#I genuinely believe that i don’t fit in ANYWHERE with ANYONE no matter how hard I try

[lifeofafangirl1]

“My biggest fear is clowns”

“My biggest fear is spiders”

Haha jokes on you my biggest fear is that no one actually likes me and only pretends to be my friend and everyone secretly thinks that I’m loud and weird and obnoxious and so they just feel bad for me.

[kookiesjoonies]

first & last | jjk.

↠ main pairing: best friend!jungkook x virgin!reader

↠ fic type: one shot, friends to lovers

↠ genre: smut

↠ word count: 4.2k

↠ warnings: alcohol consumption (they aren’t drunk, just a lil tipsy), explicit language, dry humping, finger sucking, light dirty talk, hand job, cum play

↠ summary: during a game of never have i ever, jungkook finds out that you haven’t had your first kiss yet and decides to show you how it’s done. 

a/n: eeeeep! i’m so happy to finally have smth up for jk again bc it’s been awhile n we all know i’m whipped for this man. enjoy! feedback is always appreciated. xo

Drunken sleepovers with your best friend were your favorite. You were lying on the floor of Jungkook’s living room, the world’s thinnest blanket underneath you to act as a barrier between your back and the hard surface of the floor. 

He laid to your left, nursing a bottle of cheap beer while you sipped red wine from your glass. When the two of you were buzzed, the urge to play drinking games always hit hard. You were thankful he seemed to enjoy them as much as you did, because you were always able to be your genuine, goofy self around him without fear of being judged. 

Tonight’s game of choice was never have I ever— a classic, one that you wish you’d played more. Hearing all of Jungkook’s embarrassing tales always made you laugh to the point of tears, big belly laughs that caused you to wheeze. 

“Alright, alright. I’ve got one,” he spoke up, causing you to tilt your head to look over at him, “never have I ever told someone they were a good kisser and didn’t mean it.” 

You watched as your friend brought the bottle up to his lips and took a swig, insinuating that he had, in fact, done just that. 

When you didn’t drink from your wine glass, his eyebrow cocked and he stared down at you in disbelief. 

“Come on, Y/n. Sure you have!” 

You shrugged, giving him a quick shake of your head. 

“Nope.” Your answer was simple— too simple, which left Jungkook even more intrigued than he was to begin with. 

He didn’t believe you, not by a long shot. But he should’ve. Seeing as how you’d never even kissed anyone, let alone lied about whether they were a good kisser. 

Being in your twenties and having never been on a real date, or held anyone’s hand (other than your friends’, but of course, that was different), or had your first kiss wasn’t exactly the coolest thing. 

You’d wanted to experience such things, but no one that had come into your life so far had been worthy enough. 

Except for one person— the man that was currently staring at you with his round, beautiful doe eyes. You wanted to kick your own ass for thinking of Jungkook in such a way. He was your best friend, nothing more. And you weren’t about to ruin all of that and everything that the two of you had because of your feelings.

“So, what? Everyone that you’ve ever kissed has been exceptional?” His tone let you know that he thought you were full of shit. 

“Kind of have to be kissed in order to confirm or deny that.” You mumbled, voice barely even audible. 

The wine was making you brave, it seemed. You weren’t drunk enough to not realize what you’d said, but you weren’t sober enough to care. 

Jungkook noticeably choked on his beer he’d been drinking, bringing the back of his hand up to wipe at the liquid gathering on the corners of his mouth. 

“What did you just say?” 

You sighed, sitting up and leaning your back to rest against the bottom of the sofa behind you. 

“It’s not that big of a deal, Kook.” 

“Uhm, yeah it is!” He exclaimed, and your eyes rolled in response. 

“No, it isn’t.” You snapped back, wishing the conversation was done and over with already. 

“Can I ask why you’ve never been kissed? I mean— has the opportunity never presented itself, or have you just been waiting for the right person or something?” 

He wasn’t going to let it go, it seemed. So, you twirled around the red liquid in your cup, staring down at it to avoid eye contact with your best friend. Though, you could feel his chocolate eyes burning into you, and you were sure if you glanced over at him he’d be staring at you with wide eyes. 

“I’ve had a few opportunities, but I just… I don’t know? I don’t want just anyone to kiss me. I want it to mean something, to be from someone special.” 

You felt your cheeks begin to heat up, and you were internally cursing yourself. 

“Plus,” you said, after a few seconds of awkward silence had passed, “I don’t even know how to kiss, so, I’ve always been nervous.” 

Without skipping a beat, Jungkook’s voice was filling your ears again. 

“I’ll teach you.” 

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and you were sure the shock was apparent all over your features. Jungkook, however, seemed oddly calm. 

“Uhm, thank you? But we’re best friends, it could make things weird—“ 

He cut you off with a shake of his head, “Nope, our friendship is solid. A little kiss isn’t going to ruin it.” 

You worried at your lower lip, pondering the thought and weighing out the pros and cons. 

You’d always dreamed about what his lips would feel like against yours, you were sure he’d be a skilled kisser. The thought of his hands being in your hair while your mouths moved together in heated passion, or better yet, his hands on your ass— yeah, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Or maybe it was the worst idea. Either way, you were about to find out. 

“Okay.” You nodded, setting your nearly empty glass to the side. 

“Really?” His eyes widened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

“Yeah, but I’d hurry before I change my mind.” 

Jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. He’d been hoping and praying that one day this day would come, and now that it finally had, he was determined to give you the best damn kiss of your life. 

And it made it even better knowing that he was going to be the first person to ever touch your lips with their own. Maybe he wanted to be the first and the only. No, he definitely wanted to be the first and the only. 

“Come here.” He patted his lap, and you quickly caught on. 

Maybe straddling your best friend should’ve felt awkward, but this didn’t. This felt… right.

His large hands found their way onto the sides of your face, effectively cupping your cheeks. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and you prayed that he wouldn’t be able to hear how loudly your heart was thumping against your chest. 

“Is this okay?” You whispered, referring to the way your arms were resting atop his shoulders. 

He nodded, flashing you that gorgeous bunny-like smile of his. Suddenly, you felt a sense of calm. All of your nerves were now replaced with adrenaline and excitement. It was amazing how quickly he was able to calm you down just with one toothy grin. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” he assured you, rubbing the pads of his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, “just follow my lead, yeah?” 

“Yes, sir.” You teased, and he chuckled. 

His eyes fell shut, and so did yours. Before you knew it, and before your brain could completely process what was happening, you were kissing Jeon Jungkook. 

Fireworks went off all around you, and you could no longer hear the whirring of the AC, or the sound of the television. All you could hear were his lips smacking against yours, and the way his breath hitched as your fingers pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

His lips moved slowly, allowing you to get used to the whole process. He was gentle, and you were thankful for that. 

You could savor his taste for the rest of your life, you were sure of it. He tasted heavily of beer mixed with the fried rice you’d shared for dinner. Perhaps it wasn’t the best combination, but it was Jungkook, so none of it mattered. You didn’t want to taste anything, or anyone else, for as long as you lived. 

His tongue ran along your lower lip, and you didn’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him. His tongue slid easily inside, twisting and curling around yours as he explored every last crevice— memorizing what seemed to get a reaction out of you. 

One particular move of his wet muscle against yours had you keening and moaning into his mouth, and you quickly broke the kiss, bringing your hands up and over your mouth. 

“Oh, my god! I’m sorry, Kook, I—“ 

“Sorry for what?” He was out of breath, and his pupils were blown out. 

His hair had become slightly disheveled from the way you’d been tugging at it mindlessly, and his mouth was covered in your red lipstick. He’d never looked hotter, and you were suddenly very aware of the arousal pooling in between your thighs. 

“For— for making that noise, I’m—“ 

His fingers pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, and his voice was soothing as he spoke. 

“Why are you sorry? That was the hottest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.” 

His words shocked you, “But we’re best friends! I shouldn’t be… we shouldn’t be—“ 

For the third time in a matter of minutes, he was cutting off your rambling. 

“Friends don’t kiss like that, Y/n.” 

“So, are you saying you don’t… want to be friends anymore?” 

You feared his answer, ready to run away in a fit of tears if he confirmed your scariest thoughts. You couldn’t lose him, not like this. 

“No, I don’t want to be friends,” your eyes began to well up, but he was quick to stop your tears from flowing with his next words, “I want to be more than that. I want to kiss you all the time, take you out on dates, among other things… whenever you’re ready for that. There’s no pressure here, because even if you don’t want this, I’m not going anywhere.” 

There he goes with that damn calming smile again, the one that caused your heart to stop, yet was its very reason for beating all the same. 

“I’d like that.” You grinned, shuffling your weight above him slightly to make yourself a bit more comfortable. 

When he groaned and tossed his head back, you were sure you’d hurt him. But before you could offer him your string of apologies, his hands were falling to your hips to hold you in place. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, “do that again. Please.” 

You arched a perfectly filled in brow, “What, this?”

Your hips rolled in a similar way that they’d done before, this time with more aim and purpose. And the man below you was making the most sinful, most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard. 

His length was hardening underneath you, and your eyes enlarged at the recollection. This definitely wasn’t doing your already seeping pussy any favors. 

“I understand if you don’t want to jump into anything sexual right now,” he breathed, heavy and uneven, “but if you don’t, you’re going to have to get off of me because all I want to do right now is grind into you until you’re cumming in your clothes.” 

“How did we go from being best friends an hour ago, to doing this?” You couldn’t stop the giggle that made its way through your lips, your hips pushing down and rolling into his once more— letting him know that you had no intentions of stopping. 

“I don’t know— Jesus!,” he bit down on his bottom lip as he tightened his grip on your hips and guided their movements, “but I’m so goddamn glad you’re on top of me right now.” 

“Me too.” You were quick to agree, hands bracing on his shoulders to hold yourself up. 

Both of you were gasping now, reveling in the feeling of your sexes grinding against one another. Every graze of his cock against your clothed clit sent fire through your veins, and your vision was beginning to black out. 

You had no idea dry humping could feel this damn good. But you were sure that it had a lot to do with the way Jungkook looked underneath you. 

He was completely wrecked and fucked out already, offering you slews of curses and praises every time you came down on his dick just right. 

“Fuck, I wanna be inside of you so bad,” you were bouncing against his length with fervor, no intentions of slowing down or stopping until you both reached your highs, “can’t wait to see that pretty little pussy, fill you up with my cum and mark you as mine.” 

You moaned at the thought, his filthy words moving you further and further to your desired state of euphoria. 

One of his hands gripped tightly on your ass, while the other rested over your clothed core. He looked up at you, silently asking for permission. He knew you’d never done anything like this with anyone before, and he wasn’t about to try and make you do anything that you were uncomfortable with. 

“Go ahead,” you gasped, barely having time to register what he was doing until his fingers were circling over your clit. 

You were very thankful that you’d decided to wear cloth pajama shorts, and thin ones at that. He could feel everything— and so could you. Your hips bucked up and into his hand as you rode his cock, begging for him to make you cum.

“You’re so fucking soaked, babe. It’s leaking through your shorts.” He smirked at the sight, gathering up a bit of the dampness on the tips of his fingers. 

The way he inserted the two digits into his mouth had you crying out, nearly on the verge of tears from the sight alone. 

“Wanna taste?” He asked, and you eagerly nodded. 

He collected more of your wetness onto his fingertips, and you made a show of sucking on them lewdly once they entered into your mouth. 

“Nasty little girl, aren’t you?” 

As if to prove his point, you used your own fingers to reach into your panties, gathering your arousal straight from the source. 

His was practically salivating, eyes begging for you to let him clean your fingers off with his tongue. 

As if reading his mind, you nodded. And he wasted no time before suckling your fingertips into his mouth. He moaned around them, savoring your sweet taste. He wished like hell he could pin you down and clean you up with his tongue, but he knew you weren’t ready for that, and he was respectful. 

Still, he was determined to make you cum. He wanted desperately to see what you looked like when you came undone. 

“No more games.” He growled, his hands returning to your hips to hold you steady above him. 

He fucked up against you, the outline of his cock hitting your sensitive bundle of nerves each time. 

Soon, you were crying out and squirming— a poor attempt at trying to get away. 

“F-fuck! Oh, my god!” you couldn’t stop the way your hips rolled, or the way your thighs began to shake, “Kook! Holy shit, I’m gonna—“ 

Before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm washed over you and you came harder than you ever had before in your life. Your body felt hot, and every single one of your limbs were shaking. The only thing you were able to say or remember was Jungkook’s name, chanting it like a prayer as you slowly came back down to earth. 

“That was fucking beautiful,” He was quick to compliment you, staring down at the apparent dark spot on your light pink shorts, “just wanna clean that all up, then do it all over again.” 

Your face was flushed, and you weren’t sure whether it was from the mind blowing orgasm you’d just had or his words. You couldn’t be bothered to care, your body falling limp against his as he held your delicate frame close to him. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” You huffed, and you felt the rumble of Jungkook’s chest as he chuckled. 

“So, you wanna go on a date tomorrow?” His hand caressed your back, and your eyes fell shut at the soothing feeling. 

“Mhm.” You were dozing off, barely aware of what he’d said at all. 

He just simply smiled at you, pressing his lips to kiss the top of your head. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and get you to sleep.” 

You nodded as he stood up from the floor, cradling you in his arms. 

“Good idea.” You mumbled, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. 

He carried you down the short hallway to his master bedroom, kicking the door open with his foot. You were already nearly asleep as he laid you down on the right side of his bed. 

Jungkook kissed at your temple before making his way over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his boxers for you to change into. He disappeared into the en-suite bathroom for a moment, carrying a damp cloth in his hand when he returned. 

You smiled at him, eyes half open. 

“This feels like a dream.” 

The weight of the mattress shifted as he sat down beside you, holding out the fresh change of undergarments and the towel for you. 

“Tell me about it.” He grinned, turning his head away from you to give you some privacy as you changed out of your soiled shorts. 

You were thankful for that— for how respectful he was. 

As you pulled your shorts down along with your panties, a realization hit you and your eyes widened. 

“Kook!” you shrieked, startling the man, “you didn’t cum!” 

He barked out a laugh at your outburst. Just when he thought you couldn’t get any cuter, you were quick to prove him wrong. 

“I know, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not!” You insisted, quickly wiping your thighs clean and pulling on the plaid boxers he’d given you. 

“Babe, I promise, it’s okay. Tonight was all about you, I wanted to make you feel good.” 

Your lower lip pushed out and into a pout, your hands reaching forward to grab his face so that you could make him look at you. 

“But, I wanted to make you cum.” 

He hissed at your words, willing his cock not to rise. He knew you were tired, and there’d be plenty of time for you to get him off later. 

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah? We can fool around tomorrow if you want to.” 

You sighed, a tiny frown present on your face now. 

“Can I just… give you a hand job, or something?” 

You didn’t miss the way he groaned at your words, or the way his eyes quickly screwed shut. 

“If you want to, you can. But don’t feel like you have to, I promise, it’s okay.”

“I want to,” you didn’t hesitate in replying, “but I’ve never done it before, so…” 

Before you knew it, he was moving to lie down beside you on the other side of the bed. He was already sporting a tent in his athletic shorts, which had you nearly drooling. Based on the outline, he was sure to be huge. You prayed that you were right. 

Jungkook looked relaxed, large eyes staring up at you and waiting for you to make a move. He flashed you an encouraging smile, his hands resting behind his head. 

“Go ahead, do whatever you want. No need for you to be shy, it’s just me.” 

Just him. 

If anything, those words did little to calm your nerves. You’d only ever dreamed about being in similar predicaments with your best friend. And now that it was real and happening, you were petrified that you’d do something wrong and send him running in the opposite direction. 

Taking a mental deep breath, you sat up in the bed and crossed your legs as you turned your body to sit right beside his lower half. 

You reached a shaky hand forward, brushing your fingertips over the outline of his rock hard length. As your fingertips danced and teased over his covered cock, Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat. 

Carefully studying his face to watch his reactions, you pulled his shorts down and he lifted his hips to help you out. 

The tight, grey briefs he was wearing left little to the imagination. You could see every ridge and curve of his thick length, and drool was collecting on the corners of your mouth as you admired it. 

“Like what you see?” His voice was teasing, and he wiggled his hips. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes at his actions. 

Yeah, it was just Jungkook. Your best friend. The one person you trusted and loved most in this world. It was okay. This was okay. 

With your newfound confidence, you tugged his underwear down, his impressive dick springing free in the process. 

You moaned quietly at the sight. 

Sure, you were a virgin and didn’t have much to compare it to, but you were positive he had the prettiest cock you’d ever seen— and would ever see in your life. The head was perfectly pink and already dripping with precum, long veins running from base to tip. You couldn’t wait for the day it would be buried inside of you, and your cunt clenched around nothing at the thought alone. 

Your hand instinctively found itself wrapped around his length as best it could, fingers unable to connect to your palm due to his size. Jungkook let out a breathy sigh at the sudden contact, his eyes glued to the way your hand began to do a few test pumps. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, tilting his head back, “just like that. A little faster.” 

With his guidance, you did as he suggested and picked up the speed of your hand. You watched the way his face contorted, the way his eyes screwed shut and pulled together as you ran your thumb over his slit, collecting the moisture leaking from it to use as makeshift lube. 

Deciding to take a risk, you collect a bit of saliva in your mouth before allowing it to drip down and onto his cock. 

“Hoooooly fuck, that’s hot.” You smirked at Jungkook’s praise and approval, working your hand up and down his shaft at a quicker and easier pace now thanks to the slick your spit had created. 

The faster your hand pumped, the harder it became for Jungkook to properly breathe. He was panting, curses and praises of your name leaving his lips every so often. 

You brought your free hand up to work at his balls, rolling and caressing them in a way that seemed to drive the man halfway to insanity. 

“Fuck, you sure this is your first time doing this?” He breathed out the words, his arm falling to rest over his eyes as he attempted to keep himself composed. 

“Swear.” You responded, eyes glued to the way his bottom lip was now rested between his teeth. 

One final twist of your palm had him reeling, gripping at the sheets underneath him with one hand— his other coming to wrap around your wrist as you continued to work him toward his end. 

He was moaning shamelessly, not the least bit shy in letting you know how amazing you were making him feel. Maybe it was the way you were fondling him, or maybe it was the fact that it was you giving him the best hand job he was sure he’d ever had. 

He decided it was probably a combination of both as his hips thrust up wildly, effectively fucking his dick into your grasp. The way his cock seemed to twitch let you know he was close, and you brought your hand up and then back down as fast as you could. 

He came with a loud moan of your name, his sperm coating his lower stomach and your hand all at the same time. You watched in awe as he lost himself, pride settling in as you realized that you were the one responsible for his orgasm. 

As Jungkook’s body slowly stopped writhing, you removed your hand from his member. You waited for him to make eye contact with you again before you dipped your fingertips into the cum on the back of your other hand and brought them up and into your mouth. 

“Goddamn.” He groaned, marveling at your erotic behavior. 

You effectively cleaned his seed from your fingers, swallowing it and showing him your tongue along with your empty mouth. 

“That was amazing.” His compliments sent butterflies straight to your stomach, and he was pulling your mouth down to crash on his before you could respond. 

“I love you.” You were mumbling the words against his lips before you even realized what you were saying. 

You were panicking instantly, kicking your own ass for blurting it out. Sure, you’d said you loved each other before, but not like this. 

The feeling of Jungkook grinning against your mouth is what calmed you, and you matched his smile with one of your own. 

His forehead rested against yours as he pulled away, and the two of you let out a sigh of content. 

“I love you too, you know.” His hand caressed your lower back as he spoke, your thumb running over his cheek. 

“I was hoping.” You giggled, and he simply shook his head at you. 

This was it, you thought. 

You never wanted to kiss anyone else, or do anything remotely sexual with anyone else. He was going to be your first everything, you were sure of it. And you hoped that he’d be your last.

© kookiesjoonies 2020.

*do NOT reupload/repost on any site, translate without my permission, or claim as your own.

[babyybitchhh]

Arlong x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4,609

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, monster fucking (?), size difference, over sized genitalia and the buckets of cum to go with it, oral sex, fellatio, eventual consent

A/N: After consulting with my editor in chief, we agreed that the fishmen probably feel a bit like dolphins - firm to the touch but stupidly smooth, a bit clammy - so that's where my descriptive inspiration for this one came from. Y'know. Just in case anyone ends up wondering what the fuck I was smoking while I wrote this. lol And as always, please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

Arlong was not what you would consider a nice man.

There was something mean about him, and undeniably so, but the way he crowds you against the wall late one evening still manages to catch you off guard. You’d thought you had already seen everything his cruelty had to offer. Foolishly, you’d believed that there was a certain line even someone like him would not cross.

Regrettably, you’d been wrong about that.

“W - what are you doing?”

“Don’t be coy.” He mutters while he idly, possessively toys with a strand of your hair between his webbed fingers. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”

The cloying stink of booze on his breath hits you all at once and you wrinkle your nose in distaste. You don’t mean to do it. You regret it almost instantly but Arlong doesn’t care for the why or the how, or the rushed apology already forming on the tip of your tongue. All he sees is the discomfort etched across your expression and his demeanor responds in kind, becoming surly and aggressive in the same moment.

With a rumbling grunt, he steps into you and bodily shoves you against the wall. The amount of force in just that simple gesture has you quailing under the imposing weight of him even as you start to shirk away. You think to bolt for safety a little too late and his clammy hand takes advantage of that split second indecision to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Hm?” He curls himself over you, bracing his other arm high above your head on the wall so he can lean close and get in your face. You’ve never felt quite so minuscule as you do standing there, frozen to the spot and horribly dwarfed by the towering fishman who’s hacksaw nose was mere inches from yours now.

With each passing second, it was becoming exceedingly hard not to panic.

“Am I not to your liking? Is that it? You’ve really never thought about this before?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You aren’t sure what to say. You don’t know what it is he wants to hear.

Arlong doesn’t wait around for a proper response, though, and instead trails smooth, rubbery fingers down your neck to your shoulder, and then further still to grasp your wrist. You put up no resistance when he pulls, unceremoniously directing your slack hand to the front of his shorts and you jolt at the firm weight pressing up into your palm.

Sucking in a stilted gasp, your eyes go wide at him. “I - I haven’t - -“

“No?” He cuts across you with a faintly disappointed sigh. “Not even a little? You’re not at all curious?”

You whimper, shaking your head when he squeezes and manually forces your hand to close around the stiff outline in his pants. It was big and still growing, as evidenced by the eager twitch it gives at your touch. Shame immediately washes over you when your pussy clenches, the blood in your neck pounding as you try to turn away from him.

“Of course not, w - what would I have to be curious about?”

“You ever seen a fishman’s cock before?”

Your ears were starting to burn. “Nuh … no. Please, Arlong. I don’t - -“

“Come on. I’m sure you’ll like it. There isn’t anything else like it in the whole world, y’know. One of a kind.”

Same as before, he doesn’t give you a chance to sort through your thoughts before taking the incentive. His unoccupied hand drops from the wall and tugs at the waistband of his shorts even while he wrests your twisting hand where he wants it to be. You struggle wildly now, adrenaline fueled fear making you desperate and jerky, but he’s much too strong to break free from. You were trapped.

Horrified, you screw your eyes shut before you can catch a glimpse of what’s hanging between his legs. You’d never seen one before - not a fishman’s, and you would have preferred to keep it that way. The hushed rumors you’d overheard about encounters between people like Arlong and humans such as yourself were nothing kind, after all.

But with very little effort on his part, he clamps your hand into place and you go stock-still at the sensation of porcelain smooth, velvety skin under your fingertips. It doesn’t feel half as repulsive as you’d imagined it would. And, you’re surprised to find, it doesn’t look anywhere near as unnatural as you’d assumed it to be when you apprehensively crack your eyes open and glance at it.

What you had in your hand was just a cock. Nothing more and nothing less.

Albeit a rather large, hefty cock that was a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of him but still by all accounts a normal looking appendage. If it hadn’t been for it’s unusual color and the staggering size, you could have easily mistaken it for a human’s.

Embarrassed, you flounder for something to say. “It’s … it’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

Arlong snorts and displaces a few of your wispy flyaways with the resulting puff of air, making you shudder between him and the wall. “Don’t try to bullshit me. S’not polite.”

“I’m not.” You insist, shyly forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I expected something different, that’s all.”

“Like what?” He murmurs as he leans his weight into you, not so subtly pinning you under him. You swallow hard, hesitant to say it. But either by virtue of being mildly intoxicated or genuine sincerity on his part, you felt a strange sort of inclination to be honest with him.

“Frankly, I thought it would be more monstrous.”

Arlong manages to catch you off guard again when he outright laughs at that. “Give it time. I’m not fully hard yet.”

Your eyes go big as saucers. “W - wha - -“

He laughs again, somehow even louder this time, and you start to quake with renewed vigor as his cock does indeed continue to twitch and grow in your hand. You couldn’t believe that it would get any bigger than it already was but the proof was right in front of your face. It was still filling out, becoming increasingly more weighty in your palm, and that knowledge terrified you far more than you were willing to admit.

“Don’t look so scared.” He coos, anything but sympathetic when he notices the obvious disquiet casting a shadow over your face. His suddenly good mood did not bode well for you at all. “You said it was nice, didn’t you?”

“Well … well, yes, but - -“

“Here. Let me show you something.”

Releasing his hold on you, Arlong clamps his moist palm down on the back of your neck and unceremoniously steers you forward, away from the wall. You don’t even think to fight it. And how could you when your fate was already sealed? You’d given him an inch by conceding that his cock was not entirely disagreeable and now he was taking a mile.

It was your own fault, really.

“Wait - hold on.” You stammer, panic suddenly creeping into your voice when you realize he was making a beeline with you for the nearest chair. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arlong! I just - -“

“You just what?” He sneers. “Felt like teasing me some more? Thought it’d be funny to tempt me with that pretty little mouth of yours again?”

You sputter in red faced affront. “I never - -“

Cutting you off yet again, he forcefully shoves you down onto your knees. Hard.

You seethe at the splintering pain racing up your legs as he pivots around you to plop down on the waiting seat, his ever present grip on the back of your neck quickly dragging you closer. Arlong’s anticipation for what was coming next was almost palpable, the eager excitement in his motions clear as day. In a last ditch effort, you try to twist away from him but he holds firm even as he works to tug his shorts the rest of the way down with the opposite hand.

“I know you’ve thought about this.” He says it again, breathy now, as if repetition would somehow make it true. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. There’s no need to hide it.”

Whatever biting insult you were going to spit at him catches in your throat and momentarily chokes you when he gets his pants down over his knees, cock springing up in all its full glory. You outright stare, your mouth going dry. Mind blank and pussy aching with phantom pain.

You weren’t sure what he expected you to do with it. He was far too big to fit in any human orifice, surely; but if he was at all concerned about the logistics involved he certainly didn’t show it.

Casually kicking his shorts off, Arlong plants his feet firmly on the floor and shuffles his long legs wide open to welcome you in. The heavy sway of his hanging nutsack seems to taunt you, silently promising a steaming hot load that you weren’t prepared to take. You audibly gulp down your nerves as he pulls you closer, right up against him until the sinfully smooth shaft of his cock is pressed tight against your cheek. It was hard to breathe through the potently masculine musk assaulting your nose and even harder to come to terms with the way your cunt gushes in response to it.

Why was this turning you on so much?

“Arlong … please!” You mewl, helpless to stop it when he relentlessly rubs his cock against your face as if to scent you. “Please listen to me. I never intentionally tried to tease you. I’m sorry …”

“Liar.” A sharp thwack against your cheek accompanies this accusation, the fleshy head of his dick leaving a sharp sting in its wake. “You want me. Just admit that. If you do, your punishment for being such a flirty slut won’t be so severe.”

You bristle at that, trying once again to recoil from him, but he merely pinches your neck even tighter to keep you in place. All you can do is watch in mounting horror as he takes his cock in the opposite hand and starts to pump it, slowly, as if to coax it that last little bit harder. The prominent vein running along the underside visibly throbs for you while he does it, pushing against the thin layer of skin in a rhythmic beat which probably would have flattered you under better circumstances. You hadn’t thought he’d get this worked up over you.

But, to be fair, you also hadn’t expected Arlong to be interested in a human woman in the first place.

“Like the view? You’re going to be a good girl and suck it for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Dazedly, you watch the steady up and down motion of his webbed hand until you eventually find yourself nodding along with it. You felt vaguely like an idiot for consenting to this but there was no denying how tantalizing he looked. For better or worse, you were willing to take the risk.

And that seems to amuse him a great deal, his raspy laugh misting over you even as he adds a twist to his pumping motion, tugging at the foreskin in the process. Scandalized surprise rushes to the forefront of your mind when you catch your first peek of the glans and realize it’s a blue so dark and rich it was almost purple. It’s such a stark contrast from the rest of his uniquely pigmented skin that you immediately want to see more of it, and you lean forward to get a better look with nothing short of rapt fascination. You’d never seen anything quite like it before.

“You’re that interested now?” He murmurs knowingly, snickering faintly under his breath.

“Only a little …”

“Liar.”

But Arlong’s tone holds no real bite this time, and he graciously gives you what you want by rolling the meaty tip back to tuck it behind the ridged glans. The blunt head is just as impossibly smooth as the rest of him, his skin entirely free of pores or blemishes, and so firm that you aren’t sure if there will be any give to it. You’re immediately reminded that you and him were not the same, the differences between you two as glaring as ever.

Without missing a beat, you decide you no longer care.

Reaching up, you carefully take him in hand and a thrill runs through you at the sensation. He’s every bit as silky as he looks but when you experimentally squeeze, it becomes apparent that he’s also relentlessly stiff. You’d thought, maybe, it was just the muscle bound parts of him that were as unyielding as they appeared to be but even this area was so densely padded with fatty insulation that it offered very little cushion. It seemed, then, that the only truly soft spot on his body was probably his ballsack.

Tentatively, you rove your gaze up to look at him. “Can I really?”

“I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

You scoff, trying not to smile, but when that fails you lean up to drag your tongue along the throbbing vein and hide the curl of your mouth. A triumphant sigh puffs out of him, the hand on the back of your neck relaxing slightly, but he makes no move to completely let go of you yet. The weight of his palm spurs you on and you go up a little higher to flick at the glans, pleasantly surprised at the taste of him. Salty and strong, yet not repugnant. It was a heady flavor, one you’ve never sampled before, and you can’t help but wonder if this is how all fishmen taste. It was strangely intoxicating.

“There’s my good girl. That’s it.” He goads you, leaning back into the chair so he can fully appreciate the sight of you on your knees for him. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be? All you had to do was ask and I would have let you do this a lot sooner, you know.”

Resisting the urge to snap at him to shut up, you use your grip on his cock to angle the tip towards your face. The narrow slit in the center of that purple-blue bud winks at you, oozing a fresh bead of slick precum that glistens faintly in the overhead light. Sticking your tongue out, you lap it up with a hunger you hadn’t expected from yourself and a fresh wave of bitter salt swarms your tastebuds. You moan, very quietly, against the glans before sealing your lips around it.

Arlong’s lean thighs give the faintest jolt in response, his pelvis lifting just enough to nudge his dick a little deeper into your mouth. You allow it, for the time being, far too caught up in the exquisite taste of him to worry about his propensity for being a bit pushy. It was in his nature, after all.

But when you try to take more of him on your own, it quickly becomes apparent that your earlier estimation of him had been right on the money. He was much too large to comfortably fit and you only make it a few inches down before your jaw starts to scream in protest. You pull back to suckle on the spongy head for a moment, laving it with your tongue before deciding to try again. The progress you make is negligible at best, your lips straining around his girth as you furrow your brows and noise a muffled sound of frustration around him.

“Don’t try to force it, sweetheart. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He chuckles, the hand on the back of your neck sliding higher to curl around the curve of your skull. His palm is massive in comparison and you feel your cheeks start to warm when he condescendingly pats your head, tutting at you. “You’ll have to practice hard if you want to take it all someday.”

The heat inside your gut sparks anew as your eyes snap up at his face. He smirks right back, razor sharp rows of teeth glinting dangerously and reminding you, once again, that he was a real threat. An apex predator of the most deadly kind, and you were knelt at his feet sucking his cock like a good little pet. You should have been ashamed of yourself. You probably were going to be ashamed of yourself, later, when the carnal high faded and your senses returned.

For now, though, you’d already made peace with your fate and you pointedly give his cock a rough tug. That only makes Arlong’s lascivious grin widen, though, and you’re left with no other choice but come up off him with a wet, smacking pop to give your jaw a break.

Tilting your head back while you suck in a much needed lung full of air, you pull his cock to your open mouth and set it along your tongue. He hums appreciatively at the visual while you pump the length of him with your hand, letting more precum ooze out of him and onto your waiting palette. A faltering groan rises in the back of your throat at the taste, so heady and potent that it makes your mind spin dizzyingly fast. You couldn’t get enough.

“Heh. I take it you like it then?”

In lieu of an answer, you seal your lips around him and lean forward again, glancing up at Arlong through the fall of your lashes. His stilted sigh of approval rushes straight to your cunt, and you give a needy little squirm as he drags webbed fingers along the side of your face to touch at the pulled taught corner of your mouth. Rubbery palm skirting along your cheek, he reaches further back and then clamps down on the nape of your neck so he can pull you somehow even closer to him.

You’re pressed flush against the chair by the time he’s satisfied, neck straining to accommodate the length of his cock. Your unoccupied hand comes up to brace against his thigh when he starts to guide you through a bobbing motion, the stuffed full schlucking noise of your mouth almost unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. It sounds borderline obscene to you but he appears to enjoy it, resting his head against the back of the chair and sighing up at the ceiling with unmistakable pleasure coloring the exhalation.

Your pussy clenches at the sight of Arlong enjoying himself so much, enjoying what you were doing to him, and you offer the glans another enthusiastic suck in return. His fingers twitch against your neck and squeeze, just this side of painful. But he does a good job keeping himself in check, and you put a little more effort into pumping the part of him that your lips can’t reach by way of thanks. He could all too easily rip you in half - in more ways than one - so you appreciated the restraint he was showing.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the change in your hands pace though, his mouth running on drunken autopilot now that he’s let his guard down. Now that he’s fully given himself over to the wet warmth of your maw, he was uncharacteristically eager to heap his praises on you and you were more than happy to soak it all up.

“My good, good girl. Yeah, you like that cock, don’t you, baby? You love it. I can tell. You’ll never want another human to fuck you after I’m done. I’m gonna’ ruin you, you know that? So damn good for me …”

The tingling warmth that spreads through you makes it hard to think straight, your vision starting to swim as if you were looking through a foggy fish eye lense. You never thought he’d talk to you that way. Didn't think he could stand your kind enough to regard you as anything other than a nuisance to tolerate for the sake of his own goals. It may have just been the booze talking, you knew that, but you were still rather pleased by this turn of events anyway.

Your jaw was beginning to ache in earnest, though, and you whimper around his cock as you drag your hand down off his thigh to squeeze in between Arlong’s legs. Gently, you caress the heavy weight of his ballsack, delighted to find that it was just as soft and vulnerable as you’d suspected it would be. He hisses at the contact, hips lifting off the seat of the chair again, but he does it a little too roughly this time and you gag.

Seething through clenched teeth, he readjusts his hold on the back of your head, gets a better grip and slowly thrusts up into your mouth. The careful way he does it surprises you slightly, but you don’t get a chance to linger on that thought for very long because he immediately repeats the motion without giving you a moment to adjust and your eyes start to mist up. He doesn’t quite reach your throat like this, your lips already stretched to their limit and unable to accommodate any more of him, and yet that doesn’t stop you from choking with each drawn out flex of his hips. You were going to be sick at this rate.

Sucking in a faltering wet breath through your nose, you try to brace yourself for his next upward stroke. You weren’t sure how much more of this your gag reflex could take, or your poor jaw for that matter. Being on the receiving end of Arlong’s praises wasn’t worth it if you just ended up spewing your guts all over him, ruining everything in the end. Plus, you were pretty sure he’d just redact everything he’d said if it came down to that. You were damned either way.

Deciding it was best to take a moment and regroup, lest the unthinkable happen, you try to pull off him but the hand on your head keeps you firmly in place. You let out a muffled squawk, as confused as you were terrified of what would happen if he kept going like this. But he doesn’t seem to share any such concerns, and your gaze frantically shoots up at his face when he just keeps shallowly pumping into your mouth. He wasn’t even looking at you, though, his eyes closed and turned up at the ceiling.

“That’s it. Just a little more. I know it probably hurts, sweetheart, but just endure it a little bit longer for me, okay? I’m getting close … I’m getting so close, baby. Can you feel it? I’m gonna’ give you such a big load … ngh, you’ll never be able to swallow it all, but that’s okay. Just … haah, just keep it in your sweet little mouth a bit longer, okay?”

You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, your cheeks burning hot as reflexive tears streak down your face. Abandoning his balls, you dig trembling fingers into the meat of Arlong’s inner thigh as a painful reminder that you were working on borrowed time here. But he seems to enjoy that, the groaning burst of air that puffs out of him in a sudden rush sending sympathetic shockwaves racing down your spine. Your panties were soaked at this point, uncomfortably clinging to your sticky cunt as you rock forward in a fruitless bid for relief. It was all you could do just to keep your lunch down, though, and you were far too lightheaded to even consider slipping your hand between your legs to rub circles into your clit. It wouldn’t take much to send you over the edge, either.

