Even if Samuel could never understand why Rebe had thought that giving Carla drugs was going to achieve anything, she was sad and had made a very stupid move.

"Is that what you talked about at graduation?"

Carla's eyes flitted to his in surprise. "What?"

"I saw you talk."

"Yeah, she was just apologizing."

"So nothing else?"

"Nothing important."

"It seemed like something happened - "

"What is this, Samuel? Are you trying to supervise my conversations or something?"

Samuel narrowed his eyes, there was something Carla wasn't telling him. She was being a bit too defensive.

"Calm down. I'm simply asking if by any chance that conversation had something to do with the fact that one second you looked at me as though you wanted me, and then all of a sudden you were pulling back."

Carla let out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, that might've had something to do with my ex-boyfriend dying, sorry, I wasn't up for fucking you after that."

This was all wrong. The previously tranquil mood had now dispersed completely and it was Samuel's fault. He was curious, that was all, but apparently something he'd said had struck some kind of nerve he was unaware of.

"Carla, why are you angry? I wasn't trying to - I just wanted to know if Rebe had said something to you that. . .listen, it's not important, okay? Let's just Forget it."

Samuel wanted things to delve back into their peaceful state. He wanted to go back to kissing her, they'd had enough fights and she was leaving in less than two days, there was no way they were going to spend it like the last few months.

"We did talk about you," Carla admitted quietly, not looking at him. "she seems to think you'd do anything for me."

"She's not wrong," was Samuel's instant reply.

"I don't think it was meant in the positive sense."

He frowned. "What?"

"You were so willing to take that bottle, Samuel."

"Just as much as everyone else."

"Not only then. Before everything, in the bathroom, you wanted to take it from me."

"What else was I supposed to do? Let you cover up another murder? You're lucky, Carla, but not lucky enough to get away with it twice."

She flinched visibly. "It was my decision to go find that bottle, to help Lu. It had nothing to do with you."

An exasperated sigh left Samuel, Carla was still on the same bullshit as before. How could she still not understand that love came with a price. Everything she did affected him, worried him, encompassed and ensnared him. Everything about her was his business, whether either of them liked it or not. He couldn't fucking help it.

"You involve yourself, you involve me."

Carla's eyes widened. "That is not how it works!"

"It's how it works for me," he bit out.

"Fuck, Samuel," she said tiredly, rubbing her temples in distress. "it's a good thing I'm leaving then."

A whoosh of air was knocked out of him, the implication of her words piercing right through him with cruelty. What was she getting at exactly? That he was so smothering and so insufferable that she was happy to get away from him, or was it something else. It didn't matter. The necessity and the reality of Carla leaving didn't need the connotation of enjoyment. He wanted her to be happy and excited, but that wasn't the case, it felt like she'd been thinking about the whole situation with more than one lens. Her decision might've been made with him in mind.

"Samuel - "

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," she averted her eyes, gnawing at her bottom lip. "I just - I don't like that you're so ready to cross so many lines for me. That's not you, Samuel. I don't want you to risk your future. . .your life. Awful things happen to anyone close to me, Samuel, I'm always there in the middle of it all, and I don't want you there with me."

At those words, the tremble in her voice, Samuel's wounded heart broke even further. His eyes found hers, and he could feel the weight she was carrying in them. Samuel steadied himself enough to step closer to her.

He cupped her cheeks gently. "I'm there because I want to be."

"No, Samuel - "

"Carla," he cut her off gently. "Listen to me, you're not responsible for my decisions. My wanting to take that bottle from you was because I wanted to protect you. Because I'm in love with you and there's not much you can do about that, is there?" he smiled at her tenderly.

Carla's smile was forced and he could see the gears whirring in her head, and he hated it. Samuel wished he could read her mind, know what was running through it that made her so scared and apprehensive, so he could stop it.

"Carla, of all the things to overthink and worry about, this is not one of them. Please don't tell me you think that you going away is somehow good for me or for the best."

Samuel wanted Carla to be happy, he wanted her to study abroad and experience a new life on her own terms. But not like this, not if she thought, on any level, that he wanted her to leave.

"No, that's not why." Carla smiled reassuringly. "But maybe time away is good. . .for both of us."

A knife twisted in his gut, his heart protesting the idea of Carla being away from him was, in any way, good. But Samuel silenced his bruised soul, because she was right. Their relationship was attached to one horrifying event after the other, it was tainted from the start. They needed to let go and grow into something else, something better.

"Yeah, maybe."

_______________________________________________________

The next day, Samuel was anxiously staring at the clock on the wall for more than one reason. Carla had left shortly after their somber conversation yesterday, she wanted to arrange a few things before leaving and needed to change out of his clothes, which Samuel had been childishly against. After thoroughly feasting on her, he'd finally let her go with the promise of seeing her again the following day.

But now Samuel was looking at the time because the video chat he'd had with his family was supposed to take place ten minutes ago. And Samuel was worried, imagining a hundred different scenarios on what could've gone wrong.

Finally the cracked screen of his old laptop lit up with a message that they were calling, Samuel eagerly accepted the call. He beamed at the faces of his mother and brother, his heart rushing with affection for them.

"Hi, honey!"

"Samu! How are you, little brother?"

"I'm good. Are you guys doing all right?"

"Yes, we're still getting used to everything," Nano said.

"Yeah, the people here are really nice and welcoming." his mother grinned.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Have you been eating well?" his mother asked typically. "You look so thin, sweetheart."

Of course she thought that, Samuel huffed, even though his heart warmed at his mother's concern.

"Yes, Mom, I'm eating well."

"Oh, Samu, I miss you so much." his mother's voice was pained and all he wanted to do was hug her.

"Listen, Samu," his brother started. "We've been talking and Mom will be coming back to Madrid soon."

"Really? What about you?"

"I can handle myself, Samu. I'll be fine."

"So will I. Mom, you agree with this?"

She smiled sadly. "All I want is for all of us to be together. But I don't know when that will happen. And Samu, I need to be with you after everything."

Samuel sighed. "Mom, I'm fine. Both of you will come back soon, okay?"

Nano sent their mother a meaningful look that made Samuel nervous as he observed their silent communication.

"Samu," his mother said abruptly. "I got you a few hoodies that you will love, I'm gonna get them right now."

After she'd left, Samuel dubiously looked at his brother. "What's wrong?"

"Samu." Nano puffed out a long breath. "I don't think - I don't know if I'd ever come back."

"Ever? I thought you just needed time to let the dust settle."

"Yes, but I told you I can't trust those cops, Samu. And I don't know if I want to come back, honestly. The memories can be too much sometimes."

Marina.

Samuel's stomach sank. "I know, trust me. But do you really mean never?"

Nano smiled. "Little brother, we'll see each other again, I promise you that. So this is not forever. I just don't think it'll be soon."

Samuel's eyes lowered with disappointment. "Okay, but Mom should stay with you, Nano."

"No, Samu, you need her. You've been through a lot, kid."

"I'm okay, I swear. You need her more, Nano,"

"Samu, don't argue with me."

"Yes, I will, I'll talk to Mom, she'll see it my way."

"I think I already got to her."

Samuel gave him half a grin. "No, she always listens to me and you know it."

"Why are you all dressed up? You going out?" Nano asked suddenly.

Samuel looked down at his attire, it wasn't necessarily nice. It was just his favorite buttoned down blue shirt. Samuel wanted to take Carla out. A first date. But then they both seemed to decide against it, they couldn't afford not being alone. As much as they both wanted to go out for dinner like Carla once had mentioned, Samuel wanted her to himself, he didn't even want to share her with strangers. So Samuel had suggested to give them their dinner date right here.

Samuel's cheeks heated. "Don't change the subject, Nano."

"I'm not, but you are right now. This is the shirt you wear when you want to impress a girl, Samu."

"What? no it's not!"

"Yes, it is. I bought it with you!"

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

Nano beamed widely. "Ooh, you little shit. There's a girl. Who's the lucky chick?"

Everything halted as Samuel was hit with the reminder of how Nano felt about Carla. He hated her. Samuel's fists curled in anger as he remembered how his brother had attacked Carla at Halloween.

"I don't really think it's any of your concern." Samuel's tone was a dead giveaway to who was the girl in question and he didn't give a shit.

Nano's expression immediately morphed into one of hatred and disgust as he caught on. "Samuel, no."

"Don't, Nano. Just don't."

"Don't what? Knock some sense into you! Samu, that girl is poisonous, she infects everything - "

"Do not talk about her like that! You have no idea who she is."

"I do actually. She's the girl who protected a murderer. Someone who killed her friend! She's a manipulative liar. She's the reason we're not together right now."

"And you have no fucking idea why she'd done all those things! She didn't want to, she had to. So stop, because I won't let you say another word about her."

"I don't need to know why! There's always a choice. Isn't that what you believe, Samu? Not when it comes to her, I assume. She's molded you into what she wants."

A ball of ire was churning inside him, his jaw ticking as he tried to rein in his rage. "What you're insinuating is disgusting. You know nothing about our relationship."

"Relationship?" Samuel could see Nano's bewilderment even through the terrible connection. "Are you kidding me? What kind of sick -"

"Shut the fuck up, Nano."

" - twisted shit is this? You can't believe - "

"I love her, all right? I'm in love with her."

Silence fell over them. Nano's face was one of disbelief and shock. "What? Samu, no you don't, she - "

"What now, you're gonna say she manipulated me into loving her? You know, you're lucky you're not here, Nano." Samuel seethed, unable to hold it in.