Even through your clothes, you were sure to cum quick - but how could you possibly think about that right now when he was still thrusting into your mouth at such a staggered pace that you felt as violated as if he’d properly fucked you? It didn’t make sense, how he had such a powerful effect on you when he’d barely even touched you so far. Almost like he had some sort of potent aphrodisiac at his deploy.

Could this possibly be a fishman, thing or was it just an Arlong thing?

“Oooh yeah, baby, right there. Right there. Your mouth feels so damn good. Are you ready? I’m gonna’ give it to you now … fuck, I’m cumming, baby, I’m cumming!”

With a feral, animalistic grunt, Arlong thrusts up off the chair and shoves his cock as far into your mouth as it will go. You sputter around him, frantically noising as your throat constricts and heaves against the pressure. In the same moment, he gives a full bodied shudder and hot, thick ropes shoot out of him to pool at the base of your tongue. Your eyes promptly roll back as you choke around his bubbling semen, face wet with tears and snot, and perspiration, but he doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming out of him, flooding your mouth until you’re sure you’ll drown in it.

So blissfully numb by the time he finally pulls out, you almost don’t notice the absence. It’s only when a fresh string of ejaculate plops heavy against your cheek that you realize he's cumming on your face now, and you obediently stick your tongue out to catch the salty discharge. He doesn’t seem to be aiming for your mouth, though, and you’re left with no other choice than to sit there and let him paint your face white until the pulses gradually slow to a stop some moments later.

The last bit oozes out of him, achingly drained from the bottom of his balls it would seem, as he squeezes it from the base up with an accompanying guttural moan. You let him push your head back down without protest and lap up the sticky bead, much to Arlong’s heaving pleasure.

He was still panting from the exertion, trying to catch his breath, and you were still struggling to swallow the excessive cum in your mouth so you could breathe at all. An odd sense of peace settles in the aftermath and you think maybe, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, maybe he wasn’t quite as mean as you’d pegged him. Someone inherently cruel wouldn’t have been so mindful of your physical limitations, right?

You’re pretty sure that’s not how it usually goes, anyway.

Gathering yourself to the best of your ability, you glance down at the front of your shirt only to outright grimace. You were absolutely coated in sheets of fast drying cum, and you weren’t so sure it wouldn’t stain. Dammit.

“So, uh. Do you always cum buckets, or was that all just for little ol’ me?” You venture to ask, not the least bit surprised when your voice comes out a raspy mess. You’d definitely need some warm tea after this.

“It’s a fishman thing.” He says rather flippantly, clearly unconcerned. “You’ll get used to it.”

Your head comes up in stark surprise. Well. That certainly answered your earlier question.

“Y’know,” you say, speaking cautiously slow. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re planning on doing this again, boss.”

Arlong actually has the audacity to smirk at you, his pale eyes dancing with what could only be mischief, and a not entirely unpleasant shudder promptly races through you in response.

“Again? We haven’t even finished the first time, sweetheart.”

[danses-with-dogmeat]

a romanced hancock reacting to sole wanting him to be a father figure in synth shaun's life?

Thank you so much for the ask anon!

So, I couldn't decide if I wanted to do more of a drabble or headcanons, so I just did both! I thought this prompt was really sweet, I hope you enjoy!

You stood in your shared room at the top of the Old State House, before the man in the red coat, the man you loved, awaiting his answer to your proposal. Having just asked him the question that had been patiently waiting at the back of your mind since the day that Shaun had come back into your life.

"Oh sunshine..." Hancock's gravelly voice broke the silence that had followed your question, "I'm beyond flattered that'd you'd ask that. I mean, I love that kid to pieces, but... you really think a ghoulified, blood-soaked, mega-junkie like me is the best fit for the kid to look up to?" The ghoul gave a soft chuckle, but Sole could see his brow furrowed slightly with uncertainty. A rare sight, given his usual gusto.

"Hancock," you said, in an attempt to reassure him, "you're a hell of a lot more than that. And Shaun is crazy about you, the reason I brought this up now was because he asked me when he could start calling you 'dad'." Hancock's dark eyes widened at your words and it took him a moment to answer.

"He- he did? Man... It's not too often I find myself at a loss for words but, I mean, me, a dad? I never thought that would've been possible, given my eh... present condition," He brought his hands up to gesture at his whole body. Your eyes never left his, the only change in your expression being a small smile, encouraging him to respond to your earlier question. Hancock sighed, taking a few steps towards you.

"So I suppose the thing I'm trying to say here is, I'm not sure I'm qualified for the position you're offering me." Your shoulders slumped at his words, you couldn't help but think he'd have been more receptive to the idea of being Shaun's new father. He may not be perfect, but he's one hell of an upgrade from the synth child's last "father."

"Look sunshine," Hancock decided to break the silence again, noticing your disappointed expression, "you sure you want this? I don't really tend to think of myself as 'daddy material'." You cocked an eyebrow at him, despite the weight of the conversation, you found yourself unable to keep a suggestive smile from spreading across your lips at his choice of words.

"Hey now, aren't you supposed to be the responsible one in this outfit?" Hancock quipped, his crooked smile imitating your own as he took another step closer. Before he could reach for you, you brought your hands up and grabbed ahold of his shoulders, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Look, John, I know you don't always see it this way," you looked him in the eye, willing your next words to sink in, "but you really are an outstanding role model. I mean, look at all you've done for the people of Goodneighbor, and the Commonwealth. You're out there actively trying to make this wasteland a better place, lending a hand to the little guy and doing all you can to take down the tyrants. You're a skilled leader who genuinely cares about the people you're responsible for, you're fiercely protective of the ones you love, and of the ideals that you support. You're a good man, John. And I couldn't think of anyone better for Shaun to call 'dad'."

"Shit sweetheart, you really know how to make a ghoul blush. Tell me, how did I ever get so lucky to have you in my life?" He whispered softly, shaking his head slightly as he looked deep into your eyes. You couldn't help but blush at his comment and at his unrelenting smoky gaze, you looked down to break the tension for a moment.

"We're talking about you here, John, remember? So..." you trailed off, hoping to finally get a straight answer from him.

"So?" He asked.

"So, what do you say? You gonna make me ask you again, or what?"

"Look," he reached a ruined hand out to lightly take your own, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your knuckles, "you and that kid are the most important thing I've got going on in my life, and if you really want me around, then I'm not goin' anywhere. And for the first time in my life, I fucking mean it." He grasped your hand tightly, before you gently removed it from his own, instead bringing your arms up to pull him into a tight embrace, which Hancock happily leaned into, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

"Just one thing..." you said, finally pulling away, "we might have to work on that foul mouth of yours."

"Don't worry sweetheart, if we're doing this thing, we're gonna do it right. I'll teach the kid all he needs to know. The real creative foul language, how to cure a hangover, where to get the best chems. All that important shit." You rolled your eyes playfully, mirth shining behind your dilated pupils as you stared into the eyes of your son's new father.

"Now, about that foul mouth of mine..." his hand slunk around your waist and pulled you into him as a mischievous grin spread across his lips a moment before they met yours.

And now, a few headcanons, for your consideration:

- After agreeing to act as Shaun's father, Hancock would seriously clean up his act. He may occasionally still take chems and drink (cuz, let's face it, he's still Hancock, and quitting cold turkey is hardly an option) but much less than he used to, and never around Shaun. This is only partly because he doesn't want to bring Shaun into that part of his life, but also it has a lot to do with his decreasing dependency on self-medicating. Being genuinely happy with his family, he doesn't feel as though he needs to escape.

- He would continue to be mayor of Goodneighbor, but would leave many of the day-to-day decisions to a committee (composed of Daisy, Fahrenheit, Dr. Amari, and an elected security guard). While Hancock, Sole and Shaun would live at another (more kid-friendly) settlement of Sole's choice.

- Hancock would actually excel at teaching Shaun. Whether it would be a shooting lesson, showing Shaun how to cook, teaching him to fish, or telling him about pre-war history (usually with a good amount of focus on the American revolution given his own fascination with it), even if Hancock wasn't extraordinarily knowledgeable, he would do his absolute best at helping Shaun get some form of an education.

- Once Sole was able to convince Hancock that Shaun liked his voice, rough as it may be, he would love to do bedtime stories. Even though Shaun is probably just getting old enough to outgrow them, he has a particularly hard time getting to sleep, and he soon finds that the ghoul's low, calm voice is a surefire way to drift off when the sun goes down.

- Hancock would be one of those parents that always looks like they know what they're doing, he would be patient during Shaun's tantrums, would be very focused on communication, and would have a nice blend of being protective of Shaun, but not to the point that it would be stifling. That being said, he would remain awfully uncertain and need constant reassurance from Sole, seeking their advice on almost everything to do with Shaun. Inside, he would have trouble realizing he's as good of a father figure to Shaun as everyone says he is. However, outwardly, he would be as confident as ever. Even fooling Nick into believing that he was completely at ease in the role of being Shaun's dad.

- He'd be killer at all of the popular kid games, playing hide and seek with Shaun when they visited the Old State House, or playing tag back in sanctuary, or even imagination games where he had to be the deathclaw and Shaun got to be Grognak the barbarian (do deathclaws exist in the Grognak universe? It doesn't matter, they do to Shaun). Hancock normally wouldn't let anyone win, he believes in playing fair, but occasionally for Shaun, he'd hide in the obvious places, or trip when running away in tag, or let it slide that Shaun says Grognak is strong enough to punch a deathclaw's head clean off in one hit. (Man, if only he could do that.)

- If other kids were bullying Shaun, Hancock would be the type of parent to bring the bully aside and have a frighteningly quiet conversation. And by conversation, I mean an in-depth description of what Hancock will do to the kid if he's mean to Shaun again. (Think of that scene at the beginning of the first Jurassic Park movie where the main character is describing to a kid how a velociraptor guts its prey and eats it alive. That's Hancock. Both the man, and probably the velociraptor too if the bully doesn't heed his warning.) Hancock wouldn't necessarily kill the kid for being mean to Shaun, but it's because he wouldn't have to, after his 'discussion' with the kid, he'll never even look at Shaun the wrong way again. Thankfully, the 'discussion' is all Hancock's ever had to do when kiddos are involved.

[hyunjilicious]

what is and what should never be [bucky barnes]

A/n: ok, so. Im really fucking insecure about this. I literally poured my heart into this fic. I'm genuinely unhappy with the beginning, but I promise you, it gets better!! I don't have it in me to rewrite it for the 4th time. I really hope you'll still like it though. If you ask me, this is the best fic idea I even had. Please, please, if you enjoyed it, let me know!!!

Summary: It was you and Bucky. An unlikely couple that shared equally disturbed pasts. When you get a day off, your paradise turns into hell as Bucky's nightmares return, leaving you alone to deal with The Winter Soldier. (FLUFF, SMUT, ANGST) 12k

Warnings: 2 smut scenes - they're graphic but not extreme, fluff, angst, violence, mentions of death and suicide, blood, a fight scene - also quite graphic but it was written to serve the angst. I don't want to spoil the ending, but if you really connect with the characters, you will not hate me!!

This day had been long awaited. After months of back to back missions and endless efforts to climb up the greasy pole of US social standards, words failed to describe how ecstatic you were to know, that for the next 24 hours, your whole schedule would fully be in your hands.

You had the freedom to do just about anything you wanted, and the simple fact that the rest of the avengers left to deal with some paperwork excited you to no end. You woke up when it was time for them to take off, and made a snarky remark about heading to the gym - something along the lines of having a productive day centered on self development.

Just about 20 minutes later, you and Bucky, now also alone in the Stark Tower, decided to start off your day on the right foot. He offered to make protein smoothies as you changed into something comfortable and fitting for a workout, but neither of you got their job done.

You had no idea how that happened, but before you knew it you were wearing your sports bra and still had your pajama pants on, moaning on the counter of Tony's kitchen as Bucky had lodged himself between your legs, hungrily exploring the heated skin of your neck, peppering you with bruise marks that represented his adoration for you. "You heal fast anyway" he shrugged, pulling you closer and digging his teeth into your flesh, sucking profusely and eliciting an erotic moan from your lips. 

With every new hickey he left, another one would disappear, which in turn would make him even more frustrated, “The hell should I do? Tattoo hickeys on you!?” he groaned, moving up your neck. You caught his cheeks into your palms and kissed him back, smiling as he kept getting more and more aggravated. 

It didn't come as a surprise when the blender went berserk, splattering fruit pulp, almond milk and protein powder all over the pristine walls of the room - both of you have long forgotten about it. 

The way Bucky cleaned the mess was the epitome of not giving a shit, and you couldn't find it more endearing. He bitched and whined his way through the whole process, and tears formed at the corners of your eyes at the ridiculousness of the half assed job he just did. 

You eventually reached the gym - of course, against all your pouting and begging to put off this session. "Doll, you're the only avenger who can't fight. A punk on the street could snap your purse and there would be nothing you can do"

Wrong, he was not. You couldn't fight - but at the same time that didn't mean you were defenceless. It was your immense power that for months on end made your teammates consider you a liability. The energy that surged through your veins had been too great for you to handle, and in fact, it still was, but now, thanks to the joined efforts of Tony and Bruce, there was a way for that power to be contained. Their solution came in the form of two massive shackles wrapped around the length of your forearms. They were made of dimeritium and kept all kinds of energy from leaving your body. But, even so, that energy was in full form, buzzing inside every fiber of your being. And so, while wearing them you couldn't attack anyone, but there wasn't a way for them to harm you either. That field of energy protected you from every kind of damage and wounds you had ever encountered, ranging from fist fights to automatic rifles to guided grenades.

"I'm the only one that doesn't need to know" you huffed and puffed, annoyed but still determined to get this first training session done with.

But that never happened. Halfway through your warm up rounds, your teasing side awoke and it took you about ten minutes to go from batting your eyelashes and flaunting your ass, to nonchalantly cupping his cock into your hand.

No one could blame Bucky for not even trying to stop you. Bless him, he did everything he could, but he was never able to resist you. And probably never will be.

By the time you were done at the gym, both your bodies were coated in lecherous layers of sweat, no of them being from actually working out. It was only a matter of time until you managed to break his self control and he had you sprawled on all fours in the middle of the boxing ring, moaning your soul out as he pounded your pussy. 

The momentum made your whole frame rock back and forth, your hair falling around your face, "Holy fuck-" 

The room vibrated with the vulgar slaps he afflicted on your bare ass. You arched your back and cried his name out loud, "Come on, Bucky- I- harder please-"

"How are you already so needy?" he chuckled, caging your waist between his strong arms and pulling you up until your back reached his chest. "I ate this pussy this morning before we got out of bed"

"You know I love your tongue-" you giggled out of breath as you tried to look at him over your shoulder. "But it doesn't compare to your cock"

"What does?" Bucky rhetorically questioned before picking up his pace. He kept slamming his hips into yours, fucking you at full force as with each thrust, his cock rammed against your walls hard enough to make you see stars.

"I'm really fucking close, Buck" you whined, feeling your knees start to refuse to maintain your weight any longer. 

"Don't cum yet" he panted, "Wait for me"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you cried out loud, liquid pleasure seeping out of you in the form of fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. "Please-" you whined, "I can't hold it anymore, I'm-"

"Not yet, baby" Bucky groaned, easily stopping you from wiggling around in his hold. His thrusts became sloppy and the orgasm got the best of him. He buried his face deep in your shoulder as his high forced guttural moans to rip from his throat. 

As he filled you up with his cum, as much as you wanted to comment about him making you wait and then not even bothering to tell you you could cum, you couldn't. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your chest heaved as the spiral of bliss seemed to go on and on, tons of ecstasy propagating in long painful waves across your body.

"Fuck-" Bucky panted as helped you up, "I could get used to days like this. We should retire"

"I'm not retiring-" you teasingly shook your head, "not until you find a way to give me a baby"

"I'd give you all the babies" he retorted, tugging your hand.

It caused you to lose your balance and stumble into his chest, "I love you"

"Love you" Bucky kissed the top of your head and spun you around. With his palms on your hips, he started guiding you towards the door, "Let's get you cleaned up"

And then, another wave of unproductivity followed. You showered, ordered pizza, whined about how there was still some smoothie left on the floor, and after you warned him about it, your face fell as Bucky stepped directly in the middle of the puddle of almond milk. He was fuming, the incident wiped any traces of happiness off his face. He mumbled something about that being the last pair of comfy socks he had left and something about Tony's devices being a constant pain in the ass. 

He went on and on until you ambushed him with kisses up his neck and shoved your hands under his shirt. In an instant his bickering turned into soft giggles as he innocently relaxed under your touch. You eventually cleaned up the mess and tried to make yourself busy. Nothing worked, you weren't in the mood for anything and at the same time, even though you did absolutely nothing all day, you felt a wave of tiredness envelop you.

At about 4pm, and you Bucky had already been lazily laying in bed, a mess of tangled limbs under the fluffy duvet. Your conversation started from the tactical gear he swore would look better on you than on him and then wondered how you didn't know how to sow.

"I'll hit you" you threatened.

"I'm sorry" he laughed, holding onto your forearm as it was resting on his chest, "But you know how much I love it when you get angry at my misogynistic jokes"

"It's rude" you scoffed - you didn't mean his jokes, but the fact that when he grew up, women were not anywhere near where they are today. 

"You know I don't mean it"

"I know you don't" you laughed, "Otherwise I'd have actually hit you"

"Don’t worry" Bucky said, "I'd hit myself if I was that stupid"

"Cute" you smiled, kissing his shoulder. Looking up at him, you promoted your chin against his chest, "Do you miss it? The 40s i mean"

He thought about it for a second. "Nah" there was a bit of nostalgia in his tone, but you believed him. "I've kinda made my peace with the fact that everyone from my old life is gone. I wouldn't want to go back now. I got you. I got all of you guys. I'm good now, really good"

"I'm glad" you beamed, feeling yourself warm up from the inside just thinking of the progress he made. After a few seconds, you spoke up again, "But what about the society? Like the day to day life? How do you like the 2010s?"

"I can't lie" Bucky laughed, "I liked Romania better. Much simpler."

"You lived in a dead beat apartment, hiding everyday" you scoffed, "How was that better?"

"I don't know… maybe it was the simple life. Apparently I'm all about that"

"You'd move back there?"

"If you came with me?" he questioned, looking down at you. There was genuine sincerity in his eyes and a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn’t even think twice"

"Maybe one day" you sighed with content. You snuggled back against his side, and closed your eyes. "We're not done avenging yet" you mumbled.

He didn't say anything to that. You didn't know whether he was getting lost in thoughts or if he was starting to drift off, but you would have been fine with either. When he spoke up again, you didn't expect the conversation to take this route.

"About Romania…" he sighed, "What made you come with Steve back in 2016?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-" he muttered, rubbing his light stubble, "I know why Steve came-" Bucky chuckled, "And Sam's all up his ass, so there's that. But what about you?"

"I-"

"I'm aware of the rift I caused between you guys back then. So that's why I'm asking. What made you stand by Steve from the beginning?"

"I knew how much you meant to him. And I know how this is going to sound, but I felt sorry for you, Buck. I know what it's like to be alone, to have everyone turn against you. You deserved better"

"Love-?" he called softly, his voice nearly breaking. "What do you mean you know what it's like to have everyone turn against you?"

As you maintained the eye contact, you felt tears prickle, "I know it wasn't fair of me to keep my past a secret, but-"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to-" he said softly, his eyes warm. The pain was readable on his features, he hated how your whole demeanour changed.

"It's not that I don't want you to know, it's just that I hate talking about it. Gives me nightmares."

"Then we can just drop it" Bucky murmured, gathering you closer.

"I wish you could know without me telling you" you laughed, "You make everything better and easier. I should've told you, I know. It isn't fair to you. We've been together for almost two years but as far as you're concerned I didn't exist until I joined the avengers. I don't even know how much they know. We never talked about it"

"Love, listen to me. I'm here whenever you want to talk about it. You didn't do anything wrong. There are a lot of things about me that you don't know either. We're not those people anymore. No one can blame us for trying to escape out past"

"Yeah, you're right" you sighed.

Gathering your power, you pushed yourself up and settled beside him, with your legs crossed. You grabbed his hand pulling it into your lap, and intertwined your fingers with his as you spoke.

"Forget the official story, there's no truth to it anyway"

"I really didn't believe your mum was a criminal and that you were in a mental asylum" he joked.

"Good-" you smiled, his words lifting the atmosphere a bit. "Truth is, I don't know anything about my parents. But I have my assumptions. I grew up in that soviet facility so I never met them. I was told it was owned by a group of socialite scientists who wanted our help"

"Our? Who's we?"

"There were 7 of us"

"Did they have the same power as you?"

"Approximately. When we were younger, we used to comply and do everything we were told but as we grew up, things started to change. We weren't happy. Who could be? Considering we were being held in cells and studied like lab rats. We started to act differently and some might even say we tried to rebel, but that didn't work obviously, and that's when the restrictions began. For the last 3 years I spent there, there hadn't been a day where the temperature passed 0°C." 

Your skin crawled as you recaled the endless nights you spent shivering your way to sleep. Everything around you was ice cold. But it wasn't for the sole purpose of torturing you. It was your only weakness. As the temperature dropped, so did the movement of the atoms that made up your body - eliminating your powers to the point where you were barely alive. 

"One day, as spring came, we wanted to break out. We made a plan, and figured that as soon as we were out, we'd be fine. We were wrong. We were off about the weather and they got us before we even exited the perimeter. That's when the avengers heard about us."

By now, Bucky's eyes were wide with genuine curiosity, his mouth agape as he took in the information you provided. With every word you spoke his grip tightened around your fingers and his eyebrows gathered even further. There was discomfort and anger in his features, but he didn't interrupt you once.

"After that, the restrictions got tougher. We realised there was no way out. A lot of things came together in that small time frame. I realised what that place actually was days after we tried to escape. My friends - or that's what I thought they were, figured out another plan. Why fight when you can just eliminate the premise?"

Bucky moved his lips but no words came out. He cleaned his throat and sat up a bit, "What- what do you mean?"

"They tried to kill me" you said, plastering a sympathetic smile on your lips, hoping it would make it easier for him to hear.

"What the fuck. Why?"

"I think my dad used to be part of that team. And I think he made me the way I am. Now I don't know why he wasn't around anymore, but that team wasn't trying to get us to do anything. They were trying to make more of me. So if I was dead-"

"There would be no reason to keep the other kids…" Bucky finished the sentence for you.

You nodded.

"And what happened?"

You bowed your head trying to find a way to put your words together. Bucky didn't rush you, just reassuringly rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, waiting. When a tear from your cheek slipped and landed on the back of his hand, you looked up and took a deep breath. "I killed them. All of them."

He didn't say anything. Didn’t move a muscle, as he waited for you to continue. 

"I didn't even want to do that, Buck" you sobbed, breaking down. "I killed over 20 people because I was afraid. I didn't even move. I was in the corner of my room the whole time, but everyone who approached me was fried to death. I don't even know how I did that. I was just scared"

"Oh, baby" Bucky cooed, pushing himself up to wrap his arms around you. You fell against his chest, crumbling in his embrace. "I hope you know that was not your fault, ok?" he asked, rubbing your back. "You were just a kid, alone and afraid. It breaks my fucking heart, those bastards. Please don't feel sorry for them"

"I feel sorry for the other kids"

"They tried to kill you, Y/n" Bucky countered, "If you hadn't killed them, I would've gone after them. All of them"

"They were desperate..."

"So were you!"

"I can't help but feel like a monster sometimes, you know? Like I'm reckless and out of control. There are times when I'm all happy and excited about what tomorrow would bring, and then i remember what I did, and I have a hard time fighting away the thoughts that try to tell me I don't deserve that"

"What you deserve is the fucking world ok?" Bucky said, tilting your chin so you could see just how serious he was. "This past couple of years, you saved hundreds of lives and I know for a fact you did it out of the pure kindness of your heart, not because you wanted to make up for anything in the past. You're a fucking angel. You're the embodiment of good, you hear me? I know you. You'll never understand how much respect I have for you, and how in awe I am with the kind of person you are. Please, don't ever think less of yourself. Ever, ok?"

Tears rolled down your cheeks as his words proved to be much more than you were able to hear at that moment. "Thanks, Buck. That's sweet of you to say-"

"It's not sweet of me to say, it's the fucking truth" he scoffed, but he somehow managed to make it sound loving. "You didn't even fucking try, but just being around you made me feel like a person again. You're amazing, Y/n. We're all lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

"You're gonna make me cry" you sniffled, curling yourself into a ball against his chest, "I know you were in a dark place when we met. I'm glad I managed to help you through it"

"You pulled me through it" he sighed, tightening his hold around you. "I went from wanting to die, to thinking that I didn't even deserve the easy way out. Look at me now."

"Buck, stop"

"I love you so fucking much" Bucky laughed. 

His whole frame shook as he pulled you back down, safely holding you between his arms, "You're amazing" he added, kissing the top of your head, "Perfect"

"I said, stop" you chuckled, slapping his side, "I get it, you like me, can we-"

"I adore you" Bucky cut you off after grabbing the sides of your face between his palms. "And thanks for trusting me. I know it wasn't easy for you to talk about your past, so thank you. I'm always here for you. If there's anything ever, I got you, ok? Forever"

"I got you too" you added, kissing his cheek and then moving along his jawline, "No matter what happens, you'll always have me on your side. I'm all yours, Bucky"

"Yeah, you are, doll. All mine"

After that talk, how you managed to fall into a deep sleep will always remain a mystery. Nightmares didn't make their way into your mind, and you settled for a dreamless slumber, actually fully content for the first time in a long while.

But not everybody processed grief the same way. And if Bucky mentioned earlier that he was lucky to have you, as you were pulled out of your sleep, you realised that he wasn't as lucky as you were when it came to the mysteries that creep up on you when you least expect them.

-

"Wake up sunshine"

The sound reached your ears, but it wasn't Bucky's voice, so you just groaned in response and rolled over to the other side, completely pressing your face into the pillow.

"Buttercup, it's time to wake up"

The voice seemed uneasy, as if the person speaking was actually terrified. You opened your eyes wearily, and were met with the usual, complete darkness of your room. 

"Come on, Y/n" they spoke again. You turned to see one of Tony's maintenance robots hovering above your body, one small screen lit up on its front. Blinking a few times to rid yourself of the sleep still lingering in your eyes, you managed to make out the faces of Tony and Steve, both staring at you.

"What's going on?" you mumbled.

"You've got incoming," Tony announced, and then shook his head at whatever someone next to him had said. The microphone wasn't performant enough for you to hear what the other person said, but it was not like you cared.

"Incoming what?" you questioned, still confused out of your mind.

He turned his attention back to you, "The asshole"

You frowned and Steve scoffed, "Y/n, it's Bucky. He's not well"

"Wh-" you mumbled, your head snapping to the side, only then realising his side of the bed was empty. You shuffled your arm around the sheets, still warm. "What- what happened?"

"He's gone rogue, Y/n" Steve announced, genuine worry and guilt audible in his voice, "You need to make sure he doesn't leave. You need to stop him"

Tony's workstation. You needed to get the shackles off your arms if you wanted to stand a chance, "Tony? How do I take these off?" you asked, pointing to your cuffs.

"Already taken care off" he nodded, "Get to my desk, it's unlocked. All you need to do is actually get there. If you can"

"If I can-?" you began asking, but a loud explosion sound cut you off, causing the bed to shake as a wind blew through your room. "What the fuck!?"

"He may have found the grenade launchers" Tony smiled bitterly.

"Y/n," Steve called for you, "Please, be careful. And call us. Me and Nat will take the jet but I don't know-"

"Don't worry" you shook your head, jumping off the bed and rushing to your closet. You chose the first clothes you saw laying before your eyes and put them on, ready to go look for Bucky. "I got this, I promise"

"Oh, and Y/n?" Tony said, making you turn to him at the last minute, "Try not to fry my tower"

You nodded and refrained from making any promises you didn't know you could keep. 

As soon as you walked out the door, the sound of automatic rifles going off became deafening. Stepping over piles of broken glass, you made your way to the emergency staircase, heading to Tony's lab. You did so with maximal caution, knowing that if you were spotted, there would be no going back.

Descending the last remaining flight of stairs until his work station, a rush of adrenaline surged through you, knowing just how close you were. Silently rounding the corner, your eyes landed on Bucky's frame, easily holding one of the remaining SHIELD agents up by the neck.

He turned to look at you, eyes cold and empty. Not even rage. There was nothing there. No expression, no empathy, no feeling. It was as if he was dead. This wasn't him. 

"Buck-" you panted, raising your hands up in the air, signaling surrender. You eyed Tony's desk, determined to stall him until you managed to free yourself of the cuffs.

You took a cautious step to the side, hands still up in the air. Bucky watched you as the man struggled against his hold, legs spasming uncontrollably as he kicked and squirmed, even though it was so clearly in vain.

"Don’t mind me-" you smiled, sweat flooding your pores as you slowly approached your destination. "I'll just-"

"You'll just what-?" Bucky groaned, flinging his victim with impeccable ease. The agent's body flew across the room, crushing into the only device that had the power to help you get through this. As the work station crumpled under his weight, so did your hopes of getting out of this. 

"Bucky, hey-" you mumbled, afraid of pissing him off, "I-"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he frowned, starting to march towards you. Your blood ran cold, knowing you didn't have what it took to keep up with him. You were never able to dodge anyone's blows, let alone his. When he reached you, his hand instantly reached around your neck, lifting you off the floor, "SHIELD?" he asked after taking a look at your attire. Although not carrying the emblem, it was probably the only explanation that made sense to him.

"Well, um-" you huffed, holding onto his wrist in hopes of not running out air, "No, not SHIELD"

"Then who are you?" he growled, tightening his hold on your windpipe.

"Fuck-" you gasped, kicking your legs, even through he didn't even flinch when you hit him. "You're not gonna believe this but, um-"

"Try me"

You looked into his eyes, hoping it would serve as some kind of a memento, that maybe he'd remember you. "You know me, Buck. It's Y/n, I'm- your girlfriend?"

Even saying it made you feel weird. This killing machine, apparently hell bent on wrecking havoc, was not the man you loved, and you cringed just imagining his reaction to hearing your words.

And it did turn out to be worse than expected, as he spun around, doing a complete 180° with your body before slamming you down on the floor. The wood cracked under your bones, knocking the wind out of you. The pain of the impact was excruciating, propagating along your body in waves of some physical agony you had never felt before. The sound of your bones cracking made you sick to your stomach. Your ears caught the sound of your arteries being torn as your organs collapsed.

And if you felt every inch of your body being shattered and destroyed, it was God's way of making you pay for your parent's mistakes, as when your wounds healed mere seconds later, the pain did not go away. Your nerve receptors still registered damage to the tissues, and no matter whether you were actually as good as new, your brain couldn't process that.

What consumed you the most was the fact that as you struggled to stand up, the pain of broken limbs lingered on. But you fought through it, gathered yourself and stood up, facing him again.

You winced with every muscle contraction, but eventually your eyes met his. He showed curiosity, along with something else. Something else which you wished wasn't determination to finish you.

"Can we-" you whimpered, extending a hand, "Can we talk?"

"Talk!?" Bucky raged, grabbing your wrist and twisting your arm to the point where he spun you around, your back pressing against his chest. "Not here to talk" he growled into your ear.

The hairs on your body stood as you heard his voice. Even though it was technically the same voice you loved more than anything in the world, it made you now shiver with a fear you've never experienced before. 

You didn't get a chance to sink too deep in your thoughts before Bucky raised your arm, dislocating your shoulder and busting your humerus into pieces. The pain cut your legs at the knees and you screamed in agony, falling to the floor at his feet.

"Stand up" he commanded, slamming his foot into your side. The momentum made your body roll away, until you settled back on the ground, face deep in the rubble. Your muscles pulled you to your feet with ease, but the pain coursing through you was immense, nowhere near close to what you thought bearable. You felt the skin being ripped from your body and when you looked down, your clothes were torn, soaked in blood, but your skin was intact. It was what you needed to keep going - to get inside your head the fact that you were fine, because at this point, the pain was one bruise away from making you faint.

"Bucky, please-" you cried.

"Stop calling me Bucky!" he yelled, starting to approach you again.

With every step he took, you slowly backed away. "Please, listen to me, just a second, please!"

He shook his head no, a demented smile on his lips as he closed in on you.

"Bucky-"

As a reply to your question, his fist flew up, slamming into your jaw, hard enough to throw you to the ground, "Why do you keep calling me-"

"What else do you want me to call you, huh?" you yelled at him, vision blurred under too many layers of tears. "Tell me, and I'll do it if it'll get you to listen to me."

"I don't want you to call me anything-" he cocked his head to the side, unstrapping a handgun from his thigh. He loaded it as you barely managed to crawl away, "You can take the pain. I respect that. Let's see how well you do with these lead bullets"

You saw them in slow motion, barely managing to duck your head behind the remains of what once was a heavy wooden bookshelf. The bullets missed your chest and face, but you saw them, felt them penetrate your skin, ripping through your muscles. 

The sound of your tissues being pulled to shreds made you feel sick to your stomach. As the bullets left your body, your wounds closed back up, leaving you a crying mess on the floor. Your throat constricted due to the wave of shock that hit your body, and your lungs started hyperventilating. Lightheaded and gasping for air, you struggled to crawl away from him, tears marching down your face and ending up on the floor, nothing but diluting the droplets of blood that had fallen from your body mere minutes before. Your heart was in overdrive and your vision blurred as every fiber of your being threatened to let you down. "Please-" you screamed, your voice breaking as you raised your hand for him, "Let's talk, please. That's all I want. Give me a minute"

But he didn't. He didn't even consider it. Instead, the force that controlled the body of the only man that ever managed to make you feel safe, tortured, destroyed and consumed your body for what felt like the better part of an eternity.

You had been thrown through walls, shattered windows, had glass shards lodged into your body from all angles. He unloaded cannon after cannon on you, used up all the ammo he had on him, only growing more and more annoyed when you refused to give up.

There was no way to know how much time had passed. Now you were standing by the window, inches away from the spot where two nights ago, you and Bucky clicked your glasses, smiling at how far you both had come. He laughed, saying he wouldn't have made it without you. And then he kissed you, confessing that the thought that maybe you couldn't have made it without him either, was what kept him going. 

And then there you were. 48 hours later, again, just the two of you. But now there weren't any champagne glasses between you, just his metal arm, wrapped around your neck, this time, as he said, for the last time.

"I don't get it-" he scowled, teeth gritted and frustration in his voice, "Why don't you fight me?"

"I can't fight you" you whimpered as your tears poured down against his cold hand, "And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"WHY?" Bucky screamed, and for a second, you thought you saw a crack there, a glister of emotion hidden deep in his otherwise beautiful eyes.

"Because I love you" you cried.

But there was none. He rolled his eyes and pushed you back, your body slamming into the window. You should've thought faster, been more witty and considerate, but terror washed over you and in the heat of the moment, you grabbed onto him for dear life, pulling him down with you, plummeting to the ground from what looked like the 70th floor of the Stark Tower. 

If until now you had been afraid of what you'd have to endure, it was now that you met true terror. You'd survive the fall, but he wouldn't. 

Even in the air, approaching the ground at a dangerous speed, he kept fighting you. Even in this state, you admired his determination - he had a job and wanted to get it done - even if that job was killing you. A man of his word.

By now, the pain was unnoticeable. If you wanted to keep him alive you had to act fast. Clinging to his body despite his vicious protests and ruthless blows, you used your momentum to turn the two of you around. And you did so at the last second, as before you knew it, your bodies crashed into the boulevard below, sinking down into the asphalt as it crumpled under your weight. 

The impact cut your breath away and there was a gnawing feeling all over your body, as if you had blades under your skin, pulling your body apart fiber by fiber. But you snapped out of it.

"Bucky!" you yelled, slapping his cheek.

He had fallen completely on top of you, his head pressed against your chest. He didn't move and the continuous buzz in your ears made it physically impossible for you to tell whether he was breathing for not.

"Bucky, please-" you cried, trying to move him so you could see his face. 

Nothing.

"No, no, no!!" you screamed, "You can't die, baby, please! Not like this, love. Please come back to me, Buck, I'm begging you!!"

You remained there and wailed, with him glued to your chest. Your arms had wrapped around his motionless frame, keeping him as close as you could. Nothing could have gotten you to stop. Tens of people gathered around the crater your fall created around your bodies, police showed up, cameras were pointed at your faces, but you didn't care. If he died, so would you. 

"You're all I have, baby-" you muttered, voice hoarse and dry from all the wailing and crying, "Please, you can't leave me. This can't be the end of us. Please, I don't know what to do, Bucky, please!"

You were soaked. In blood, and you didn't even know whether it was his or yours. God, how you hoped it all belonged to you, how the pool of blood you laid in was all yours. Tears soaked your face, pouring down your temples as your whole frame shook with your sobs, that was the true agony. You'd rather spend the rest of your days fighting for your life if it meant he got to see the sun again. You wished he'd hate you, rather than not feel anything at all ever again.