"Samuel, calm down - "

"But I guess you'll get what you want anyway. She's leaving. She's going away. So no worries, asshole."

Samuel's devastation was evident on his face, and Nano's features suddenly softened.

"Samuel, I'm sorry, but I don't - "

Samuel wasn't listening to this anymore.

"Tell Mom I'll call her later. We're done here."

And then Samuel slammed his laptop shut. He sighed running a frustrated hand though his hair, he tried taking calming breaths. A part of him understood where his brother was coming from, but it didn't excuse the way he talked about Carla, the way he demeaned her and belittled their relationship. He was an outsider, just like anyone who still didn't fully comprehend the nature of Samuel and Carla together. Samuel himself had a hard time figuring it out and he was a part of it. Whether it made sense or not was never the issue, they just were, they happened, and it was too good to ever question it, and Samuel was too grateful to have her, to wonder why.

Blocking out the dread that had surrounded him, Samuel jumped eagerly to add final touches for his dinner plans with Carla. She was going to be here soon and that was all he needed to focus on. Right on cue, his phone lit up with her name.

Carla : On my way. 10 minutes.

Samuel smiled, looking at the display he'd worked all day on and nodded with satisfaction. This was as decent as he could make it. Quickly going back inside the apartment before Carla arrived, he took a hurried survey of his appearance in the mirror, his fingers anxiously fixing his hair.

He was being irrational, Carla was going to enjoy herself, they both were. No reason to be this nervous. No reason to think about the fact that this was their first and last date. No reason to think about the fact that he wouldn't get a do-over if he fucked it up. No reason to think about her departure from his life.

As thou, Carla or the universe knew that he was about to lose it, Samuel heard the soft sound of her knock.

Swallowing back the nerves, he inhaled sharply before twisting the doorknob open. Carla stood, smiling, arms crossed elegantly, looking as stunning as ever. She wore a beautiful blue dress that reached her mid thighs, it was form-fitting and accentuated her breasts.

"We're matching." she chuckled.

"Huh?" he asked absentmindedly, still dazed as his eyes drank their fill of her.

She gestured between them. "You know, blue."

"Right. Yeah."

She fixed him with a look. "Are you gonna move so I could come inside or...?"

Samuel smiled bashfully. "Sorry, but we're actually not eating inside."

"No?"

"Come with me."

Locking his door, Samuel started ascending the stairs that led to the roof of his building, he could sense Carla's confusion as she followed behind him. Staring at the beige door in from of him, Samuel took a final deep breath before swinging it open wide.

Stepping inside first, he nervously whirled around to observe Carla's reaction, her eyes studying the scene closely.

Samuel had festooned the two walls opposite each other and the thick railing with red and orange twinkling lights. Stems and pedal of daisies and tulips garland the floor, including just a few on the table which had their dinner ready on it. The candles he lit were decorated on four stools around the table in the middle of the roof, encasing it in an atmospheric glow that created a romantic vibe, or so he hoped.

But Samuel had to give a lot of credit to mother nature in that moment, because the moon was full and so clearly visible in the night sky, it only enhanced and amplified everything else below it.

Carla hadn't said anything and Samuel was trying hard not to let it get to him. He was having a very difficult time monitoring his mouth, his lips itching to say something, justify his cheesy actions that were now embarrassing him greatly.

"I know it's dumb and very cliche and overdone. But I just thought it'd be nice."

"Samuel."

"We could just go back inside, that'd be cool."

"Samuel."

"And what's worse, I know that you'd probably had, like, a lot of guys doing this for you."

"Yeah. So it's really nice that this time actually means something."

Samuel's eyes flicked to hers and they were trapped under the fondness of her gaze, the honesty, the love. His stomach flipped tirelessly as he tried to contain the urge to envelope her in his arms and never let her leave.

"Really?"

"It's you. It means a lot," she said, approaching him slowly. "This is great, Samuel. Thank you."

The most beautiful green eyes gleamed at him and Samuel could vividly see himself looking into them for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't be enough. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, Samuel kissed her, trying and failing to quiet down his unattainable desires.

"What are we eating?" Carla asked, lifting a perfect brow, letting him know that she already had the answer.

He played along. "What do you think?"

"Uh - I don't know, soup and salad?"

"No."

"Well, I'm all out of guesses."

"Come along, then." he caught her hand, tugging her forward toward the table. "We're eating - drum roll, please - macaroni!"

"Wow, that is shocking."

"Come on, it's not gonna be that bad."

"I'm not complaining, you're the chef."

"I am, and that's why this is not reheated."

Carla eyed him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yep. Freshly made and very delicious."

"I'll be judge of that."

"Of course," Samuel smiled, gesturing to another pan on the table. "I also cooked us some healthy chicken."

"Healthy Chicken?"

"Only boiled with minimum salt, princess."

Carla rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

Samuel watched as Carla's fork found her mouth, her eyes widened a little, a surprised grin pulling at her lips.

"So what's the verdict?"

"Mmm, definitely surpassed my expectations."

"I Told you, next time you'll be amazed. I was right." Samuel couldn't stop smiling.

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say amazed," she teased.

"You're blown away and you know it."

"Blown away, am I?

"Yep. Now try the chicken."

She shook her head in amusement, grabbing a piece of chicken and taking a very small bite.

"Oh, Samuel." she grimaced.

"That bad?"

"You should stick to macaroni, which by the way, you still need to work on."

"It can't be that bad," Samuel defended, gulping down a bite of the boiled chicken himself. Oh. Oh, no, that did not taste right.

Samuel still managed to keep the cringe off of his face. "See? Delicious, went right down," he said with a short cough.

Carla cocked her head to the side. "Really? So no need to throw it back up?"

"Nope," he said, clearing his throat. "Best chicken I've ever had."

"Samuel, I'm pretty sure there's still blood in it."

"No, there's not," he said, examining the piece of chicken in front of him closely. "That's just sauce."

Carla laughed. "What sauce? You didn't use any!"

"You know, the natural sauce of chicken!"

Carla laughed harder and Samuel let his own joy out to join hers as they both guffawed over the atrocity before them.

"Okay, sorry, this is just horrible."

"It is. And don't be sorry, macaroni is all we need anyway," she said, eating another fork of said food with a smile.

A tingling sensation erupted all over his skin. "Yeah, should've known that nothing beats macaroni."

Carla regarded him thoughtfully. "You genuinely love it, don't you? It's like, your favorite food. You eat it all the time, you even bring it to school."

"I mean, yeah," he said, scratching his chin. "I think it's always been my favorite."

"Can I ask when did the love affair start?"

Samuel chuckled. "Uh, early childhood. I think it's because of my mom, she's not the best cook, but she always knew how to make a mean macaroni. That was what she'd always made for me and Nano when we were kids, and we used to hate it at the time.

"But then we learned to appreciate it. Mom was doing her best and at one point she worked two jobs to support us and had almost no time to do anything else for us. But she'd always made time to make macaroni and leave it in the fridge for us. Hence, why I actually love it reheated."

Samuel paused, smiling. "It's nostalgia, really. Whenever I eat it I just feel like I'm home, and I'm always transported back to all the times I came home after school and she wasn't there and it sucked, but then I'd find her macaroni in the fridge. She was thinking of me and that was enough, it made me feel loved."

Samuel stopped when he realized he was babbling, glancing at Carla out of the corner of his eyes shyly, to find that hers were glistening with tears.

"I'm sorry, Samuel."

"For what?"

"It's my fault they're not here."

"Carla, don't start that."

"You'd be together right now, if I had just stuck by the truth and testified."

Samuel sighed, hating the direction the conversation was headed, Nano's words still ringing in his ears. "Carla, you were protecting your family."

"And I shouldn't have. They were wrong. I was wrong. None of this would've happened, Samuel. Do you realize that?"

"Carla, they couldn't even find the murder weapon, your testimony probably wouldn't have mattered anyway."

Carla rose from her chair and Samuel instantly followed as she briskly walked to the railing overlooking the street.

"I shouldn't have lied, Samuel. A lot of things would probably be different right now. Your brother would be free and your family would be put back together. Polo would probably be in prison and not dead." she nearly chocked out the words.

Samuel couldn't handle the pain in her voice, his hand squeezing her shoulder and turning her to face him. Her eyes were haunted with guilt and sorrow, and Samuel was willing to do anything to never see that look in her eyes again.

"Carla, please don't. You'll drive yourself crazy thinking like that. It's done. It's over. What ifs could destroy you if you let them. Okay, you did what you had to - "

"God, Samuel," she interjected with agitation. "Don't excuse me. Don't make it seem like your life wasn't wrecked because of me. From the fucking start. I knew who did it while your brother rotted in jail."

"Jesus, Carla. Stop." why was she doing this? Samuel's lungs filled with anxiety as she spat out her burdens.

"No, Samuel, you stop. And just accept the truth of what I'd done. You should hate me."

"I don't." Samuel gritted his teeth. "I could never hate you. How can you say that to me? After everything."

"Samuel -"

"Enough, Carla. Whatever you wanna say, I don't care. That's always been my problem with you, I just don't care."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I know, Carla. You don't need to tell me, I fucking know. You don't have to recite the details of every bad thing you'd done. I know and I obviously don't care. I've never cared."

Before she could open her mouth to respond, his palms grasped her cheeks, forcing her to look into his eyes. "It won't change the way I feel about you. Nothing can."

"That doesn't mean you excuse it."

"I'm not excusing it. I'm saying that I understand, that I know you were scared and you did what you were forced into thinking was the best for your family, you were protecting them, and yes I hated it. But there's this really delightful concept called empathy."