"Please-" you said again but this time your voice didn't even reach your own ears, you didn't hold that power anymore, "Please, you need to come back! You deserve so much better than this. You're the best man I have even known, you can't die like this, not today, Bucky. Not today!"

By now, the people around you had scattered. They knew your identities and for all the wrong reasons, feared you both. You were grateful for that now, you were alone with him again, as the sun began to set and a chilly New York night began to settle. 

Still, you didn't move. You still had faith. Or you were just stubborn. There was no way you'd pull away until someone either pried him off of you against your will, or someone that you trusted showed up promising they'd help.

None of them came, and you remained there, cradling his frame to your chest begging whatever God was listening, to bring him back. You didn't know if one of them heard you, or if it was just blind luck or fate, but you only realised his metal arm was lodged under your body when he moved it.

"Buck!" you cried, cupping his cheeks in your bloodied palms as literal life cursed through your veins. "Oh god, you're ok, you're alive!! You came back to me!"

You managed to hug him close one more time, before he pushed himself off of you. In the process of standing up, his eyes met yours for the briefest second. Again, nothing.

He gathered himself to his feet, wordlessly bending down to grab your hair. He forced you up and you instantly obliged, following him back into the building.

Once inside, he knocked you through a glass door, your body once again absorbing his fury. The pain had dissipated into a dull ache, and this time, you stood up faster. "I can do this all day" you sighed, the lie slipping past your lips with such ease, as if the energy inside your core wasn't running dangerously low.

"What did you just say?" he questioned.

He seemed taken aback, "I said that I can do this all day"

"Who are you?" Bucky yelled, marching towards you, determined to get answers out of you through nothing else but brute force. He slammed you back onto the floor, only to straddle your thighs and pick you up by the collar of your shit. "Why won't you just fucking die!?"

Circling your fingers around his wrists, you searched for his eyes, "Wanna know what keeps me alive?"

"Are you stupid enough to tell me?"

"I might be" you shook your head, "but I'll still tell you"

"Why?"

"Because I know you won't kill me" you cried, "I know you know me. I know you're in there somewhere. The man I love. I know you don't have it in you to kill me"

"Try me" he laughed, drunk with the power you were so willing to give him.

"These-" you panted, raising your arms in the air to show him your cuffs, "These are what's been keeping me alive but I know you won't-"

But you never finished the sentence. He didn't even think twice before ripping them off your arms and throwing them onto the floor, along with all the other mess you two had made.

You never thought he'd actually spare you. So it wasn't a surprise when the first thing he did after freeing you, was reach for his knife with the sole purpose of driving it through your chest.

But you were faster. You framed his face into your palms, releasing the energy from your body and allowing it to flow through his. It felt weird, wrong and chaotic, and the power surge wiggled itself out of your control, until a blast between your bodies sent you both flying back across the room, falling down onto the floor.

And this time none of you stood up.

-

"I leave them alone for what, a day?" Tony sighed, walking out of his Iron Man suit. 

"Holy shit!" Steve cried out, his knees betraying him as he tried to rush to you.

"No, wait!" Nat stopped him, "You can't wake them up until we get them somewhere safe. We need to make new cuffs for Y/n, and find a way to keep Bucky contained in case, you know… he's still not Bucky"

Steve was fuming with anger, nostrils flaring, "These are my friends you're talking about!" he exclaimed, pointing to your bodies on the floor, "Your friends too, Nat. You see them like this and the first thing you think about is restraining them!?"

"We need to make sure we're all safe" she sighed with sympathy, grabbing his hand for a comforting rub.

"You make sure you're safe-" Steve scoffed, "I'll make sure they're alive"

"Hey-" Nat stopped him, "If you touch her and startle her in any way, you die!"

Her words hurt him but he knew you never would. Steve felt his heart shutter just imaging what you must have gone through. He was ablaze with pure determination to prove Nat wrong, and to do right by you and Buck. "I carried her in my arms while she was passed out when we rescued her from that facility-" he fummed, pointing at you, "She never knew a man that didn't try to hurt her before. And when she woke up, she was afraid. Scared for her life. She cried in my arms and begged me to not let them take her again! She was never anywhere close to hurting me! She's good. So good. There's only good inside of her, I trust her to not hurt me more than I trust myself, ok? If I'm wrong, so be it. I die. I don't care. She deserves someone to look after her. If I had to chose, saving her would be the way I'd want to go"

His rant left Nat speechless. She just gave him a simple nod and stepped back. 

Carefully, he picked you up and carried you upstairs, as Tony put his suit back on and carried Bucky.

-

Never in your life had you woken up this fast. Your eyes snapped open and you sprung to your feet. 3 pairs of anxious eyes watched you, all of them ready to jump into action in case the situation called for an intervention.

"What-" you gawked, scanning the room, "Where is Bucky? Is he- is-"

"He's fine, Y/n" Steve assured you. He stood up and slowly approached you, arms outstretched. Your first instinct was to go for it, but when you reached him, you placed both your hands in his, and looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Are you sure?" you whimpered, "Can I see him?"

Sympathy took over his features, but Tony jumped in, "Absolutely not"

"What-" you turned to him, "Why? Did I-?"

"You didn't do anything wrong" Steve hummed, engulfing you in a hug even though you remained stiff in your spot. He rubbed your back, eager to soothe your worried mind, but you were too out of it.

“Can I just go?” you whispered, pulling back just enough so that he could see how serious you were, “I need to see him, please”

“Are you mad at him?” Nat asked with caution and your face fell.

“No!” you gasped, stepping away from Steve’s embrace, “No, not even one bit. I know that was not him, I know it’s not his fault. But when Bucky wakes up-”

“If he wakes up-” Tony sneered, roaming around the room. He nursed a glass of whiskey, as a mixture of disgust and exhaustion was readable on his features. 

“When he wakes up!” you spoke through gritted teeth. Determination coated your words and the hairs on your body stood as you refused to even think of the alternative. “He will wake up. And I have to be there”

“What if the Winter Soldier wakes up?” Nat asked.

“That didn’t stop me last time”

“Oh, no!” Tony butted in, stepping in between you and Nat, arms outstretched, “You know I’m not one to cry after money, but you and your pal left me with $37 million worth of damage. You two are one broken cup away from getting thrown into the streets”

The sum he mentioned made the skin on your back crawl. You didn’t even have $37 dollars to your name, but it made sense. Your body alone crashed through three TV’s, one gamma ray projector and if you thought about it, you remembered Bucky pulling apart one of the Iron Legion robots, and only the thought made you flinch. 

“So-” Tony said, “You two? Never in the same room again!”

“Take these off then” you suggested, pointing at the cuff on your wrists.

“Ha” Tony exclaimed, “A big chunk of that money comes from you frying all my electronics up until the 12th floor. Absolutely not”

“Tony, I’m serious” you whined, “He will hate himself. I need to be there! I need to make sure he doesn’t take all the blame on his shoulders”

He frowned, and sighed. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, and you hoped that core deep inside his chest really made up for a heart. And… it did. None of them were happy about it, but they finally accepted. Nat and Tony would have never probably given up if it wasn’t for Steve - right now, like so many times before, he really did seem like your guardian angel.

They ended up monitoring the room, and Tony waited for your signal, one hand on his cigarette, the other on the Iron Man suit. He was all talk - if anything was to go down and you would actually be in danger again, he wouldn’t even think twice before tearing his towers into pieces if it meant he could get you out alive.

And so you left, thanked them in the form of a simple nod, and headed down the dark hallways.

Oh, how you hated this.

What consumed you now had nothing to do with the pain you had endured in the past 24 hours. Its source was not physical, yet your whole body ached. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulders - and in some way, it was - Bucky was your whole world, and the fear of losing him breathed down your neck.

It had been about 20 minutes since you stopped in front of the door that led to the room he'd been confined in. When FRIDAY announced that Bucky woke up, you rushed over, only for a hazardous sense of anguish to stop you dead in your tracks. Judging by the way he sat in the corner of the room, his fingers aimlessly tracing every indentation in the handcuffs Tony had restrained him with, you had no problem telling which one of him woke up. He broke your heart. His room was equipped with 5 different cameras and 2 microphones. Completely unaware of them, he sat inches away from one, and your heart shattered, sinking 3 stories below when you heard him whimper.

It was soft and quiet. His whole frame shook as he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He was hunched down, brown hair covering his perfect face, but still, his sadness brought you to tears. 

You heard him again. He sniffled as he laid back against the wall. His eyes were bloodshot, lips almost white and dry as his chest raced up and down. His muscles clenched and his feet bounced against the metal floor, it was a sight you never wished you see ever again. 

Softly, you raised a hand, and thought twice before finally knocking.

"Go away," Bucky called, voice all hoarse and dry as it broke halfway through.

You were able to see him on the small screen next to the door, but he had no idea who came to visit.

Out of instinct, you knocked again before typing in the password and ever so slowly walking inside.

Instantly, he looked up. He was surrounded by an air of darkness and despair, ever so obviously tormented to the peak of his capability.

He stared at you for a few seconds as his eyes watered, and then he gathered his lips into a straight line, shaking his head. "Please, go"

"Bucky, I-"

"Please" he cried, head falling forward as he toyed with the metal edges of his prosthetic arm. He shook his head, "Please, don't do this. Just, go"

You took a deep breath, only then entering the room far enough to actually be able to close the door behind you. Slowly turning back to him, your palms sweated as you had no idea what to say to him. 

"Can you talk to me, Buck? Please?"

He chuckled, "About what?" 

"About whatever it is you think you did wrong, I-"

As he heard your words, his hands instantly flew up to cover his face. He was, however, stopped, as the cuffs on his left wrist kept him from moving too much. While a new row of tears flooded his cheeks, his eyes met yours, "Look at me.. I need to be restrained while you're alone with me"

"Those cuffs would literally do nothing to stop you from escaping, and you know it"

"Maybe it's just a sense of reassurance"

"To who?" you scoffed.

"To them" Bucky responded, nodding his head towards one of the cameras. "I'm a monster" he added, wiggling his cuff restrained hand, "I'm a danger to everyone"

"Oh for fucks sake" you rolled your eyes, marching up to him. With absolutely no remorse, you grabbed his hand and harshly pulled apart the metal that had him restrained to the bed. Before he got a chance to say anything, you bent down, unclipped the microphone from the foot of the bed, threw it on the floor, and stepped on it, until it was nothing but a small pile of shattered plastic.

And you kept going, destroying the second microphone along with the 5 cameras on the walls as Bucky watched you with surprise. You finished by going for the door and locking it from the inside. "You think I'm afraid of you?" you asked softly, "For 6 hours you did your best to kill me and failed miserably. Look at me, I'm unscathed"

"Did you hear yourself?" he cringed, shaking his head, "I tried to kill you"

"Ok, I know I said that you did your best-" you said, mentally scolding yourself for the error in communication. "We both know that wasn't you. That wasn't you, Buck. It was Hydra. It was the winter soldier, not you. My Bucky would never-"

"Y/n-" he stopped you, "I know you don't see things the way I do-"

"But I see them the right way"

"Listen-" Bucky sighed, driving his hands through his hair. For the first time that night you actually saw his full face, his cheek and signature scowl, his blue eyes and the tilt of the corner of his mouth - your soul melted when you associated the picture with the words that came out of his mouth. "I can't blame you for being here. I can't. If the roles were reversed, I'd be doing the exact same thing. But, holy fuck-" he sighed, pausing to gather his thoughts. Bucky looked you up and down. His lips quivered and his head fell to the side as a sad smile appeared on his lips. "Remember this morning? How we talked about our hypothetical child?" he laughed and shook his head, "Even if I know we could never have a kid because we're both sterile, it was still the most beautiful thought that ever crossed my mind, Y/n''

"Mine too, Buck-"

"And what did I do?" he dismissed your empathy, "Two hours later I was unloading an AK-47 into your stomach, like the brainwashed maniac that I am!"

"Don’t say that!" you exclaimed, "Don't you dare think about things like this!"

"Why wouldn't I?" he threw his hands up in the air, "What does it matter whose fault it is? I get to live with the consequences."

"But-" you breathed out, "We can work through this. You did it before. You can't let something that hydra did dictate your life, Bucky. You deserve so much better. You deserve to be happy!"

"I tried to kill you!" he screamed, for the first time losing his calm and standing up to be at the same level as you.

"That was not you!"

"So what?" he huffed, "I was there, Y/n! I will never, NEVER get the feeling of crushing your bones out of my head! I felt your neck snap! I choked you with my arms! That is not something I can live with! I can't live a life by your side if every time I look at you I'm reminded of those horrible things I did to you!"

"Buck-" you cried, looking at him from behind too many layers of unshed tears, "Please, don't say that"

"I'm sorry" he responded in the same fashion, his pain coating every word he said. "When I close my eyes I see you laying in a puddle of blood. I can't stop hearing your screams of agony. Agony that no matter how you put it, was caused by my hands. That's not something we can live with, Y/n. You were not made for this. You really do fucking deserve someone that won't wake up one day and try to murder you in cold blood"

"And what do you deserve, Buck?" you quietly asked, searching for his eyes, "To live your life alone? Forever? If you had been with anyone else, this would have turned out so much worse. That cute barista three blocks down that always scribbles a heart on your coffee cup? She's cute, yeah. You deserve to be loved by someone, but if that someone was her, you wouldn't be drowning in guilt right now, Bucky, you'd be mourning her. Yes, you got troubles. Yes, you've got a past more fucked up than anyone else I have ever heard about. That's the kind of shit you can't change. But whatever you do from now on, is in your fucking hands and yours alone. Don't try to tell me you're not worthy of having someone, because that's the fattest load of crap I've ever heard. You're a good man! With a fucked up past! And a dark side that you need to fight! And you have me! I don't care you dropped Tony's piano on my legs, apparently I can take it! I'm here for you no matter what! You don't want to be with me anymore? Fine. But don't you dare push me away, thinking that a ruined future makes up for a ruined past"

"Who's to say I won't try it again?" he asked, "I don't know what triggered the transition. But what if once a week I end up trying to kill you-"

"Apparently you can't!" you laughed bitterly.

"Ok, so I can't" he nodded in approval, "Is that what you want? I should be your rock, your best friend, I should always be there for you. Do you want to have your whole world turned upside down whenever my brain decides to go berserk?"

"See, Buck" you sighed, "Of course I don't want that. I can't fucking stand here and tell you that I do. What kind of credibility would I have then? But you know what I want? You. You and whatever nazi shit that comes along. I want you. To help you. To have you with me. To see you everyday. If every Saturday at 10am you decide you want to kill me, you best believe I'm sacrificing my morning coffee just so we can kung fu around the living room"

He looked at you for a long second, the corners of his lips fighting a hard battle against the hint of a smile that started to show on his features. Eventually he caved and chuckled, shaking his head, "That was a bit funny"

"And fucking true," you cried, going for his hands and bringing them up to your chest. He winced, but you spoke up again, determined to not let his mind torture him.

"I love you, Bucky"

"How do you not hate me?" he choked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you seriously look at me and not get even the slightest instinct to run away?"

"Bucky..." you breathed out, cupping his cheek. "How could I run away when I've never seen you in more pain than right now?"

"You're an angel, you know that?" 

"I've been called a lot of things" you giggled, "Angel isn't one of them, but if that's what you want, I'll take it"

"Come here" he whispered, wrapping his arms around your frame. He had you nuzzle against his chest, his hold keeping you tight and secure. His heart beat against your cheek and your eyes watered again. There wasn't one thing in the world you wouldn't do for that heart - to make sure it keeps beating, and that it keeps the man you love alive. And content, above all. All you wanted right now was for him to accept the things that happened. You wanted to take whatever weight he was carrying on his shoulders, and put it upon yourself. "I love you so much, Bucky" you cried against his chest as your hold tightened around him, "I hate to see you torn like this. I don't want anything to ever happen to you. It terrifies me. I love you with all that I am. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You deserve the world, baby"

"So do you" he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You felt his chest shake, a deep rumble echoed from the depths of his lungs. You looked up to see him fight back a sob, his eyes wide open, glossy and red, trained down on you, "I love you too much to do this, Y/n. I'm sorry, I don't think I can"

"No!" you gasped, pressing your face back against his shoulder, "Don't do that. You can't do that. No"

"We won't work, Y/n" Bucky said as he brought you even closer, "I can't look at you anymore. I can't look at you without dying inside. You don't want to live with me like that"

"Yes, I do!" you sobbed. "I'll work with anything you give me, I swear there is nothing more I want. Just you. Just you and me. Bucky, please don't do this"

He held you close for what felt like half a second, but rationally speaking, your legs were getting numb. You just stood there, clinging to his body, taking in his scent and listening to his breathing even out until he pushed you away. Oh, how you didn't want to let go. Ever. But you did, and choked back a sob as soon as you felt the cold air of the room brush against the part of your body that had been pressed to his.

"We should get some sleep, Y/n"

"Are you coming with me?" you whimpered, afraid of the answer he might give you.

Bucky shook his head, "I think I'll just sleep here tonight"

That broke you. The shock and terror cut your breath away. It felt impossible - the feeling of losing him. The amount of pain that surged through you. At that particular moment, you felt like cracking your chest open to grip your heart into your hand and pick apart the broken parts. But not even that felt good enough, you were fairly sure you'd be left with nothing. It felt like a slap across your cheek, like a cloth had been placed over your mouth and your legs cut at the knees. It felt like the end. 

Optimistic by nature, not even you could deny the reason he wanted to sleep alone. It was clear as day.

"If-" you mumbled, tears coating your face at their own free will, voice shaking as you barely managed to articulate the words over the violent sobs that ripped their way out of your throat. "If I promise to not do anything to try and convince you to stay… can you promise me that in case you decide to leave, you'll come and tell me first?"

"Oh, doll" Bucky broke down all over again, throwing himself at you again. He collapsed on top of you, molding his body around yours. "I promise, angel"

You just nodded. That was all you could do. It took another few moments for you to gather yourself and stop wailing, but you did, and then, with nothing else other than a sad smile, you left. 

Your feet carried you to your room, and you were ready to collapse on top of your bed. Eager to cuddle into his pillows. They smelled like that shower gel you got him and you hated it. You wanted his scent. Not even caring how ridiculous it sounded, you padded over to the chair in the corner of your bedroom, the one Bucky uses to discard all his worn clothes. 

You wanted to find a shirt he wore, one that smelled exactly like you knew him, but before you reached the clothes pile, your attention was drawn to the window.

Steve was standing there, facing the busy streets outside, hands in his pocket and his head turned in your direction.

"I didn't see you, sorry" you gasped, as your eyes accommodated to the darkness.

"It's fine" he shook his head, "I just figured you'd turn on the lights, you know, like the normal people. Didn't think I'd scare you"

"Yeah, sorry" you sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "I did even think about turning the lights on"

He didn't say anything, but you saw him nod. He knew your pain. He lost enough in his life, and seeing his best friend sink back into his darkness was surely not easy for him either.

"Is he ok?" Steve eventually asked.

You shook your head, "He's too good of a man to be ok"

"That is Bucky" he laughed, and you couldn't help but do the same. The irony.

Steve's curiosity was palpable in the room. Words could not describe the appreciation you had for him for respecting your boundaries and not pushing you in a moment like this. But he deserved to know.

You opened your mouth to explain to him what happened, but as your mind processed everything all over again, you broke down. "I think he's gonna leave-" you cried.

Steve was quick to gather you in his arms, engulfing you in a bear hug, helping you stand on your own two feet. "What do you mean?" he asked, concern tracing his tone.

"I understand him, I do. And I promised I won't try to get him to stay if he doesn't want to. But- but I should've done more, Steve. I should've shown him somehow how much I love him. But I'm afraid he'll leave, and I don't want to live-"

"Hey, hey, hey" Steve hurried to stop you, petting your head softly before urging you to look up at him. "Bucky loves you more than I ever thought possible, ok? There's no question about it. I'm sorry I'm doing this, but I think he'll postpone it anyway"

"What?"

"The man wants to marry you, ok?" Steve smiled, "He asked Tony if he had any work for him so he could raise money. Can you imagine how that went down? He was red like a tomato, but he didn't think twice. James Barnes used the computer to look for rings for you. The Bucky I know? Never would've done this. You brought to life a part of him that no one else has seen before. He loves you. With all that he is. And trust me when I tell you, he won't stand to be away from you. You're his whole world, Y/n. He's my best friend, trust me when I tell you this is something you'll work through. I'll help, we'll all help. You're not gonna lose him, Y/n. He's so beat up about all of this because he loves you this much. He's all yours. If he decides to leave, I need you to be strong because he will be back. I got him back 70 years later. You just need to trust him. Trust his heart, ok?"

"Oh my god" you cried, "I don't know what to say"

"Don’t say anything" he chuckled, "We've been through so much together. All of us. Even if we try, nothing pulls us apart, ok? How many times has Loki died, hm?"

"God, Steve!" you scoffed somewhat amused and pulled back just to hit him, "Did you seriously compare Bucky to Loki!?"

"It got you to smile, didn't it?" he laughed. "But I'm serious. You've both been through so much worse than this. You'll get through this one too. And in case you ever feel like you won't, I'm here, ok?"

"Ok…"

Funny as it all was, it worked. He calmed you down - to some extent. Gave you hope you didn't know existed. If it wasn't for Steve, you probably would have not been able to fall asleep. And even though dreams didn't visit you, and you never relaxed enough to actually get some rest, you just dozed off. All clothed and curled diagonally on the bed, you cuddled Bucky's pillow to your chest as your eyes slowly fell closed.

When you opened them again, it was still dark out. You had no idea what pulled you awake as you struggled to sit up on the bed, but then you heard Bucky's voice again, from the doorway.

"Y/n?"

“Buck?” you gasped, turning around. Only his silhouette was visible, head hung low and hands deep in his pockets. He was leaning against the doorway, silently awaiting your response.

Right then and there, you felt your world collapse. Steve’s monologue made you actually fucking believe things would be fine, but here he was, keeping his promise. In the buttcrack of night, he kept his word, bidding you a much feared farewell.

“Is-” you sobbed, jumping out of bed and rushing towards him. You almost knocked him off of his feet when you flung yourself at him, but he was quick to reciprocate, caging you between his arms. “Is this it? You’re leaving?”

He didn’t say anything which frankly made everything worse. You broke down even further, clinging to his shirt as if it was the only source of oxygen keeping you alive - it sure felt like it.

“Look at me” Bucky urged you, tilting your chin up, “Please?”

You slowly lifted your head, your eyes meeting his.

“I’m sorry, I will make it up to you” he whispered, a frown settling above his tired eyes, “You’ll see”

“What does that even mean?" you questioned, tired and sick of this ongoing conflict that should not even have been an issue to begin with. "You don't have to make up for anything"

"I know you see things like that" he cooed, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. He spoke softly, his breath fanning against your skin, somehow, even in this situation, managing to calm you down. "But you can understand me too, right?"

"I don't want to" you shrugged, "I don't care. Why does it matter if I understand you or not if you're gonna leave anyway?"

"I'm not leaving, doll"

"What!?" you beamed, pulling away from his hold and grabbing his face in your palms, "You're not- but you're-"

His whole frame softened, "I'm not here to say goodbye, Y/n. I'm not going anywhere"

"Oh god" you gasped.

"Come on, come here" Bucky chuckled softly, bringing you back into his hold, "I'm staying here. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. You're the most badass woman I know and I managed to break you"

"I love you, Buck" 

"I love you more, Y/n" he sighed, "I'll make everything right, I promise"

"Oh, fuck" you breathed out relieved, "Just do whatever you want, I don't care. You're here. That's all that matters."

"And we also need to teach you to fight-" he added, "For real. And find a way for you to take those goddamn shackles off in case this happens again"

"Tony won't be too happy about it" you laughed.

"Fuck if I care-" Bucky said strenly, pointing at you, "Next time, you need to be able to stop me. And fast"

"Maybe it won't happen again"

"Maybe not" Bucky nodded, "But if it does, we need to be ready"

"Thank you" you said, "I know I didn't play this right. I know I literally dismissed everything that you must have gone through today. I'm sorry"

"You don't get to be sorry" Bucky stopped you, "Not after-"

"Then you don't get to, either!"

"Meh" he shrugged, "We'll see"

"Bucky!"

"I love you" he laughed, bending down to pick you up. He planted his hands on the back of your thighs, picking you up with ease and walking you over to the bed. You plopped back against the fluffy mattress with a huff, and giggled as he crawled his way on top of you. Instantly, his lips met yours. It was exhilarating, the kind that made your chest ache. You moaned against his lips as love transpired through his touch. It was overwhelming and the first happy tears of the day streamed down your temples as you arched yourself against him.

"I'm so weak for you, fuck" Bucky groaned, his right arm reaching around your back and pressing you against his chest. "You're everything" he added as he kissed his way along your neck, "I'm all yours forever, Y/n. I love you too much"

"I'm here, baby" you moaned, hiding your face into his shoulder, "You're mine, Bucky. All mine."

His lips didn't leave your body as he pushed himself up just enough to be able to reach the buckle of his jeans. The sound made your core ache, and your mouth watered.

There was no patience in his movements. He barely pulled his jeans down to his knees before ridding you of your pajama pants. He lodged himself between your thighs, his mouth instantly back on yours again.

"Come on" you panted, steading your arms against his strong back. Your legs found their way around his frame, ready to pull him closer.

When Bucky guided his hands between your bodies to align the tip of his cock with your opening, you whimpered in anticipation. Agonisingly slow, he trailed his tip along your folds before reaching your clit. With a blissful moan, he reached further up, tapping his cock against your bare cunt a couple of times before returning his attention back to you. 

"I got you, baby" he hummed, pecking your lips. "You ready? Is this ok?"

With eagerness, you nodded and wiggled under his weight, your pussy aching for him. "Yes, yes"

When you felt his cock push past your folds, you moaned out loud, your voice cracking with the pure pleasure that took over your being.

He eased himself in, going all the way until he all but knocked the breath out of you, and he stopped. Bucky reached down to kiss you again, his cock motionless, balls deep inside of you.

He bit down on your lip and you giggled.

"Felt your pussy clench around me, doll" he laughed, "You're good to me"

"You may be all mine, Buck, but I'm all yours too"

"Holy shit" he panted, shaking his head in disbelief. It was as if you weren't real. He'd have pinched himself, but if this was a dream, he really did not want to wake up. So he kept going.

Nibbling at the skin of your neck, he started to pull himself out of you. The slow pace was driving you insane. Your need grew so strong you felt everything. His breath, the way his hair tickled your chin, his strong around around your shoulders, his massive thighs rubbing against yours, every small vein along his cock that drove you closer and closer to the sweetest bliss you had ever known. 

He got you all worked up at an agonisingly slow pace, before his thrusts became more and more aggravated. You moaned with each thrust despite your struggles to keep quiet.

"You know how much I love hearing you, doll" Bucky shook his head as he drove himself back inside of you all the way, "Moan for me"

"Fuck, ok" you gasped, and closed your eyes as you started to fall apart. You gripped the bed sheets into your hands and pulled as he kept fucking you, deep and hard.

"You're so good, baby" he groaned, "So, so good for me"

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, fervently sucking deep, maroon marks all ice your skin. Gutural grounds betrayed his air of self control as a plethora of curse words escaped his lips. "Taking me so fucking well. I can't keep going like this, you're too fucking tight-"

"Cum, baby" you encouraged, voice low and tender as you spoke against his ear, "Cum for me"

"Don’t have to tell me twice" he chuckled.

His thrusts started to become sloppy and irregular, as his eyes flew closed. You missed the blue of his eyes, but his mouth was slightly agape as he panted his way to an orgasm.

His chest heaved against yours, "How do you feel so fucking good?" Bucky cursed, eyes still closed as he barely managed to mumble his words between the numerous grunts of pleasure that forced their way out of his throat.

You gave him no answer, instead just clung to him tighter, "Fuck, Bucky, I'm close-"

"Come on" he encouraged, hurrying to rub your clit. His fingers found your bud in an instant, working experienced, familiar circles that almost drove you over the edge. "Cum with me, ok?"

You nodded, gathering your lips between your teeth. He kept fucking you, harder and faster until he had turn limp under his weight. You came as his name rolled off your lips, and he followed seconds after, pumping his juices deep inside your pussy. 

You felt his absolute pleasure as he breathed heavily against your shoulder. He kept going until you were both spent, and then fell down beside you. 

"Bucky-" you whined, turning over and curling into his side, the lack of contact making you more needy than ever.

"Yes, darling?" he panted, tapping your chin.

"Nothing. I just love you"

"Love you too, doll" he huffed, spinning you around so you laid on your back.

He effortlessly helped you out of your shirt and plopped down on top of you, his head resting on your bare chest. His warm, right hand cupped your breast as he closed his eyes. He wrapped himself around you, "Hold me" he muttered, "please"

"Always, Bucky" you said, engulfing him in the tightest hold you could muster. Only then did you feel him calm down completely, and there was nothing in the world you could ever ask for.

-

If you liked it, please reblog and tell me what you thought? :)

[gryffindors-weasley]

Enamored

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: The day Ron tells you he loves you.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: loss of a home, Fred is alive, mild angst, fluff, requited love, kissing

A/N: This fic is inspired by Pretty Boy by The Neighbourhood!

The last traces of summer had rapidly faded as the season changed to autumn, the once warm weather now chilled and brisk. It had been a whirlwind of a year thus far, one that was exceedingly more undesirable than most with the war having transpired. It brought with it a myriad of losses and misfortune for all that had been involved to fight against the Dark Lord.

The most noticeable loss for the Weasley family was the destruction of their family home. It was near ash and ruins but a few months ago, devastating and left in tatters as it no longer stood tall lopsidedly wonderful. While it was life altering and an act of complete and utter cruelty, they remained grateful that each and every member of their tight knit family remained alive and well. That’s what always mattered most to them, what will always matter.

Now that fall has rolled around after three months of hard work and effort put in from you and the beloved family, the Burrow was officially rebuilt. It didn’t house the same memories as it once had, it couldn’t have, but it stood tall and beautifully imperfect once more. It was a home that could only possibly be held up by magic otherwise it just might topple over with the number of floors it had. The pots and pans had scrubbed themselves once more, the chimney puffed out smoke yet again, the home was now bustling with a familiar boisterous energy once again in a way only they could manage to create.

Spending that time with them was time you were grateful to have, though you found yourself to be with Ron more so than anyone else. No matter what the instance may have been, you always seem to seek each other out as if it were a subconscious act. It was a wordless fact seemingly known to just about everyone but the very two people who’d been doing it, but that didn’t come as a surprise to anyone at all.

It’d been three years in the making of watching their lovestruck brother and equally lovestruck best friend pine for each other, of watching you both be so oblivious it was almost painful. Three years of catching him gaze at you with the softest of smiles when you weren’t looking, one so adoring Molly nearly cries every time, and of you doing just the same when his attentions were focused elsewhere. Three years of watching you two brush hands when you walk side by side followed by the promise of blushing cheeks when you realized the electrifying encounter. It had been frustrating years in the making of watching two people they loved so dearly be so blissfully unaware of just how in love they truly were with each other.

They were ready to take matters into their own hands and make it known themselves.

Currently, Mrs. Weasley has assigned both you and Ron the task of stopping by the bakery in town. She’d wanted an assortment of pastries as a part of a way to celebrate the finishing of their new home. She had made more than enough of her own in her newly remodeled kitchen of course, but she had her mind set on blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies made from none other than Hazel’s Bakery.

She most certainly did not send the two of you in particular in an effort to get you to spend some alone time. No, definitely not.

“Are you warm enough?” Ron asks as you leave through the front door, stepping out into the brisk weather.

You nod, cheeks staining a soft pink at the gentle caring he had for you, the question falling from his lips like it’d been second nature. Caring for you, being protective of you, it was second nature by that point. He doesn’t believe he could help it even if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. Despite the fluttering of your heart you couldn’t help your teasing smile. “Yes. But I suppose it’d be far warmer if we drove there.”

He caught onto your teasing and rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth nonetheless. “Are you ever going to stop teasing me for that, Y/n/n?”

You pretend to give his question some serious thought, puckering your lips as you squint your gaze and tap your finger against your cheek. His laughter broke you from your actions. “No, I don’t think I will, Ronnie.”

Your own laughter was immediate at the scrunch of his nose upon hearing the nickname he loathed so much, more so at the playful narrowing of his blue stare. Maybe he didn’t hate it when it fell from your lips. However, you quickly appeased his obvious displeasure of the name as you brushed the pad of your thumb over his chin, his blushing smile soon to return as he looked at his feet to steady his racing heart. He knew his cheeks had to have matched the leaves on the trees by now. They always had been when in your presence.

You shook your head with a smile as you focused your attention on anywhere but him to avoid worsening the heat in your cheeks. Rather, you focused on the graying of the sky and the way the grass rippled beneath the wind. You listened to the leaves crunching under both your footfalls and the sound they made as the breeze washed over them. For lack of a better word, this time of year had been the most magical, and it seemed as though Ron fit right in with the hues of his hair and equally his attire. Equally his flushed cheeks.

A single wildflower had caught your stare, standing tall amongst the fading green grass. You slowed your stride to bend down and pluck it from the ground, turning to look at Ron who’d now stood paces from you with a curious brow raised.

“What is it?”

You held up the yellow flower, the stem pinched between your fingers as you beamed. In a matter of seconds you ran to him the short distance he was from you, his smile now apparent.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a laugh, one to stave off the way his breath hitched as you leaned up to tuck it within the red hair just above his ear.

It appeared golden amongst the rosy ginger shade and he smiled down at you fondly for a brief moment before shaking his head, not making a move to take it out. You smiled up at him, biting the inside of your cheek to hide just how giddy he’d made you feel in that very moment. You suppose there wasn’t even a reason to feel as such, but that hadn’t mattered; the feeling occurred whenever it so pleased, and it was more often than not it seemed.

You reached the end of the long driveway and took his hand without a second thought, sharing a smile before apparating from the property.

In mere dizzying seconds you had appeared in the ever familiar and unfrequented alleyway, taking a moment to adjust before stepping into foot traffic along with everyone else in the town. It wasn’t as busy as some days it could be, but regardless it was always a fun trip to walk about, it was cozy.

Almost in the very same moment did the two of you realize you’d still been holding hands, releasing the other as you looked your separate ways for just a second. He’d wanted to reach out and hold it once more, to interlock his fingers with yours. He hadn’t really wanted to let go. You risked a glance and he risked his and it wasn’t hard to tell when Ron Weasley has been fighting a smile. Perhaps what was more obvious was the little yellow flower that somehow still remained in his hair. You decided then and there not to mention it.

The denim of your jacket proved to be far less warm than you had thought it to be, or maybe it’d just gotten colder. Either way, as you walked down that sidewalk, you weren’t ready to let Ron know he’d been right in telling you to wear something heavier before you left the house. He always seemed to be right about those kinds of things.

Ron grabbed your wrist to keep you from walking past the bakery, his grin teasing as he held open the green painted door. You were far too distracted by him for your own good.

The smell of coffee and sweets had been instant upon entering, a little bell overhead signaling your entrance into the small yet cozy shop. The showcase had been filled with fresh pastries and baked goods, the line not yet as lengthy it surely would be now that Hazel had switched the sign to ‘open’.

The kind older woman had greeted you as warmly as she did each and every time she’d seen you, making a point to pinch Ron’s cheeks much like his own mother had.

“Hazel! We’ve talked about this,” Ron whines, rubbing his newly reddened cheeks.

“Oh hush, my dear boy,” she says, turning to you. “How do you put up with him?”

You laugh at that, shrugging your shoulders. “I must admit, it is but a wonder indeed, Hazel.”

You look to Ron who’d furrowed his brows at you, lips pursed in faux offense as you smile beamingly up at him. One that dissolved any look to displeasure. One that caused the woman behind the counter to nearly gush about what a wonderful couple you’d be, something that was also very much like his mother.

You placed your order and asked for extra, knowing if you hadn’t that surely Ron would have eaten far too many for Molly not to notice. Though you knew for a fact she’d be able to tell either way. She talked you into staying for just a little bit longer, the promise of hot cocoa far too enticing to turn down as you still felt the shivering effects of the chilly fall weather.

—

“You really thought I’d eat three muffins?” Ron scoffs, mouth full as a few crumbs fall past his lips.

You roll your eyes and shake your head as you walk down the cracked sidewalk, the steaming paper bag clutched in your hand. “You’ve eaten two already.”

“Did I?” He asks, brows furrowed as he halts momentarily to recall it. The genuine shock and confusion painted on his expression had you laughing as you grabbed his hand, tugging him along the walkway before any more passers by all but run into you with looks of annoyance.

“Yes, you did,” you giggle, releasing his hand to link your arm with his once more.

“Well, they’re really good,” he defends as you continue walking. “Really good.”