"No, Samuel -"

"Shut up," he interrupted impatiently, capturing her lips.

"Samuel." she breathed against his lips. "Please just let me say sorry, don't tell me you understand or it's all right. Just let me apologize, okay?"

He smiled softly. "Okay."

She drew in a long breath. "I'm sorry, Samuel. I'm so sorry."

"I know, Carla. I'm sorry too."

The atmosphere shifted. Everything suddenly felt final. An end. This was what it was.

Samuel's chest thudded with sadness, because they were ending a chapter of their story. And the only problem was, there were no new chapters on the horizon, no new beginnings for them. It seemed they'd reached the last chapter of the book.

_______________________________________________________

Her blond locks flailed around her in waves as he twirled her back into his chest. The soft sound of the smooth, groovy guitar travelling to their ears as they swayed to it in the middle of his bedroom.

Samuel was immensely enjoying dancing with the definition of beauty in front of him, if he could, he'd dance with her until they dug his grave. But his heart knew he was delaying the sex part of their evening, because Samuel knew it was the last time, felt it in his bones. She felt it too.

Samuel couldn't look away from her, he never could, but tonight there was a fearful tick in the way his eyes followed her. And he tried to keep it at bay and focus on the good. The moment, this moment, she was right in front of him and his eyes were hungrily snapping mental images to store in his memories. It was disorienting to think about a future where he was going to look back at this moment and what, smile, feel sad, nostalgic?

"What was your very first impression of me?"

Her question startled him back into focus. "Uh, I didn't really know you enough to form an impression."

She wound her arms around his neck. "I know that. I just meant, from afar, before you got to peek behind the curtain, what did you think of me?"

Hot, rich, spoiled, reckless. But beyond that, Samuel didn't pay much attention to her until after Marina's death.

"Don't do that. Tell me what you're thinking."

"Do you really wanna know?"

"Absolutely. I know it's not good."

"Fine. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Carla smiled. "Easy. First time I saw you, I thought you were quite handsome, in a broody sort of way."

"Really?" his arms pulled her closer.

"Yeah, but honestly I forgot about you pretty quickly after that."

"Hey!"

She laughed, shrugging. "It's the truth."

Samuel rolled his eyes. "Well, same here. First time I saw you, the usual things ran through my mind, gorgeous and rich."

"Hmm, and you didn't like Christian being with Polo and I."

He paused, she said it with conviction and Samuel remembered the few times they'd all fought with Christian about the company he'd kept with Polo and Carla.

Samuel's eyes lowered. "That doesn't count as first impression, though." he tried feebly.

She half-grinned. "I get it. We had an unhealthy arrangement, the three of us."

Samuel felt a bile rise in his throat, irrational jealousy inflaming his stomach as he remembered Carla's past affairs.

"I don't want to talk about that," he said sternly, his lips enveloping hers roughly.

"Noted," she said after drawing back. "how about the first time you decided to get close to me. What were your thoughts of me then?"

"Carla, you know what I thought."

"No, no," her hypnotic gaze speared him, her voice turning husky. "The inner bad thoughts, handsome, the ones that made you kiss me."

His attraction to her. His fascination. Samuel gulped.

"I was equally enraged and enthralled by you," he said gravelly.

She hummed airily, sending a tingle down his spine. "Go on."

"As you know, I looked through your Instagram. And I found myself staring at your pictures - a lot."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, smirking. "A lot? Like, when you pleasure yourself?"

That earned her a nip on the hip. "Maybe." he grinned, his cheeks burning.

"Samuel!" She laughed loudly. "hmm, Interesting."

"Do you want me to continue or not?"

"Sorry, carry on."

He sighed. "And then at the funeral, you were trying to look unaffected. But I could see the guilt and sadness in your eyes."

"Yeah? You didn't even know me."

His lips curled in remembrance. "You said that then, too. But for some reason, I could just see you - feel you."

Carla's nose brushed his cheek, her breath fanning over him, and his skin fluttered. "And then we went for drinks, and you were so straight forward with your questions."

"Well, you're too smart for that shit, we'd never really talked before, so I just cut to the chase."

Her mouth skated over his jaw, purposely avoiding his lips, and Samuel wanted to moan in frustration. "And then the kiss. Why did you kiss me?"

"Don't act like you weren't seducing me, Carla," he told her breathlessly, bunching her dress in his hands, and holding her close, something stuttering in his chest.

"Hmm, maybe I was," she murmured into his ear, taking his earlobe into her mouth and sucking. A shock-wave of desire shot up his insides. "So I distracted you and it worked. Was that it?"

No, that wasn't it. There had been an animalistic urge, something he'd never felt before. It was gravitational, a burning curiosity that had needed to be fed.

The titillating melody in the background throbbed in his system, making everything more lustrous. His breathing was ragged and panting, and fuck, he wanted to fuck her right now.