You look up at him then, a soft smile on your lips as you do so. His cheeks were stained a soft pink from the chilly weather, accentuating the freckles dancing across them and the very bridge of his nose. At the curve of his smile and the dimples that formed when he did just that. Or perhaps it was the near unruly ginger hair that dipped over his forehead and covered his ears; he had yet to get a haircut much to his mother’s dismay. He was starting to resemble his fourth year self, a hair length he’d claimed he hated so very much but you were beginning to think otherwise.

“Are you staring?” He asks a short while later, a more than knowing grin on his lips that sent your stomach into a fit of butterflies and knots.

“You’ve got food on your face, how could I not?” You counter, though the scarlet in your cheeks is far too obvious. It was true, there were crumbs in the corner of his mouth that needed to be swept away, but you were not ready in the slightest to admit your admiring. “Plus you’ve still got that flower in your hair.”

His hand is quick to fly up and pluck it out, looking at the delicate little thing as his cheeks burned once more. So that was what Hazel was talking about. He smiles then with a soft laugh, stopping your stride once more to tuck it behind your ear.

“There, looks much better on you,” he mumbles, smile soft and adoring, one that lingered long after he’d looked away.

“I beg to differ.”

You’d noticed just how gloomy the sky had been, clouds puffy and gray as the breeze intensified just the slightest bit. It wasn’t something you minded, for it was rather scenic amongst the rapidly dwindling buildings the closer you got to the Burrow. You both had decided a walk back would be best given the bag of sweets you now have, not to mention the hot chocolates you each had provided just enough warmth for you to do so.

A sigh left your lips, one of contentment as you walked back in a comfortable silence and you rest your head on his shoulder. Your arm still hooked with his as he slowed his pace for you to keep up with him, and he’d since taken the bag from your hand so you wouldn’t have to carry it. It was the little things that you noticed that others might not; the little things that meant the most to you, that made your heart flutter. Like the way he will always wait for you when something catches your eye in a shop, not an ounce of impatience in him like he may have had with his siblings. Or how he’d save a plate of breakfast for you when you stay at his home because you’d woken up later than his brothers. It left your heart full.

He hadn’t been aware that you’d noticed those kinds of things; he finds he isn’t even aware of it sometimes. Living you had become second nature at this point, it was expressed in nearly everything he did. You were woven into his very heart and hadn’t even known as such. He doesn’t know how he made it quite this far without going absolutely mad, without his heart bursting in his chest every time you look at him the way you do. Every time you smile at him the way you do. It was his hopes that you’d reserved those kinds of looks, those kinds of smiles for just him. It had been his hope that somehow, someway, you had felt the same way.

He knew with all the certainty in the world that he needed to tell you. He doesn’t think he can go another day without telling you as such. He knows he can’t; he loved you from afar for nearly four years. If you don’t feel the same, if it’s all over after his confession, he can take this moment with him. Of your head on his shoulder, of the way you held his hand that day, of the way you looked at him. It needed to be spoken no matter how much it made his hands shake. He almost lost you in that war and he decided he couldn’t risk not telling you.

You reached the familiar stretch of trees lining the vacant road, the breeze having intensified more noticeably. The walk had been quiet save for the chirping of the birds and the crinkle if the bag Ron held, or the crunch of leaves and gravel under your feet. You couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend your afternoon, especially with the knowledge of the warm meal Molly had been preparing for dinner that night. The whole Weasley family would be there, Harry would be there, Hermione would be there. It was plans that made your stomach flip with excitement.

It wasn’t until then, at the very opening of the near dauntingly long dirt driveway that the rain had started to drizzle steadily. You suppose you expected it at that point, with the puffy gray clouds that rapidly blew over any and all sunlight, it had become more than evident that that would be the case.

You gasped upon the weathers sudden change in plans regardless, the icy downpour taking you by surprise. A jovial laugh soon sounded from your lips as you threw your hands up, looking around as it came down and rolled off the tri-colored leaves. They too fluttered down in a flurry of reds and oranges, and you were certain you’d never seen something quite so beautiful, quite so enchanting.

Spotting a nearby shelter beneath the branches of one of the large trees, you grabbed Ron’s hand, ready to pull him along with you though you quickly noticed he hasn’t budged any more than just a few steps. You turned to him then, rather confused in that moment and the more you stood exposed to the sudden storm the less useful it became to seek shelter from it. None of it seemed to matter as he stood there and gazed at you, ginger hair darkened a few shades as it stuck to his forehead and flushed cheeks. The smile on his face was quite possibly the softest you’d ever seen it be, and it held something different, remarkably different and you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Though it seemed to be far too much as he looked away from you momentarily as if to gather himself, a soft laugh leaving his lips.

Everything felt that much more intense in that moment, and he felt as though his breath was caught in his throat as he stood before you. You were confused, that much was clear. You were still holding his hand in yours, still smiling at him with that smile. That had also been very clear. You were doused in the downpour and his heart beat wildly with each passing second, and if he opened and closed his mouth one more time he felt as though he just might look like an absolute fool.

“What are you doing?” You asked, taking a step closer as you look at him quizzically, “We’re just about soaked and you hate the rain—”

“I love you.”

The three words were spoken then, almost unheard against the heavy rain. They were soft and they were true, how could you not have heard them? Yet even though they clearly were, very clearly, it still hadn’t quite registered to you just exactly what he had just said. You couldn’t believe what you had heard.

“What?” You ask, a soft laugh leaving your lips. Not one of mocking, more of giddy surprise.

“I said I love you,” He repeats louder as he swallowed thickly, accompanied by a nervous laugh of his own as he wipes the wet strands of his hair out of his eyes.

The more time that had gone by, no matter how fleeting it made have been, the butterflies in his stomach were relentless. By this point the rain was of no importance, trying to stay dry was of no importance anymore. What was important was the way you grasped his flannel jacket and leaned on your toes, and the way you pressed your lips on his. Or the way you smiled against his lips as he pulled you close to him, as close as possible, dropping the soaked paper bag of pastries to the ground in favor of settling his hand on your cheek and tangling his fingertips in your hair.

You couldn’t help the quiet giggle that was threatening to break your moment; maybe it was the sheer loving intensity of it, or the fact that this was real and this was happening. But the way he kissed you, the way your heart beat so loudly you thought he could hear it, that’s what had kept you in that very real moment.

When you parted you hadn’t strayed more than a few inches as you looked up at him, beamed, his smile equally so as the two of you laughed softly. It was one of giddy love, of an unexpected moment of bliss. The feeling that the person you loved so wholly loved you back just as much. It was that kind of laugh.

“I love you,” you say, laughing once more as your foreheads touched in the fond moment. The tip of his nose had been flushed from the cold nipping at his skin, his smile brilliant and adoring and entirely telling of his love. “I love you.”

You kiss him again, soft and quick as you grabbed his hand before you spoke up after a short while to relish in your moment. “We’d better go inside!”

“Yeah,” he laughs, nodding in agreement even if he was perfectly content to stay there and kiss you. “I think we better.”

You pulled him along the muddy path as he laughed behind you at your antics. The two of you were breathless and soaked and still in a daze from the kiss you’d just shared mere moments ago as you rushed through the door. The look on Molly’s face changed from startled to quizzical as she took note of the sheer nothingness in either of your hands, her lips pursing and her arms crossing.

“Just where are the muffins? And the cookies?”

Ron looks to you with a smile and you the same, laughing softly amongst yourselves at the realization of just where they had been. The sight of your kiss swollen lips and flushed cheeks was telling enough of the reasoning such a blunder occurred. Not to mention the way the tips of his fingers still grasped yours. She knew. “We must’ve forgotten.”

He hadn’t broken his gaze from you quite yet as he spoke, far too lovestruck to do so. Far too enamored.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @awritingtree @lupinsclassroom @harrysweasleys @theweasleysredhair @writeroutoftime

[hockeylvr59]

Collide Part 2 || Sidney Crosby

Summary: Life as a single foster mom and a pediatrician didn’t leave much time for dating. But when Dr. Erin Lancaster becomes the pediatrician for Pittsburgh Penguins Defenseman Brian Dumoulin's baby boy, her association and quick friendship with his wife Kayla turns her crazy but quiet life upside down. 

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Apparently my brain is just on a Sid kick lately. First a blurb update, now this one. Let me know what you think. 

Warnings: alcohol consumption        Word Count: 2,001

~~~~~

The weeks leading up to the holiday season were usually some of the best as a foster mom. The kids that I called my own, even temporarily, generally didn’t have a great experience with family holidays in the past and it was always exciting to teach them the magic of the season. The joy of watching the Macy’s parade and then football before having a big meal, going looking at Christmas lights, and everything else that filled the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

This year though, this year was tough. A few weeks ago, just days after my trip to the hospital, the seven year old I was fostering was moved to another placement. More biological siblings had popped up in the system and taking them would have placed me over my permitted limit. So instead, the rambunctious boy I was finally starting to make strides with was moved so that he could be with siblings he had never met, all because of the preference of keeping siblings together. A week later, my five year old was transferred back into the care of his mother who had successfully completed a rehabilitation program. I wasn’t sure the woman could be trusted but the court had decided she was fit enough to regain custody and there was nothing I could do about it. 

Finally, yesterday, my newborn had been deemed stable enough to be placed with a paternal grandmother now that he was completely off the drugs. I had done my limited job of making sure that he got elevated care and now he was in the placement I knew he’d end up in all along. 

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and for the first time in a long time I didn’t have any kids under my roof. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t have any kids placed with me, it had been that long. Yesterday, it had been easy enough to ignore, I went into the office to catch up on paperwork, I picked up dry cleaning and went grocery shopping before drinking half a bottle of wine and falling into bed exhausted. 

Today though, things were quiet and now that the world had stilled around me, my normally thick exterior cracked and I found myself sobbing steadily. I loved being a foster mom, I really did, but it was heartbreaking to know that these kids would never be mine for one reason or another. That while most days my house was full of laughter and as much love as these kids could manage, days like today would always be waiting at the end of it all. 

While drowning my sorrows with a pint of ice cream I definitely didn’t need to be eating at 11am, my phone buzzed beside me with a message from Kayla Dumoulin. She had texted more than once over the past few weeks with worries such as whether Brayden’s cord was healing normally and whether she could cut his nails because he didn’t like the mittens but she didn’t want him to cut himself. Through our text conversations she had learned of my rapidly emptying house and her message this morning was just to check in and see how I was doing. 

She was such a sweetheart and I replied with a shrug emoji declaring that if sobbing over a pint of ice cream at 11am was normal then I was doing just fine. The phone rang a moment later and I sighed seeing her name pop up because the message wasn’t intended to make her feel guilty or anything, it was just genuine honesty. Still, I answered the phone, setting the pint of ice cream aside for a moment. 

“It sounds like you need some baby cuddles.” Kayla stated, the sound of soft chatter coming through the line. “Why don’t you come over. Brayden wouldn’t mind seeing his favorite doctor.” She suggested. 

“That’s sweet but I’ll be okay.” I assured her. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can find something to do.” 

“You’re not imposing.” Kayla insisted. “Me texting you at 2am with a breastfeeding question was imposing.” Her voice was teasing and I sighed softly remembering being up with my own newborn when she had a question about hers since Brian was on the road. 

“Seriously.” She continued. “Come over, snuggle Brayden, and give my husband a second opinion on this bottle of wine he just got since I can’t drink.” She suggested. Sensing that she truly meant it, I sighed and agreed reluctantly telling her to send me the address. 

____

45 minutes later, I had cleaned myself up so it didn’t look like I had spent the last few hours sobbing. After putting on some light makeup, I had thrown on some black jeans, a striped long sleeve tee, and a tan pullover before deeming myself decent enough to head out. 

Plugging the address in my phone’s gps, I drove over to Kayla and Brian’s neighborhood, parking down on the street in front of their house. It didn’t even register that there were approximately a half dozen cars spread between the driveway and the street already as I made my way up to the front door. 

Kayla greeted me after just a minute and I gently teased that if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t believe she just had a baby as she let me inside. That made her smile, and as she guided me to the kitchen for a glass of wine I realized that there was a significant amount of noise coming from the living room. It wasn’t until she was murmuring for me to make myself comfortable that I realized the living room was occupied by almost a dozen Penguins players, football pregame on tv. 

“Alright Muzz, you can give my baby back now.” Kayla declared half-joking, half-serious. As soon as the goalie handed the baby over, Kayla was crossing the room back to me and handing off the little boy who just snuggled into my chest as soon as he was placed there. “There...baby snuggles.” She murmured. 

“Thanks.” I whispered, resting a hand over the infant’s back before taking a sip of wine feeling slightly uncomfortable as eyes slowly landed on me. 

“Hey doc.” Brian greeted appearing from somewhere else in the house. “Let me know what you think of that wine, not sure if this brand is a keeper or not.” He stated simply portraying the feeling that I wasn’t at all anywhere I didn’t belong and that this was a normal occurrence. Nodding I promised to do so before just focusing back on the baby in my arms. The physician portion of my brain noted that he was doing well and had certainly been growing while the rest of me just found myself relaxing at the feeling of a baby’s steady breaths. 

Most of the guys paid me no mind as the game started. Yet I felt one pair of eyes linger. As I stepped outside after handing Brayden off to feed just before halftime, a four legged companion joined me and I chuckled petting the Dumoulin’s dog Roo while sitting on the steps of their patio nursing my second glass of wine. 

The patio door slid open and then shut before a body slid down next to me on the steps. 

“So where are your foster kids?” A familiar voice asked and glancing over my eyes met those of the Penguins Captain. 

“With another foster family, with their mother, and with their paternal grandmother.” I whispered, quickly taking another sip of the wine to try and push back another round of tears. “The sucky thing about being a foster mom is they always go away in the end.” 

“I...I didn’t know.” Sid mumbled after a moment and I waved him off petting Roo and wiping at my eye with the back of my hand. 

“I didn’t expect you to.” I stated simply. 

“So that’s why…” Sid trailed off, stopping when I nodded. 

“Baby cuddles to try and make everything better.” I shrugged. “To fill the three new cracks in my heart. It’s been a long time since I was childless.” I whispered. “I’ve been trying to recall when it was and I honestly can’t remember. I feel like it had to have happened at least a few times but I really can’t recall not having anyone since I became a foster mom in the first place.” 

“How long is that?” Sid asked, tone softer now than it had been that day at the hospital. 

“Two...almost three years. I applied to become a foster parent toward the end of my residency.” 

“Can I ask how many?” Sid questioned. 

“36.” 

“In three years? That’s...wow.” Glancing over I could see the genuine shock on his face. 

“I don’t know what the turnover rate is generally but I’m fairly certain my rate is higher than average. I get a lot of the drug addicted babies because of my skills and they’re generally only with me 2-3 weeks until it’s safe to move them into a more permanent placement, often with other family members.” 

“How do you handle that?” He murmured, reaching down to pet Roo as well who had rolled over onto her back for belly rubs. 

“Usually I just focus on my patients, on the kids that I do still have with me because they deserve all of my love and attention. This time? Crying over Ben and Jerry’s at 11am until Kayla insisted I come over.” A smile cracked Sid’s face and he apologized quickly declaring that this isn’t something to smile about. 

“No it’s okay. You can find it amusing, I know it wasn’t the most healthy coping method.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” He inquires softly. 

“Yeah. Well, I should probably lay off the wine. Dumo has really good taste.” Sid’s eyes crinkled a little bit and he looked at me like be serious. “I will be. I mean it’s only a matter of time before I get the call that another child needs me.” I assured him. “I just...sometimes...days like this...they make me wonder whether I still want to do this, you know…” 

“Go on…” Sid urged. 

“I just...it’s so hard. Never knowing whether I’m going to wake up and have to say goodbye again. Constantly giving away pieces of my heart that I’ll never get back. Days like today make me just want to be a mom. Not a foster mom but a mom. To have my own kids who won’t be there one day and gone the next.” 

“I get that feeling.” Sid murmured after a moment. “Not the ‘here one day gone the next’ part, but uh, wanting your own kids part, that I get.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke before dropping his hand back down to pet Roo, his fingers brushing against mine. Immediately my mind flashed back to the feeling of his hand wrapped around mine and I quickly pushed that aside. 

“There you are!” Kayla exclaimed, popping her head out the door, her eyes shifting back and forth between you and Sid and noting how close you were sitting. “We just put out some food if you’re hungry and want something other than ice cream.” She grinned, dipping back inside looking like she was about to burst with what she just saw even if it was absolutely nothing. 

When Sid stood he offered a hand out to help you up, murmuring for Roo to come inside and he’d see if he could find her a treat. The bulldog was eager for that and followed after him as you brushed yourself off and picked your wine glass up moving to rejoin the group. 

Ridding of your buzz with some food and water and more baby snuggles you finally headed home with the feeling that there was something more to your conversation with Sid that you hadn’t put your finger on.

Outfit: 

[sankyeom]

picture perfect | k.m

pairings: kevin moon x reader genre: art student au, strangers to lovers, art!student kevin, actor!reader, another secret admirer situation (yes i know we already did that in my sangyeon fit but it’s cute so idc) summary: in which you find a sketchbook filled with drawings of you, and go on a mission to find the owner word count: 8.5k (these just get longer and longer wow) series: sankyeom’s 2k followers celebration

masterlist

Your psychology professor always spoke a mile a minute, and it made taking notes unnecessarily difficult. Usually when she lectured, your wrist cramped from writing so fast, and your classmates couldn’t wait to get out of the room. On one particular autumn afternoon, you stared into nothingness as your professor gave a lecture on Milgram’s experiments, running lines in your head instead of taking notes like you usually did.

When you were cast as one of the lead roles (who didn’t even have that many lines to begin with) in your University’s winter play of An Ideal Husband, you were ecstatic to be given a new challenge. You had never been involved in acting or theatre before University, and you always felt like you were behind your peers. Your excitement soon morphed into something less productive: fear.

You were so afraid to mess up and disappoint your peers that you frequently did poorly in rehearsals and were the source of your cast’s frustrations. Perhaps it was your lack of experience, or perhaps it was because you didn’t really have any faith in yourself. Either way, it was all you could think about.

As your classmates started packing up to leave, you realised that the lecture was over and that you had just been in your own head for over an hour without learning anything from your class. Scrambling to pack up, you put away your notebooks and pencils as your phone chimed. Checking the text, you saw a message from your friend Sunwoo asking if you wanted to get lunch with him.

Getting to your feet, you texted Sunwoo that you were down for lunch as you exited the now empty lecture hall. As you left, you felt your shoe come in contact with a solid object in the doorway; a notebook that somebody must have dropped on the way out. Knowing that you would want your notes back if someone found them – especially in this class, where your professor spoke way too fast – you opened the notebook to see who it belonged to.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook. With a drawing of you on the first page.

At first, you scolded yourself for assuming that the person in the drawing was you. It was presumptuous of you, wasn’t it? But the texture, colour, and length of the person’s hair perfectly matched yours. The person in the picture had your eyes, skin, clothes, and smile.

Perhaps it wasn’t so arrogant of you to presume that you were being depicted in the drawing.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” Professor Shin, who was on her way out, complimented. “You’re an excellent artist.”

You glanced up from the page, feeling a little dizzy. “It’s not mine,” you admitted, head spinning at the idea of somebody drawing you. Plain, simple, me? You couldn’t believe it. “I just found it here on the floor.”

“Looks like somebody admires you,” your Professor mused, smiling before bidding you farewell, leaving you standing in an empty lecture hall, clutching the sketchbook in your hands.

You tried to find a name on the other side of the cover, but there was no number or form of identification anywhere. The only thing that alluded to an identity was the small signature at the bottom right corner of the drawing.

Moon scribbles.

The first time Kevin saw you, he was seated three rows behind you in one of his Cultural Anthropology classes last semester. You were jotting notes as quickly as possible, brows furrowed together in concentration as you gripped your pen hard enough for your knuckles to turn white.

Kevin didn’t take any notes that day.

All the could do was watch you, appreciating the way your expressions changed as you understood the content, and the hesitance on your face when you volunteered an answer during class.

He didn’t mean to start drawing you. You had simply inspired him to pick up his pencil and start sketching, the soft strokes of the lead slowly but surely forming shapes that resembled your eyes, nose, lips…  

Kevin didn’t think that you’d be all he could draw from that moment onwards. Even during his art classes; if the assignment was to study the scenery surrounding the University and draw a landscape, Kevin couldn’t get the image out of your face out of his head. Whether he used paint, charcoal, ink, or lead, it was your profile that emerged from his efforts.

Today was no different; Kevin was supposed to be studying the Psychology slides from class that day – which he hadn’t taken notes on because he was too busy sketching you – and yet he only had the urge to add the finishing touches to his drawing instead of facilitating his studying. Dragging his messenger bag over to his desk, Kevin rifled through it in search of his sketchbook. He had filled many, many pages with your face at that point, and it had become a habit for him to bring it everywhere with him in case he had the urge to draw.

Kevin furrowed his brows when he couldn’t find it. His heart pounded suddenly, the idea of him having lost his sketchbook in a place you might find it seeming terrifying and disastrous. After a final sweep of his bag – which included emptying it inside-out to make sure he didn’t miss anything – Kevin could only hope and pray that he’d find it before you did.

“You found what?” Sunwoo asked through a mouthful of noodles, his eyes comically large and rounded in surprise.

“A sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you replied in a monotone voice, knowing fully well that Sunwoo had heard and understood you the first time. This was the fourth time you had explained the situation, and it was starting to get a little old.

Eric narrowed his eyes, judging Sunwoo’s eating habits, before turning to face you. “Are the drawings cute?” he wondered.

“I wouldn’t say they’re cute,” you said absentmindedly, thinking back to the drawings you saw. After succumbing to your own curiosity, you had looked through the notebook to see what other drawings there were. You knew this was an invasion of privacy but you couldn’t help yourself. Surely enough, they were all of you.

“They were beautiful. Drawn in such detail that I couldn’t even believe it when I first saw them… And I look genuinely gorgeous in them,” you paused when Sunwoo scoffed at your words. “I’m not saying that to be vain,” you defended. “Trust me, I look much better in the sketches than in real life. Whoever drew them just… sees me differently than I see myself. I look beautiful in the pictures.”

“Your Professor’s right, it does sound like you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Eric teased you, pleased that somebody other than your close friends was starting to see how great you were. He wasn’t your best friend like Juyeon or Sunwoo, but he knew you well enough. “Did you get a name or anything?” he asked excitedly.

“Nothing,” you sulked. “I can take an educated guess that this person is probably in my Psych class since it’s the only class I have in that room, but who knows? It could be anyone that’s seen me before.”

“Maybe it’s one of your fans from the drama department,” Sunwoo poked fun at your cast members, not liking how they were treating you in rehearsals.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes, finally picking at your rice and starting to eat. “I just want to know who’s drawing me in such an amazing way. It’s so detailed that I assume it might be someone will a lot of skill, maybe an art major? But a lot of people draw as a hobby who aren’t art majors as well. Maybe-”

Eric interrupted you. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, trying to clam you down. “Just… slow down a little. Maybe they’ll come looking for it next time you have Psych? There’s no name or information so you can’t do anything to find them, anyways,” he rationalised, something that was usually your role in your friendships.

Your eyes lit up. “Moon scribbles,” you exclaimed.

Sunwoo gave you an unimpressed look. “Bless you.”

You ignored his cheek, taking out your phone and going onto Instagram. “The artist signed all of their drawings with a signature that says Moon scribbles,” you explained.

“You know it’s rude to go onto your phone during mealtimes,” Sunwoo replied.

You laughed. “I’ll be sure to remember that for the next time you do the same, Kim Sunwoo.”

After typing moonscribbles into the search bar, you saw an art page by the same name pop up. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to, as the bio vaguely gave information about the artist going to your University, studying art and being a pisces. Since the account was private, you decided to risk it and request to follow them, no matter how strange that might be if they weren’t the person you were looking for.

“I should have invited Juyeon out for lunch instead,” Sunwoo decided, picking at your rice dish in between bites of his noodles.

“Juyeon would rather hang out with Eric than you anyway,” you teased your friend back, knowing that Juyeon and Eric had a deeper friendship despite Sunwoo and Eric being the same age. Eric grinned, amused that the was the topic of discussion and not chiming in to deny anything. “And excuse me, I paid for lunch, you rascal! Now stop complaining, I’m done anyway.”

“Alright, fine. Did anything come up?” Sunwoo wondered, slapping your wrist when you tried to take some of his noodles. You rolled your eyes. Typical Sunwoo: always taking your food but never willing to share his with you.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

A few days passed without any response from moonscribbles on Instagram. You checked a few times a day to see if they ever accepted your request to follow them, but nothing ever came back. They didn’t deny your request, nor did they let you follow them either. It was frustrating, but it fell to the back of your mind after a week due to your schedule.

You had started doing full rehearsals with your cast members on stage for the play. At first, you thought that the setting might help you remember your lines and act without feeling awkward, but you were wrong. Most of your cast mates thought you got one of the lead roles for an alternate reason; perhaps you were related to someone on the University’s board and the director put you in because they wanted to keep their job. None of that was true, of course, but it didn’t help you make any friends.

The only friend you made was Younghoon, who played the lead opposite you, and with whom you frequently got together to go over lines and practice. He was one of those actors who was a completely different person from his role; he could keep be totally in character while doing his lines and the second the scene was over, he was back to his smiley self.

It didn’t help your confidence that he was an absolute pro. It only made you seem less competent in comparison, and you scolded yourself for even thinking that. Of course you knew it wasn’t Younghoon’s fault that he was simply much better at acting than you, but it definitely hurt your pride even more.

After another disastrous rehearsal, your cast mates had left to go backstage so you could have a word with the director. Younghoon sent you an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder before he followed your cast mates backstage, going over his lines in a faint whisper.

“Y/n,” your director began gently. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but what’s up with you?” You said nothing, prompting her to keep talking. “Your audition was really great. I knew I wanted you to play a lead role the second you were done auditioning. But you’ve been doing pretty poorly in rehearsals.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your director sighed. “Look Y/n, I still want you to play your role. I like your chemistry with Younghoon and I think you guys could be really great leads. But if things don’t improve, I’m going to have to replace you with your understudy for the sake of this production.”

Even though you knew it was the obvious thing to do, it still hurt to hear. “I understand,” you whispered, nodding as you glanced at the floor.

“I really hope you can figure this out,” your director said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if I can help in any way, okay?” You nodded, and your director excused herself, leaving you standing at the edge of the stage by yourself.

You groaned once you were alone, taking a seat at the edge of the stage and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Welcoming the silence in the theatre as most of the cast had left for the day, you allowed yourself to lay back and close your eyes.

Why couldn’t you get this right?

Maybe I should just quit the play, you thought to yourself. It’s probably for the best.

When you heard the gentle patter of footsteps leading onto the stage, you spoke without opening your eyes. “Let me guess, you came to tell me how terrible I am too?” you uttered, not even caring who it was anymore.

The footsteps paused. “Um, actually, I’m just here to paint the sets…” a soft male voice spoke, causing you to open your eyes and sit up.

A familiar face stood a few metres away from you, paintbrushes and paints in hand. He had black hair that slightly covered his eyes, cat-like eyes and small lips that were pursed at the awkward interaction the two of you had just had.

“Sorry,” you apologised, getting to your feet. “It’s been a rough day,” you paused. “You’re Kevin, right?”

He looked surprised that you knew who he was. “Oh. Yes, actually.”

“I’m close with Juyeon,” you explained, realising how strange it might seem that you knew his name and recognised him. “I suppose I should probably have led with that.”

Kevin smiled. “No worries. I know you as well, you’re Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, bending down to collect your script and other belongings, pushing them into your tote bag as quickly as possible. “I’ll get out of your hair, then,” you smiled at him, implying it as your farewell.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re terrible,” Kevin confessed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and starting to mix paints. You glanced at him. “Are you in your head a little? Maybe. But you’re far from terrible,” he assured you, his brown eyes brimming with kindness.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you replied. “Thanks. Although, you seem more like an artist than an actor,” you added, teasing him just a little. You couldn’t help yourself, he was pretty cute.

Kevin laughed. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “If you want me to brag about being the lead in Aladdin in middle school, then I will.”

You placed your tote bag on your shoulder, holding your hands up in surrender. “I take it back,” you said immediately. “You have more experience than I do on stage.” The two of you shared grins.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Kevin assured you. “If I can do it then you certainly can.”

He seemed really sincere, and you appreciated it. “Thanks, Kevin,” you said, feeling much lighter and in a far better mood than before Kevin had come on stage. “I’ll see you around,” you bid your farewells before exiting the stage.

You’d have to ask Juyeon more about his friend Kevin.

The next time you and Kevin bumped into each other was after one of your rehearsals a few weeks later.

You had improved in your rehearsal times, with a lot of help from Younghoon – who practiced with you in between classes – and Sunwoo – who you ran lines with anytime the two of you were together. When you were done rehearsing, your director had expressed how happy she was that you were starting to warm up to the stage and really get into the character the way she was hoping you would. Younghoon earned himself two week’s worth of free coffee from you, and your cast finally stopped glaring at you whenever you came to rehearsals.

“Oh, hey,” you greeted Kevin, who started coming onstage to work on the sets with other people who were involved in the production process. “Good to see you again,” you told him.

“You too,” Kevin beamed, his hair falling over his eyes just slightly. You had the urge to brush it out of the way so you could see him better, but you resisted the urge and scolded yourself for being so forward. “You guys are looking pretty good out there,” he complimented, waving at Younghoon as he left the theatre. His older friend gave him a knowing look, making big eyes at him and puckering his lips to tease Kevin about his crush on you.

“Thank you,” you smiled back at him, entirely clueless to Kevin cursing Younghoon with his eyes right in front of you. “The sets are really coming along too,” you commend him, gesturing around you. “It’s certainly adding some more colour to our rehearsals.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kevin replied. “Set painting isn’t exactly my vocation or anything, but it’s a fun way to help out with my skillset.”

“Skillset?” you echoed, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ah,” Kevin cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m a fine arts major. So set painting is a little less refined than what I usually do. Not that I’m bragging,” he added quickly.

“Not at all,” you agreed, your eyes widening in realisation. “Fine arts, that’s a really cool major. You must be pretty talented to get into fine arts here, it’s such a competitive major,” your eyes widened in sudden realisation. “I’d love to see something of yours that doesn’t involve painting sets,” you motioned to the stage around you.

Kevin almost blushed. “Really?” he asked, his heart beat hammering in his chest at the idea of you seeing his art.

“Yeah,” you nodded your head eagerly. Partly because you were really curious about his art, but mostly because Kevin was pretty damn cute. “For sure! I mean, if you come to opening night of the play, I’d love to go see your art some time.”

“How’s this Saturday?” Kevin asked, his words almost slurring together at the speed he was talking. “The art department’s putting on an exhibition and a few of my drawings are going to be in it.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “Do you think I could bring some friends?”

Kevin nodded, his deep brown eyes brightening at the idea. “For sure! I already invited Juyeon but you can bring Sunwoo along as well.”

“Then I’ll be there,” you promised.

“Oh my god, are you touching the art?” you heard Kevin exclaim semi-loudly. You froze from your place, pointing at the water fountain from which you were filling up a cup of water to drink.

“What?” you asked dumbly, your eyes widening as Kevin smirked, hiding his laughter.

It was the Saturday of Kevin’s exhibition and you were doing your best to blend in with all the artistically-minded people in the room; admiring the paintings, motioning at the sculptures and pondering over the meanings behind the light exhibitions.

“I thought this was just a regular water fountain,” you tried to defend yourself.

“It is, I’m just messing with you,” Kevin shrugged, causing you to exhale in relief and slap Kevin’s arm.

“That was awful of you,” you scolded, unable to hide the large grin making its way onto your face. “You suck.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kevin retorted easily. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied. “So, when am I going to see your pieces?” you asked, motioning around the room. It was filled to the brim and people were bustling around the room to get a good look at every piece.

“Right now if you’re up for it,” Kevin suggested, waving as Juyeon and Sunwoo made their way over to the pair of you. You had excused yourself to get some water when Kevin spotted you and came over. “Hey guys. Sunwoo, good to see you again.”

“You too,” Sunwoo replied courteously, which was unlike him. Sunwoo knew Kevin vaguely through Juyeon, who was the same age as Kevin and had a lot of classes with him, and Eric, who Kevin often hung out with because they both spoke English. “Any of these yours?”

“A few,” Kevin said modestly.

Sunwoo nodded, looking around. “Are they good or are they more… conceptual?” he asked, his own way of asking whether or not Kevin’s art was a piece of crap or not.

You rolled your eyes. “Your eloquence astounds me, Sunwoo,” you said sarcastically.

“Well I might as well get to the point,” Sunwoo chided, glancing back at Kevin. “So?”

Kevin, who was observing you and Sunwoo with the same amused smile that Juyeon was, motioned the three of you over as he led you in the direction of his drawings. “I’m not so sure if they’re good, or conceptual, but I suppose you could judge that for yourself,” he told Sunwoo, coming to a halt in front of a display of drawings.

The drawings were lively and bright; colours in the form of pastels and charcoal bringing richness and warmth to the image. Most of his drawings depicted a faceless person. There were multiple drawings where the person was being portrayed from the back, and ones that were head-on didn’t have any facial features.

“These are amazing,” you breathed out, enchanted by the creativity of the drawings, as well as the immense detail that went into them.

“I like them,” Sunwoo decided, causing Juyeon to nod in agreement.

“They’re really good,” Juyeon complimented his friend, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to put something on display this year.” Juyeon knew all about the artistic slump Kevin was in last year, so he didn’t have any art on display.

Kevin thanked Juyeon quietly, still studying your expression. “Can I ask why they’re faceless?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the drawings further.

“Ah, that,” Kevin began, an uncharacteristic shyness appearing in his tone. “Well, I’ve been inspired by somebody for a few months now,” he explained. “I suppose I made my drawings faceless because I don’t want people to know who my muse is. I’m not ready to face how I feel when I draw them yet, and I think it’s too personal to put in an exhibition.”

You nodded your head, understanding where he was coming from. “That’s really great. I hope that one day I’ll get to see their face,” you said kindly, genuinely enjoying his art. Your eyes widened as you realised something. “Hey, do you know the other students in your major well?” you asked him.

Kevin raised an eyebrow at your sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I think so. We’re a small major and I have all of my 300-level classes with all the same people. Why do you ask?”

“Would you be able to recognise one of your peer’s work?” you inquired, the sketchbook in your dorm room burning a hole in your mind. He might be able to solve my curiosity.

“Maybe,” Kevin drawled slowly. “Why?” he found your sudden change of pace surprising. “What’s up?”

“Well, I found someone’s sketchbook in one of my classes and I was wondering who it belonged to,” you began, hesitating before bringing up the sketchbook you found in your Psychology class. “But they didn’t put their name on it so I can’t return it to the owner. It was really detailed and skilled work, so I thought they might be a fine arts major.”

Kevin’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

His worst nightmare had come true: you had found his sketchbook. His sketchbook that was filled with his heart-felt drawings of you. And here you were, asking him if he knew who it belonged to. Somehow, it was equal parts thrilling and mortifying.

Sunwoo, having heard about your secret admirer decided to check out a different part of the exhibition, but Juyeon – who was hearing this for the first time – stayed out of curiosity. “You found someone’s sketchbook?” he repeated. “What was in it?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh. Well, here’s the thing… There’s some drawings of me in it,” you admitted, feeling shy about divulging everything about the sketchbook to Kevin. “I just… I guess I want to meet the person that made me feel so vibrant and beautiful when looking at the drawings.”

“You have an admirer,” Juyeon realised, beaming at you; eyes squinting into little crescents. “That’s adorable. Does it say anything inside?”

“Yeah it does, actually,” you told him, giving him a smile before meeting Kevin’s eyes again. “All of the drawings are signed with the handle Moon scribbles,” you recalled. “No name or phone number, though.”

Juyeon’s brows furrowed together. “Kev, isn’t Moon scribbles-“

“A really interesting name?” Kevin cut Juyeon off, sending him the clear message that he wasn’t ready to tell you about the fact that you were his muse and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Getting the message, Juyeon eagerly agreed, thanking Kevin for finishing his train of thought. “Um, I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. But if you show me the drawings, maybe I could recognise the style?” Kevin suggested, coming up with a solution for you to find the owner of the sketchbook.

“That would be really great, actually,” you acknowledged. “I could bring it by the next time we hang out,” you suggested, excited to figure out who you should thank for their hard work.

“Next time?” Kevin echoed, excitement filling his stomach. “Are you really so eager to solve your mystery?” he teased you.

“Well, you’re not such a bad addition,” you added with a wink.

Kevin’s heart soared.

You met up with Kevin in the library a few days later to show him your sketchbook. It was good timing because you definitely needed to study for your Psychology class after zoning out in your last few lectures, so the library was the perfect setting to meet.

“Hey,” you greeted Kevin, taking the seat next to him on one of the sofas in the more secluded area of the library.

“Hi,” Kevin mumbled in return, his voice sounding quieter and more hoarse than usual. At first, you thought it might be the fact that he had to whisper that made him sound more quiet. Then, you spotted the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he was wearing glasses, which he didn’t normally do.

“You okay?” you asked him, seeing him stretch out and yawn in his seat.

“Me?” Kevin murmured, meeting your gaze with tired, glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Not to sound like an asshole who’s telling you that you look terrible, which I’m not, but you look really tired,” you had to tell Kevin. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“Sleep,” Kevin said the word like it’s funny. “Sleep and I… we aren’t friends.”

You smiled sympathetically at your new friend. “Up all night studying?” you wondered.

“Insomnia,” Kevin corrected you.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. “So sleep is… a distant acquaintance?” you played off his previous joke.

“Something like that,” he allowed, moving his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. “I’m good, though. I look like this most days, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so,” you trail off, your concern still not being calmed by Kevin’s explanation. “We can do this anther time if it helps, though. I wouldn’t want you to be unwell because of me.”

Kevin grinned, adjusting the beanie on his head. “But I couldn’t possibly be unwell if I’m around you,” he said, pointing his finger in the air as if he had made an excellent realisation. “Now, show me the sketchbook.”

You pulled the sketchbook out of your tote bag and handed it over to him.

Seeing it right in front of him, Kevin could confirm that it was definitely his sketch book that you had found. Although the chances of another person on campus being entirely smitten by you to the point where you became their artistic muse was slim, it wasn’t zero.

“Can I,” he motioned to the sketchbook, asking for permission to open it. It was incredibly ironic, but Kevin was too embarrassed to come clean about the sketchbook being his.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, telling him to flip through the pages.

Kevin did so, pretending he was seeing all the drawings for the first time. He paused on every page, looking over the details in the sketches and the way they realistically depicted your features. Even though he was the one who drew them, Kevin could admit that the drawings were really great. They were great because he appreciated the subject and was inspired by you. That much was clear to anybody.

“Wow,” Kevin said when he was done looking at all the drawings, holding the sketchbook on his lap. “That’s… you,” he observed, as if he didn’t already know.

“So I’m not crazy?” you asked immediately, biting your lip. “That’s me?” you glanced down at the open page in front of Kevin, seeing the resemblance between you and the person in the drawing.

“Oh it’s definitely you,” Kevin confirmed. “Unless you have an identical twin somewhere out there, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s you.”

You let out a relieved sigh, leaning back onto the sofa. “Okay, good. I thought I was being really shallow and presumptuous at first but it’s good that you agree,” you told him, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest. “So, does it look familiar?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin replied vaguely, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this one. “Do you think I could keep this? Maybe look over it a few more times when I’m not about to pass out,” he added.

“Sure,” you allowed. You trusted Kevin enough that he wouldn’t lose the sketchbook, since all of your mutual friends spoke very highly of him. Besides, you were becoming more impressed by him every time the two of you met. “I hope something comes up. I looked moonscribbles up on Instagram but their account is private and they haven’t responded to my follow request yet.”

Kevin had completely forgotten about his private art Instagram account. Before he was inspired by you to draw, he was in a serious slump and had been spiralling downwards. In this time, he made his Instagram account private in an effort to not think about it too much. Kevin scolded himself for not realising that you would look him up on social media to find him.

“That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Maybe they’ll respond soon?”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, sighing. “I just… I want to meet them.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you want to meet them so badly?” Kevin wondered. “Because they drew pretty pictures of you?”

“Kind of?” you replied unsurely. “That’s definitely part of it. I guess I wanted to meet somebody who thought I was vibrant and colourful and beautiful,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. “Because I don’t think that about myself at all. It’s why I suck at acting, and it’s why my cast mates hate me. I just thought that if somebody out there really thought I was special, maybe I would have a reason to believe it, too.”

Kevin felt butterflies rising in his stomach again, but not in a fluttery, nervous way. He was anxious about what was going to happen. “I’ll do my best to help out,” he said gently. “And Y/n?” you looked back up at Kevin. “I think you’re special,” he admitted. “A lot of people do. Juyeon, Sunwoo, Eric, Younghoon… You don’t need Moon scribbles to be special, you’re already special to us.”

A grateful, shy smile spread across your lips at his words. “Thanks, Kev. For your help, and for saying that. I really appreciate it,” you acknowledged afterwards, realising that Kevin was going out of his way to figure out your mystery while he was dead tired.

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, you cleared your throat and changed the subject, heart hammering. “I’m going to stay here and study for my Psychology class, so you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get some sleep.”

“Psychology?” Kevin echoed. “Are you taking it with Professor Shin?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “She talks so fast that my hand feels like it’s going to fall off after her lectures,” you complained.

Kevin laughed. “I can relate,” he commented. “I didn’t think you were in my class. I’m in section fifteen, what about you?”

“Section twenty-two,” you said, shrugging. “Although I’m glad to hear that it’s not just my class that she’s driving crazy.”

“Ditto,” Kevin agreed. “I actually have to get some studying done for that class too. You mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “It always helps to study with a friend,” you added, pulling out your notes and laptop from your tote bag.

After setting up all of your work, you quickly got to studying, cross-referencing terms from your notes to the textbook to make sure you didn’t write down anything wrong in your hurry. Kevin was silent and still beside you, which you took no notice of because you were so focused. In your distraction, he soon drifted off to sleep with his pencil still in hand, head lulling back to rest on the sofa as his eyes shut by their own accord.

Forty minutes later, you had finished both of the units on Social Psychology and furrowed your brows at an unfamiliar name. “Hey Kev, did you guys talk about-“ you paused after turning to face your new friend, seeing that he was peacefully sleeping, his head now leaning to the side to face you.

The sight of him sleeping peacefully warmed your heart, especially after he had talked about his insomnia earlier. Smiling, you pulled your headphones out of your tote bag so you could listen to the recorded lectures in favour of waking up Kevin to ask him for help. As carefully as you could, you slid the pencil out of his palm and placed it to the side so he could get some rest.

You spent the next half an hour studying in silence, until you noticed Eric, Sunwoo and Jacob walking up to you and Kevin. “Hey,” Sunwoo greeted you, earning a wave from you.

“Hi guys,” you whispered back. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Kevin dating?” Eric interrupted whatever Sunwoo was about to say, an excited glint in his eyes. “You guys are in the make-out section of the library!”

You made a face. “That’s why nobody’s here?” you realised, looking around and frowning. “No, Eric. We’re just studying together.”

Jacob grinned. “Looks like Kevin’s making really great progress on that front,” he teased. “I’m Jacob, by the way,” he added, since the two of you hadn’t properly been introduced yet.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied. “Nice to finally meet you! These rascals have told me all about you,” you motioned to Sunwoo and Eric, who beamed proudly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Jacob replied. “And I’ve come to collect Kevin. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he’s going to miss his Ceramics class,” he explained.

“Aw,” you pouted, glancing over at Kevin. “He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, though. And he said he was struggling to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. “I hate waking him. Believe me, I’m his roommate so I see it all first-hand. But attendance is graded in this class, so…” he trailed off with a small shrug before leaning over and waking Kevin up.

Kevin awoke, eyes blinking drowsily as he took in the image of four people staring at him. “What did I do?” he asked, wondering what prompted all the attention.

You grinned, finding the sight rather cute. “Your wake-up service is here to tell you it’s ceramics time,” you explained.

“I fell asleep,” Kevin realised. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, feeling bad that you were studying in silence when you were supposed to be helping each other out.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you got some shut-eye,” you assured him. “Go get ready for your class.”

Kevin gathered all of his things into his bag and waved his goodbyes, trudging out of the library with Jacob. “So,” Jacob began, a wide grin gracing his features. “That’s Y/n?” he teased.

“Yes, that’s Y/n,” Kevin replied quietly.

“The famous Y/n?”

“Oh my god please tell me you didn’t say anything to Y/n.”

“What should I have said? Oh so you’re the Y/n that Kevin has been in love with all semester! The famous muse! Nice to meet you, I’m the guy that has to listen to him gush about you.”

“Don’t make me hide your guitar.”

moonscribbles accepted your follow request!

You sat up from where you were lying down on your bed, startled at the notification you had just received. Racing to open your Instagram app, you looked at moonscribbles’s account. None of the drawings on their account were of you, so you couldn’t decide if they were the right person. But they simply had to be. They went to your school, they studied art…

Braving it, you decided to send them a private message.

Hi! I think I found your sketchbook in Professor Shin’s lecture hall. How do you want me to return it to you?

You waited for a response, which came within a minute.

You can keep it.

You were pouting over your cereal in the dining hall when Juyeon joined you, his plate stacked high with all kinds of delicious breakfast foods. “Hey pouty,” he teased you, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge when he took the seat next to yours. His smile never failed to cheer you up, which is why your frown caused concern to grow in your best friend. “Why the long face?”

“I’m never going to meet moonscribbles,” you told him, your eyes uncharacteristically sad and shiny when they met Juyeon’s.

He startled at how upset you were. “What? Why would you say that?”

“They accepted my follow request on Instagram,” you explained. “And they told me I could keep the sketchbook. Then they went offline,” you recalled. “I guess I was wrong about them.”

“I’m sorry. Whoever they are, they clearly have no idea what they’re missing.” Juyeon frowned, sympathetic of your situation and confused about what Kevin thought he was doing.

“What who’s missing?” Jacob and Eric took the seats opposite you and Juyeon, their plates equally filled with breakfast foods.

“Moon scribbles,” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into it with anyone other than Juyeon and Sunwoo. While you were starting to get to know Jacob better, you didn’t feel comfortable enough around them to discuss the matter with them. And of course you loved Eric, and he knew your situation, but you hadn’t anticipated feeling so upset about Moon scribbles’s response.

“Kevin?” Jacob asked innocently, picking up his fork and elbowing Eric so he wouldn’t steal his food. “What did he do?”

Your eyes snapped over to Jacob. “What did you just say?” you asked. Juyeon’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open as Jacob revealed Kevin’s secret to you without even realising it.

“I was asking what Kevin did,” Jacob repeated. “You said Moon scribbles, didn’t you? Kevin’s artist handle?”

“That’s clever,” Eric chimed in, innocently eating his food. “Since his last name is Moon, and all.” Then his eyes widened and he realised the situation, his gaze snapping over at you to see how you were handling the reveal.

In that moment, you’d never felt like more of an idiot.

“Kevin is Moon scribbles,” you echoed, dropping your fork onto your tray.

“Oh,” Jacob paused, reading the room as he saw the way Juyeon was staring at him. “Did you… not know that?”

“No,” you told him, having lost your already minimal appetite. “He didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh boy,” Jacob said awkwardly. “I feel like I definitely just messed up.”

“No, no,” you denied, waving your hand in Jacob’s direction. “Not at all. I’m just glad that I know who it is,” you tried to convince him, as well as yourself. “Did you know?” you asked Juyeon. “That day at the exhibition… You were trying to tell me that you knew it was Kevin, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I knew,” Juyeon replied slowly, confirming your suspicions.

For a moment, a dull pain ached in your chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, hurt that your best friend had lied to you.

“Because I figured Kevin wanted to tell you in his own time,” he explained. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, I just thought he’d do the right thing and explain it to you himself. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “I understand,” you got to your feet, grabbing your tray after putting your bag on your shoulder.

Juyeon stood up with you. “Are you upset with me?” he asked. “Because I understand if you are.”

You did your best to smile, not caring if it looked real or not. “I’m not upset with you,” you assured him. “I’m upset, but not at you. I have to get to the last dress rehearsal before opening night, so,” you glanced over at Jacob and Eric, who both looked mortified. “Enjoy your breakfast,” you told them before putting your tray away and walking to the theatre as quickly as you could.

“Hey!” your director greeted you when you came in, beaming. “You’re like a half hour early,” she observed.

“Oh, I’ve just come to go over lines and talk to some friends,” you lied, smiling at her before stepping backstage. The set design volunteers were adding last-minute touched to their sets, and you knew that was where you’d find Kevin.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you arrived in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Moon scribbles doesn’t want their sketchbook back,” you told him, as if you didn’t know that he was Moon scribbles. “So you don’t have to keep looking for them,” you added.

“Oh, okay,” Kevin nodded as if he didn’t already know this. “Did you want the sketchbook back?”

“You can keep it,” you declined, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s rightfully yours anyway.”

Kevin paused his painting. “It is?” he asked, voice squeaking just slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, Moon scribbles,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Besides, it’s the only way you’ll get to see me ever again, anyway,” you added, frowning as you turned around to go. “Bye, Kevin.”

“Wait,” Kevin put his fine paintbrush down to stop you from leaving.

“What?” you asked him, facing him with a raised eyebrow. “You know what, I actually really want to hear this. What exactly is it that you’re going to say to save this situation?” you wondered.

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to go on this long,” he began.

“That’s a joke,” you accused. “You knew how much this meant to me! Just admit that you were never going to tell me that you’re Moon scribbles.”

“How could I tell you?” Kevin exclaimed, startling you with his sudden increase in volume. “How could I just come forward and tell you that it was me? What would you have thought of me?”

“I’d have thought more of you than I do now,” you retorted. “Look, I get it now. I read the situation all wrong. You don’t think I’m special or vibrant or any of those things. You just drew me because I was there, I suppose,” you decided, feeling your heart dropping in your chest at your own words.

“That is not true,” Kevin denied, shaking his head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I suppose you might have though I was pretty if you drew me,” you allowed. “But clearly, I was putting too much onto this whole Moon scribbles thing, and it didn’t mean anything to you at all. Which is fine, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It just sucks that you couldn’t just tell me that to my face,” you confessed wholeheartedly. “But it’s fine. You can just go back to drawing your faceless muse now, I’m over it,” you lied.

“That’s not why I didn’t want to tell you that I’m Moon scribbles,” Kevin insisted. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I drew you just because you’re beautiful.”

“That worked out well,” you muttered.

Kevin sighed. “I don’t care about your looks, as ironic as that sounds. When I first saw you… You exuded an aura. I know that sounds cheesy and not everyone believes in vibes or energy, or whatever, but it’s true. You inspired me to draw and be creative,” he explained. “But I liked you when I met you. When I saw you in class and when I saw you around Sunwoo and Juyeon. You don’t get it. You are my faceless muse. You have been ever since our Cultural Anthropology class last semester.”

That stopped your train of thought. “You were in that class?” you repeated, confused.

“Yes I was. The first time I saw you… I swear, I haven’t drawn anything other than you since that day,” Kevin’s tone was uncharacteristically serious, and you felt inclined to believe him. “No matter how hard I tried. Flowers turned into your eyes, landscapes became your hair; I was a man possessed. I still am.”

“Then why not tell me all of this?” you wondered, frustrated with the situation.

“I thought that if you found out I was Moon scribbles, you’d just think I was shallow,” he paused. “Or worse.”

You rose an eyebrow. “Worse?”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to sound frustrated. “I mean, I’m not so great and special. I figured you’d be disappointed that it’s me.”

Your heart clenched for him. “How could I be disappointed that it’s you?” you asked him. “You’re great. It’s me who’s awful.”

“You aren’t awful,” he denied. “You’re so much greater than you can see. Don’t you get it? You inspired me to create after the most awful year I’ve ever had artistically. I drew you instead of studying, I drew you instead of leaving my dorm, hell, I drew you instead of sleeping. You didn’t misunderstand anything. I do think that you’re special, and vibrant.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Okay,” you spoke quietly, your mind spinning in circles. “I believe you.”

Kevin nodded. “Good.”

You nodded back at him, unsure of how to continue. “So… You have a sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you decided to tease him, just to bring some of the usual lightheartedness you felt around Kevin back.

Kevin visibly reddened at your words. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said it was just one,” he confessed.

You brightened at his words. “You have multiple sketchbooks full of drawings of me?” you exclaimed.

“I made drawings of you for the art exhibition,” he reminded you. “I haven’t been able to draw anything else for seven months. And I draw a lot, so the sketchbooks just started piling up. Plus my iPad,” catching the delighted glint in your eyes, Kevin cut himself off. “You know what, we don’t have to talk about my iPad.”

You smiled, flattered that Kevin had been so inspired by you. “Well, thank you. For filling sketchbooks and iPads and whatever other mediums with drawings of me. You made me feel seen for the first time in a really long time, and I appreciate it,” you acknowledged his efforts. “Is this why everyone acts so weird when we’re together?” you put the pieces together.

“What are you talking about?” Kevin asked, dreading your answer.

“Eric practically skips over to me whenever he sees me now, asking about you and all kinds of other things. Jacob is a lot more subtle, but he looks at me like a proud dad sometimes,” you explained.

Kevin rested his palm against his forehead. “Why are they so obvious?”

“The real question is: Why was Juyeon the least obvious,” you retorted.

“I think he just wanted us both to figure things out in our own time,” Kevin mused, earning a hum and a nod in agreement from you.

“Hey Y/n,” Younghoon poked his head around the corner. “We’re getting ready for rehearsals. Are you going to be done in time to change?” he asked, eyes flitting between you and Kevin.

“Yeah, I’m good to start getting ready. Thanks Younghoon,” you agreed, grateful that your friend wasn’t making a big deal out of what he might have overheard. Younghoon nodded, disappearing with a wink to get himself ready. “Well, that’s my cue,” you trailed off, motioning to the backstage area where you had to get changed for your last dress rehearsal.

Kevin nodded, slightly upset that your conversation didn’t come to a closure yet. “Okay,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

You agreed with him, grabbing your bag from where you dropped it on the floor and making your way to the changing rooms. Before you opened the door, you turned back to face Kevin, who had been watching you leave. “I came to your exhibition, so you have to come to opening night,” you reminded him of the agreement the two of you made.

“I’ll be there,” Kevin assured you, taking it as a sign that the two of you could still – at the very least – be friends.

“Good,” you smiled. “And after opening night, we have a few days off so I would definitely be available, say, Wednesday?” you informed him, hoping he’d get the idea.

Kevin brightened up, his posture straightening suddenly. “Oh?” he stammered. “Would you maybe want to get dinner on Wednesday?” he offered. “Like, a date?”

You grinned, your eye dropping into a wink. “What an excellent idea,” you told him. “By the way, don’t bother asking the boys about what I like, they’re completely clueless. My favourite flowers are peonies.”

“Peonies,” Kevin repeated, accompanied by a nod. “Any preferred colour?” he asked, giddy with excitement at the outcome your confrontation had.

You shrugged. “Surprise me.”

note: okay i know you guys waited forever for this so thank you so much for your patience!! i hope you guys enjoyed it xx

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

Anonymity be Damned

Hi, everyone! This is my first ever fic, and it’s a part of the Citrus Server collab! I’m so excited about it, and I know it’s super self indulgent, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it. Please give me feedback and tell me what you like and what I can improve on; also, please be nice to me, I’m a baby.

MASTER LIST IS  HERE  Go check out everyone’s hard work!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, brief angst, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x chubby!female reader

Taglist: @reinawritesbnha

Prompt: "Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow.

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist.

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

—————————

Of course, not thinking twice about accepting came back to bite you as soon as the realization set in that you would, in fact, have to go. Suddenly hyper-aware of your need to buy a dress, and knowing how little you enjoy shopping, you call your best girls for the job. A quick text to the groupchat had Mina and Yaomomo screaming with excitement that you were actually asking to go shopping. Jirou and Ochako sharing your apprehension, and Hagakure and Froppy bowing out due to their schedules, but wishing you luck with sweet emojis.

Yaomomo chose the dress shop, under the enthusiastic offer that she’d pay to ensure everyone would receive something from her favorite designers. You knew this was a place only Yaomomo could frequent- beautiful gowns lined every wall, display mannequins donning the most gorgeous dresses, made of the best fabrics with jewels perfectly beaded in, none of which had price tags so as to not “ruin the material” as she had told all of you. Whisking you all into dressing rooms bigger than your entire apartment, the staff practically fawned over each of you, offering assistance, refreshments, recommendations, and- oh fuck- measurements. Nerves shot through your entire body and made you nauseous, ready to make a stupid excuse to leave before your insecurities were announced to your girlfriends. You’ve always been...bigger.

The word tasted bitter on your tongue. The consultant made barely a sound as she pulled out her tape, but you heard it. That little “hm” noise, indicating judgement, knowing that most of their stock isn’t going to fit you properly, what with your plump thighs, soft tummy, squishy arms, the rolls that seemed to stay no matter how many workouts you do..

“We don’t carry plus size gowns, but I’m sure I can find something for you.”

All is confirmed when she says those stupid fucking words with that Joker-esqe smile and that hint of disgust in her tone. ‘I shouldn’t be here, I never should’ve accepted that invitation, why did I even think this was a good idea, the whole thing is for beautiful skinny girls like your friends, this is all a mistake,’ you think to yourself, insecurities and anxiety flooding your brain. Mina’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we asked for your personal opinion on her body. In fact, I believe we only asked for you to do your job, but if you can’t complete such a daunting task, I’m sure there are 20 other people who’d love to take your place.” she grinned, in a tone too perky for her threatening choice of words.

“Also, as I happen to frequent this shop, I know your entire inventory. As such, I know that you do, in fact, carry gowns for each of our sizes. If you can find one to fit my chest, I know you have a variety of gowns to fit my beautiful friend, y/n. I suggest you begin pulling them, as I’m sure you’ve gotten the measurements you need. Now.” This time it’s Yaomomo, handling the situation with dignitary-level finality, before gracefully walking to you with a comforting smile. Ochako wipes a tear you weren’t aware had fallen, attempting to comfort you with false empathy, saying how you two are “practically the same size”, but you know you’re not. It’s comforting nonetheless, having the support of your friend group. Jirou cracks self deprecating jokes to lighten the mood, complaining, “If I have to wear a frilly gown to this bullshit, so do you, y/n. You’re not getting out of this that easy,” and you absolutely know she means it.  

With your spirit slightly renewed and the consultants carrying in a multitude of dresses, you all end up having a blast laughing about how the pink ballgown does not fit Jirou’s aesthetic and the skintight green satin number Ochako tried on would quite literally have Deku passed out on the floor. You giggled with Yaomomo about how certain dresses looked risqué and nearly pornographic on your respective figures. Mina whined about how each dress didn’t have enough glitter, her complaints falling on deaf ears. Over the course of two and a half hours, each of the girls had secured a dress. Mina, in a teal mermaid-style dress with enough sparkle woven into the tulle to blind. Jirou, in a simple deep purple velvet gown that gracefully fell off her shoulders. Ochako, deciding, after much peer pressure, to opt for the green satin to make Deku drool. Yaomomo, in a red gown with beautiful beading, and a deep V neckline. You, on the other hand, were struggling to find something that doesn’t have you hyperfixating on one aspect of your body or another, limiting your breathing and movement so as to not further sink into the mean thoughts swirling around inside your head. The girls have gone into full support staff-mode, bringing you dresses of every cut known to man, offering more champagne to dull the anxieties, Yaomomo even offering to make you a custom dress with her quirk. Jirou sheepishly comes into the room, head down, hoping no one brings attention to the fact that she just sifted through dresses for a good 15 minutes and didn’t hate it, before nudging your soft side. You turn to her, defeated, and ready to give up, when you realize what she’s holding. She’s picked a dress for you, even though she hates shopping anywhere that isn’t blaring music through the speakers and dimly lit. You smile sweetly at her shy offering, reaching out to take it before she pulls back.

“No, I have an idea… I know it’s easy to look at your insecurities before the dress is all the way on, and I think you should let us help you into it with your eyes closed… Then, when you turn around to the mirror, you can see all the beautiful parts, like we do!” She looks down at the floor as she mutters the words, as though she’s embarrassed to be so soft and sweet.

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, JIROU! OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU HAVE TO LET US DRESS YOU, IT’LL BE JUST LIKE CINDERELLA WITH THE BIRDS AND THE MICE, COME ONNN…” Mina bounces up and down, grabbing your hands and pleading, knowing you never say no when she gives you such excited eyes.

“Uh… fine… Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” You shyly whisper, looking away.

If it were anyone else, you’d never want them to see you getting dressed, soft tummy and extra squish uncovered, leaving you vulnerable to their judgement. But these are your best friends, you’d known them for years. They’d held your hair on your 21st birthday, and cuddled into bed with you when you were crying over unrequited love. They’ve had your back, they’d never make fun of you, and Jirou chose this dress all special for you, you couldn’t say no. With that, you turned around and closed your eyes, arms out and waiting for them to help you into whatever Jirou had deemed right for you.

“Okay, y/n, almost done, just have to zip this last part up and… DONE!” Mina and Yaomomo stepped back from their positions holding the sides and pulling the zipper, respectively. Finally admiring the you in the dress, there was a moment of absolute silence. You started shifting uncomfortably, wondering just how horrible you looked if they didn’t even have words to describe it. Ochako was the first to break the quiet and a teary-sounding “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”, followed by Mina’s signature squeals of excitement. Yaomomo clasped her hands together and began ranting about “how gorgeous you looked” and “how perfect the dress was” and “how she didn’t even know they had this one yet”. Jirou, sensing your anxious shifting, finally told you to open your eyes and turn around with a hand on your shoulder, the satisfied smirk on her face audible in her now assured voice.

“Oh… wow…” was all you could manage to say, eyes wide as you saw yourself in the full length mirror. This was, in all honesty, the first time you felt beautiful in years. The dress did nothing to hide your body- no- it somehow managed to accentuate every single curve in the most beautiful way possible. The gown was black, made from silk and taffeta, with some built in structure, and oh so soft. Simultaneously comfortable, secure, and elegant, the strapless gown mimicked a one shoulder, right side jutting up in an asymmetrical style and the left dipping just low enough to show your cleavage before cascading down your curves, hugging each roll of your body gently, showing off your figure and flowing down to the floor with a slit up your thigh, only visible when you walked and showing the ample flesh of your hip and thigh. God, it was perfect. You felt strong and classy and sexy and beautiful. Turning to Jirou, you pull her into your chest and hug her, thanking her a thousand times for finding it.

“Whoa, hey, okay… I’m glad you like it, you look absolutely beautiful. But- um- hey, can you let go? I’m suffocating in titties here.” Jirou laughed, genuinely struggling to breathe in your embrace.

“Oh shit, sorry, Jirou! I’m just so happy, I love it so much! I kinda forgot you can’t breathe when I do that…” You chuckle nervously, releasing her from your embrace.

“Yay! Okay, now that everyone has a dress, let’s go purchase them and get some food. I’m starving!” Yaomomo pitches the idea, and everyone agrees, excited to hurry out of the shop for a meal.

_____________________________________________________________

The day had finally come, and your nerves felt fried. The other girls all had dates; Momo and Jirou deciding to go together, Ochako with Deku, even Mina was going with Kaminari. But here you were, riding in the car service alone, makeup absolutely flawless, complete with falsies and red lipstick that was the perfect shade to stand out against your skin. Such a shame no one was going to be benefiting from your efforts tonight, although the thought that your longtime crush, Sero Hanta, would be in attendance was enough to urge you to adjust your carefully placed mask, ensuring your anonymity and polishing your confidence. Sero had been in your friend group since high school, and was the first person you truly warmed up to upon your acceptance into the group. You quickly became the “shy little sister” to the loud ones in the group: Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina. Jirou and Sero were more your speed; quieter, more laid back and chill, with great senses of humor that not everyone was privy to. With Jirou as your designated best friend, Sero was proclaimed the unrequited love interest. You friendzoned yourself almost immediately, assuming Sero wouldn’t go for a girl like you, not when he was tall, dark, handsome, and muscular. A budding pro hero wouldn’t want you, not with your shy insecurities and soft body…

Little did you know, Sero had been pining after you since the beginning, flirting with you subtly in hopes that you’d express your interest. Eyes wandering down your curves during movie nights, taking in your too-small shorts and how your oversized shirt would raise just enough to see your little tummy pouch, wishing his face was buried between your plump thighs, praying he would be able to leave hickeys on every delicious roll, pleading he could see those cute chubby cheeks covered with tears while your plush lips wrapped around his cock… No- he couldn’t think of you like that. After all, you never returned his flirting, and there’s no way you’d like him when you could crush on manlier guys like Kirishima and Bakugou. ‘He was just a “dollar store Spiderman”, as Bakugou liked to call him, just a guy… Nothing special…’ he thought to himself as he adjusted his own mask in the bathroom mirror at the gala. His friends had all confirmed that you were coming, and that you were coming alone (said by Kaminari while wiggling his eyebrows). Every other person in the group had a date, including Bakugou and Kirishima, who had to practically drag the former to the event in the first place. He was the only one “stagging it”, aside from you, who would no doubt attract attention and end up going home with some flashy hero higher ranked than he was. He sighed, adjusting his tux jacket and cufflinks, and exited into the main ballroom to get a drink.

You walked into the venue, checked in, and stood frozen outside the ballroom entrance. You adjusted your mask, steeled your nerves, and squared your shoulders, reminding yourself how absolutely gorgeous you looked and donning your best “bad bitch” aura. You strut into the place like you own it, suddenly very aware of how many people there are, scanning for familiar faces as you sway your luscious hips to maintain your balance in your heels.

“Holy fuck... “  Sero utters, jaw slack and eyes locked on you. You’re so perfect, breasts bouncing with every step, thighs and tummy jiggling, soft smile gracing your face. He’s staring, and Kaminari has to elbow him to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth before you get there. You’re equally as enchanted, seeing Sero in his black fitted tuxedo, crushed velvet lapels, tapered pants making his quads look positively biteable, crisp white shirt tailored over his pecs, black bowtie (slightly crooked, very fitting of his personality) and mask obscuring his face, leaving him as nothing more than a handsome stranger. A  yellow pocket square catches your attention, reminding you of your favorite hero in his costume. You smirk to yourself, knowing you chose yellow gold heels specifically because they reminded you of him.

“See something you like, Sero-buddy? You’re staring so hard, you’d think she was God.” Kaminari punches Sero in the ribs, trying to break the spell. “Maybe you should talk to her, finally get over your crush on y/n by getting under someone else.” he winks, completely unaware that he’s talking about you in both respects.

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I think I’ll give it a minute, maybe grab another drink and enjoy the party for a while. I’m not trying to start hitting on some random chick just yet, though hot she may be.” Sero laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, downs the rest of the liquid, then focuses back on you. You wait at the bar for your drink of choice, aware of that beautiful stranger still staring and leaning against the counter just enough to push your ass out. You hear him nearly choke on his drink, and move around the party satisfied with yourself.

A few drinks later, you find yourself on the dance floor, watching from the edge and lightly swaying to the music. A masked man with shaggy black hair, who you can only assume to be pro hero Grand, given his mask barely covered a fourth of his face probably only worn to fit the theme, approached you for a dance, hand extended and bowing at the waist.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be a wallflower. Care to dance?” he asks, voice low and alluring, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.

“I might…” you smile shyly, taking his hand and letting him lead you.

Once out on the dance floor, he pulls you into his chest with a hand on your lower back. It’s nice to be wanted, to dance so close to a man who finds you beautiful, especially one as chiseled as Grand. ‘Wait- is he…? Are you fucking kidding?’ Your fight or flight response kicks in as soon as you feel his hand drift lower and lower onto your ass. You pull away, ready to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before you can get a word out, he puts a hand over your jaw, fingers tightly snapping your mouth closed. Unable to speak and too shocked to move, you feel helpless as he whispers in your ear.

“God, I love fat girls. Your self esteem is so low, I can do whatever I want and you’ll fall for it. So stupid, so fun.” His laugh is so dark, and you start to panic before a large, strong hand reaches between the two of you and wraps around Grand’s throat, yanking him back and off of you.

“Listen, this is a classy place, so I’ll give you a choice. Either you apologize to this absolutely gorgeous woman and get the fuck out of here, or I beat you to a bloody pulp right here and ruin both your suit and your face.” The handsome stranger who had originally caught your eye growls, voice so low and intimidating you didn’t doubt for a second he meant every word. ‘His voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s so angry, and he’s speaking so low, I can’t figure out where I’ve heard that before.’  Thankful for his saving assistance, and trying to calm yourself from hyperventilating, you watch Grand’s retreating form before turning to the man who is quite literally your Prince Charming of the evening.

Voice still low and angry, “Listen, I need you to distract me. Calm me down so I don’t turn around and kill that guy.” he seethes. “You are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. He was so wrong. He’s an asshole, absolutely vile, and he never should’ve even had the nerve to approach you, much less touch you. God fucking damn it, I should-”