"I'd never been so forward, I was always a mess when it came to the opposite sex. I'd never done something like that, But something about you... just brought it out of me. And you were so close, I could feel you pressed against me. So beautiful, so sinful."

He paused to exhale, his voice hoarse with arousal, Carla's lips now above his. "I - I had to kiss you. It was this confusing mix of anger and desire, I needed to taste y- "

Samuel was silenced by her trembling lips. The tension swelling and magnifying and they moved slowly within it, absorbing it in sync and harmony. Despite Samuel's fears of the aftermath, he managed to shut it down, so he could drown himself in her.

Their lips hardly edged away from each other, they kept finding the other, kissing hard and long.

Samuel pulled back only slightly, so his eyes could appraise her fully, his breath hitching from the explosive want within him, he could barely breathe from the ache to have her. His fingers pried under the hem of her short dress, wanting nothing but to reach her most intimate part.

But Samuel was going to take his time, his hands sliding back up her body, till they were fondling her breasts and causing Carla to let out a sexy moan, further hardening his already very stiff length. Carla was a sensual lover, but she was also a controlled one, quiet and collected, always leaving you wanting more. Samuel prided himself in making her vocal during sex, he took it as a challenge to elicit such arousing sounds from her, he wore it like a badge of honor. And tonight he was hoping to make her scream.

They helped each other removing their clothes, shoving the unwanted garments off. Samuel softly guided her back on the bed, lying flat over her and crushing their mouths together. Curving his arm around her waist, Samuel brought her closer, his lips leaving hers to descend down her heavenly skin, sponging open mouthed kisses all over her. His mouth finally covering her breast, sucking the sensitive area greedily.

"Samuel."

Her breathy gasp jolted him to the core, his heart was racing dangerously, experiencing all too much. His mouth continued appreciating the magical creature under him, kissing along her skin. Worshipingly, he trailed down the valley of her breasts, licking and biting his way to her navel. Samuel was on fire as he gazed at her, his lips grazing her thighs as he grabbed onto the underside to spread them apart and teasing her with feather kisses.

Reaching her dripping heat, Samuel inhaled deeply, relishing her sweet scent; before burying himself in it, his tongue flattened against her folds and dragged up and down in a sluggish manner, causing Carl's back to arch off the bed with a groan.

Samuel felt a desperate need in the pit of his stomach, a need that would never be sated, his love for the woman before him scorching his skin. His tongue flicked her sensitive clit, swirling around it before devouring it in his mouth, slowly he let a finger find her opening and curl inside, hitting that spot.

"Ah, fuck."

Carla's hand tangled in Samuel's hair, tugging at his head urgently, Samuel's heart rate accelerated as he hummed against her center eagerly. A second finger joined the first, as his mouth worked on her joyfully. He licked and sucked and fingered to his heart's content, possessed by a heady strong need to drive her closer and faster to the edge. Samuel was beyond aroused from her taste, the sounds she was making, that he almost felt like he was about to lose control without even touching himself.

Samuel glanced up as Carla bucked her hips, eyes closed as his tongue and fingers pushed her off the cliff. Starting to squirm on the bed, her pussy tightened around his fingers, surrendering to her pleasure with a sob of release.

Samuel gently moved his way back over her body, pecking her flushed skin lightly. They were both breathless as she tilted her head once he reached her face, seeking his lips, her kiss tasted sweet and loving. Her palm tenderly caressed his cheek, Samuel leaning into her warm touch.

He grasped the back of her knees, and held his breath. The moment felt delicate, precious and almost fragile, her gaze encompassing his heart and mind and soul completely and irrevocably. Their mouths hovered, sharing shaky breaths as he entered her slowly.

His eyes closed at the euphoric sensation, oxygen leaving both of them entirely, as he sank deeper and deeper until she was filled to the brink, and then he stopped, savoring that overwhelming, indescribable satisfaction.

"God, Carla," he groaned, easing himself all the way out, then thrusting back in harshly. Carla moaned loudly, closing her eyes as she met his hips. And with one upward thrust and maneuver of her hips, Carla impelled Samuel on his back.

His eyes hot, raw, and dark with carnality as he stared at her. Her hair wild and untamed around her shoulders, the dim lighting of the room casting a dizzying glow on every curve of her body, and his mouth hung open in awe. Up and down his cock, she fucked him, her breasts bouncing. And Samuel was entranced, captivated, owned, as she rode him into oblivion.

With a guttural, throaty growl, Samuel sat up, clutching her waist, his mouth attacking a pebbled nipple, eliciting a loud moan from Carla, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. One swift move from him and she was on her back again, he grabbed onto her ankles, plunging in deeper, feeling her muscles clench and contract around him.

"Fuck, Carla, you - you're everything," he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable, rocking in and out of her, and grinding his teeth as a high-pitched cry escaped Carla's lips.