You cut him off by pulling him close, placing your hands on his chest and letting them roam up to fix his still crooked bowtie.

“Thank you…” you whisper, tearing up as you put your head on his chest. His cologne is so calming, his scent enveloping you as his arms instinctively wrap around you and his hand finds the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

The two of you slow dance in silence, his head resting on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo and hairspray comforting him and taking him to a dream where he was dancing with the y/n he knew, feeling your soft body pressed against him, imagining how you’d look in the dress on the girl he was actually dancing with. ‘Oh fuck, y/n would look so fucking perfect in this. Her curves- fuck, this dress is soft- I would absolutely love to run my hands along her body in this dress, press her up against me like this, fuck her thighs- wait… SHIT-FUCK-NO’  Snapped out of his thoughts by the increasing tightness of his tux pants, he prays to god the sexy girl pressed against him doesn’t notice.

You notice something nudging against your thigh, breaking you out of your daydreams about the mystery man being Sero Hanta, opening your eyes before you realize exactly what you’re feeling. ‘Oh… OH. Holy fuck, did I make him hard just dancing? He- uh- feels… big… Maybe if I just-’  you subtly shift your hips, thigh brushing up against him and slotting between his legs just enough. A deep groan rises from his chest, and he leans down to your ear.

“Babygirl, if you keep doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to return the favor~” His voice sounds so familiar, but the lust clouding the low rumble has it taking on an entirely new timbre. You lean in, feeling emboldened by his words, swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear with a simple “Oh really?~ And what if that’s the goal?”

With that, he crooks his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. What starts as a sweet and simple kiss quickly evolves into a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His fingers gently resting on your neck, just above your collarbone, and tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You sigh into him, granting him access and letting his tongue explore your mouth, relishing in his deep rumbles and pressing impossibly closer, hoping he’d get the message and take you somewhere more private. Luckily, it seems he seems to read your body language and leads you to a side hallway by pressing his hand on the small of your back, possessively guiding you. Pushing you up against the wall, he leans back in to resume kissing you, with an arm steadying himself above your head. In a simply embarrassing display of clumsiness, your hand reaching for his cheek goes slightly off course, accidentally knocking off his mask and causing you to fumble to the floor to retrieve it. Upon looking up, you see Sero standing with a flushed face and his hand reaching up to the back of his neck, the endearing nervous tic you’d learned from him over the years. Oh God, if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it sure as fuck was now… The man you had yearned after for years not only swooping in to save you from some low-life creep, but also having you in a kabedon against the wall of the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. He laughs, nervous now without his anonymity, and reaches down to help you up.

“I- uh- sorry, I might’ve gotten carried away. I hope you’re okay, I know I’m probably not the hero you wanted. I really do think you’re beautiful, you actually remind me of someone I know and- wow- I’m rambling…” He goes on like this, panicking that he’s somehow ruined your fantasy and disappointed you by existing. He only shuts up when you stand back upright and kiss him softly.

“You’re exactly the hero I want… The hero I’ve always wanted.” You blush, staring up at him with the most loving doe eyes you can manage.

‘Wait… Her voice… Is that- ?’ Sero came to quite possibly the best and utterly terrifying realization; that the girl he’d been lusting after all night and the girl he’d been wanting for years could be the same girl. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face, lightly grazing your mask as though asking for permission. You nod, never breaking your gaze on his concentrated expression, and parted your lips. He gingerly lifts the mask from your features, damning your anonymity, and each of you hold your breath in anticipation. The way he looks at you is like something out of a movie, or one of those shōjo manga you love to obsess over: pure relief, adoration, lust, love. Oh, you want him to look at you like that forever.

“Y/n, I-... You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. I have been wanting to kiss you for years, and to finally do it, and with you looking… Wow- you are so fucking stunning, I have never seen anything as beautiful in my life. Fuck, I just- I wish I could tell you how perfect you are, express in words how flawless I’ve always thought you were- still do… “ Sero breathed all of this as though he had to get every word out before you disappeared. He held your face in both hands, lightly squishing your cheeks and stroking his thumb over your lips, taking in your hopelessly enthralled expression. “You know what? Fuck this. No- I mean- not ‘fuck this’, I just… I want to do this right. I want you, I need you. I want to express how important you are, I need to show you that you’re everything to me. I want to worship you, kiss every inch of your body and make you feel so incredibly complete and full and whole and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Hanta… I- Yes. Yes. Please take me home, I need you. I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You lean into his touch, wanting to be ever closer to his warmth.

You yelp as he suddenly picks you up, bridal style, as though you don’t even provide a struggle.

“HANTA, you can’t be carrying me, I weigh more than you, no no no, I’m too heavy, you can’t-”

“Y/n. I’m a pro hero, are you seriously telling me I can’t carry you? I can carry 3 people at once while hanging from a strip of tape in midair. I’ll hold you up forever if you’d let me.” He squeezes you in his hold, emphasizing his point.

His cocky attitude was majorly driven by how good you felt, soft tummy and jiggling tits against his torso, the perfect squish of your thighs in his powerful arms, chubby hands and cheeks tucked into his chest and the crook of his neck. He swore he could die happy right there. In the elevator, he took a moment to take in your entire figure, but upon reaching your feet, something turned him absolutely feral. Your shoes. You were wearing his colors. Every single piece of clothing matched his hero costume. ‘Holy shit… You knew. You wanted him before this even happened. You were his.’ The possessive growl that tore from his chest startled you as he adjusted you in his hold. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, hands unapologetically on the ample crux of your thighs and ass, lips on yours in a desperate kiss that was all tongue and teeth, grinding his hard cock against you. You whimpered against his lips, shocked by his sudden change of demeanor.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my colors, aren’t you? You want me to claim you? You want to be mine? I’ll give you anything you want, babygirl. I just need you to ask for it.~” He growled against your neck, nose tracing the column of your throat.

“Hanta, please, yes- ah~. I want to be yours. I only want to be yours. I need you. Please, please, please.” Normally, you’d be way too shy to beg this much, embarrassed about how desperate you sound, but fuck he’s making you so needy. The gasp that escapes you when Sero licks a stripe up your neck turns into a moan when he starts sucking a hickey over your pulsepoint. He feels so good, the heat between your thighs steadily building with every nip of his teeth and roll of his hips. You thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and pull gently, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. He works his way up to your jaw, leaving pretty little marks in his wake, and returns to your lips like a safe haven. He strokes your tongue with his own, committing your taste to memory. He never wants to forget this moment, especially not when you lightly suck his tongue and pull him in further with those perfect fucking thighs. You’re so soft, being wrapped in your plushness with his fingers digging into the pliable flesh of your ass is too much. Sero’s sinful thoughts are interrupted by your fucked-out voice, so small and innocent, as though you’re afraid of his answer.

“Um… Can I- can I touch you? I mean- I- can I mark you, too?” You sound so unsure, not used to someone wanting to show you off.  You’re so breathless, and he’d be lying if the pleading in your voice didn’t make his dick twitch in his pants.

“Awwww~ is my babygirl shy now? You want to mark me, too? Go ahead, mi amor, sí se puede. I’m all yours, just like you’re mine.” Sero cranes his head to the side, baring his neck to you, waiting for you to bless him with those full lips, waiting for you to make a show of him finally having the most perfect girl he’s ever known.

If he could’ve taken a picture of your face in that moment, he’d look at it every day. Squishy cheeks blushing, eyes wide with surprise and excitement, gaze clouded with lust. You were so pretty, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. Sero moaned as you sucked a small dark mark onto his skin and happily carried you from the elevator to his room. You tighten your arms around him when he reaches for his key card, involuntarily pushing your chest together and pressing up into him.

“Oh, mi corazón, if you keep pressing into me like that, voy a tener que lamer cada parte de ti y puede que no te deje ir…” His threats sound more like promises when he’s carrying you through the threshold and placing you down gently, though his hands never leave your body.  Tracing your sides, memorizing your curves, squeezing any part he can get his hands on.  His right hand inches down your torso, resting on the pouch of your tummy and making you flinch. Sero notices and worries he’s hurt you, or that you don’t want him to touch you. The hurt in his eyes is obvious when he takes in your tense muscles and eyes squeezed shut, realizing it’s your own insecurities holding you back. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, see yourself through his eyes. He was going to make you feel so fucking loved, he just had to show you what he couldn’t express in words. You stripped him of his jacket as he unknotted his tie. With nervous hands, you unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it past his broad shoulders, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest and lean abs, admiring the enticing adonis belt and pretty trail of coarse black hair disappearing into his pants. Sero, with his ego now boosted by the lustful look in your eyes as you took him in, returned your gaze to his face with an intensity that made you shiver. He kept eye contact while sweeping your hair to one side, and slowly unzipping your gown. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans down to place open mouthed kisses along your shoulders as he pushes your dress down your body, kissing down your arms as it falls, and places a sweet kiss to your hands. Pushing you onto the bed with a soft thud and climbing over top of you, he moves the hands that raise to cover yourself , grasping your wrists in one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, as he softly reassures you.

“Princesa, please don’t hide from me. I’ve waited for you for so long, and I want to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you cry out my name, and show you just how perfect you are while you cum on my tongue. You will not say a single bad thing about mi amor, you understand?” he says lowly, so loving yet commanding.

“Yes, Hanta… I- I’ll be good for you, I promise.” you whine, praying your submission would please him.

The sound of his given name in that pleading tone has him painfully hard, but he’s too focused on hearing his name from your sweet lips again to care. You pull him down into a passionate kiss and roll your hips against his clothed cock when he laves down your neck and leaves love bites across your chest. He sucks your nipple into his warm mouth and rolls the other between his forefinger and thumb, earning a high pitched keen from you. He switches to give the same attention to the other side, tongue swirling around the peaked bud and relishing the way your chest heaves just from his mouth on your tits. ‘So needy… Fuck, how did I ever wait this long to see y/n like this and hear her sounds?’ Sero thinks to himself, so ready to watch your eyes roll back in your skull the minute you feel his cock fill you. The thought of you bouncing on his dick, watching you jiggle with his thrusts, letting him grip the fat on your hips and help you fuck yourself on him, feeling your lovely thighs straddle him, has him impatiently rutting into the mattress. He needs to taste you, leave marks all over your delicious tummy and thighs, and feel you coming undone beneath him. His large hands slide down your sides, rubbing back up under your breasts, gripping the extra flesh over your ribcage, the soft love handles on your sides, caressing the perfect pouch of your belly and settling on your hips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing and licking every place you had deemed undesirable like they were the sexiest pieces of you, leaving dark hickeys on the front of your hips to remind you that all of these parts were now his to love.

“Lo siento, babygirl, pero no puedo esperar más, necesito mi lengua en ese bonita coño jodidamente ahora. Estas necesitan estar en el suelo ahora.” If his panting growl of Spanish didn’t already have your pussy gushing, his strong fingers ripping your panties and hoes off your body had you dripping onto the bed. Your shocked squeak turning into a moan when he parted your legs and nipped at the soft skin of your inner thigh, Sero is beyond delighted by feeling your beautiful thighs squishing against his face. If he could choose his end, it would undoubtedly be suffocating between this plush heaven. He snaked his arms under your parted thighs to hold your hips, squeezing and marveling at the feeling of your warm body protruding between his spread fingers, trying to fit as much of you in his grasp as he could and never getting enough. You’re just about to plead for him to touch you where you need him most when you lock eyes and hear the teasing lilt in his voice when he groans “Itadakimasu~” and flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

“So wet for me, princesa, is this all for me? You’re so thoughtful to give me a meal so sweet.”

“Hantaaa, please. I want you, please don’t tease me, please touch me. I need- ah~”  

Your begging is interrupted by his tongue diving into your sex, lapping at your slick like a man starved. The moans coming from the man between your thighs were sinful; in this moment, Sero Hanta was no longer the friend you’d watched superhero movies with and silently crushed on for years- he was a man, a lover, all you’d ever wanted. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking the sensitive pearl into his mouth, he pulled one hand from your hip and slowly slipped two long fingers into your sopping heat. The callused pads from years of hero training now rubbing perfectly against your walls have you crying out for him and grasping his hair, begging him to go faster. He suddenly props himself up, bringing his palm up to grind against your clit and slowing his thrusts, wanting to hear you beg for him and watch your desperate facial expression.

“What is it you want, babygirl? C’mon, you’re going to have to use that pretty little mouth of yours. Tell me what you want, baby, use your words. I wanna hear you beg for me.” That normally dopey smile was replaced with a lewd smirk, hungry and covered in your juices.

“H-Hanta, please please please. I need you, need your mouth. Please I wanna cum, please let me cum, I want you to fuck me! Please please pleaseeeee~” Hips bucking forward, sweat lightly covering your skin, hair splayed out, body covered in his marks, begging for him… Shit, he’d give you anything you asked for. Oh, he’ll give you what you need- don’t you worry.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. I’ll make this pretty pussy cum. Hold onto me and just relax, princess.”

His lips returned to your clit, flicking his tongue and sucking lightly, and increased his pace. He curled his fingers just right, finding the spongy underside of your clit and he chuckles darkly to himself when your back arches, head falling back onto the pillows.

“There it is~, there we go, babygirl. Cum for me, just like this. I’ve got you, let go, cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long after his mouth goes back to nursing on your clit and his fingers continuously hitting your g-spot for the coil in your belly to finally snap. You climax hard, eyes screwed shut and screaming out his name as his tongue works you through your high. Once you’ve come down, you open your eyes and see Sero sucking his fingers clean of your release and unbuckling his belt with the other hand. You sit up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and unbuttoning his pants. He grows impatient with your pace, shoving his pants and tight boxers down at once. ‘Fuck, his dick is pretty’ you think to yourself, marveling at the masterpiece before you. He’s long, maybe 8.5-9 inches, thick enough to stretch your walls so deliciously but not too thick to fit in your mouth, prominent vein running along the underside and leading from the neat crop of black hair to the leaking tip, begging for your tongue. You start to rise to your knees before being pushed back into the duvet, looking up at him in confusion.

“No, no, mi amor. As much as I want to see your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, that’s gonna have to wait. I want to be inside you, I need to fuck you until all you can think about is me and how fucking beautiful I think you are.” His eyes are so sincere. He looks down at you with the most loving stare you’ve ever felt, so calm and safe in his presence. You’re lulled into submission, every doubtful argument you had died on your tongue, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He leans over you, bracing himself on an elbow with his hand on your jaw to keep your eyes fixated on him. The other hand wraps around the base of his cock and teases the head along your slit, pressing on your clit just enough to have you squirming, trying to impale yourself.

“So needy for me, so wet. You’re so perfect, babygirl, I wouldn’t want to go too fast now. I want to savor every inch, feel you stretch around me while I watch those e/c eyes roll back in pleasure.” He holds back from thrusting into you when you whine in response, breathing heavy and struggling to get him inside. “Damn, baby, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you tell me exactly what you want? Beg for my cock, mi amor.”

“PLEASE, I need you inside me, please! I need your cock. Please fuck me, Papi~” You gasp out in succession, trying out the name you had once heard Kaminari teasing him about. It was a desperate attempt to get him to move, one your fucked-out brain decided was your best shot at getting him feral. And holy shit were you right. Sero fills you in an instant, hard length thrust to the hilt in your tight hole, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back just as he promised.

“FUCK!” He’s losing restraint, driven mad by the filthy name coming from your angelic lips. The squeezing and fluttering of your walls is the only thing grounding him to Earth as he smirks down at you, baring his teeth while his other hand comes to wrap around your throat and apply light pressure to the sides. “Oh you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You have no idea how many times I imagined you calling me like that with these soft thighs wrapped around me; trust me, it’s nothing close to how sexy the real thing is. If you want to play dirty, princesa, don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

He backed up his statement with a few deep strokes that had your mouth falling open and eyes unfocusing, still unable to look away from the man about to wreck you. In a weak attempt to ground yourself, you reach up and place your hands on his back to feel the flexing of his muscles as he gave you slow, deep thrusts. Running your hands along his shoulders had your pussy clenching, and the groan pulled from his chest accompanying a harsh increase in his pace had your nails clawing at the corded muscles, causing him to put more force into fucking you into the mattress. A cycle of reactions, spurring the other on to continue and escalate.

“You feel so good, babygirl. S-So tight, you feel like you’re fucking made for me. I love you so much. I love everything about you. God, I fucking love your body- I love your curves, I love your legs wrapped around me, I love your sexy fucking thighs, I love your cute tummy- love how you feel pressed against me, I love running my fingers up your arms and kissing back down, I love gripping your hips when I hold you, I love watching you jiggle when you walk and bounce when I fuck you like this. You’re so fucking beautiful, so perfect for me.” Sero babbles out praises like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out. You’re a blushing mess, knowing these words are completely true, tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously as he thinks them. “I love that expression, angel. Still so shy at my praises, even though I can feel you trying to milk my cock at every word. Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you tell me who makes this pretty pussy feel so good, huh? Say it, angel.”

“Hantaaa~ you feel so good. Please don’t stop!! I’m so close, please. I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your cock, please Papiiii~. You make me feel so good. I love you, I love you, I’m all yours. Please, I’m yours-ah~, I wanna be yours. I need you, I love you so much. Only you could make me feel like this-fuck- it’s only you. Please make me cum, Papi~” Your moans and pleas are getting louder and louder, chasing your impending climax. Every emotion flowing out of you, combined with the wonderful overstimulation, had tears rolling down your pudgy cheeks. You hadn’t yet realized you were crying when Sero leaned down to kiss and lick away the salty streams.

“Okay, princesa, I’ll give you what you need. How can I say no when you're being so good for me? Such a beautiful mess, all for me. So perfect. My good girl~” His right hand smoothes down your torso and settles between your thighs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come on, babygirl. Papi’s got you, I’ll take good care of you. Cum for Papi. Cum on my cock.”

Your final orgasm has your back arched off the bed, eyes crossed, tongue lolling out, screaming out a string of “Hanta”, “Papi”, and “I love you”. Sero keeps his pace steady, fucking you through your climax and trying to prolong it as long as he can. The feeling of your doughy pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice, the gloriously wrecked ahegao face, and the sound of your cries as you creamed on his dick had him right on the edge of his own high. He started to pull out, not wanting to cross any boundaries, when he felt your legs pull him in even further. He looks back to your face; hazy, loving eyes drawing him in with that innocent look.

“Please cum inside me Papi, I want it! I’m yours, I want you. I want you to fill me up.” The permission to claim his longtime love and the aftershocks of your orgasm having you still pulsing around him finally push him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a feeble attempt to muffle his moans of your name as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum warming your insides and painting your walls white. You feel so full and so content. Staying inside you, Sero rolls the two of you over to lay on his back, still holding your sweaty bodies together as he kisses your forehead and strokes your hair, telling you how good you did, how happy he was, how proud he was of you.

No one has ever made you feel so good, so wanted. Normally, your post-sex thoughts are plagued with insecurities, but instead all yoou can think about is Sero and how perfect this was. How beautiful he made you feel… and how you didn’t want it to end.

“H-Hey… Um… Sero?” you timidly get his attention.

“Y/n, I’m gonna need you to start calling me Hanta if we’re gonna be together. It’s a little weird to call your boyfriend by their family name, isn’t it?… Unless you wanna call me Papi, of course~” He says, his normal goofy grin and teasing tone returned.

“Wait… You- you really want to be with me? You don’t want me to keep it a secret? I will if you tell me to… I don’t want to embarrass you, I know I’m not exactly the ‘trophy wife’ the other heroes go for… I just really like you- um- actually, I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I just got really excited that you wanted me and-” Your nervous muttering is cut off with his lips softly pressed against yours, his hand moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Mi amor, I’ve been in love with you for just as long. You are my trophy, the greatest part of me. Every single thing I said is true, and I’ve thought those things for our entire friendship. If you think for a second that I won’t be walking around shirtless, showing off all of these marks to Kirishima and Kaminari, you don’t know me at all.” He winks at you and brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “Princesa, babygirl, mi corazón… Nunca te dejaré, yo nunca te dejaré salir, yo prometo. I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you, too, y/n.”

You fall asleep on his chest to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat and steady breathing. Upon waking up, you assume you had just dreamed the entire affair, chalking it up to your vivid imagination and drinks at the ball. That is, until you realize you’re trapped in a tangle of limbs with Hanta, leg hiked over his body and arms encompassing each other. You try to shift slightly to see his sleeping face, but he stirs and rolls over on top of you with a groan. The jolt of his muscles jerking awake told you he also thought he had dreamed the entire thing, believing that the prospect of your mutual pining actually coming to fruition was too good to be true.

“Good morning, angel. I’m so glad you’re real… And that you’re all mine.” Sero softly sighs, voice rough from sleep, nuzzling his face into your chest and squeezing your soft midsection to hold you closer.

“Good morning, love. I’m so so happy, but there’s one thing…” You say, trying to hold back your giggles.

“What is it, baby? Is something wrong? What did I do?” Sero starts thinking of every possible scenario as you soothe his thoughts with a cheeky smile.

“I- um… I think I need you to carry me to the shower, you weren’t lying when you said I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you erupt in a fit of laughter. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the shower, so content in finally having his girl.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEW okay… I’m actually really proud of this, and I hope you guys like it. The Latin Sero headcanon hits me so hard and I just absolutely simp for this sweet tape boy. Huge thank you to @reinawritesbnha for inspiring me to write this matchup, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten for encouraging me and giving me the courage to post, and my dear, sweet Sage for reading it to make sure I don’t embarrass myself and inspiring me to write in the first place. <3

[pascalpanic]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Javier Peña x f!Reader)- Chapter Four

Summary: You feel like shit and decide to work out the bug. Javier is not going to let that happen.

W/C: 2.5k

Warnings: language, mentions of illness (just a common cold), cavity-inducing fluff

A/N: Hi this is like, toothache-inducing fluff. Super cute idea from @softly-sad inspired this whole chapter! And BIG shoutout to @remmysbounty for being my sounding board/Colombian culture expert/brainstorming buddy!

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You’re a nurse; your immune system is hardy. The first year or so of working in hospitals led you to constantly feel ill, plagued by some bug or virus, but you powered through with help from your fellow nurses. It was to be expected, working in an environment surrounded by people, specifically ill ones.

That being said, you had caught a bug of some kind. It wasn’t too bad, not enough to disqualify you from work. It was simply a scratch in your throat, a throbbing temple that came and went, a few other mild symptoms and an inability to sleep.

This brief insomnia was what found you awake at 1:28 in the morning, joints aching. You’re hydrated, well-fed, and had even snuck a nap in during your break at work today. Everything should be fine, but your body aches, and you roll over in your bed with a groan. Sleep isn’t coming, isn’t anywhere near possible. You crack your neck as you sit up and decide the best course of action is to work out the aches. 

You sigh and get out of bed, changing out of your pajamas and into your workout clothes. Your mind wanders a little, wondering if you’ll catch Peña at this hour. It seems unlikely, but then again, the probability of anyone being at the gym at this hour is always low.

It’s a bit chilly in the air of the night, and you sigh as you walk out into the fresh air. You make your way to the gym, secretly hoping that you don’t run into Javier tonight. You’ll be the first to admit you look like shit, and you’re not going to be working out as hard as normal.

Luck isn’t on your side tonight, you sigh, as you enter the fitness center and find Javier running on the treadmill. He’s already quite into it, sweating and panting from the running. He turns as the door creaks open and stops the machine, smiling a little. It falls when he notices the dark rings around your eyes. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you say shyly, turning away from him to put your things in a locker. The twinge returns to your temple and you try your best not to groan at the annoying headache.

Javier turns off the treadmill and turns to look at your back. “I’ll just say it. You look like shit. Is something wrong?” he asks, crossing his arms, genuinely concerned.

“I feel like shit too,” you chuckle, running a hand over your ponytail.

His brow furrows as he looks at you. “Rough shift? I thought you said-”

You nod and cut him off. “I only work days for the next two weeks, yeah,” you say, turning to face him. “I’ve got some kind of bug or something. I feel like shit and I can’t sleep. I figured I’d come to the gym and try to work out if I was going to be awake, but…” you shrug and take a swig from your water bottle.

Javier shakes his head. “If you’re feeling like shit, working out isn’t going to be the answer.” He steps off the treadmill and wipes his face with the hem of his t-shirt, exposing unexpectedly strong abs that make you raise your eyebrows before quickly looking away. He walks over to the area by you, grabbing his bag. “If neither of us can sleep, why don’t we go get breakfast?” he offers, positioning himself so that you don’t have to move to see him. “There’s a little 24-hour place around here. I’ll buy, we’ll get you some hot coffee and food.”

You bite your lip, thinking you probably shouldn’t. “I came here to work out,” you say, a weak protest.

“That’s pointless if you’re feeling like shit,” Javier points out, and you nod.

“I guess that’s true.” You say and cross your arms.

Javier gives you a soft, gentle smile. “You’re a nurse. You know it’s true. Come on,” he tells you, and you finally crack a small smile too. Javier’s widens at that. “Alright hermosa, come on,” he tells you as he grabs his bag. “I drove here tonight. We’ll take my car?” he asks.

The thought of seeing the kind of car the man drives makes you smile a little wider. You hold back a giggle at the nickname, your heart fluttering helplessly in your chest. “As long as you’ll drive me home too,” you nod, and Javier nods back. 

You walk out to his car alongside him, where you discover he drives a beat-up wagon. You chuckle a little and get into the passenger side. It smells of cigarette smoke, which you find no surprise. There’s some kind of air freshener, at least, that masks the distinct smell but doesn’t hide it completely. Javier tosses his bag in the back and sits in the drivers’ seat. 

The drive to the restaurant is filled with a comfortable silence, the radio playing quietly. You relax in the seat of his car, his presence soothing. It’s a bit chilly, and you unintentionally shiver. Javier’s obviously still warm from working out and he notices the fact that you’re cold. “The heater’s busted,” he admits with an apologetic smile. “Here.” He reaches into the back and grabs a leather jacket, placing it on your lap. “Use my jacket.” 

The gesture makes you melt a little, and you nod, sliding it over your shoulders. It’s big on you, but it’s warm and comfortable and has a distinctive smell that you’re sure is Javier’s. There’s cologne and cigarette smoke and exhaust from the shitty car, and you smile as you snuggle into it. “Thank you,” you tell him as you look over at him, your heart completely in your eyes and unable to hide it.

He looks back at you and his stony face cracks into a smile. “No problem.”

A few minutes later, the car parks outside a small restaurant, dimly lit but clearly open. As you get out of the car and open the door to the restaurant, the smell of coffee wafts your way and soothes you as you breathe it in. Javier walks in behind you and a short and plump waitress calls his name excitedly. “Javi! How are you, mijo?” She asks, already bringing two mugs of coffee as she notices the two of you. “And who is this?” She asks again, handing you a mug.

Javier leads you to the small booth nearby and the two of you sit. He introduces you and you give a little wave, sipping your coffee and sighing at the warm liquid. The waitress chats with him, and you smile to yourself as you watch the two of them interact. He’s just as charming with her as he is with you, and it makes you chuckle. He orders something for the two of you (you don’t catch exactly what), and you lean against the cool leather of the booth, smiling at him as the waitress leaves to put in the order. “What?” he asks, cracking a small smile at the way you look at him.

You snuggle into his jacket and shrug. “You’re quite the charmer,” you tease, bringing the coffee to your lips to hide the growing smile. “What did you order us?”

“Sweet arepas,” he tells you, and you nod happily as you set it down. 

“Sounds wonderful,” you nod and set it down. “How was your day?” you ask, the quiet atmosphere of the small restaurant making your voice quieter and gentler. You’ve never asked him something like that, but he’s been tense all night. Well, what you assumed was tense- you didn’t know him extremely well. 

“Shitty,” he shakes his head as he admits it, sipping his own coffee before finishing his response. “We can’t find shit on Escobar or any of his men. It’s like they’re fucking ghosts or something: we can always see them and never catch them.”

You nod and listen, his quiet voice and the coffee soothing you. His voice is beautiful, you notice, and it’s just what you needed on a night like tonight. “That sounds hard,” you nod in agreement, your eyes showing your compassion.

Javier has come to love looking into your eyes. They always give away your thoughts and emotions. The way you look at him melts his heart. He has Steve and Connie and whatever prostitute he’s with, but they always already know the story or don’t care. You do. “It’s tough, yeah,” he says before he looks down at his coffee, the image of you bundled in his leather jacket threatening to make him smile. 

The arepas come not long after, and you sigh as you bite into the cinnamon-sugar dusted cornmeal cakes. Javier chuckles and smiles as he hears the noise. You notice the way his smile looks like it doesn’t come often, but it comes in full force when it does. It crinkles the edges of his eyes, leaves lines around his mouth, and makes him look like everything you want and more. He bites into one and it leaves the fine powder on his mustache. You snort and nearly spit out your coffee as you notice it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, hiding your face behind your mug. “Just got a little… something,” you say, gesturing to your face, to where his mustache would be. He brushes it and frowns as he notices the sugar falling out, and you giggle harder.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Javier says, amusement and teasing in his tone.

“Don’t make yourself so easy to laugh at,” you say with a quirked eyebrow, taking another bite of your arepa.

Javier shakes his head, that familiar small smile on his face: the one he always cracks around you no matter how hard he tries to hold back. He really does like you, he realizes in that moment, as he looks at you: happily chewing your food and wrapped in his leather jacket and probably getting powdered sugar and cinnamon on it but he can’t even bring himself to care because your big eyes are on his face and it makes him warm inside even if he’ll never admit it because goddamn would Steve tease him for the rest of eternity but he thinks he might be falling, and it makes that smile grow into a real one he can’t hold back.

He takes a sip of his coffee and forces himself to be the regular Javier, the flirty one who doesn’t let things mean something to him because he knows it’ll be gone soon anyway. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re a nurse. Are you so mean and sarcastic to your patients?”

“Come by sometime and find out,” you tease. “Actually, don’t. That would mean you’d need a reason to be in the hospital.”

-

The rest of the night passes easily. You and Javier spend hours in that diner booth, drinking coffee and mindlessly munching on the arepas, which the kind waitress brings out several plates of throughout the night. She tells you that Javier doesn’t eat enough, and you believe it, and you watch as the plate slowly becomes empty every time, most of them going into Javier’s mouth and leaving more sugar on that mustache. You converse and tease and flirt and bare your life stories to each other, neither of you ever taking your eyes from the other’s face except for when the woman- Valeria, she tells you- brings more coffee and more food.

Javier looks at his watch for the first time that night, finding that it’s now 5:30 in the morning. “Shit. We’d better get you home, you need to work, don’t you?” “Don’t you too?” you ask in return, tilting your head and pulling the coat closer around yourself.

“Yeah, but that’s less important.” He leaves a Colombian bill on the table for payment and tip for Valeria, then stands, adjusting his clothing. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

You nod and stand, following Javier out to his car, parked on the street in front of the diner. Valeria calls out a goodbye to the both of and you wave, a soft smile on your face. There were kind people everywhere you went, you found, even in a place with so much trouble and violence. 

The sky is beginning to change colors as the sunrise approaches. The dark blue of the sky lightens near the horizon, and a bit of pastel orange tinges just where the outline of the city meets it. It’s beautiful, really. You watch the sky as Javier drives you home, as it slowly changes and a bit of the sun is starting to show.

Javier parks in front of your apartment, which you directed him to, and kills the engine. You look at him, confused. “I’ll walk you inside,” he says as if it’s obvious.

As you get out of the car, Javier follows and you shake your head. “No, it’s fine Javi,” you protest, but he walks to you and puts a hand on your arm. 

“I want you to be safe, and you know I carry a gun.”

“It’s 5:30 A.M. on a Tuesday, and you’re wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt,” you laugh, raising your eyebrow. He hasn’t touched you since you first shook hands when you met. His hand is large and strong and you can practically feel the warmth through the thick leather of his coat. “Oh, shit, sorry,” you say and start to shrug out of the coat, but he stops you, one hand on each arm. 

He shakes his head. “Keep it with you,” he says.

It’s a soft moment, the sun coming up in the eastern sky, Javier’s hands holding you through his coat, the one he gifted you when you were cold. You’re both silent for a moment, and Javier can’t help himself. He presses a soft kiss to your head, where your hairline and your forehead meet, murmuring your name into your skin. He’s so close to you, and you can smell his cologne and his sweat and his deodorant and cigarettes and coffee and it’s all so uniquely Javi that your breath stops for a moment before you throw your arms around his torso, hugging him. “Thank you,” you breathe into his chest, and you can feel him hum a soft noise that conveys ‘it’s no problem’, his arms wrapping back around you.

You both break away a moment later and you look up at him, a soft smile gracing your face and an equal one on his. “My hero,” you chuckle softly and press a brief kiss to his cheek. Javi chuckles softly at that, the warmth radiating from him tempting you to do more, but you stop yourself. You don’t want to give him your bug. “Thank you for tonight. It was much needed,” you tell him, pulling his leather jacket tight around yourself.

“I needed it too,” he nods. “Go inside. I’ll see you,” he says, his hands resting where his belt loops would be on his jeans. You can tell that’s a pose he strikes often.

“See you,” you nod and turn, heading into your apartment building. As you open the door, you turn, and Javier gives a little two fingered salute to you before getting back into his car.

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[rynnrose]

CASTLETON [PART FOURTEEN]

You honestly can’t remember the last time you were this excited for something. Sure, it was nice to see your friends at the end of the summer, and you’d even been looking forward to attending your last Welcoming Feast, but none of those things could compare to this. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to focus on anything other than war and destruction that you’ve almost forgotten the rush of adrenaline that overwhelms you before every game. After a year of little more than pain, suffering, and quite literally fighting for your life, you welcome the sensation with open arms.

The match isn’t set to start for another ten minutes, and already you can hear the chanting in the stands. Nearly every student in the school has come out to see you play, if Hooch is to be believed, and you can’t wait to give them a show. The first Quidditch game of the year is always an ordeal, particularly whenever your house is involved. Part of you wishes that you’d been pitted against Gryffindor — they always give you a run for your money, though you’d rather die than tell them that — but given the hostility between the snakes and lions, you suppose competing against them would only make things worse. Still, you hope things calm down soon; you owe Ginny and Jungkook a good game.

You didn’t realize how much you’d missed this until you started practicing again. It was easy to get lost in the drama at Hogwarts, particularly in the past few years. Even you and your friends weren’t immune, no matter how badly you tried to stay out of the conflict. Between Harry and the DA and Umbridge and Voldy, there’s been precious little time to focus on the things you actually love — and by god, how you love Quidditch.

It’s been five years since you joined the team, and you still get butterflies every time you step out onto the pitch. Growing up among Muggles obviously hadn’t given you much opportunity to familiarize yourself with broom riding, but you’d fallen head over heels for it the moment you walked into your first flying class. It was the only subject you’d never struggled in, simply because it came so naturally to you. Hooch singled you out as a potential player as soon as she saw you take to the sky. The majority of your first year was spent cooped up in the library reading about rules and regulations, famous players, and even the origins of the sport. You were obsessed with the idea of being on the team. Naturally, when you were accepted second year, you were overjoyed.

It was your enthusiasm for the game that got Hobi and Yoongi involved. They’d spent so much time listening to you rant about it that they finally caved in and decided to try out third year — and funnily enough, discovered that they had quite the knack for it as well. None of you were particularly sporty, but you excelled where Quidditch was concerned. You and Hobi were Slytherin’s star Beaters, quicker than lightning when it came to keeping the Bludgers off of your team (and knocking them towards the rival players). Yoongi fit quite nicely into the Seeker position, what with his lithe frame and keen eyes. The three of you were the most skilled players on the team by the time fifth year rolled around; perhaps you’re a bit biased, but you’d wager that you’re the best in the entire school.

Being promoted to captain came as a bit of a shock, but you like to think you’ve done rather well in the time since you were given the position. Your teammates have never performed better, and though you’re all absolutely exhausted when practice ends, you know that you stand one hell of a chance of winning the cup this year. As much as they like to tease you, Hobi and Yoongi have attributed their improvement to you over and over again, citing your patience and determination as the driving force behind the entire team. You’ll never admit it, but their praise is perhaps the only thing that has kept you sane since the promotion.

Well...perhaps not the only thing.

You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from combing the stands for Taehyung as you made your way to the locker room. As much as you’ve tried to brush off your excitement, you can’t help but grin at the thought of him watching you play. Something about that boy — and you’re no closer to figuring it out now than you were the day you met him — gets you flustered like no one else in the world. Fortunately, you’re quite certain you have the same effect on him.

You haven’t spoken a word of this to your friends, of course; they’ve done a good enough job of teasing you on their own without adding fuel to the fire. They have the best of intentions (you think), but not a day has gone by since you met Taehyung wherein they haven’t taunted you mercilessly over the blue-haired boy. It’s the first time your love life has ever been a topic of conversation among your group, and while you used to hate that no one had ever seriously caught your interest, you’re suddenly grateful that you never had to put up with this before. One more smirk from Hobi and you’re quite certain you’re going to punch him in the jaw.

It seems a bit hypocritical of him to tease you about your “boyfriend” when you still know next to nothing about his own. All he’s told you is the basics, insignificant details that could apply to about three hundred guys in your year: brown hair, brown eyes, bright smile, glasses. You have your suspicions, of course — you’re nothing if not perceptive — but without any confirmation from him, you’re left to fumble in the dark trying to connect the dots. For all your complaining, though, you understand why he’s kept it under wraps. Anyone caught fraternizing with a Slytherin right now is just asking for trouble; he doesn’t want his lover anywhere near the whole situation, and you suppose you can understand that.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from taunting him when he strolls over and leans against the locker at your side.

“Is your secret boyfriend gonna make an appearance today?”

Your words have him narrowing his eyes. He doesn’t mean it, of course, but if you were anyone else, you might have cowered under his gaze. Hobi can embody Slytherin intimidation when he needs to, particularly where you and the boys are concerned. Most students would freeze in place if he looked at them the way he’s looking at you now. All you can do is chuckle.

“He might,” he relents with a barely-suppressed smile. Your own lips quirk upward when you notice the small glimmer of happiness in his irises. “What about yours? Can we expect a blue-haired supporter on the Hufflepuff side of the pitch?”

You scoff and shove him away from you with a sneer. He cackles maniacally, already having far too much fun at your expense. It’s not the first time he’s taken pleasure in your anger, though you know he would sooner dive to the bottom of the Black Lake than risk actually upsetting you. The man’s quite literally risked his life for you before; you sincerely doubt he would go out of his way to genuinely hurt you. Still, he seems to have a great deal of fun at your expense. You’d be offended if you didn’t do the exact same thing to him.

“If you must know, yes,” you tell him. “I...I asked him to come watch.”

His eyes widen at that. You just know he’s got some kind of sarcastic comment rising in the back of his throat, but you raise your hand to silence him before he can even get a word out. The last thing you need right now is to worry about Taehyung (even if he’s come to occupy your thoughts more and more the past few days). You can deal with your best friend’s taunts most days, but not now, when you’ve got a game to win in a few minutes.

He sighs and raises his hands in surrender, though it’s not hard to guess what’s going through that oversized head of his. It seems that you and Taehyung are all he talks about these days. You don’t know what his fascination is, but you sincerely hope he finds a new topic of conversation soon. You might hex him if he doesn’t.

Before he can speak again, you cup your mouth with your hands and call out to the rest of the locker room occupants. “Alright, people! Gather up!”

Your teammates cease their playful shoving and turn their attention to you. The seven of you migrate to the center of the room with ease, just as you’ve done a thousand times before. Light laughter echoes off the walls as you huddle up and toss your arms around each other, Hobi to your left and Yoongi to your right. Slytherins try to avoid sentimentalism when they can help it — you typically have far more important things to worry about — but there are some traditions even you pay homage to. You suspect the other houses would be shocked to learn that you take the time to psych each other up before each game. They’ve never been particularly open-minded when it comes to you.

“Okay,” you begin in the most sincere voice you can muster, “this is it. The past year has been nothing but chaos and despair, but we’re finally back. The Hufflepuffs probably think we’ve gone rusty. Are you gonna prove them right?”

The whole team calls out in unison, brows furrowed in concentration. “No!”

“Are you gonna let them beat us?”

“No!”

“Hell no. We’ve been waiting for this day since the end of fifth year. You guys have put your hearts and souls into this team, and I’ll be damned if I let us lose after all the work we’ve done. It doesn’t matter if the whole school’s rooting against us. You guys have yourselves, you have each other, and you have me. Forget about the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws, even the Hufflepuffs. We’re Slytherins, and we don’t lose. On three.”

The lot of you outstretch your hands, grinning like idiots when they land on top of each other in the middle of the circle. Your smile is the largest of them all. You can’t deny how much you’ve missed this, the overwhelming sense of camaraderie among your fellow players. It isn’t often that you allow yourself to dedicate yourself so entirely to something (aside from your pranks, of course), but when you’re in, you’re all in. You and Yoongi playfully bump each other’s shoulders when your hands meet. You start the countdown with a smirk.

“One, two, three!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

The horn sounds as soon as the chant ends, signaling the beginning of the match. You and your teammates grab your brooms and make for the pitch entrance, practically bouncing with excitement. Hobi and Yoongi flank you on either side. You don’t need to look at them to know that they’re smiling just as widely as you. The three of you (and Jungkook) had spent most of the summer practicing in Yoongi’s backyard, but to be here now, preparing to step out onto the field and play your last first match ever, is almost surreal. You’ll never say it out loud, but you’re glad to have them by your side.

The team steps out onto the field together, grinning ear to ear despite the cacophony of boos you’re met with. Three of the four houses are jeering and shouting at you, though this is not at all unusual. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are being a bit more subtle about it, but Gryffindor has spared no expense in taunting you. Even from here you can see their homemade signs, most of which bear crude drawings of badgers eating snakes and other unpleasant depictions of your house symbol. You suspect that McGonagall attempted to confiscate them before the game began, but even she isn’t vigilant enough to stop them all. Honestly, they would have found a way to taunt you no matter what.

The majority of the positive feedback comes from the Slytherin section, where your housemates are clapping and cheering as loud as they can to try and drown out the noise. It’s nothing compared to the shouts from the other sections, but you appreciate the effort nonetheless. You aren’t particularly close with most of your fellow Slytherins, but you smile and wave to them anyway, eager to prove that their faith is not misplaced. Oliver waves at you from the top row, lazily wiggling his green flag. You chuckle as you wave back.

Your support from the other houses is minimal, but it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. Jungkook is among your loudest fans, shouting at the top of his lungs and blowing obnoxiously into his horn as soon as his eyes land on you. He’s decked out in green from head to toe, even going so far as to wear the emerald beret you bought for him during your trip to Paris the previous summer. The man’s even painted his face green and silver, much to the chagrin of his housemates, who stare at him as if he’s grown another head. You’d expect nothing less from him; for all his playful jabs, he’s always been your most vocal supporter.

Ginny sits not too far from him, eagerly waving at you with a green foam finger. You haven’t the slightest clue where she got it — Hogwarts doesn’t even sell foam fingers — but you have a sneaking suspicion that her father’s got something to do with it. Her smile is so wide you’re sure her face is going to crack, but she doesn’t seem to care. The sight of her fiery red hair standing out amidst the crowd makes you think of Fred and George, and your smile falters for a brief moment. It’s the first time you’ve played without them cheering you on, jumping up and down and shouting until their lungs gave out. Truth be told, you’re still a bit torn up over Fred’s loss. You try your best not to think about it.

Of course, your newest supporter sticks out among the rest. In the very front row of the Hufflepuff section is Taehyung, waving eagerly at you with the brightest of smiles. His vibrant hair makes him rather easy to spot, but that’s not what has you letting out a delirious chuckle when your eyes finally land on him. Despite your assurance that it was no problem for him to cheer for his own house, he’s sporting a dark green shirt and waving a Slytherin flag above his head. The sight of him in your house colors has you grinning like an absolute fool, even as Hobi suggestively wiggles his eyebrows. That boy just continues to surprise you.

It takes you a moment to realize that he hasn’t come alone. A rather excitable boy waves at you from his side, bundled up in a Ravenclaw scarf even though his team isn’t playing and it’s well over eighty degrees outside. Another Hufflepuff stands behind Taehyung, shooting you a smile so bright that you’re quite certain you might melt if you stare at it for too long. Kim Namjoon sits a few feet away from them, nose buried in a book as he goes out of his way to avoid your gaze. You’d expect nothing less from him, and honestly, you’re glad you don’t have to deal with his judgemental stare. The last thing you need right now is to concern yourself with him.

With one last wave to Taehyung, you tighten your grip on your broom and make your way to the center of the pitch. Madam Hooch is already there, as is the Hufflepuff captain, who offers you a polite smile. You know remarkably little about Hannah Abbott, save for the fact that she took over after Cedric Diggory’s untimely demise a few years ago. She’s been nice enough the few times you’ve spoken to her, though always a bit reserved, as if purposefully distancing herself from you. You don’t blame her in the slightest; your reputation has a way of putting people off.

“Alright, ladies,” Hooch calls. “It’s time. Shake hands, and we’ll begin the match.”

Hannah is the first to outstretch her hand. The players behind her look at you almost fearfully, as if they expect you to reach out and bite it off. Fortunately for them, you do no such thing. Your palm presses easily against Hannah’s, and to your surprise, she doesn’t flinch away. The two of you shake hands and smile politely, all too aware of the eager eyes watching your every move. You almost feel bad for her. Not everyone is as accustomed to being stared at as you.

With one last nod to your rival, you take a few steps back and mount your broom. Your players follow suit, each grinning ear to ear in anticipation. The stadium goes silent as your team and the Hufflepuffs stare at one another. You can feel the goosebumps crawling along your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention. You’ve missed this feeling more than words can describe. No matter how chaotic and complicated your life might be, you can always count on the sheer exhilaration of the game to perk you up. For the first time all year, you don’t feel as if you’re just gliding through your life. You’re here, you’re alive, and you couldn’t be more excited if you tried.

The sound of Hooch’s whistle is the last thing you hear before you take to the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And in it goes! That’s another ten points for Slytherin, putting the score at 130 to 90!”

You’re fairly certain that the smirk is simply stuck to your face at this point. It’s only been twenty minutes since the match began, and already you can taste your impending victory. The Hufflepuffs have been giving you a good fight, posing a far more difficult challenge than expected, but they’re no match for the well-oiled machine that is your team.

Benjamin, your Keeper, has been running himself ragged defending the Slytherin goal posts. For every shot they make, he fends off three more. That they’ve managed to make it to ninety points is an impressive feat, even if they’re still coming in second place. He’s blocking shots that you would have considered sure things, and never once does he waver, even when the Hufflepuff fans start shouting obscenities at him. You’ve spent the past month whacking Bludgers towards the hoops to help him train, and it seems as though your work has paid off.

Your Chasers — Emilia, Anthony, and Leo — have been at the top of their game since the match began. They’re speeding through the air so fast that you can barely keep up with them, let alone the opposing team. Emilia and Leo are acting as support for Anthony, who has singlehandedly landed 100 of your 130 points. As soon as the Quaffle lands in his grasp, he’s gone, little more than an emerald blur as he takes off towards the posts. Emilia and Leo flank him on either side, occasionally tossing the ball back and forth between them to confuse the Hufflepuff Chasers. They are a team in their own right.

You and Hobi have, as usual, spent the entirety of the game trying to knock the Chasers off course. The pair of you have made them drop the Quaffle so many times you’re beginning to lose count. Your aim is so precise that the Bludgers find their mark each time, much to Hannah’s chagrin. Hobi is the calmer of the two of you, more interested in blocking shots than actually trying to hit anyone. You, however, are relentless. You have no interest in hurting anyone, especially not the Hufflepuffs, but you’ve gotten your fair share of near-misses. One particularly strong whack of your bat nearly took off Arabella Matthews’ head at the beginning of the game. Were you anyone else, you wouldn’t dare risk hitting a Bludger so close to someone; but you’re you, and you know that you’re skilled enough to keep the other players out of harm’s way.

And Yoongi — Yoongi is about to catch the Snitch.

You’re so focused on the Chasers speeding past you that it takes you a moment to notice it, but notice it you do. He’s been staying out of the action the entire time, opting to circle around the field in search of your golden ticket to victory. Aside from warning you of an incoming Bludger at one point, you haven’t given each other a spare glance since the game started. Now, though, as he takes off in a nosedive towards the ever-elusive ball, you can’t take your eyes off of him. Both you and Hobi cheer for him as he follows it towards the Ravenclaw stands, and even from across the field you can hear Jungkook shouting words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this Yoongi!” Your words are frantic, rushed, tumbling out of your mouth before you can even process them. You pay them no mind. Even the Bludgers have been forgotten. All you can do is watch Yoongi follow the Snitch, mere feet away from him. Your heart is beating with such ferocity that you can feel it slamming against your ribs, but you truly don’t care. The sun in your eyes, the chanting of the crowd, Hobi’s elated presence at your side — it all fades away. The only thing you care about is your friend.

The Hufflepuff Seeker has yet to notice his opponent’s disappearance in the sky, which only makes your grin widen. His housemates are screaming at him, gesturing frantically towards Yoongi and urging him to follow, but it’s too late. The entire arena watches with bated breath as Yoongi leans forward on his broom, thrusts his arm forward as far as it will go, stretches his fingers to the brink of snapping, grits his teeth, and —

“AND THAT’S IT! MIN YOONGI HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS!”

You and Hobi scream and throw your arms up victoriously, smiling like idiots all the while. You’re drenched in sweat and fairly certain your arms are about to fall off out of sheer exhaustion, but you couldn’t care less. A familiar warmth swells in your chest as you watch the Slytherins erupt in applause, a sensation you haven’t felt since you were fifteen years old. It only grows more intense when your eyes land on Jungkook, who is jumping up and down while he shouts Yoongi’s name. When you see Taehyung, though, you’re fairly certain you’re going to melt from the inside out — because he’s smiling up at you with the most adoring expression you’ve ever seen on another human being, and it makes you go weak in the knees.

Your teammates hurry to the ground, eager to embrace Yoongi and congratulate him for the victory, but you don’t follow. You’re proud of Yoongi, make no mistake — he’s come a long way from the scrawny little boy you met on the common room couch in first year — but you have other things to attend to. You swear your broom moves of it’s own accord as you speed towards the stands. Hobi is giving you an odd look from the corner of his eye, one you pointedly ignore. You have no time for his questions right now.

Jungkook is racing towards you the moment your feet hit the stands, but for once, he’s not the one you’re there for. He’s confused, that much you’re sure of, because he knows that you know he’s sitting with the Gryffindors, but you’ve landed in the Hufflepuff section. Part of you feels guilty for not immediately running to meet up with him, but you brush it off. You know he’ll forgive you for momentarily moving him to the back burner, especially when he sees what you’re about to do.

It’s a bad idea, and you know that. But when you finally meet Taehyung’s glimmering eyes, you know there’s no point in trying to stop yourself. He opens his mouth to congratulate you, to tell you how amazing you were out there, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can even get the first syllable out, you’ve thrown your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into the most bone-crushing hug you’ve given in years.

He freezes for a moment, clearly taken aback by your sudden display of affection. It’s caught you off guard too, to be honest — of all the things you’re known for around here, tenderness is not one of them. You don’t even hug your friends that often, and you’ve known them since you had braces. It hasn’t even been two months since you met Taehyung, and yet here you are, arms wrapped firmly around his back with your head resting atop his shoulder. It’s stupid, and you know it’s stupid, but you couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you wanted to...which, to be honest, you didn’t. You try not to think about what that might mean.

Mercifully, he returns the gesture when the shock wears off. He wraps his arms gently around your waist, hesitantly, as if he’s expecting you to come to your senses and pull away at any second. It isn’t until a few moments have passed that he actually tightens his grip, though it still doesn’t rival the hold you’ve got on him. You’re hugging him so tightly you’re shocked he can still breathe properly. He doesn’t seem to mind. Rather than push you away or question this rather abrupt attempt at kindness, he simply pulls you close and rocks you back and forth. You make no move to leave his grip.

You’re fully aware of how odd this is. The two of you only cemented your friendship a couple weeks ago, and you’ve certainly never done anything quite this affectionate before. You’ve playfully pushed his shoulder, sure, and he smiles at you every time you look at him, but neither of you have ever made a move to hug one another. It makes absolutely no sense for you to spring this on him; but dear god, the urge to throw yourself at him was so overwhelming it actually caught you off guard. Of all the post-game activities you’ve taken part in over the years — swimming in the lake, sneaking out to the Three Broomsticks with your teammates, downing an entire bottle of firewhiskey in one sitting — you’ve never done anything quite as bizarre as this.

But as he rests his head on your shoulder blade, you realize that you don’t regret it one bit.

The two of you don’t pull away until someone clears their throat behind you. It’s so loud and intrusive that you don’t even need to look to know who it is, though you turn on your heel nonetheless. Sure enough, Hobi is standing right there, arms folded and an insufferably smug grin on his face. Yoongi and Jungkook flank him on either side, looking at you with such teasing smirks that you have to restrain yourself from smacking them. None of them seem at all fazed by the death glare you shoot them.

“Well, who do we have here?” Hobi inquires with a playful lilt in his voice. His eyes meet yours for a fraction of a second, silently taunting you, and you’ve never wanted to punch someone more in your entire life. He knows this, you’re sure, which only makes his grin grow wider as he looks at Taehyung. “Don’t be rude, Y/N. Introduce us to your...friend.”

If Taehyung wasn’t standing right next to you, you would push Hobi over the edge of the stands without a second thought. As it is, you simply grit your teeth and gesture towards your blue-haired companion, silently hoping that your friends don’t scare him away. “Guys, this is Taehyung. Tae, these are my friends: Hobi, Yoongi, and Jungkook.”

The boys wave at him as you call out their names, each with a sickeningly smug grin. Whether Taehyung doesn’t recognize the satisfaction written across their faces or simply elects to ignore it, you don’t know, but he offers them a kind wave and a bright smile nonetheless.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely. “Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Hobi’s smirk only grows. “Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing.”

You’re only a second away from turning your best friend into a toad when another familiar (and exceedingly annoying) voice calls out to you.

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you. Behaving yourself, I hope?”

It’s your turn to smirk now, entirely too pleased with yourself as you turn on your heel to greet Namjoon. Taehyung’s other friends are behind him, each grinning and waving at you in greeting. The head boy, however, does no such thing. The smile he flashes at you is painfully fake, so much so that you wonder why he bothers wearing it at all. The unfamiliar Ravenclaw boy behind him elbows his side, and he coughs to conceal his groan of pain. Whoever this guy is, you just know you’re going to like him.

“Aw, you know me, Namjoon. I’m always on my best behavior.” He doesn’t buy your words for a second, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Who are your friends?”

He moves to introduce them, but the Ravenclaw boy shoves him out of the way and outstretches his hand towards you. You shake it with a quick laugh. “Park Jimin, at your service,” he introduces almost valiantly. “You must be this Y/N I’ve heard so much about.”

“Guilty.”

Namjoon sighs and gestures towards their Hufflepuff companion, who you could have sworn you caught staring at Hobi for a moment. “This is Kim Seokjin. Jin, this is — .”

“Y/N!” The boy offers you the most blinding smile you’ve ever seen as he surges forward to shake your hand. It actually takes you a moment to collect yourself, entirely caught off guard by the wildly positive energy this guy is radiating. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Taehyung talks about you all the time.”

His comment has your brows flying towards your hairline. A quick glance at Taehyung shows him frantically shaking his head, silently urging Jin to shut up, but it’s too late; you’re already smiling at him. His cheeks darken under your gaze, and you can’t stop yourself from chuckling. It’s nice to know that you make him as nervous as he makes you, if only because it means that you aren’t imagining things. It’s flattering, having someone like him think so highly of you. You only hope he hasn’t talked you up too much; you’d hate to disappoint him.

It’s abundantly clear that Hobi’s about to say something embarrassing when he laughs beneath his breath and opens his mouth again, but you don’t even let him get the first syllable out. Your hand claps over his mouth with such force that you might as well have slapped him. On any other day, you would have felt bad for using such force; now, you kind of wish you’d hit him harder. Rather than let him fight you off and tell Taehyung something else he doesn’t need to know, you push him back and call out to Tae over your shoulder.

“Well, it’s been nice talking you to Tae, but we should probably be getting back to the locker room now! Bye!”

It takes only a second for you to realize that you’ve got another traitor in your midst.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook shouts with an evil grin, “don’t tell me you aren’t gonna invite them to the after party!”

I need new friends.

You chuckle and awkwardly rub the back of your head, purposefully avoiding Taehyung’s eyes as you speak. “Right! Right, uh, the after party. Um, it’s in the common room tonight. Nine o’clock. You’re all more than welcome! Er, if you wanna come, I mean. No pressure or anything.”

Taehyung smiles and nods, but says nothing else. You suspect he wants to talk it over with his friends, which is more than fine with you, since it gives you more time to escape. You’re almost certain he’s about to say something, but you don’t give him a chance. Without so much as a second glance, you grab Jungkook and Hobi by their ears and drag them off towards the locker room, offering only a small wave to Tae.

The boys wince and try to push you away, but your grip is iron-clad. Yoongi can’t stop himself from laughing when you crouch down and whisper in their ears.

“I’m gonna kill you both.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: TAEYN ARE SO ADORABLE I CANNOT STAND THESE PEOPLE. I hope you’re all as infuriated by this slow-burn as I am. Next update coming tomorrow! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist💕 — Rynn

tag list: @wannabestark @deepseavibez @taeshuworld @lele-bb @hxseok-honee @burningupp-replies @livorna @lovelytaes-blog @theclawofaraven

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 8 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Things might be starting to come together this week! Let me know your predictions.

This chapter talks extremely briefly and ambiguously of Emma not exactly wanting to have sex with Neal. Also, there is a discussion of Killian’s semi-violent past. Nothing is detailed, but let me know if you need more information or anything!! 

Rated M

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~~~~

The days turn into weeks, although Emma can’t help but feel as though time is dragging her along mercilessly. Nothing has changed since she found out about Neal, how he’s the brother of the leader of The Lost Boys. Nothing, aside from her feelings of safety and security, of confidence in her relationship, being completely shattered. 

 Every night, she fights off the desperation to walk across the hall and join Killian in his bed, letting his strong arms consume her and blanket her with a sense of ease and contentment. Every night, she fights with herself as she crawls into bed with Neal, a man she thought she loved, and forces herself to put on an act of affection towards him. She forces herself to lie back and accept his convoluted attempts at showing her that he loves her, knowing that he couldn’t possibly. If he loved her, he would never have lied to her. If he loves her, he would let her go. 

 She also fights with herself through the anger she feels, directed inward rather than at anyone else. Sure, she’s mad at Neal for what he’s done, what he’s putting her through, but at the end of the day, she’s the fool to let herself be put in this position. It’s her fault. She should have seen through his lies from the moment she met him, but she was too desperate for love and family and acceptance. He knew that, too, and he exploited her weaknesses like she meant nothing to him. 

 It drives her mad to not know what he’s after. She’s hardly the most skilled person at finding people who don’t want to be found, so why he feels the need to target her specifically, she can’t say. It could be argued that, in some perplexing, psychotic way, he thinks he loves her, but she knows now that this isn’t love. It can’t be. 

 Lying at his side, wide awake through her inability to sleep, she can’t seem to shut her mind off. Each time she closes her eyes, she feels terror at the memories burned behind her lids. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Neal on top of her, despite her resolve to squeeze her eyes shut each time he decides he wants to be with her. Usually, she’s able to go to another place, letting thoughts of the beach or her happy future serve as a distraction of her fear, but sometimes she can’t ignore the feeling of his rough fingertips burning her skin. 

Sometimes, when she’s in Neal’s arms and struggling to get past the feelings that come along with being with him, she thinks of Killian. Not necessarily in a way of longing for him-- not because she wishes she was with him instead, although she can only assume it would be more pleasurable-- but because of the comfort that he always brings her. Being with him is like being embraced by warmth and safety itself. It’s like the rest of the world turns off, and all that’s on her mind is the soothing way his arms wrap around her and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. She doesn’t have to worry when she’s with him. She only has to think about how good it feels to be in his arms. 

 And she’s noticed his physique, too. It would be difficult not to. She noticed that first night, when he lifted his sweatshirt off and pulled his t-shirt up with it. She noticed the other day when he visited her in her cave of an office, leaning his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed, muscles bulging out of his sleeves and a tempting smirk coloring his lips as he teased her over the dinosaur of a computer she was working on. She notices the way he looks with almost everything he does, and she knows it's a dangerous game that she’s playing. 

 It’s not like she never found Neal attractive. But knowing what she knows now, she can’t help but to feel slightly nauseated every time she sees his face. She’s got to get out of this. 

 ~~~~

 “Since you did such a good job with the last one, I have another little task for you,” Peter says, his voice teasing and his smirk unsettling. 

 Emma works hard to maintain her composure as she sits straight up in her seat, one she was finally awarded after weeks of standing awkwardly before the group sat at the table. Today, when she walked into the daunting conference room, Peter invited her to sit beside him, beside Neal, and has been leaning towards her in a way that she knows is meant to appear polite, but holds a threatening undertone.

 “Okay,” she agrees, trying to make her voice sound confident and fighting off the fear that never seems to go away. 

 He turns from her to Neal and remarks, “she really has begun to come into her own, hasn’t she?” 

 “I guess,” he shrugs, and a part of her feels offended at his nonchalance. Despite her strong desire to be anywhere but here, she thinks she’s done a pretty nice job of trying to fit in. Ever since Gold spilled the beans a few weeks ago about Neal’s status in the club, she’s held it together fairly well on the outside, with the exception of her initial breakdown. 

 There’s only one person she truly feels comfortable breaking down in front of. Only one person who she really trusts. 

 She hasn’t told Neal that she's found out his true identity. She and Killian have talked about it at length, sometimes able to spend time alone together especially when Neal leaves, and they’ve agreed that it’s for the best to keep her discovery under wraps. Gold’s subtle drop that Neal is his son and brother to Peter was purposeful, and she can’t let him come out on top. She knows, she’s terrified, but she’ll maintain her composure. For whatever reason, Neal doesn’t want her to know, so she’ll keep playing dumb. 

 “Who do you want me to find?” she asks, wanting nothing more than to prevent Neal from saying anything else casually offensive. His small digs at her serve a purpose, she now knows; to bring her down as far and as quietly as he can. 

 “This one may be a bit more of a challenge; a member from a rival gang. While Graham was more of a nomad, this man has ties to the Kings of Elsinore and is better protected. I want you to find out everything you can on him.” 

 “Okay,” she nods assuredly. “Well, I'll take whatever you have on him and get to work, then.” 

 Before she can move from her seat, Peter’s hand is on her wrist, oppressively holding her still. “Not so fast. There’s someone I’d like you to officially meet. Call in Hook.” 

 A man Neal knows, Walsh, she thinks, stands from his chair and walks towards the door, summoning someone inside. She has to stop her jaw from hitting the floor when she sees who. 

 “You two seem to have met casually, but I’d like you to officially meet Killian Jones. He’s gotten himself into a touch of trouble and, as punishment, will be helping you with whatever you need until this man is located.” 