Everything was in overdrive, causing tremors to travel over both of them almost painfully. His eyes were unable to leave her face, frantically tracing and memorizing every single inch of her features.

Samuel ground himself harder into her, kneading her breast harshly before swallowing her gasp into his mouth, his lips sucking hers ravenously. Every memory they'd ever shared was in the forefront of his mind, brutalizing his emotions into a sweeping, vast field that held nothing but him and Carla. Their love, their passion, their bond. They were ineffable and frightening, and Samuel had no idea how the fuck was he going to live Without her.

Carla broke away from his lips with a moan, and Samuel took pleasure in showering her neck with wet, needy kisses. She drove him insane, running her hands up and down his back and onto his ass, urging him deeper.

"Oh, Samuel," she breathed into his neck, before taking the flesh into her mouth. Samuel clasped the back of her head, needing her mouth back on his as his hips quickened, picking up speed feverishly.

"I love you so much," his voice was devoted and raw against her lips, Her nails digging into the nape of his neck deliciously as she returned his faithful confession.

He couldn't hold back any longer, he tried so hard to make this last, to stop time. But Samuel couldn't stop time and they were both falling rapidly. Their mouths gaping and meeting sloppily, messily, as they pummeled toward a blissful abyss. It crashed onto both of them mercilessly, both moaning loudly as waves upon waves of ecstasy whirled and shook their worlds apart.

Their eyes shut, arms clutching each other desperately, their lips restlessly moving and that was when it dawned on Samuel, the silent tears that had dampened their cheeks. But nothing was said, they just held on.

And the night carried on with their bodies attached, whispering declarations of love and promise as they lost themselves in each other, over and over again.

_______________________________________________________

They'd come to a silent agreement that he wouldn't be escorting her to the airport. Carla was going home to take care of a few final details before she was off, and then she would be gone. Samuel wouldn't be able to see her tomorrow. He didn't know when he was going to see her again. If he was ever going to see her again.

One day, maybe. Someday in the far future.

Ah, one days and somedays. Such consoling, yet disquieting abstractions. Someday - it gave Samuel such contradicting thoughts, it was naive, but comforting in a way that made him not as sad. But it didn't change anything. Because that day was not today, it wasn't tomorrow or next month or next year. That day was an unknown, unsolvable variable, and it was going to taunt his every waking and sleeping moment.

Carla was adorning his entryway, her eyes quiet and disconnected, he would've commented on it, if he weren't sure that his eyes held the same distance. Samuel didn't want their last few minutes to be spent like this - uneasy and uncaring. Samuel still felt it pulsing within him, the need to protect himself from this non-stop emotional hell, and he could see it in Carla too. They stood there, both trying to make their goodbye less painful, less Important. Less life-altering.

They'd also come to another unspoken understanding. They weren't gonna say it. They hadn't uttered those three words since they had been intertwined and consumed by each other for the last time.

The thought of not touching her again was enough to make Samuel crumble in front of her. But he didn't, he couldn't. Instead he smiled softly, edging his body slightly nearer to hers, afraid to close anymore inches between them, her proximity always a danger to his self-control.

"I don't know what to say," he said quietly. How do I say goodbye to you? I wish you could stay, please stay, there's so much we could be.

"What to say?" she sighed, lips pursed in consideration. "see you later. . .no, too casual, right?"

Her weak attempt at lightening the mood fell flat and tense.

"Yeah. maybe we could go with see you soon. Nah, too unrealistic, right?"

There was a slight edge to his voice that Samuel didn't like, that he didn't want Carla to hear. Fuck, he had to be stronger than this. Carla was about to embark on her own path, finding herself without all the toxicity that had been in her life. She was going to university like any other fortunate human being. It was expected, it was normal and Samuel was happy for her.

"Yes, a little." she sent him half a smile, nerves present in her tone. "How about - will you visit?"

Samuel had been first in asking her that. Because he was desperate for a sprinkle of hope. he wanted to be able to pretend that they could have a long-distance thing, that maybe they could fly out every month to each other. But Samuel knew that was hardly an option, he didn't have the money, he didn't even have a passport yet, he couldn't travel over to be with his family. Visiting Carla was a pipe dream.

"Will you?" was his dodgy reply. Because if there were any chance he got to see Carla sooner than he believed, it was her visiting him.

Something in her eyes told him, she could read his train of thoughts. Her lips curled in wistful smile. "Of course. After all, Madrid is my home, I'll miss it too much not to."

Her words suspended in the air, neither of them saying anything for a while, giving Samuel time to breathe. Carla was about to walk out his door forever, for all he knew. And anxiety pooled in his stomach so tight, he could throw up. She was about to leave.

Samuel was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice that Carla had moved much closer to him, until her scent wafted its way around him, blanketing him in its warmth.

Samuel was drowning as his eyes linked with hers, her palm darting up to caress his cheek. For the first time since it had all started with Carla, Samuel didn't want her to kiss him. Because he knew for a fact he'd break down, and he wouldn't be able to bring himself to let her go. Samuel was barely holding himself together, if he got to taste her again now, he wouldn't be able to stop.

As though she knew, Carla very gingerly brushed her lips on his forehead, triggering Samuel's breath to shorten as she rested her mouth there for a minute; before finally moving her forehead to settle against his own.

"How about I say this." she paused, so close to his mouth, he felt his fists clench, trying to curb his need to diminish the distance between their lips. "When we see each other again, I hope we're both in a better place in our lives, I hope you'll be with your family, finally at peace, living your life to the fullest as Madrid's most successful justice-warrior lawyer."

Samuel chuckled softly, his heart constricting painfully at the picture she painted, because she wasn't in it. "doesn't sound too bad."

"No, it doesn't," she replied gently, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"And I hope," Samuel started, his voice weak and strained and woeful. "If we see each other - whenever we find each other again - I hope I find you happy."

"I hope I find you happy too."

Samuel didn't know if they were just words they were saying to each other to make it somehow easier. Because he only wanted to be happy with her. But his mouth remained shut as he tried to absorb these last minutes with her.

Samuel's fists finally gave up the fight, unclenching and roughly yanking Carla to him, his head buried in her neck trying to inject her scent into his veins. Their arms wrapping around each other so tightly, it felt like they were never letting go.

After a minute or an hour, Samuel didn't know nor did he care. Carla began to pull back and his arms instinctively tightened around her, trying to keep her just a little longer. But thankfully he shook himself out of it and released her slowly. They stared at each other, both of their eyes holding back tears, mouths not saying anything. No more words were needed.

Carla nodded her head slightly, as if to say 'this is it'. And then light as a feather, she floated to his front door, turning the knob, swinging it open. She stopped. Samuel was silently begging her to say it - say something, but his head was screaming at her simultaneously to just go and spare him the additional pain.

And Carla listened to it, without one more word or one more glance, she was gone.

The light click of the door shutting after her, thundered through his body viciously, making Samuel gasp loudly as he finally let the tears stream silently.

"Fuck," he whispered brokenly to the hauntingly empty house. Samuel felt a sudden sharp need for his mother, wanting her to wrap him up in her arms, to reassure him that he was going to be okay, it was all going to pass. He needed his mother so badly and she wasn't here.

No one was here.

Samuel angrily wiped at his tears. Anger. He welcomed the familiar emotion, it was better than this hollowing sadness that was threatening to take over him and never leave.

Plopping down on the couch, he grabbed his phone, only to find it open on one of the pictures they had taken together in the last few days. With his heart in his throat, Samuel sifted through them and before he knew it, he was sitting there browsing through the images again and again.

He was so fucking tired of losing her.

He stopped on one particular picture, where both of them happened to be looking at each other and not the camera, he remembered taking that picture vividly, his arm outstretched, smiling, turning to Carla to find her looking back at him. So lovingly, it took his breath away. And Samuel was lost, he could see it now in this picture, all over his face, how Carla had complete ownership of his heart - of his entire being.

They never had the chance to actually be together. That was what hurt the most, what could've been. They fell hard and fast and unexpected. They loved each other but they never had time to explore it, enjoy it, savor it.

Is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at all?

Well, Samuel knew one thing with unshakable and absolute certainty, he could never, would never, regret what he'd had with Carla. The memories were irreplaceable and untouchable and they were his. She had been his, for however short amount of time, Carla had been his and Samuel had been hers. And losing her might never stop hurting, but Samuel wouldn't trade what they had for the world.

Was there destiny and fate? If Marina hadn't died would they have even found each other? Samuel couldn't think of a world where he didn't love her. Even if the events of their lives had been different, someway and somehow, they would've been brought together.

And they had found each other, so maybe they could again.

An alternate universe. A different reality and future, maybe they'd had made it. Or maybe even this universe, this future, they could one day have each other again.

Silly and stupid thoughts. But in that moment, Samuel needed them to survive. He needed to believe in these notions, even if just to stifle his anguish and despair, and save his currently lost soul. So he let them in to flicker life back into his heart. It was naive and a little pathetic, but maybe, just maybe, there was a time, in this life or another, in which they could reunite.

Because Samuel had always felt it, and even in his heartbroken, cynical state, he could still feel it.

They were inevitable.

_______________________________________________________

A/N:

It’s over! I hope you liked it!

Thank you so much to anyone who's ever given this any kind of support, reading, liking, or reblogging. And thank you so much to the people who replied or sent me an ask to give feedback, and took the time to write something, you kept me going. I hope you know how much it means to me, you're the best!

Once again, thank you all so much and please stay safe!

#samucarla #carmuel #carla x samuel #samuel x carla #carla roson #samuel garcia #elite

58 notes · View notes