 She gulps, anxiety setting in again despite how hard she’s been trying to keep it at bay. She promised herself she would be strong, refusing to let them get to her, to let them see her squirm. She will keep her promise to herself. “Okay,” she murmurs, forcing herself to peel her gaze from Killian’s. She can’t help but wonder what he’s done to get into trouble with Peter. She selfishly hopes they weren’t caught without her knowledge. 

 ~~~~

 “What happened?” she begs desperately once the door to her small office is shut, Killian ushering her into the room before practically slamming it. “What are you in trouble for? Killian, please tell me they don’t--” 

 “Nothing like that,” he hisses, stepping towards her. With a soft, gentle voice only just above a whisper, he says, “love, you have to stay calm. You did phenomenally pretending we don’t know each other well, but we have to keep up the ruse.” 

 “Sorry,” she whispers. “I know, I just… what happened?”

 “Nothing, love, I promise. I only refused to go on a trip with them last week and Peter feared I wasn’t dedicated to the club’s cause.” 

 “You did?” she asks in surprise. When Neal told her that he wasn’t dedicated, she forced herself to believe him. When Killian says it, she doesn't even consider doubting him. 

 “Aye. Told them I had pressing matters to attend to.” 

 She cocks her head suspiciously and asks, “what were the pressing matters?” 

 “The Mummy Returns was on TV, remember? We watched it together.” 

 She can’t help the smile that breaks across her face, a snort escaping her throat despite her best efforts as she shakes her head and feels a blush creeping up her neck and pinkening her cheeks. “You’re dumb,” she says, and she feels like a child in a playground with a school crush. 

 “Well,” he shrugs, giving her a beaming smile. “Here, love. I’ve got the information we have so far. Time to start digging.” 

 A part of her almost wants to take her time, content to sit in the small office with Killian sitting beside her for quite some time. No one would suspect a thing, what with Peter already telling her that this guy would be harder to find; it’s the perfect excuse to soak in all of the comfort and happiness that Killian brings her despite her circumstances. But she knows they have to keep up appearances so as to avoid being caught in their elicit friendship, so she’ll work at a normal pace and hope no one notices that her smile is genuine rather than the forced one she gives Neal. 

 James Spencer is certainly a hard man to find. If she didn’t already know that he was linked to the Kings of Elsinore, she would be lost, as the man seems entirely enigmatic in nature. He seems like a ghost, her research pointing her absolutely nowhere, but Peter insists that he’s got ties to this rival club, despite her finding no evidence to support his claim. 

 She groans after a few hours, dropping her head to the desk as Killian continues to bounce a tennis ball off the wall in his boredom. It certainly is a punishment for him; the fact that he has to sit here and watch her find nothing is likely eating him alive. “It’s only been a few hours, love, you’ll find something soon,” he tries to console. Her frustration wins out, though. 

 “This is stupid.”

 “Aye.”

 “Are all of these stupid gangs this hard to navigate around?” 

 “Aye, I'd assume so. Although, I've never been a bounty hunter.” 

 She rolls her eyes, picking her head up and glaring. “I wasn’t a bounty hunter. I was a bail bondsperson.” 

 “That’s different?” 

 She holds her hands out, requesting the ball from him and catching it when he tosses it, only to throw it back at him with too much aggression. He yelps and laughs at her too loudly, and she can’t help but smile in response. She settles back into her chair after the short reprieve and sighs. 

 “How can I find someone who doesn’t want to be found if I know absolutely nothing about the environment he lives in?” 

 He hums in agreement, nodding and remarking, “you need an inside man.” 

 “No, I just need to know how a fucking motorcycle gang works,” she grumbles. It’s been a confusing few weeks, and she realizes that, while she’s gotten a few small bits of information, she still has no idea what the club’s actual purpose is. “Like… why even bother having one?” 

 He gives her a soft smile, standing from his chair and dragging it closer to her. “Are you sure that’s what this is about?” 

 “What?” she asks indignantly, giving him a look that she seriously hopes conveys how annoyed she is. 

 “Your little tantrum, love,” he teases. “Is it really about not knowing enough about how gangs work? Or is it, perhaps, more about your need to know everything about a situation in order to convince yourself that you’re safe?” 

 With another glare shot his way, she drops her jaw in surprise and shakes her head. “What the hell do you know?” 

 He smirks. “I know a lot more than you think. You’re a bit of an open book, love. And I’ve known you long enough now.” 

 “To what, psychoanalyze me?” 

 “I may have considered studying psychology, had I gone to university,” he laughs. “I know you’re scared, and I'm beginning to realize that not knowing what’s going to happen, or what’s happening without you knowing, is probably feeding that fear.”

 With another heaving sigh, she drops her head back down, resting it on her arms and nodding. “You’re right,” she concedes, although part of her wishes he wasn’t. It’s true, though, being so in the dark about everything is making her feel weak. 

 His hand lands on her shoulder, staying there for a moment before he gently and slowly scratches his fingertips against her skin and pulls away. “I can tell you what I know, if that’ll help.” 

 She perks up, lifting her head and recalling a conversation from weeks ago in which he told her that his brother was an influential member of the club. “Yes,” she says, and why she didn’t think to ask earlier, she doesn’t know. 

 He gives her a nod and another one of his encouraging smiles, the one that always makes her heart skip a beat, and clears his throat. “What I know is that Neal is older, but Peter is in charge. From what I gather, and I was never privy to much, Neal went off on his own for a while and Peter took over everything. Gold’s always seemed a bit more… hesitant around Peter, but I almost suspect that he favors Neal. Either way, Peter was running things behind the scenes for quite some time before Neal left. When he came back, it was with you on his arm and with Peter happily leading, refusing to give up his spot. No one argued with him.”

 She nods, but it doesn’t tell her much. She’s always known that Neal is more of a follower, happy to do whatever he can to impress his friends. The fact that he willingly gave up what seems to be his birthright doesn’t really surprise her. 

 “So what are they doing when they go away on their trips?”

 “Usually seeking out merchandise. They deal in stolen goods, mostly watches and the like. Typically, a trip is a heist of some kind. A jewelry store, antique shop… sometimes even banks with safe deposit boxes.” 

 Emma looks down to her own wrist, Killian’s gaze following closely behind, and notes the watch she wears. The one that Neal gave her after one of his trips. She shudders and moves to take it off. 

 His hand stops her, looking into her eyes deeply and shaking his head. “Keep it,” he murmurs. “We can’t let them know that you know any of this.”

 “Why?” she asks in a whisper. “Why is it so bad if I know?”

 “I don’t know,” he shakes his head again. “But if Neal hasn’t told you, there’s a reason for it.”

 She nods in understanding, letting her heart rate slow as his hand remains on her wrist, moving down to the top of her hand. She wants to wrap her fingers around his, but she knows she shouldn’t. “Can I ask something about you?”

 “Of course.”

 “Why do they call you Hook?”

 His eyes drop from hers, glancing down at their joined hands, and she watches his brows knit together tightly. She feels his grip on her hand tighten, and despite both of them knowing it’s a bad idea, his fingers weave with hers and he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back. 

 “There are things about my past that… that when I think about telling you, I become…” he sighs, unable to finish his thought. 

 “Killian,” she whispers, “I already know you’re in a gang. Can it really be that bad?”

 “Aye,” he answers immediately, his eyes meeting her own in a desperate attempt to convey to her something she can’t quite read. “I’m not… a good man.”

 “Of course you are.”

 “No. Maybe I’ve never thrown knives at a woman I’m supposed to love, but I’ve certainly… I mean…”

 “Killian.” Her grip on his hand, the one she should release, tightens. “Whatever happened… you’re not that person. You’re good. I know bad people and I pegged you as good the second I saw you.”

 It’s as if he can’t meet her gaze, too ashamed of whatever it is that he’s done. Too fearful of what will happen if she finds out. He witnessed her finding out that Neal has been lying to her, and she wonders if he fears a similar response now. 

 “I don’t-- it’s silly,” he laughs. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

 “You can’t,” she whispers. After everything he’s done for her, everything he plans to do for her, he could never disappoint her. 

 He sighs, squeezing her hand once more before turning it over in his and drawing a line across her palm. “I was a-- an angry lad growing up. My father abandoned us, my mother died. I found myself seeking release. Ways to get my anger out. I was never taught anything productive.” 

 She stays quiet, letting him open up to her on his own terms and distract himself by tracing the lines in her palms. “I came here at fifteen. Gold recruited me for… well, to put my anger to good use, in his eyes. He used me-- he’s always been good at picking out someone’s weakness and exploiting it. Whenever he needed information out of someone, he would bring me along and I would…” he sighs again, taking a deep and grounding breath. “I had a favorite weapon,” he mumbles. 

 With a nod, she tries to stay calm, tries not to let fear overtake her. She was fearful of Neal when he held the knives and smirked at her, and of Peter when he pressed the tip of the blade to his finger and smiled. But when she presses her hand to Killian’s cheek and makes him look up at her, she feels no fear. She sees only truth and regret and a longing to be a different person. 

 “It was a hook?” she asks for clarification, but she can see the answer in his eyes. 

 “From Gold’s boat,” he croaks. “That’s usually where we would take… the people we were interrogating. But, Emma, it’s been years. Liam found out and put an end to it. I think that’s--”

 “What?” she asks gently as he cuts himself off, shaking his head painfully. 

 “I think that’s when things started going poorly for him.”

 He’s done so much for her. He’s soothed every ounce of pain she’s felt since she got here, since Neal sliced her cheek and he touched it tenderly. He held her together as she cried harder than she ever had before. He’s vowed to see her out of this danger despite the predicament it puts him in. And still, she feels powerless to help him. He’s sitting before her, broken and in anguish, and she can’t heal him like he has her. 

 All she can do is take his cheeks in her hands and promise him, “that was not your fault.”

 “Emma,” he breathes, his eyes pleading with her, for what, she isn’t sure. “He… he kept insisting I stay out of it. He kept holding me back, refusing to let me go, putting up a fight… I think they got tired of it, eventually. Of someone constantly questioning them and going against their word. He’d still be here if I hadn’t--”

 “No. You had no hand in what happened to Liam. And when this is all over, you’re gonna be able to leave too.”

 It’s bold of her to assume that it’s something he wants. He’s told her plenty of times that he wants to help her escape, but he’s never mentioned a desire to leave himself. It’s bold of her to assume that that’s in his best interest. But when she looks at the sadness and regret in his eyes, a part of her knows that it must be. 

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment of silence, and she lets him cast his gaze downwards again. “I should have--” 

 “It’s okay, Killian. The things you’ve done in the past don’t reflect who you are now.”

 “Of course they do,” he nearly spits, clearly angry with himself as he pulls away and throws his head back. “I was a monster then. How can you not think of me as a monster now? I’m no better than Neal or Peter.” 

 “Don’t say that. Peter would probably do something like that now if he wanted to. Would you?” She lets her voice rise just the slightest amount, feeling more intensity than before and finding it necessary to convey to him that she doesn’t see him as a monster. 

 “Of course not.” 

 “And Neal… don’t even get me started. He nearly pulled his gun on me last week because I asked him where he was going. Would you do that?” 

 “Emma,” he says softly, finally looking at her once more, and she knows what he’s thinking. She knows he wants her out of his apartment; out of his life. 

 “You���re not a bad person,” she whispers, leaning closer to him just as he sits forward again, and they’re so close that she can feel his breath warming her nose. “I know bad people. You don’t qualify.” 

 He nods, his eyes deep and soulful as they bore into hers, and says, “I want to be a good person for you.” 

 No one has ever spoken to her like this. No one has ever expressed such a definitive desire to be worthy of her. No one has ever been so close to her and not made her instinctively want to pull away. And when she sees his eyes fluttering shut, his lashes touching his cheeks and casting long shadows in the dingy light, she wants to lean closer.

 She almost does, too, is tempted to close her eyes like he has and touch her lips to his, but there's a swift knock on the door and they spring apart so quickly that she kicks his shin, causing him to bend and silently groan. She cringes in apology as she jiggles the mouse to her computer, begging it to wake up before the knocker enters the room. 

 “Any luck?” Gold asks as he pokes his head in. 

 “None so far,” Killian answers easily, his persona shifting effortlessly and maintaining their cover. “Swan’s searching high and low, but we don’t know much about Spencer’s tactics yet.” 

 “And Hook’s been a help to you, Miss Swan?”

 “Yes,” she smiles, fighting the urge to lunge out of her chair and wring his neck for the name he’s given Killian and his insistence to still use it despite his obvious discomfort. 

 “It’s clear already that you have the club’s future in mind; I'm sure you’ll find something soon enough.” 

 She nods, staring as he walks away and cocking her head in confusion. “So weird,” she says softly once he’s gone, trying to remain quiet as he’d left the door ajar. 

 “What?”

 “That’s the second time he’s mentioned the club’s future, specifically. What does me finding this James Spencer have to do with the future of the club?”

 His response is a shake of his head, a slight roll to his eyes before he stills suddenly. His eyes widen as he looks down, then his brows knit together in thought, and she can clearly see the cogs turning in his mind. It’s like she’s watching him have an epiphany in real time. He looks up at her once, urgently, then he snaps out of it as if he’s remembering where he is, his demeanor shifting entirely as he smiles. “I’m not sure. The old man never makes any sense.” 

 “Killian…?” 

 “I’m sure it’s nothing, love. We’ll just keep working on finding Spencer, alright? There’s no need to worry.” 

 For a brief second, she feels distrustful of him. It’s reminiscent of when Neal tells her not to worry about things that she couldn’t possibly understand. It’s like he knows something, but he doesn’t think she's capable of handling the truth of whatever it is. For a brief, fleeting second, she doubts him. 

 But she can’t let herself think like that. Neal lies to her to protect himself. Killian has been nothing but honest with her, wanting nothing but her safety. Truthfully, if whatever he’s discovered is bad enough that he doesn’t want to tell her about it, she isn’t sure she wants to know. 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging:  @courtorderedcake​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​ @emelizabeth88​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​​​​ @captain-emmajones​​​​ @gingerpolyglot​​​​​ @ebcaver​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​​ @jrob64​​​​​ @onceratheart18​​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​ @swampmedusa​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​​ @dancingnancyy​​​​​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​ @ouatpost​​​​​ @daxx04​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​​​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​​​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​​​​ @rapunzelsghosts​​​​​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​​​​ @batana54​​​​ @sailtoafarawayland​​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

[sp00kymulderr]

eupnea (Ezra x Reader)

Warnings: Just sickeningly sweet fluff, no plot. Kissing.

Pairing: Ezra x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,902

Request: once upon a time @goldafterglow​ sent me an ask that just said “Hi the only! thing! I can think about right now is nuzzling Ezra’s tummy and making him giggle because he is a sweet good boy with a soft tum and he deSeRVES IT PLS SOMEONE NUZZLE HIS TUM OR I’LL RIOT” and I took it and ran with it, in a completely different direction.

A/N: Ok so there is tummy nuzzling in this but it’s not the main feature of the fic, but I did fit it in. Hands up if you would also really like to be nuzzling Ezra’s soft little tum right now.

Like a moth to the flame, unable to resist his radiance, you were drawn to Ezra from the very beginning.

When you had met, you working mechanics for a contract while he was there to dig, you didn’t really believe in love. Certainly not love at first sight, true love, soulmates. None of those old fairy tales your mother told you growing up. You hadn’t felt it before, never needed anyone in that way.

But then there was Ezra and you felt struck by lightning.

Even when he put on a show to the others of being the intimidating vagrant fringeling only looking to make credit, you saw straight through it. He was more, had so much to him. His presence thrilled you, made your blood pump like molten liquid through your veins, you knew you would never be able to get enough.

And oh, Ezra was resplendent. When he smiled it warmed every cold part of your being, his laugh lighting up the bleak constant dark of the planet you were stationed on. Beautiful too. Like none before him, there was no hope for you. From those shining, wide eyes to his striking nose, the unusual patch of blonde at the front of his soft head of hair to the small silvered scar below one eye. You never wanted to look upon another face again.

He felt it too. Desperate with it, seeking you out at each opportunity. Spending hours in your tent just talking, him with that sticky sweet voice and words spilling from him like honey from the jar. You swapped stories of life on the fringe and futures you could barely let yourself imagine. Quickly overcome with longing - lingering gazes and grazing hands, hiding away together with your fingers interlaced and your hearts becoming ever more entangled.

And yes he admit to you he had a past, and he was certainly not faultless, but you understood that beyond anything else he was a man with true heart. Genuine and kind where it mattered despite everything, despite the pain you saw in him that he tried so hard to hide. Despite growing up in a world so unforgiving, where he had quickly learnt to be cunning and devious to survive. He hadn’t let his lot in life completely determine his humanity.

You loved him more with every new part of himself that he revealed to you.

With Ezra, it was immediately like all the little pieces of life's puzzle were put together. It all made sense. Everything. It was the most powerful thing you had ever experienced. You both knew, from the very beginning, this thing between you was life-changing. Nothing would pull you apart.

***

After that contract had ended you decided to stay together, impossible to part when you dreamt only of each other.

And now in what feels like a different lifetime, you are settled. A particularly fortuitous dig with enough successfully mined aurelac to fill several cases and only one barely escaped ambush had left you both with enough credits that you could actually find a home, a comfortable cabin tucked away in beautiful unspoilt forest, this place is for the two of you and no one else. Having somewhere the two of you could call home felt like the most beautiful luxury you could imagine.

To begin with you had been concerned that Ezra would regret his decision, you understood his need to rest a while now that he could - you were both so weary, had both been through so much in this life. But he was so accustomed to being constantly on the move, not staying in the same place for long enough to call it home. Part of you fearing he would come to resent you for tying him down to this place, this quiet life, you.

The look on his face now though tells you clearly that he is perfectly content.

You rest together on the plush, comfortable couch – your head in his lap as he absent-mindedly brushes his fingers against your jaw with a lazy smile. He glows; rested and nourished, well fed and well loved, and your heart swells with pride to know that is your doing – that you had in hand in renewing a tired spirit. A slow tune drifts through the air from the crackly old speakers on the opposite side of the room, and you close your eyes as you sing along in a happy daze.

“My beautiful little songbird” he chuckles as the music fades out leaving you singing on your own, and when you open your eyes he’s looking down at you with the kind of adoration that takes your breath away each time. He loves you so deeply, so fierce and yet gently. Even after years he holds you like you are something more brilliant than any gem he ever pulled from the ground.

“You’re the beautiful one” you murmur, reaching up to stroke a hand against his cheek, tracing gently over the small silvery scar, “I’m just here to provide some music”.

“And you certainly do that, such sweet music. But I see we’re at an impasse, birdie, because I cannot accept such a title while you’re here making all the goddesses envious”

“Hush,” you grin, “let me have this. Don’t I deserve to see my love smile so bright as I tell him he’s more brilliant than every star in the night sky?”

He laughs turning slightly bashful at your words but it’s there, the beautiful curve of his plush lips to grace you with that genuine smile. You do adore seeing him like that, to make him know how much you adore him and see him lose his words because of it. There was a time before when he didn’t take compliments so well and you had to convince him that each loving word was true, those days when he was haunted by his past ventures and the loss of his limb. And it had hurt to see him struggle like that, watch him so slowly come to terms with it.

Ezra starts to say something in return, something you’re sure will be nothing short of poetry meant to flatter you, but interrupts himself with a wide yawn, his torso stretching up with it and causing the grey fabric of his shirt to ride up slightly. The movement reveals the gentle swell of soft golden skin that you are so fond of, that you have often laid your head on as you talked for hours, and that now is another sign of the good life you’re finally living together. You move and hand to where the fabric has ridden up, just resting it there for a moment as he returns to himself to look down at you with that dopey, lazy, happiness written all over his face.

“I love you so much” you stutter, taken by the way he looks framed by the orange glow of setting sun through the window.

“Every bit of you, more than I could ever say” you sigh, moving your head to nuzzle your cheek against his stomach then turn to kiss it, a light giggle floating down to you, “I’m so grateful that my star brought me to you”.

“Your star?” Ezra asks, you hum a yes against his skin then kiss again. His hand lies at the side of your neck, pleasent stroke of his thumb against you.

“Didn’t I tell you the story? The soul star?”

“I can recall every story you’ve ever shared with me, songbird. I can conjure up where we were and exactly how you told it at any given moment. This one is new to me and I would be delighted to hear you tell it, please” he answers, excitement wavering in his tone, he always loves to listen to you.

“Ok, I’ll tell it.” you chuckle, brushing against his belly with your cheek again, feeling him relax further in to the couch as you do.

“It was one of those romantic old wives tales my mother used to share. I never believed it, couldn’t understand it until we met”, you punctuate your words with another tender press of your lips to his skin. “She told me every one of us has a star, our own incredible bright light that watches over us, up in the distance keeping an eye on us. She said our star knows what we need and when we need it, and when it comes to the right time the star will call out to us. If we answer the call and follow where it leads, it will take us to the place our soul belongs”

He hums softly, letting you continue as his hand comes to cover yours that lays on him.

“It was told often, and I always laughed it off. I didn’t feel I belonged anywhere, you know that. But then there was the job, the one on Triada Five,” Ezra squeezes your hand at this, the job you had met on “I didn’t want to take it, it was long and the ship was a rust-bucket that looked like it wouldn’t make it half way there. I was about to turn it down, figured I could make the same credits fixing ships on the Pug, but something...something stopped me. It was like a tiny voice whispering in my ear, comforting and kind, told me that if I took the job I would find everything I needed. And I didn’t even doubt it, didn’t question it at all.”

“It was your star” Ezra mutters, intrigued, absolutely taken in by your story.

You nod, skin soft against his where your head rests, before moving to sit up and placing yourself in his lap. You can feel the pooling of tears in your eyes, you had never let yourself believe it entirely but hearing him say it overwhelms you. If you hadn’t taken that job, who knows if your paths would ever have crossed. Whether it was your soul star, or fate, or pure dumb luck you don’t know but you are grateful of whatever force was in play then.

“I suppose it was my star. I think it called out, and led me to you, Ezra. And I think here-” you place a hand on his chest, over his heart, “is where I belong. With you”

You feel a tear trickle from the corner of your eye, Ezra quickly catching it and wiping it away before he pushes forwards to kiss your lips.

“I think you’re correct, birdie. And it’s dawning on me that I felt it too, long ago” he reveals, arm coming around your middle to pull you closer, “I was lead through galaxies to you. You are my reason for everything”

And then he’s kissing you again; deep and never-ending, just you and him and the peaceful chorus of rustling trees in the forest around the cabin.

You remain like that for a long while, bodies pressed together, mouths open in quiet adoration of the other. The sun leaving the sky as you find yourselves through each other again and again. When he finally pulls away, you are breathless and bursting full of pure affection.

“Come on, songbird,” Ezra says as you chase his lips for once more kiss “Let’s wander down to the lake. The stars are out and I believe we owe them our gratitude”

Permanent tag list:

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Ezra tag list:

@pedropascallion​ @justanotherblonde23​

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 14 Free

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts and the fanfic version here.

The semester started off on a good note. Kevin and Eric returned to campus together as planned with classes starting the day after that. At that point, everyone had heard about their ‘break up’ before the winter holidays so they were equally surprised to see the two of them come back to campus together.

No one had much to say except their respective teams; the Exy players looked almost smug, as if the couple’s make up was their doing. On the other hand, the Ice Hockey players were a bit more hesitant to accept this new reality.

Kevin knew that there were no happy endings. Even if the two had gotten together, the world around them was still the same. Kevin himself still had many battles to fight on his own.

“Are you for real, dude?” One of Eric’s teammates asked the captain. They didn’t even bother to be discreet; they’d been waiting for Eric in the parking lot, all five players of their starting lineup.

“Caleb, this isn’t the time,” Eric said sternly. Kevin’s own expression was almost dismissive, but he still strained an ear as he finally got out of the car.

Kevin cared little for Eric’s teammates but that part of him that knew Eric cared for them still sought for their approval. Then again, when was Kevin not chasing for someone’s approval?

“Yes, this is the time. You aren’t going to waste your last years in college fake dating this asshole,” Caleb Richards, center player said, glaring at Kevin with eyes narrowed.

Kevin couldn’t really blame them, but he did believe the way they went about this was incredibly idiotic and not worth his time. Which was why he decided to hook an arm around Eric’s waist and pull him closer, all while staring at the ice hockey players with an unimpressed and unfazed expression.

“Not that it’s really any of your business-,” Kevin started, with a tone that was almost polite, as if he were talking to a host of a talk show, “- but Eric and I are dating. Now, if you excuse us, it was a long drive from Atlanta, and I believe we both need rest.”

They were all left staring as Kevin helped Eric pull his suitcase out of the trunk of the car. They both thought they were done talking about this for now but Nate Wilson, right defenseman spoke up,

“Finally.”

This had both Kevin and Eric staring at him. The blond that was staring back at them only grinned slightly and then walked over and punched Eric in the shoulder, hard enough that it made the taller goalie wince.

“We were really tired of seeing you moping around all the fucking time.”

Eric looked as if he was about to protest but one raised eyebrow from Bryce had him shutting up. Kevin was amused, the tension leaving his body. This was perhaps the most civilized conversation he’d ever had with the players of the Ice Hockey team. Not that they’d ever have reason to try and speak to each other. Kevin supposed that his relationship with Eric was perhaps the first and only bridge between the two teams.

“We really went all mother hen on you, huh?” Nick Matheson, left winger, asked with a toothy grin.

“Yes, a little bit,” Eric said, still rubbing his arm on the spot where Nate had punched him. However, there was a rather fond smile on his face and Kevin could almost tell he was fighting hard to keep a balance between his figure as a Captain and his role as a friend and part of this group.

“Well, pizza is on the way. Might as well stick around,” Bryce suggested and glanced at Kevin, giving him a small nod that said the invitation was open to him as well.

Kevin thought about it for a moment as he turned and glanced at Eric. The goalie gave him an encouraging smile which Kevin did not return, but the slight light to his eyes was enough.

“One condition,” he said as he turned his gaze to the Fox Tower behind them for a moment.

Kevin knew there was a high probability that he would regret this later. For one, it was hard to fit both teams in one dorm room, even if not every ice hockey player in the line up joined them. Somehow, they made it work.

Andrew looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here, but the fact he’d agree to come at all was a wonder only Neil could have achieved. The two of them settled down on the couch in Eric’s dorm room, keeping to themselves.

However, the rest appeared to have an easier time adjusting. Dan and Matt were already dedicated in a conversation with Nate and Nicky had no problems talking Caleb’s ears off, who seemed to be less than amused by the whole situation.

Eric walked over to Kevin with that stupid puppy smile. Kevin would never dare admit that he was, in fact, very attracted to that smile.

“Seems to me like all this time spent fighting each other was for nothing,” he said with a hum as he slipped an arm around Kevin’s waist. Kevin stood still and watched the interactions between the two teams.

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. The rivalry between Exy and Ice Hockey players was something that went beyond the Palmetto teams. It was common, expected and sometimes encouraged for the spectacle of it. But the Foxes were known for being… unconventional. If anyone were to break these ‘universal rules’, it was them.

“I’m proud of you,” Eric suddenly said. Kevin froze for a moment and then glanced at the goalie, wanting to tell him that he didn’t need patronizing. The expression on the other’s face, however, was genuine.

Kevin’s expression must have been a questioning one because Eric was quick to start explaining after that.

“I think you don’t really recognize how much you’ve achieved. I’m not talking about Exy, I’m talking about-,” he made a general gesture with his hand, as if having a hard time finding the right words. “- this. I may not know the whole story, but I know it was hard for you to come back from your lowest point. The fact that you are clearly working on it is more than enough.”

Kevin remained silent for a moment, not sure if he’d ever heard such words before in his life. The only one who’d gotten close to them was Wymack, but the coach was not exactly known for being good at handling emotional situation, even if he had his own way with words.

He hadn’t known how much he’d needed to hear them until they finally came from someone. Kevin wasn’t okay. He was far from it. But that was fine because Kevin was trying. Once, he’d accepted that he would always be property.

Now, Kevin was free and had to deal with the aftermath. Which was fine. He could do it. He’d achieved and faced worse things in his life. He just needed time and space. Having people like Eric around him could only help him.

“Thank you,” Kevin finally said. He’d always known to put up a front but at that moment, it felt almost ridiculous to try and hide from Eric. Or from anyone, for that matter. If anything, his vulnerability only made him stronger.

Eric smiled at that and leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips.

Happy endings may not exist but at least Kevin had this new reality that he knew how he was going to officially introduce.

“Get up,” he told everyone as he closed the pizza boxes and grabbed the slice Nicky was nibbling on from his mouth.

Nicky groaned and tried to reach it again. “What the hell for?” He demanded. Kevin grinned slightly as he dumped the slice into one of the boxes.

“I think it’s time we return the favor to the Ice Hockey team and bring them over to our court.”

The Exy players did not need any more encouragement, except perhaps the twins. Eric managed to get his teammates to also go along with this and then turned to Kevin.

“Who are you and what have you done to Kevin?” He teased. Kevin only shrugged as he followed the others, watching them piling inside their cars.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” Kevin said and smiled at Eric for only a passing moment before following the Monsters to the Maserati.

[magics-protector]

Hello! I was wondering if maybe you did matchups/ships? And if so, can I have one with a male Marvel character?

Appearance: I’m a 27 year old black woman with locs that I sometimes put crystals in. I sort of have both a hippie and alt style but I also like dressing up sort of bougie. I’ve been compared to a fairy as far as my features go since I have high cheekbones, look young for my age, feminine with sharpish features and expressive eyes. I take pride in my appearance (not in a vain way) because I believe it’s a form of self love and self care. I have a really smirky smile

Personality: I’m an INFP and fit almost all the stereotypes that go with it but I don’t like for people to see me cry or be angry. I’m sort of reserved while I feel you out but after that, I can become talkative. I’m super chill on the outside despite me having adhd and I’m generally friendly to everyone which can get me in trouble sometimes when it’s looked at as flirting. I don’t have genuine crushes that often but when I do I’m super into him until I see we’re not getting anywhere and then I move on. That being said I can be really impatient and easily bored when it comes to romance unless he puts in actual effort but with most things else I’m pretty levelheaded and (over)think things through. I’m usually the friend that throws parties or plans trips or hang outs. Im pretty independent too and travel a lot alone. I can talk to anyone but I have to recharge and sometimes that can take days or weeks of me being alone. I’m really bad about standing up for myself but I stand up for others easily and hate intolerance.

Interests: I love listening to music, I play bass guitar, love traveling and experiencing other cultures. I also like collecting crystals, being in nature, reading, watching only 80s and 90s films and crocheting. I also spend a lot of time reflecting on how to be a better person. Depending on the vibe and who I’m with I can be both a partier and a homebody.

Quirks: I’m clumsy, sometimes stutters when my thoughts are too fast and my mouth can’t keep up, if I’m really really attracted to a guy I don’t really talk all that much because I’m nervous that I’ll stutter, ramble or say something stupid do I think that’s sometimes confused with disinterest.

Thank you!!

I can absolutely do one for you! Sorry, it has taken so long!

Marvel

I ship you with...

Scott Lang

Oh, you're lucky! I'm so jealous.

Scott is husband material - I will take no other arguement! He, after prison, takes everything 100% seriously and works hard to maintain the relationships he has and will create.

You've nabbed a Golden Retriever. What else is there to say.

Scott will be obsessed with you. He will worship the ground you walk on if you let him. He's so sweet and brave and literally the best.

He will love you no matter what and despite any flaw. Nothing is bad enough to drive him away because he will try and make it work. He'll be your best friend and your most trusted companion.

he is literally so pure, oh my lord.

I hope you like it ! <3

A/N: Normally with Marvel ones, I put my recast at the bottom for those who are curious and just for writing's sake but I didn't recast Scott so there we go. This has never happened and I'm happy about it. Anyways, I hope you liked it!

[novelconcepts]

fic: she tells me worship (in the bedroom)

There are days, as the years burn away like so much kindling, where everything is the best it possibly could be. Days where Dani’s beast in the jungle is silent--maybe no longer there at all--and her demeanor is smooth and easy. She matches Jamie’s smile on these days, warm and light and happy, and Jamie can’t get enough. Could never ask for more than Dani in her best mood, Dani’s laugh the clearest bell in the room.

Those days are wonderful--but they are, of course, not the only sort. Natural enough, Jamie knows, for anyone, though maybe somewhat more of a concern for Dani. The days where Dani’s tensions run high are doubly-loaded, one part the natural discomfort of a bad day, one part Dani’s mounting fear of losing herself. 

You’re here, she tells Dani on days like this. You’re right here, with me, and you’re not going anywhere. 

Dani grits her teeth, furrows her brow, nods. Jamie pulls her close, still murmuring the words like an endless prayer. She’s not much for religion, Jamie; never much saw the point of asking for miracles from ghosts and gods. Bad days with Dani, though, are their own kind of religion. They form their own kind of belief, stretched between them, one that says Dani is here, Dani is strong, Dani is in control whether or not she feels it. 

There are good days, and there are bad days, and there are days like this whole week has been: middling days. Days where Dani is not fumbling away from her with breath whistling high and fast, but neither is she laughing. Days where Dani wakes with a grimace already on her lips, her temper short, her body clenched as she moves about the apartment. Jamie has learned to read these moods, has learned Dani doesn’t need her to ask questions or work to soothe her nerves. Dani in a mood like this is independence, so used to fighting the battle of her own bad day alone, she sometimes only feels worse if Jamie tries to take her hand. 

Jamie has learned, instead, to stand back a few steps. To keep her eyes on Dani’s expression, to keep her ears perked for a sign Dani is shifting toward something genuinely dark, something that will genuinely require Jamie to step in and catch her. Some days, it goes this way--a middling day turning without warning into bleak horror. Some days, she needs this of Jamie. 

Other days, she needs something else entirely. Something to turn a highly-strung afternoon into a pleasurable evening. Something to remind her, though she does not always have control over her mood, there are other things to grab hold of and use to her own ends. 

Jamie doesn’t mind in the least. 

***

She knows it will reach a breaking point eventually. There’s just a scent on the air when Dani is like this, no matter what image she’s projecting to the rest of the world--sooner or later, the smile will slip, the polite laugh will dry away, and there will be only Dani Clayton in all her magnificent frustration left. 

It’s really just a matter of waiting it out. 

In the meantime, there’s plenty to do. The shop is thriving; Jamie, who had spent most of that first year wanting to pull her hair out over numbers, is still not entirely convinced she can trust the implication that they are doing well. The odds of moving to America on a whim to start a flower shop that actually survives its first few years were slim; the fact that they are rapidly becoming a fixture of their small Vermont town, taking in larger swaths of customers every month, is baffling. 

It pleases Dani, too, she knows--most of the time. When Dani isn’t dealing with a customer like this one, a shrewd-eyed woman who calls into question Dani’s comprehension of her job at every other turn. 

“Anything I can help with?” Jamie asks, leaning around Dani with a surreptitious hand brushing her back. Dani shoots her a sharp look, a not now look, and she nods. 

“Right. Be in the back if you need me.”

Some days, if you need me is a call sign, an olive branch Dani grabs with greedy hands. Some days, after a customer like this one, Jamie finds herself propped against the back room table with Dani tearing at her zipper before she even realizes. 

Not today. Today, when she pokes her head back out to ensure Dani hasn’t actually murdered the old bat, she finds Dani already chatting with someone else. Politely. Smiling, even, though Jamie knows better than anyone what Dani’s barely-hanging-on smile looks like. 

“All good?” she murmurs as the new customer saunters away, careful not to so much as graze Dani. Mismatched eyes snag her gaze, Dani huffing out a breath. 

“Sometimes I wonder why we picked a job with so many people.”

“Be a lot more fun with just us,” Jamie agrees. “Though how we’d fit all those lovely pillows into a cardboard box, I couldn't say.”

Dani grants her a small laugh, barely enough for Jamie to coast on. It’s almost nothing, but it’s what Dani can manage today, and that’s fine enough. Jamie considers saying something else--telling Dani with words that she is here, that she can handle all the worst customers the day has to offer, that she doesn’t mind if Dani begs out early. Not that words matter most, with Dani. Words have never been the thing, where Jamie is concerned, for Dani.

“I’m all right,” Dani says, a bit stiffly. Jamie shuts her mouth, nods. 

“Sure. ‘Course you are. If you, ah, need me...”

It’s becoming a prayer of its own, she thinks sometimes, a plea to the part of Dani that desperately requires both hands on the wheel. If you need me. Which, no matter how it shows, Dani always does. Even on days like this, where Dani can’t quite fit right into her own skin, where Dani is trapped between normal human irritation and the mounting anger she carries for someone else. Dani always does need her. 

It’s just that that need doesn’t always look the same.

"What say we order in tonight?” Jamie asks as they’re closing up. “Throw on a movie?”

Dani shrugs. “Fine. Need to hit the grocery store first, though, we’re out of...a lot of things.”

“I can do it,” Jamie offers. Dani slides her a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I’m fine, Jamie. I promise.”

“No, I know,” Jamie says, a bit too hurriedly to be believed. “Only--look, I know it’s been a hard week. I just...”

“Want to help,” Dani fills in when her voice trails awkwardly away. Jamie scrubs a hand down her face. 

“Yeah. But if I’m hovering, I don’t--”

Dani doesn’t quite touch her. Dani seems some days unable to touch her, or be touched, like she’s afraid basic physical contact will release the thing lurking inside. It’s the anger, she says, her voice strained with worry. It’s that rage. 

Won’t hurt me, Jamie says, with a confidence she has never been more sure of than while looking into Dani’s eyes. Wouldn’t ever. 

It’ll pass, she knows--in an hour, in a day, in a week. It’ll pass, and Dani will be back to her usual self once more, laughing, telling stories Jamie hasn’t yet had time to memorize, trailing her fingers across Jamie’s face. Back in the driver’s seat, as it were. The only thing in charge of her own choices.

She allows Jamie a brief kiss, the single negotiation made with her demons--there is never a time, no matter how she feels, or what petty argument they’ve had, where Dani does not kiss her goodbye. 

The apartment isn’t filthy, by any stretch, but certain things have fallen by the wayside over the course of a busy week. Jamie sets to work alone, humming her way through laundry collection--the pair of underwear beneath the couch offers a particularly pleasant memory: Dani stretched back against the arm, sighing as Jamie undressed her and settled in to explore--and stacking dishes in their proper places. Little things, she reminds herself. Little ways to make it easier on Dani until Dani can breathe easier all on her own. Jamie doesn’t mind doing the dishes, sweeping up, ensuring the plants are watered and the bathroom tissue is restocked. Dani does the same for her, when the roles are reversed. 

Dani does more for her than she seems to realize. Even down to holding herself apart this way, too afraid of crossing a line she can’t take back. Jamie wishes there were words to explain how much that means--how much Dani’s self-imposed protective qualities make Jamie feel as though no one has ever been more important. It means the world, and it makes her crazy all the same, because there is nothing she’d like more than to hold Dani close when she gets this way. 

I’m not sick of you, she thinks fiercely, stacking plates into the cupboard. Not now, not ever, Poppins, so when are you going to stop pushing me--

The key in the lock. She turns her head, watching Dani shove the door open, jerking her key back and forth to unstick it. “Hey, you’re back. Good. Was just tryin’ to decide what kind of pizza--”

She pulls up short, leaning back against the counter with a frown. There’s a look on Dani’s face, a strange tight look that instantly makes her wonder if things are worse than Dani has been letting on of late. 

“You all right? You look...”

Dani shakes her head, tosses her purse so hard, it bounces back off the couch. She doesn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the tight clench of her fists, the stilted stride that carries her across to the kitchen to deposit paper bags across the counter in a careless mess.

“Dani, what happened?” There’s keeping her distance, and there’s keeping things from Jamie. The look on her face now, the sharp cut of her mouth, the taut clutch of her jaw, is just this side of worrying. “I need you to talk--”

Dani has her shirt in one hand, bunched in her fist, dragging her close. Jamie stares, her stomach giving an agreeable little lurch. 

“Did I do something?” she asks. Unlikely, sure, but always a possibility. Always possible there’s something she didn’t notice to make up for. 

Dani, though, shakes her head once. Her hand tightens, pulling Jamie forward, past the kitchen threshold to the living room rug. She stops, swaying slightly as though not entirely certain where she is. 

Jamie--growing less concerned, more intrigued by the second--hesitates. There are only so many outcomes, from this sort of greeting. Only so many outcomes from the way Dani is looking at her now, a sort of helpless tension held in every curve of her face. 

“Can...can I help now?” Jamie asks, half-expecting Dani to release her, to crumple, to open the door to whatever she’s been holding Jamie away from all week. It’s like this, sometimes. Dani, surrendering to her after days of miserably tending her own mental demons. Dani, falling into her with exhaustion. Sometimes. 

Not always. 

Dani is pushing her, she realizes, her hand dragging up Jamie’s front to grip her shoulder. The pressure she applies is surprisingly gentle, but too firm for Jamie to deny for anything but the best reason. She allows herself to sink, allows Dani to shove her down until her knees strike rug, until she’s staring with her head tipped back and her skin growing hot. 

There’s something about this view, she thinks, that will never grow old. Particularly with Dani looking at her this way, eyes stormy, brow creased with some combination of frustration and--

“Let me help,” Jamie says, half a suggestion, half a plea. She reaches a hand to Dani, giving her ample time to step back, to change her mind. Dani, instead, reaches to the hem of her own skirt, yanks it to her waist. 

“Please.”

One word, and Jamie’s whole body shudders. Dani’s hand slips up, skimming her cheek, delving into her hair. She’s staring at Jamie like a challenge, like a dare: love me now, her eyes seem to say. Love me like this. 

More than that, Jamie promises silently, pressing forward into her. There’s loving Dani, certainly--she’s happy to do it, privileged to do it, doesn’t even think about it anymore. There’s an instinct to loving Dani she gave into long ago, with no desire or intention of turning back. 

This, though. This is more than loving. This is the closest thing to religion she’s capable of, the closest thing to belief she can wrap her head around. Forced to her knees by Dani’s hand, moving to kiss Dani from this spot of supplication, is the truest kind of worship she's ever known how to give. 

Dani exhales above her, the breath leaving her in a rush as Jamie slides her hands up the backs of her thighs. Her skin still holds a chill from the early winter air, and Jamie lets her palms rest for a moment, giving Dani her own warmth as a gift of greeting. She peers up at Dani, watching her sway with anticipation, watching her gaze down that same scorching challenge: Love me like this. Even today. Even when I can’t love myself. 

She presses a kiss, small and sweet and barely anything at all, to the crest of Dani’s underwear. Dani makes a low noise in her throat, something shaky, palming the back of her head in an effort to push her closer. Fast, she recognizes--Dani wants her fast, rough, to demolish the day’s shadows in no time at all. 

Dani wants it that way--but it isn’t what she needs. Jamie tilts her head, brushes against Dani with her nose, moves to kiss the inside of one thigh instead. She feels Dani’s hand loosen, allowing her the freedom, and she takes it with glee. Each kiss is small, gentle, a bare approximation of what Dani is asking of her, but with each press and release of her lips on Dani’s skin, she feels some of the tension go out of Dani’s grip. Dani, who has spent all day strung tighter than Jamie could possibly know, and who could demand more of Jamie now, sighs. 

She doesn’t beg. Doesn’t even speak. Only splays her fingers across the back of Jamie’s skull, her palm resting at the crown of Jamie’s head, letting her go where she will. Trusting that Jamie, taking her time with every kiss, smoothing her hands down to cup behind Dani’s knees, dragging her nails lightly down Dani’s calves, knows how to read her. 

Control, thinks Jamie, as she so often does in moments like this. Given freely, it’s an intoxicant all its own. 

There’s something about the way Dani trembles when she opens her mouth against smooth skin, when she runs her tongue in a slow, gentle arc up toward the juncture of Dani’s pelvis. Something about the tightening of Dani’s hand in her hair that makes her feel more alive than she ever does walking the world. 

She’s giving the same treatment to Dani’s other leg, tracing one hand lightly around her kneecap, digging her nails gently in, when Dani utters her first low moan. Jamie smiles into her skin. 

“Yes?”

“Didn’t ask you to talk,” Dani says, though Jamie can hear her smile. She slides a hand higher, gripping the underside of one thigh, digging her thumb in. 

“Didn’t ask for much, from what I recall. Bit demanding, Poppins.”

“If you’re complaining,” Dani says, “I can just take care of it myself.”

“Not like I can,” Jamie points out, and Dani grips harder, yanking her head back. She gives a hiss of pleasure. “Oh, you’re not denying it.”

“You,” Dani points out with an arch of her brow, “are denying me.”

“Let me back to it, then.” She’s playing with fire. She’s playing with fire, and Dani could turn the tables at any moment, could push her away and decide she isn’t in the mood after all. 

Dani, to the contrary, gives her a smile that makes her glad she’s already on her knees. Her hand flexes in Jamie’s hair, wrenching her forward without warning, and Jamie groans against her, biting gently through the fabric of underwear that, already, is considerably wetter than it had been. This, she thinks, should have been their entire day. Their entire week. Dani gripping her skirt in one hand, Jamie’s hair in the other, already revolving her hips gently to meet the slow press of Jamie’s tongue. 

“Tease,” Dani sighs, as she circles, wraps her mouth around already-straining nerves, sucks lightly through sticky cotton. “Fuck.”

Jamie smiles against her, pleased; Dani already swearing is a sign she’s been looking for this longer than she maybe even realized. Her hand presses Jamie in, her legs spreading slightly to give Jamie more space, and Jamie takes what she’s granted willingly. She’s kissing Dani with slow, heady abandon, eyes closed, aware with every small jolt of Dani’s hips that this is exactly where she ought to be. It’s easy to lose herself here, in the rock of Dani meeting her every stroke, in the taste of Dani soaking through thin fabric onto her tongue. She takes the edge of Dani’s underwear between her fingers, pulls it aside, uttering a low sound of pride at what she’s already accomplished. 

“Enough?” she asks politely, and Dani makes a breathless sound of aggravation above her. She bows back in, stretching the fabric away from where it belongs, letting her fingers graze slickly along Dani only once. Dani jerks. 

She could stay here, she thinks. Stay here on her knees, holding Dani in helpless limbo, forever. Stay here, feeling Dani’s gaze on her, feeling Dani’s desperation to push her closer coming up hard against her desire to let Jamie choose how this plays out. She’s never sure what will win, with Dani in a mood like this. 

“Jamie.” Not pleading, not yet, but slightly choked all the same. Her hand smooths down the back of Jamie’s head, urging her closer, and Jamie presses back into her palm for a beat. Just a few seconds of fighting the push, her fingers grazing back and forth--stroking once across skin, back across fabric, feeling Dani throb against her fingertips. 

“Jamie.” That was pleading. She slides her hands up, pulls the underwear down, supporting Dani as she steps out and all but crashes into Jamie’s mouth once more. 

That was pleading, and this is worship: sinking into Dani in every way that matters. She traces Dani with the tip of her tongue, curling when Dani sighs, stroking when Dani whimpers. The taste of her is overwhelming, drawing aside her own restraint a little at a time, and Jamie reminds herself exultation should not be rushed, benediction cannot be forced. True worship, true belief, is a slow, deliberate thing, inching ever nearer to something huge and glorious and well-earned. 

Dani’s nails dig hard into her scalp, scraping under her hair until she parts her lips around swollen nerves in a sharp sigh of pleasurable pain. Dani is making sounds of her own, muffled sounds against the clench of her teeth even as she’s grinding harder to meet every swipe of Jamie’s tongue. She sucks more forcefully, adds a gentle scrape of teeth that makes Dani twitch violently beneath her. A pounding heat between her own thighs gives a particularly sharp pulse, and Jamie welcomes it, welcomes it as she explores the familiar map of Dani soaking into her lips. 

She’s here, she tells herself, validated by every sound from Dani’s lips. She’s here, all of her. She imagines what she must look like now, her head bobbing between Dani’s legs as she twists and angles to offer every last inch of pleasure. What she must look like to Dani, with her eyes lidded and her body bucking, Dani who drives a hand against her head, pulling her hair hard to show Jamie exactly where she’s most needed. What must this look like: Jamie’s own hips rocking hopelessly against nothing, her hands occupied with holding Dani upright as the strength slides from her knees. She is the only thing keeping Dani here, keeping Dani in place, keeping Dani from collapsing to the floor in a heap. 

Dani is making breathless, almost keening sounds, pumping her hips hard to match the flick and roll of Jamie’s tongue. Jamie opens her eyes, leans back, letting the contact go just long enough to take Dani in: head thrown back, the cords of her neck standing out, trying with everything in her to keep her volume down. 

Let them hear you, Jamie thinks, delving in again with rough, reckless strokes. Let them fucking know. She’s moaning herself, unable to stop, unable to control her own voice as Dani grips her tight, thrusting to match her with frantic, nearly-there energy. 

Her fingers tremble, the desire to slide into Dani almost too strong to ward off. She resists. This is what they both need, instead, this urging of Dani over the edge with nothing more than what Jamie has already promised. Just the art of taking Dani into her mouth, drawing her tight, feeling her wind higher and higher as her hands glide through Jamie’s hair, catching, yanking. Nearly there, she knows, from Dani half-groaning her name. Nearly there, and it’s a shame to let it end, a shame to know this is not a permanent fixture of life, being on her knees in front of Dani Clayton. 

Dani is shuddering, crying, “There--there--fuck.” Jamie presses her tongue flat, gives a final broad stroke that sends Dani tumbling, each pulse against Jamie’s mouth feeling a little more like triumph. She keeps going even as Dani is slowing, even as Dani’s rough grip in her hair is loosening to something soft, something tender. 

“Jamie, I--I--”

Jamie is one long open kiss, warm and wet and needy in her own right, working a hand up the inner slope of her thigh, and now she is teasing with her fingers, now she is offering Dani this added gift, and Dani is making a high, surprised, wanting sound above her. 

“Jamie--” 

Tell me, Jamie commands silently, and Dani is so open, Dani is so wet, Dani is beyond ready even as she’s begging. She slides inside, eyes rolling back in her head when Dani clutches immediately around her, legs nearly buckling as Jamie curls fingers and tongue in the same action. 

She drops her skirt at last, closing both hands around Jamie’s head to ride this second climax to its height. Jamie, eyes closed, is not sure she needs anything but this to feel at home. Nothing but Dani shuddering around her, Dani arching to take her deeper. Nothing but Dani, letting her in. 

She leans her head against Dani’s hip, breathing hard, letting the skirt fall back into place. Dani, still trembling, wraps her arms around Jamie as best she can, leaning her head back and sighing. 

“I’m--”

“Good,” Jamie says, not much interested in an apology or an embarrassed explanation. She licks her lips, runs the back of her hand across her mouth, tilts her head to look up into Dani’s still-dazed face. “You’re good, Dani. All good.”

She stands, takes Dani’s face in her hands, runs her fingers along Dani’s parted lips. Dani smiles, tongue darting out to curl around one finger and Jamie makes a softly wanting sound against her own will. 

“You’re all right now?” she asks, her voice husky. Dani closes her eyes, nods, kisses her way along Jamie’s fingers until they’re clean. Then she’s kissing Jamie with all the quiet fever of a week spent staring into the shadows of her own head, pulling Jamie backward toward the couch, sinking down as the last of the strength finally goes out of her legs. 

She won’t talk about it--not now, not yet, not with her hand urgent against Jamie’s zipper. She won’t talk about it as she palms Jamie through her jeans, rubbing in hard strokes while Jamie sinks back against the couch and groans. She won’t talk about it, bending over Jamie to kiss her hard, slipping her hand into Jamie’s underwear and stroking, pinching, driving her toward a dazzling conclusion of her own. 

Later, maybe. Another night, maybe. This night, the push and pull of it, the teasing angle of her bent over Jamie with her hair curtaining them both and her smile welcoming Jamie to kiss her to completion all over again, was not made for that. This night is for Jamie to remind her of what is most important: that even on her worst day, even fed up with the world or the beast in the jungle, there is no enough for Jamie. There is no end, no exit, no edging away. 

She holds her close, arm around her waist as she pushes desperately up into Dani’s hand, understanding in some distant way that there is no such thing as too much where Dani is concerned. There is no darkness in Dani that can scare her off, no lack of control in Dani that doesn’t make her want to lead Dani back to a place of authority over her own life. There is nothing except Dani, striding into the room and forcing her to her knees; Dani, losing herself in the slide of her lips; Dani, needing and being needed. 

Let me in, she thinks with sleepy hope, as Dani kisses her and nestles against her side. Let me in, let me help you. I can give it back when she takes it away. 

She’ll say it, someday. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. She’ll say it, and Dani might even believe. 

In the meantime, she doesn’t mind this, the devoted worship of one who has never loved like she loves this woman. She doesn’t mind Dani being unable to ask. She doesn’t mind Dani’s fierce need coming to call. 

It’s mutual, she thinks as she dozes with Dani in her arms. It’s everything.